[NOTE: this story is a "chapter two" to "Threshold." Like the first installment, there is some actual story before all the heavy breathing. If you need instant gratification, this bit isn't for you. If you haven't read "Threshold," don't worry - it's not necessary to get this one, though there may be a few spoilers…]
Rick's eyes popped open. Janie was still asleep, her naked form sprawled across the sheets. What woke him? He listened but heard nothing. He looked toward the window - there was the barest hint of predawn glow - and his vision started to spin.
He closed his eyes and memories swirled around him like lime in tequila. Janie was over. College buds over for Superbowl party. Beer flowed. Game was played. Porno watched. Two college buds went home, shared Janie with the third.
Rick sat bolt upright, his eyes wide. "Oh, shit!"
Janie didn't stir. Her breasts rose and fell with peaceful sleep, her breathing deep and even.
Rick blinked and squinted through the sleep in his eyes, then gently leaned over the sleeping dancer. He ran his finger down her side. He kissed her shoulder, then the small of her waist, then rise of her hip. The smell of sex was heavy enough to make it past morning-after breath.
Yup.
Last nights words echoed through his head. Janie's voice: "Are we still okay?" Rick's voice: "We're more than okay." But were they?
Rick eased back and silently rolled out of bed. A pair of cut-off sweatpants made him street legal and he stumbled out the bedroom door. He wasn't quite to the end of the hall when he paused, not sure he was ready to share space with his buddy.
Fuck it.
He ambled around the corner but Brian was gone. The blanket was folded, the pillow squared away and there was a note on top.
'Rick and Janie: You two are the most phenomenal people I know. Thank you for memories that will last a lifetime. No regrets. Brian.'
Rick set the note back on the pillow. Funny to hear that: 'no regrets' part, it was one of Rick's own sayings. He nodded and patted the note.
"No regrets, bro. No regrets."
Rick stumbled into the kitchen. He wanted to think about the memories, the associations that really would last a lifetime… but thinking was starting to hurt. As he passed the tapped-out keg, raw pain started displacing emotion. It was time for therapy.
To start the healing, the former linebacker fell back to processes tried and true. A giant mug of water, three Tylenol, a small Gatorade, toast, Tabasco with some tomato juice, bacon and eggs. On autopilot, breakfast almost seemed to make itself, though the sliding glass door was getting intolerably bright. Rick squinted past the breakfast bar. Who scheduled dawn this early anyway?
Over the sizzle of eggs, Rick could hear shuffling down the hall. A moment later, Janie appeared on the other side of the breakfast bar. She was holding up a blanket that covered much of her front and none of her rear. Her right nipple was poking out, lighting the way.
"Do I smell-"
"Yes, but I won't hold it against you." Rick shot her a grin.
"-Breakfast?"
Jane didn't try to answer as she shuffled around the bar and into the kitchen. She threw her arms around Rick, the blanket falling away. She squeezed tight and there was a tremble in her arms.
Rick moved the eggs off the heat, then knelt and picked up the blanket. He wrapped her in it like a giant cloak, then put his arms around her and pulled her in tight. Part of him couldn't ignore the naked woman pressed against him but most of him felt soft, welcoming warmth.
Her voice was a gravelly whisper. "Do you hate me?"
Rick lifted her chin and kissed her softly. "I never make eggs for people I hate."
She hugged him tighter. "Do you still love me?"
There were a thousand ways to answer. Rick ran his hand along her jaw and gently held her head in his hands. He kissed her forehead, one cheekbone, then the other… and caressed her lips with his own. "I still love you. I will always love you."
Janie held her hands together and Rick stepped away, putting the eggs back on the heat. A strange crooning sound started growing over the sizzle. Janie looked around, then realized it was coming from Rick:
"Ahhhhhhh-eeeeee-iiiiiiiiiiiii, will alwaaaaaaaaays love yooooooooooouuuu!"
Janie shuffled forward and wrapped Rick in another hug. As she squeezed him, she leaned forward and whispered into his ear. "Remember, love, that the Bodyguard never actually had to sing anything."
"Oh. Right." Rick flipped the bacon. "Thank God."
###
After the Sunday night event, there were a million things to talk about. How did they feel? Was it as fun now as it was then? Did they do the right thing? But there was no time.
Janie was showered and out the door by 8, braving rush hour on the 405 North. More crazy than brave, really, but she had to swing by her apartment before heading to the Universal lot -- and being late was not an option.
She unlocked her silvery blue Defender, and Rick gave her a goose as she climbed into the Land Rover. She spun around in mock anger but couldn't carry it past her beaming smile.
Rick nodded. "We cool?"
"We're cool."
"Good. Love ya."
"Love you too, babe!"
Janie closed the door and Rick leaned on it.
"Any regrets?"
Janie shook her head. "None."
"Good. See you tonight."
The second the sex goddess was gone, Rick locked the condo and waded into Los Angeles traffic. Fortunately, his drive was a sanity-saving short jaunt to an office in the Wilshire district.
