What Is He Doing Here?

I recognize that voice. The deep bass of it. The almost cocky confidence. The broad affability that just might be hiding something a little bit more.

I know precisely who is behind me even before I turn, enough that I can watch as a shit eating grin breaks out across Rachel's face as her plan comes together.

And I almost can't believe it.

Her plan is to put me on the spot. To put me face to face with probably the last person in the world I would have guessed. A man who, presumably, is expecting to be my date tonight even though he has no reason to be.

But why else would he be here? I mean it's not like a boring movie it is mandatory for him.

I turn slowly, turning my back on Rachel which I probably should consider dangerous and turning to face Jake who is towering over me now, looking fit and fine as hell in another of his no doubt large collection of too tight t-shirts. This one is black and it hugs the hard bulges of his body enough that even in the dark it is hard to mistake his clear and present power.

"Hi Jake," I say, mumbling my words a little too much before I remember that the Emily he knows is confident and flirty, "I didn't expect to see you here."

Jake runs his hand through his hair, lifting his arm up to do so and in the process making that muscle on the back of his bicep bulge in a way that is undeniably appealing.

"I'm starting to sense that," he says sheepishly, "If I'd have known you were going to be blindsided I would've said... Well I wish I could say that I would've said no, but the truth is I would've taken any opportunity I could to see you again."

"I mean I would have seen you at practice," I say mutely.

He grins in a broad and utterly appealing way, "You didn't sign up for the team. And I mean you didn't give me your number either. It wasn't until after you were already gone that I realized that, otherwise I never would have let you leave."

He realizes, too late, the odd sort of implication of that statement. Overcorrecting he starts to stammer, half reassuring me in a way that comes out somehow more threatening in the end.

"I didn't mean it like that. I mean I wouldn't have held you down or anything. Just like I would have made sure that you gave me your number, if you wanted to give me your number that is. I wouldn't have **** you to... Could you even **** someone? I've never thought about it before and I'm not thinking about it now! Don't worry about me."

He falls silent, the full breadth of that freak out taking a moment to settle as he looks over my shoulder to Rachel for some support and evidently finds none because his eyes quickly drift back to me.

"I could go if you want," he says, sheepishly.

"No," I shake my head, smiling and holding out a hand, "I'd like it if you stayed."

I take his hand in mine and turn back to Rachel, who quickly slips her arm into mine and drags me forward.

"Can't say you'll have fun tonight, though," I tell him, "I mean whatever movie they're showing is probably going to be PG and boring as hell. Surely you've got something better you could be doing tonight."

"Nope," he says, likely lying, "My schedule is free and clear. And even if it wasn't, I'm sure tonight will be a blast."

I want to ask how he knows that for certain. I want to challenge him on it.

But it is Rachel who gives me an answer that makes sense, sliding in close enough that she can whisper without him overhearing.

"Because the movie won't matter, dummy," she hisses, "And because what's going to happen tonight? It's hardly going to be PG. Not if we're doing it right, at least."

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