First And Ten, Part 5 free porn video

First and Ten, Part 5 By Nancy Cole Chapter Nineteen There followed several long seconds of stunned silence as I tried to find some way of responding. While I'm fairly confident my heart didn't actually stop, I've no doubt that it skipped a few beats as I stood there at the threshold, stock still, unable to do anything but stare into Megan's big brown eyes. In the past I'd found them alluring and utterly captivating. At the moment, they glistened like a pair of ominous beacons, warning me that I was facing far more danger than even my fertile imagination was capable of fabricating. For the first time since buying into Special Agent Moore's insane little plot, I was tempted to pivot about and flee. That's what a sane person would have done. That's exactly what I was getting ready to do and would have if Megan hadn't reached out, as she had done so a few short hours before, and took me by the arm, pulling me toward her. Only this time it wasn't a loving embrace that awaited me. "Jordan, I'm so sorry you had to find out this way," she stammered in a frantic effort to calm me. "I wish I could have told you. I wish you didn't have to find out about me like this." I heard her words. I saw the pained expression on her face. I almost wanted to believe she was being sincere, that what she was saying was true. Yet I found I couldn't as she shepherded me into the small entrance hall and close the door behind me, locking it as she did so. That act, which anyone who lives in New York thinks nothing of under ordinary circumstances, hit me as ominous and threatening, causing me to yank my arm free of Megan's grasp and stepped away from her. It was a response that seemed to upset her as much as my seeing her here had been for me. When she hastened to close the distance between us, I took another quick away from her. The apprehension with which she'd greeted me at the door now turned to true panic as she took to wringing her hands. "Jordan, please. I'm sorry. Please don't be like this." Had there been nothing more going on between Megan and I than a simple misunderstanding or a lover's spat, I've no doubt I would have melted under those big, brown eyes of hers that were beginning to fill with tears. That wasn't the case, of course. With the true purpose of my being there foremost in my mind, not to mention the consequences I'd face if anyone managed to discover them, I couldn't allow myself to give into an emotional appeal by her, real or feigned. If anything, I had to do my utmost to steel myself against letting my emotions get the better of me. Fearing that I'd already come frightfully close to compromising myself and my reason for being there, if I hadn't done so already through a foolish lapse of judgment, I told myself I needed to keep that from happening again. Helping me recover my footing was the righteous anger that slowly began to well up within me, a slow burning rage at having been deceived by the young woman before me. Of course, had I taken even a second to reflect upon that, I probably would have tempered my ire a wee bit given that I was in the midst of embarking upon a grand deception of my own. Still . . . The awkward stand off between Megan and I came to an abrupt end when a door behind me opened. Megan's demeanor immediately changed as she looked away from me, bowed her head slightly and took to gazing intently at the floor instead. Glancing over my shoulder, I watched as Dr. Wahab Khalje, the man I was expected to ingratiate myself to, enter the small foyer. Immediately I understood why Megan was behaving as she was. I'd seen such behavior in Iraq and Afghanistan. Far better prepared to deal with the good doctor than I had been with Megan, I knew what I needed to do without having to give it much thought. Turning to face my host, I took care to dip my chin a smidge and, like Megan drop my gaze. I didn't over play it, suspecting, as Aaron did, that doing so would be counter productive, perhaps even dangerous. Instead, I tried to strike something of a delicate balance between behaving as an ordinary run of the mill American coed would yet, responding to Khalje in a submissive manner that would appeal to an Afghani male. It not an easy feat, particularly in the wake of the jolt Megan's presence had caused. Still, it seemed to do the trick. Dr. Khalje came over to where I was standing, regarding me with a broad smile. "I am happy to see that you have favored us by accepting my invitation and visit my humble abode." Though I'd only seen they entry hall to Khalje's home, I could tell there was nothing humble at all about his residence that smacked of humility. Everything around me spoke of an ostentatious display of wealth characteristic to the good Doctor's background. He was a wealthy man who wished all who visited his home to know that he could afford all the trinkets, luxuries and toys his culture expected a man in his position to possess. Dr. Khalje made no effort to greet me as an American host would by offering his hand or giving me a fashionable, New York hug accompanied with the obligatory air kisses. Instead, he indicated that I was to enter the room behind him with nothing more than a wide sweep of his hand and an invitation that was more of a command, delivered with a broad grin that went way past friendly. "Please, join us." I didn't need to play up the nervousness I felt as I passed into that room. My responses to Khalje and what I found in there were one hundred percent genuine, the product of a feeling of vulnerability unlike anything I'd ever experienced before in my life. Sure, I'd sallied forth into the unknown before, facing danger, even the prospect of imminent death. This, however, was different. I had no means with which to defend myself other than my wits and foreknowledge of what was expected of me. Even more unsettling was the realization that I was on my own. There was no one behind me, ready to back me up or pull me out of harms way if things went south. There wasn't any way I could call for help. I was very much alone, in every sense of the word. This was not necessarily a bad thing, for it went a long way in guiding the way I responded, permitting me to react in a manner that was, I imagined, appropriate for a young woman in my position. Maintaining the bowed head and downcast eyes posture with which I greeted Dr. Khalje, I made my way forward. The room I entered was a formal living room, with western furniture but adorned with an eclectic mixture of western and oriental d?cor. My sister, who tended to be something of a minimalist, would have considered it gaudy. To me, it was intimidating, for it spoke of a man who was firmly anchored in the past, embracing a culture and way of life that included traditions and practices that made me a commodity, not a person. As if that wasn't bad enough, the men who were present, and they were all men, occupied all the available seats, save two. One was an overstuffed, high backed leather chair that sat at the head of a loose semi-circle formed by the other chairs and a settee. I knew without having to give the matter any serious thought that it was Dr. Khalje's place, for the only other open seat was a simple, straight-backed dinning room chair placed pretty much in the center of the semi-circle. The whole arrangement smacked of a cheap Hollywood scene, the sort that screams clich?. Still, like most clich?s, sometimes they work. If it was Dr. Khalje's intention to intimidate me and place me in an uncomfortable position that would be conducive to breaking a charlatan, he couldn't have imagined a better setup. With nothing more than a gesture and something akin to a roguish grin, he indicated that I was to take my seat. I took advantage of the time it took Dr. Khalje to settle back in his own seat to take a quick look about the room. Of the six men there, all appeared to be young, twenty something students like me. Well, perhaps not exactly like me since I was the only one wearing a skirt. Only the man seated directly behind me, and closest to the door of the room, impressed me as being a non-American. I couldn't exactly peg what he was, but he was definitely Middle Eastern, sporting a close-cropped beard favored by Muslim men. Despite his delicate features and slight frame, he was, by far, the most menacing. Where as the other five didn't impress me in the least, coming across as run of the mill, candy-ass college types, the dark skinned man had a way about him, the sort of look that told you he was not someone to be trifled with. My assessment of my fellow guests, not that the term fellow actually applied in my case, was cut short as Dr. Khalje took up a discussion they'd already been engaged in. That the topic under consideration was selected with me in mind quickly became obvious. "I find it difficult to understand that many of you have still do not grasped the true meaning of Jihad," Dr. Khalje stated in a rather affected manner, the sort many professors use when lecturing to a group of ignorant students. "Your inability to transcend the simplistic definitions and characterization of Jihad that is so popular with your media and political leaders is most appalling. Jihad is a subject that even the most enlightened and articulate Islamic scholars find difficult to explain to those who are non-Muslim. Holy war, the clash of arms and cultures, what most Americans think of when the word Jihad is used by your media, is the lesser Jihad whose aim is to defend the Islamic state and the True Faith. The true Jihad, the one that matters, is the inner struggle." As he made this last point, Khalje leaned forward in his seat, balling up a fist and shaking it in an effort to emphasis the importance of what he was saying. "It is this Jihad, the struggle to live as God meant us to, honoring his teachings and laws, doing what is right, that each of us must deal with if we are to be viewed as righteous and worthy in His eyes. "Take this lovely creature before us, for example," Khalje stated as pointed at me before easing back in his seat. "To our eyes this youth is clearly a enchanting young woman, the sort that can tempt even the strongest among us, enticing us to stray with nothing more than a glance of those shimmering blue eyes or a beguiling smile." His words, the manner in which he spoke and the intense scrutiny I was under caused my ears to burn and cheeks to glow. With my head bowed and eyes riveted on the floor at my feet, I found myself praying that that floor would open up and swallow me. The ever tightening grasp with which I held my hands in my lap cut the flow of blood to my fingers, turning my knuckles white as I struggled to keep myself from becoming totally unstrung. Yet as bad as that was, it was the manner in which Khalje described me, the terms he used when referring to me, that was, above all else, most unnerving. It was if in his eyes I was neither male or female, boy or girl. At times, I even felt as if he considered me to be something other than human. "God has chosen to bless and curse this youth," Khalje continued, "endowing this individual with a beauty, grace and nature that is at odds with the physical being. Why do you suppose He did this to you, little one?" It took me a second to realize that Khalje had been speaking to me and was waiting for me to answer him. Hesitantly, I peeked up at him through my lashes, nervously fidgeting as I attempted to find a suitable answer. When I did so, I took great care in choosing my words, framing my response in a manner that was appropriate and, more importantly, pleasing to Dr. Khalje's ear. I was, after all, here to worm my way into his good graces. "I have been taught," I began, speaking in a halting whisper that was barely audible and not at all assumed, "that God is not capable of making a mistake. If that is so, than He created me, like this, for a purpose. I guess the challenge before me, my struggle if you will," I stated with great emphasis as I looked directly into Khalje's eyes for the first time, "is first to discover what that purpose is. Once that has been revealed to me, I must then find the courage to accept my God given role and find a way of living my life in a manner that honors those gifts with which He has bestowed upon me." The look on Dr. Khalje's face, and the ominous twinkle in his eyes told me that I'd hit the mark, dead on. He held me in his gaze until I felt it was time for me to assume a more appropriate posture by averting my eyes once more, an unmistakable sign of submission. "That, my friends," he stated crisply addressing his other guests with great enthusiasm, "is a true jihad of the soul, the greater struggle that we must all face if we are to fulfill our destiny." Having made his point, the discussion opened up as the others in the room asked questions or expressed their opinions on the subject. Eventually, the conversation drifted off in other directions, leading me to believe that I'd survived this round of intellectual water boarding. > The exchange between host and guests was beginning to become quite lively, swirling around me as if I wasn't there, until Dr. Khalje suddenly signaled the others to pause. Turning his attention back toward me for the first time in almost a half hour, he casually mentioned that I might wish to see if Ghada needed help in the kitchen. Instinctively I knew that I was being dismissed, exiled from serious business of the evening in order to assume my place with the other women. Whether Khalje considered me to be one of them remained to be seen. I was, however, quite happy to be out of the room where I'd felt as exposed and as vulnerable as a hood ornament on a drag racer. The kitchen was easy enough to find. It was what awaited me there that proved to be difficult. Peeking around the door leading into it, I caught sight of Megan, the only person there, in the midst of filling bowls. Still not quite sure how I was going to deal with her, I slowly eased into the room. "Ah, Dr. Khalje sent me out here to help someone named Ghada. Do you know where she is?" Looking up from what she'd been doing, Megan flashed me a shy little smile. "That's me. Dr. Khalje likes to give those of us who belong to his little study group Arabic names that suit our personalities," she explained nervously as she watched me. "I guess it's his way of getting us into the swing of things, you know, acculturating us. Mine is Arabic. It means a graceful girl. Has he given you one yet?" "Um, no." Then, crossing my arms, I pressed myself against the counter and looked away, trying hard to find someway of getting past the awkwardness that we both felt. "Well," Megan stated nervously after clearing her throat, "I guess you can take the bowls and plates that I've filled out into the dinning room and setting them on the table. The men should be finishing up shortly." There wasn't a hint of resentment or bitterness in her voice as she spoke, leaving me to believe that she had no problem with being in the kitchen where she was alone, left to tend to the cooking as if she were nothing more than hired help. It was impossible for me to tell if Megan was simply playing at the role she'd been handed as I was or, if she really did buy into the whole Sharia thing. One thing I did know for sure, until I had a better handle on where, exactly this bewitching girl fit in, I needed to keep my distance. I'd already erred once. I could not afford to do so again. > I was in the process of rearranging the items Megan, or Ghada, had already set out on the dinning room table along with the food I'd brought out when the men, led by Dr Khalje, began to file into the room. Upon seeing me tending to the plates, bowls and dishes scattered about the table, he smiled at me approvingly and winked, but said nothing. Instead, he stood off to one side, inviting the others behind him to help themselves. Stepping back from the table to allow the men to pass, I now found myself faced with something of a quandary. I could remaining there in the dinning room, surrounded by strangers who viewed me with the sort of curiosity a person gazing upon a two headed calf does, or I could retreat back into the kitchen where Megan was. It was something of a frying pan - fire conundrum, a true Kobayashi Maru scenario. I'd just about made up my mind that I'd be better off in the kitchen when Megan emerged, with the last of the food. "That's everything," she whispered once she'd set it down. I was tempted to ask her what now, but chose, instead, to watch what she did. Like me, she backed away from the table, taking a seat in a corner of the room where she waited patiently for me to join her on a vacant chair next to hers. I knew that's what she wanted, for she kept glancing over at me, imploring me to do so with her eyes. In an effort to serve notice that I wasn't quite ready to forgive her duplicity, I turned away and took up station in another corner, one that was as far away from Megan as I could manage. Her pained expression didn't bother me in the least. If anything, I found it difficult to suppress the urge to respond with a self-satisfied smirk. Dr. Khalje, who was in the process of joining the rear of the cue, took note of Megan's downcast expression and my behavior. Again, he said nothing as he served himself before joining the other men. Only when they were gone did Megan help herself to the food. Rather than returning to her corner, she retreated back into the kitchen, giving me the first break of the evening. Alone in the dinning room, I was free to pick over what was left. I know I was being a self-righteous little bitch, but at the moment, I really didn't give a damn. I was hungry and wanted to eat in peace, enjoying my food before anyone returned. > Eventually, Megan emerged from the kitchen to clear away the empty platters, serving bowls and dishes left behind on the dining room table. Her puffy eyes, smeared makeup and doleful expression told me she'd been crying. For the first time that evening, I actually felt sorry for her. "Here," I murmured as I roused myself from my corner. "Let me help you." Looking up from the dirty dishes she'd been stacking, Megan flashed me wane smile. "Thank you." I think she was hoping for more, but at the moment, I couldn't offer her anything else. Besides being leery of her for very practical reasons, I was still smarting from her duplicity. Silly, yes, I know, especially given my reason for being there. And yet, I told myself as I went about the chore of gathering up dirty plates, my feelings toward Megan were justified. I'd allowed myself to be taken in by her, but not as part of some grand scheme to save the universe and civilization as we know it. Until that evening, the enchanting creature standing across the table from me had no connection to Moore's little scheme. Megan had been special to me, a singularly unique friend of my very own who had nothing to do with the Federal government or was barrowed from Emma's life. Megan had been mine, all mine and only mine. I'd freely given myself over to her without the slightest hesitation because, well, because it felt so very right and natural to do so. Whether or not I could ever do so again was something that remained to be seen. In a far better mood, Megan made her way back into the kitchen with her hands full of dishes, followed by me. "I'll start clearing these off," she offered tentatively, "if you don't mind bringing out the rest." "Sure, no problem," I responded without hesitation. Unfortunately, when I returned to the dining room I found Dr. Khalje standing there, waiting for me. Big problem. Before I could recover from my deer in the headlights routine, Khalje motioned that I was to follow him. "Come child." From another man, referring to me in such a manner would have been offensive, evoking a response that was not at all appropriate to the gender I was in the process of assuming. Khalje, however, was Afghani. It was a cultural thing, one that established our relative positions within his social order. So I did my submissive bowed the head thing and followed him into a small study. It came as no great surprise that no one else was there. Upon closing the door, he motioned me toward a chair, a decent one this time, before taking a seat on its twin set at an angle to mine. This was it, I found myself thinking, round two, or was this really round three? I was still mulling over in my mind if I should count the overnight interlude with Megan as part of this bizarre game of cat and mouse when Dr. Khalje began to speak. "I hope you enjoyed yourself this evening." Since the truth was optional, I nodded. "Yes, very much. It was," I continued, deliberately drawing out my comment in order to create the impression that I was trying to find the right words, "a unique experience for me and quite enlightening." "You spent eight months in Afghanistan, yes?" "Yes. I did." "And what did you think of the country?" A straight up answer here was definitely out of the question. A bald face lie, however, would have been equally unwise. So I sought to finesse it. "As a soldier, I was never afforded the opportunity to properly learn about the people, their culture or explore the country side as I would have liked. And while it is true that I had spent a great deal of time in the field, the conditions under which I was operating were not exactly conducive to learning." "Yes, Imagine they were not. It is a pity," Khalje mused looking up at the ceiling for a moment. "You're views on the war there, they have changed, have they not?" he asked, once more regarding with an intensely that was meant to unnerve me and thus, ascertain the truth. This question left no doubt in my mind that he'd seen a copy of the paper I'd turned into Professor Lange. "Yes, they have." "You volunteered to fight in your Army," he stated in a most accusatory manner, leaning forward to emphasis his point. "Most veterans who return from those wars seem to have negative opinion of the Afghani and Iraqi people, their culture and the political realities they must deal with. How is it your views are so different?" It took all my strength to suppress the smirk I felt coming on. I was ready for this one. For only the second time that night I broke with my habit of avoiding eye contact with the good doctor and instead, gazed into his eyes, narrowing them ever so slightly in an effort to demonstrate the conviction I felt as I spoke. "When I was a soldier, I saw the world through the eyes of a soldier and did my duty in a manner that was expected of a soldier. To have done otherwise would have been wrong. I am now a student. If I am to be a good one, if I am to benefit from the knowledge and wisdom of my teachers, I must open my mind to new ideas, new experiences and new ways of looking at the world around me. That is one of the reasons I accepted your kind invitation to come here tonight, Dr. Khalje. I saw this as an opportunity to learn something about your homeland, perhaps even find a way of understanding its people and their customs in a way that I did not have an opportunity to do so before. I want to learn everything I can about the people I'd once thought were my enemies. What better way," I added shyly while averting my eyes in a more appropriate manner, "than to avail myself of the opportunity to take advantage of all that someone such as yourself has to offer." At first, I could not tell just how much Khalje was reading into my little speech. I'd intentionally framed it in such a manner that it opened all sorts of doors, none of which I was particularly thrilled about venturing through. Eventually, a self-satisfied smile began to tug at the corners of his lips. "Just how eager are you to learn, I mean really learn about my people and their traditions? Are you willing to open yourself to experiencing the traditions and culture that make the Afghani people unique?" The expression on Khalje's face, and the suggestive manner with which he spoke left no doubt as to what he was asking. Of course, I couldn't let on that I knew this. I needed to maintain my na?ve little school girl act. So I forced myself to respond by giving him a broad, inviting smile. "I would love nothing better." Then for added effect, I bowed my head. "I hope that you will find me to be a most attentive and willing pupil." > There was no need to hurry home. There'd be plenty of time later for the old nightmares that patiently waited there to mingle and merge with the new one I'd be bringing to bed with me tonight. First, I needed to clear my head, a feat which promised to be quite a challenge. Clutching the book Dr. Khalje had given me tightly against my chest, I made my way slowly toward Park Avenue, doing my best as I shuffled along to sort through the events of the evening. To say that I was confused would have been an understatement of the first magnitude. My emotions were all over the place, making it impossible to focus on any of the myriad of problems I now found myself having to deal with for very long. That I'd succeeded in accomplishing exactly what I'd set out to do was without question. But now what? Did I simply wait for the good doctor to make the next move? Or did I somehow make it known that I was eager to become part of his little circle? Having seen the manner with which Megan had been treated, that thought caused me to shiver, for I suspected the role he had in mind for me would be no less demeaning, one that would have nothing to do with the kitchen. And then there was Megan. What would I do about her? I knew I couldn't very well ignore her. She was, after all, one of Khalje's chosen. Her seduction of me was ample proof of that. Like Professor Lange, Megan was, in all likelihood, a gatekeeper, sent by either Lange or Khalje himself to sound me out. I suspected that her true role in Khalje's little covey involved more than kitchen duties. While avoiding her in class would be relative easy, doing so when participating in Khalje's little gatherings would be impossible. Until I found out for sure where she fit in and what her true purpose was in life, I had to be careful, very careful for her actions and conduct left no doubt in my mind that she was absolutely dedicated to whatever it was Khalje was up to. Yet, it was equally clear that she had feelings for me. Either that, or she was one damned fine actress who really knew how to stay in character. Once on Park my feet turned right, carrying my troubled soul southward along the broad avenue. I had no intention of walking all seventy plus blocks. Eventually, I knew I'd grow tired and take the subway back to my apartment where my little friends were patiently waiting to help me cast all my troubles aside, if only for awhile. Oblivious to the world around me, I was taken aback when the door of a taxi that had pulled up to the curb just ahead of me flew open and a familiar voice from inside called out. "Jordan, get in." It took me but a moment to recover my wits and comply. After directing the driver to go to 1626 2nd Avenue, Aaron settled back in his seat and turned toward me. Unable to face him, or anyone else for that matter, I curled up in my corner of the cab's backseat and took to intently studying the book I held on my lap. I guess Aaron knew better than to speak, for he said nothing during the short drive to a coffee house called DT-UT. There he shepherded me through the late night crowd and over to a cozy little corner in the back room where I took a seat on a small sofa while he went off to fetch our coffees without ever asking me how I took mine. No doubt, I chucked cynically to myself as I watched him go, that was another one of those little aspects of my life that the FBI and CIA had recorded and neatly filed away for moments like this. When he returned he was carrying a small tray with our coffees, a chocolate brownie and two forks nestled on the plate next to it. Unable to help myself, I set aside the book Khalje had given me and sat up. "Coffee would have been fine," I muttered as I took the cup Aaron offered me. After taking his seat, Aaron used one of the forks to break off a chuck of the brownie before spearing it and bringing it up before my face. "I know. I just thought you could use a little cheering up." Pulling away from the tempting morsel hovering before me, I glanced over at him out of the corner of my eye. "I might not be the brightest bulb in the box, but I know a bribe when I see it." "Oh, this is no bribe" he replied betraying a hint of a smile. "Since Congress has tied our hands, the Company has had to find more innovative and ingenious methods of torture used to extract information from tight lipped subjects. We call this one chocolate coercion." Unable to help myself, I grinned. "Has it proven to be successful?" "It very much depends on the subject. Why don't you give it a whirl and see." Drawn in by his boyish charm and engaging smile, I set aside the confusion and despair my visit to Khalje's had engendered and instead, focused on enjoying the distraction Aaron's antics afforded me. Closing my eyes, I leaned forward, opening my mouth as I did so. Ever so gently, Aaron laid piece of brownie on my tongue, holding it steady as I closed my lips about the fork and drew back, making a great show of swirling the chocolaty delight in my mouth while softly murmuring. When I opened my eyes, I could tell that my performance was having a noticeable effect upon Aaron, for he sat there, still holding the spoon aloft, fluster and staring at me slack jawed. With as much poise as I could, I swallowed before tilting my head ever so slightly and giving him a wicked little smile. "I think it's working. Here," I whispered as took up my fork, cut off a chunk of brownie and raised it to his lips. Mesmerized, Aaron's eyes never left mine as he accepted my offering. Like so many other things as of late, what had started as little more than a lark was turning into something entirely different. > It proved to be far more difficult for both Aaron and I to pull back from where we'd been headed than I was comfortable with and turn our attention, instead, to the real reason he'd scooped me up off the street. As eager as he was to find out what, exactly had gone on earlier that evening, I was equally impatient to ask him a few things. When it came my turn to turn the tables and interrogate him, the first subject concerned Megan. "You knew about her, didn't you? You knew she was part of this." Without batting an eye, Aaron nodded. "Yes, we did." "And yet you let me . . ." I was about to say sleep with her, but I managed to catch my tongue just in time. That, of course, proved to be in vain. Aaron gave me a knowing glance as he took a sip of coffee. "Jordan, I know you, ah . . . I mean, we know about last night. It isn't the first time she's done that with someone Khalje was interested in." "You could have warned me." "Had I done so, what would you have done?" Aaron countered without missing a beat. "I'd have been more careful." "I know, which is why I didn't say a thing to you. Remember what I told you in the beginning, Jordan? It's just as dangerous for someone in your position to be too prepared and too smart as it is to go into a situation like this fast, blind and dumb." He was right, of course. I knew he was. Still, I wasn't quite ready to completely forgive him. As I took a sip of my coffee, I regarded him out of the corner of my eye. "Tell me, how did you know? I mean, do you have my place bugged?" Aaron chuckled. "It's more rudimentary than that. I'm not sure if I should tell you this, but I bribed the doormen at your building to keep tabs on you." "Isn't that a little dangerous? I mean, suppose someone working for Khalje is doing the same thing and finds about you?" "Oh ye of little faith. Don't you think I have a nifty little cover story to take care of that little detail?" I couldn't help but snicker. "This ought to be good. Go on." Before answering, Aaron looked away. At first I thought he was weighting whether or not he was authorized to share that secret with me. Like so many other assumptions, that explanation proved to be as wrong as it could be. Unable to look me in the eye as his enflamed ears and crimson cheeks betrayed an acute case of embarrassment, Aaron explained that he'd told the doormen that he suspected that I was cheating on him, that he wanted to keep track of who I was seeing for personal reasons. The implication of his little ruse caused me to avert my eyes and blush as I found myself unable to respond with anything more than simple, "Oh." It also raised all sort of other uncomfortable questions, none of which I was particularly prepared to pursue at the moment but suspected might, just might, become a problem further down the line. Ending the evening on that note, Aaron accompanied me back to my building where we once more found ourselves facing a rather awkward moment as he prepared to say goodnight. As he had done before, Aaron shoved his hands deep into his pockets as he slowly stepped away from me with bowed head, muttering as he did so that he'd be in touch with me in a few days. And once more I found myself standing there, watching him disappear in the distance, wondering why I felt so utterly let down. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Hi, On a project such as this, feedback is important, otherwise folks like us aren't sure if we're wasting our time. If you're following the story and would like to see it go on, let me know. It would be most appreciated. Enjoy!