LOVE AT FIRST DATE

Chapter 4: His Discovery

Michelle rummaged through her purse, moving its contents back and forth and side to side. She could've sworn she had a small tester bottle of body lotion in there, along with every other beauty product sample that had ever been foisted upon her in the cosmetic or fragrance department of a store. She clearly remembered that the bottle was small and cylindrical and pink and ... darn.

She moved from the living room area over to the table where they'd had breakfast earlier and turned the purse upside down. Pausing to tighten the thick white towel a little more snuggly around her body, she dove in and began sifting through the wide array of contents. Directly on top of the heap were the condoms she had buried in her purse the night before. As she rolled her eyes in a full circle, she caught a peripheral flash of color down on the carpet, to her left. Stooping in, she spied a yellow M&M situated a few inches away from Tony's chair and picked it up.

Michelle hadn't seen any hard evidence of the M&M's, like a bag or a container on the countertops when she had pulled the kitchen together. Nor had she witnessed Tony actually consuming any. But she remembered detecting the distinct aroma of chocolate when he'd kissed her before she had sent him off to the shower. Staring down now at the yellow M&M in her palm, she knew this could only mean one thing: that he must have an economy-sized bag — or four — safely hidden away somewhere, as all men and canines tended to do with their favorite treats out of some kind of natural, animalistic survival instinct.

She winced at the thought of the excruciatingly tedious, tiresome, hideous male ritual she knew he would undoubtedly put her through later, most likely just as they were gearing up to watch The Guns of Navarone this evening. She knew precisely how the ritual would play out. Every woman on the planet was only too painfully familiar with the ritual. It would require the ultimate in timing, cunning, and stealth on his part, the ultimate in patience on hers.

Tony would begin by surreptitiously glancing at her a number of times until he was certain that her mind was preoccupied with the lame assignment he will have given her — changing the batteries in the remote control, no doubt, as that seemed to be the ruse preferred by most men. Only then would he swiftly make his move to retrieve the bag as Michellepretended not to notice the precise location of his secret stash.

After situating himself comfortably on the couch and reclaiming custody of the remote, Tony would then be obligated to taunt her with the M&M's, whether he was even in the mood to or not. Taunting was a mandatory part of the ritual, which no man would dare consider dispensing with for fear of angering the testosterone gods. So after hoarding them for the first couple of minutes, he would hold the bag out to her, as though intending to generously offer her some, only to immediately snatch them back and laugh heartily at how pathetically easy it was to dupe so gullible a creature as she. Next, he would feign a sincere apology and begrudgingly hold the bag out to her again, only to promptly snatch it away a second time — born sucker that she unfortunately was, on top of it all.

In the next round, Tony would bargain like a seasoned teamster negotiator to exchange x-amount of M&M's for a specified sexual favor, to which Michelle would respond with "the look" that assured him hell would be freezing over first. The ensuing 30-to-45-second sulking period would then be followed by yet another round of various extortion and bribery attempts on his part, but for a more reasonable sexual favor this time; likely one that was even legal in the United States.

Eventually, after she had generously allowed him enough time to have his fun, Michelle would swiftly bring it all to an end by sweetly asking for just a few — but only the colors he had never really ever been particularly fond of — and end her request on the word "dear." And he would overflow her hands with M&M's before realizing what he had done. But he wouldn't kick himself afterwards for having given up so many. Tony had already given up his heart to her, Michelle knew, though she wasn't quite sure if he knew it himself. Granted, he hadn't yet verbalized those three deal-sealing I-love-you words, but he had said them to her a hundred times over in the other language that humans use; the one that doesn't require any words.

In fact, the only concern Michelle had at this point was that Tony might become spooked by how rapidly their feelings and relationship had advanced over such a short period of time. He was probably, and deservedly, a little more gun-shy and untrusting than the average man, she figured, after the extraordinary and devastating way in which his last significant relationship had come to a mind-blowing halt. So it was conceivable that, come Monday, he might suddenly and dramatically start backing away once his heart and head had settled into the routine of everyday life again. She didn't think it was very likely, but it was the one outstanding disaster scenario that she couldn't completely discount at this point in time.

"Michelle! Quit snooping and come back in here!" she heard him call out from the bathroom. "I'm only shaving for you, y'know!"

"I'm not snooping! I'm looking for something in my purse!" she called back to him.

"Uh-huh," he responded, figuring she was either on her hands and knees rifling through his CD's by now, or busily hacking into his email.

As Michelle hurriedly sifted through the contents strewn across the table, she thought briefly about the other option available to her this evening: blindsiding him with a courteous "No, thanks" the first time he held out the M&M's bag to her. But that would be cruel and might ruin his entire evening, she quickly reconsidered. Besides, she'd already sucker-punched the poor rookie enough for one day. Maybe, just for him, she would simply go along with the ridiculous ritual like the good little gullible dupe she was quite naturally born to be.

"You look pretty in white," Tony smiled, glancing at her reflection in the mirror as she breezed past him from behind and perched herself on the rim of the tub.

"You, too," she smiled up at him sweetly. She was referring to the matching white towel wrapped around his waist, but with her eyes focused instead on all the various muscles moving around in his arms and back as he slathered the color-coordinated white shaving cream over his coarsely bearded face and neck.

He ran the razor under the hot water streaming into the sink, watching out from the corner of his eye as she gracefully crossed her slender legs and squeezed a dollop of lotion into her palm.

"Did you have enough time to get through all my baby pictures, or just most of them," he casually asked, reaching to adjust the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet to get a better view of her legs.

"No one's interested in pictures of an infant with a five-o'clock shadow, dear," Michelle assured him.

"Ah, so you were snooping," he grinned, noticing that her eyelids looked as though they were about five minutes away from closing up shop.

"Is that a pain to have to do every single morning," she asked as she watched his razor glide smoothly through the thick shaving cream on his cheek.

"No more so than that, I would think," he replied, referring to the steadfast job she was doing of working the lotion deep into the skin of her silky leg. "Besides," he added, "I don't mind. It's a good time to get some thinking done."

"About?"

"You know... the big stuff," he elusively replied.

"Such as?" she asked with a confident smile, convinced that she was probably sitting pretty high up on his list of "the big stuff" right about now.

He grinned into the mirror again, deliberately holding her in suspense as he blazed another smooth trail through the shaving cream.

"What's so funny," she had to know. "Tell me."

But he remained silent for a few moments longer, allowing her curiosity to build as he took his time slowly rinsing the head of his razor under the running water. Her snoopiness, which he had noticed pretty much from her first day on the job, was something that had always charmed and amused him.

"Tell me, honey!" Michelle insisted, tortured by the wait. But he continued to let her hang, instead, watching her reflection in the mirror as her curiosity intensified with each passing nanosecond he didn't respond. Something inside her had an insatiable need to know what was going on around her at all times. It was probably a big part of what made her so good at her job, Tony had always thought.

But he didn't want to think about their jobs right now. Thoughts of Monday gave him a queasy, uneasy feeling inside. Monday morning would lead to Monday night, which represented a moment of truth for him. Although they hadn't even slept a single night together as yet, he was already fretting over the possibility of finding himself alone in bed on Monday night. He feared that she might think things were moving too rapidly and want to put the brakes on a bit; that she may ultimately decide to spend the evening out with a bunch of girlfriends, instead of at home with him. Or worse, that she might not even be experiencing the same emotions, with the same fierce intensity, that he was. From the moment he had first kissed her — or she had kissed him — he knew that if he ever got to make love to her, there would be no turning back for him. He also knew he'd be devastated if, for whatever reason, things didn't work out between them.

"Home." He liked the sound of that word. His apartment had never felt like a home before; not with Nina or anyone else he'd ever spent significant time with there. But it felt like a home with Michelle, he thought, glancing at her reflection again as she smoothed the lotion over her ankle. It felt like she belonged there.

She looked up and caught him watching her through the mirror, noticing that same warm gaze she had seen in his eyes from across the breakfast table.

"Tell me," she nudged him again.

"I don't have to tell you everything," he smiled coyly, enjoying the feature film that played out on her face whenever she would fail to procure an answer from him.

"You're thinking about me," she confidently stated as though it were a fait accompli, hoping to bait him into either confirming or denying, which would then give her a better handle on what was flowing through his mind.

"I already told you that," he wholeheartedly agreed, much to her chagrin. "I told you I was thinking about how pretty you looked in white."

"Okay, fine," she sighed, disappointed. "Don't tell me... I didn't really want to know anyway. I was just being polite... How a person looks in white doesn't even qualify as important, so I know you're not telling me the truth anyway."

Tony chuckled to himself, amused not only by her frustration at not being able to read minds, but by the irony of her statement: Michelle, of all people, complaining about not receiving a square answer to a clearly articulated question was as rich as it possibly got.

"Somebody's getting cranky," he said in soft, sing-songy voice, leaning in a little closer to the mirror before attempting to take the tighter turns just under his nostrils. He used to be able to see that area crystal-clearly and thought for a moment about how dangerously close he suddenly was to turning forty, one of these years in the not- so-distant future. He remembered how he'd had to squint to see the last line on the eye chart during his annual physical a few months back, and wondered what it would be like in the field having to wear glasses — or not having glasses if, in fact, he actually needed them to help ensure his safety out there.

Michelle snapped the lid shut on the lotion bottle and decided to try a new tactic, this time gliding up from behind and leaning herself against him, white towel to white towel. She softly slid her arms around his waist, feeling him shudder from the ticklish sensation when she brushed her lips against his bare back. After a few more tender kisses, she rested her cheek against him. The hollow scraping of his razor resonating though his body tempted her to close her eyes and listen. But she didn't dare. The soothing, rhythmic sound would put her to sleep on her feet in matter of seconds.

"C'mon," she coaxed him sweetly, moving the palms of her hands in soft circles around his stomach and chest. "Why can't you just tell me?"

"I did, baby," he said softly, flinching again from the ticklish sensation, this time from her damp curls softly shifting against his skin every time a muscle would move in his back.

Michelle sighed. She was getting nowhere.

"Fine, fine. Don't tell me then," she sulked, unhooking her arms from around him and moving slowly, with high drama, down to the other end of the counter.

She submerged her hand in the soapy water he had filled the sink with, trying to assume a despondent expression in the hopes of inspiring guilt in him. But all she could elicit was a warm smile, which only drove her crazier, so she finally decided to give up entirely. She felt around the inside of the sink for the panties soaking beneath the dissipated bubbles. Coming up empty, she canvassed the countertop, then glanced down at the floor, then back around the countertop again. Tony kept a peripheral eye on her, struggling to maintain a straight face while he waited for her to eventually turn toward him with a suspicious frown. She didn't disappoint.

"Where are my panties?" she asked.

"I don't know. Look around," he replied nonchalantly, rinsing the foam from the razor's head. "Did ya check the sink?"

"Yeah, I checked the sink. They're not in there."

"Well... I wouldn't worry. They'll turn up, I'm sure."

"Almeida."

"What."

"Don't 'what' me. I want those panties."

"People want a lot of things in life, sweetheart. I want a Maserati, but you don't see me wheeling one around the bathroom, now, do ya."

"They're the only pair I have here," she sternly reminded him. "I didn't exactly pack a steamer trunk to go out last night."

"Well ... maybe you'll pack a little more carefully next time," he goaded her.

"I'm never seeing those panties again, am I? They were part of a matching set, you know."

"You'll see them. I sent them out to be framed."

Michelle drew in a deep breath, her weariness clearly beginning to get the better of her sense of humor.

"How would you feel if some woman stole your one and only pair of boxers, huh?"

"Like a million bucks," he replied matter-of-factly, pausing from skimming the razor up his neck to pat the countertop with his fingertips a few times, motioning her to sit beside him. "C'mere... Talk to me for a second."

"About what," she said with her arms crossed and a detectable challenge in her voice.

"I want to explain to you how badly you lose your edge when you're tired," he answered, softly and casually.

"What are you talking about?" she replied a bit defensively, though more curious to know what example, if any, he was specifically referring to. "What makes you say I lose my edge? When did I ever lose it? I never lose my edge. Not in any situation, under any amount of pressure, have you ever seen me lose my edge."

Tony decided not to bring up her crying jag in the hallway last week, partly because it wasn't hard to see how tired and cranky she was becoming, and partly because it had been one of the most thrilling moments of his life. Every time he recalled the way she had thrown caution to the wind and bravely pushed her lips up hard and passionately against his, he would immediately find himself in a compromised state, having to frantically shift his mind onto other thoughts, like baseball, instead.

"Wanna see me prove it to you?" he said, cupping his hands under the faucet and leaning in to splash the remains of the shaving cream from his face. "Sit up here. I'll show you."

He had her attention. She didn't rush over, however, preferring to keep him hanging, as he had done her. She took her time sauntering over, shimmying up onto the counter, and assuming a defensive posture, with arms and legs crossed, all the while assuring herself of how thoroughly open she was to fairly and objectively reviewing and evaluating any evidence he may wish to present.

"You know they have to be in the apartment somewhere, right?" he warmly reminded her so as not to crush her too badly. He paused from rinsing his face long enough to open the medicine cabinet and pull out a box of band-aids. Placing it in her hand, he repositioned the mirrored door and stooped back in to splash some water around his neck.

"Oh, my God..." she gasped as the horrible reality suddenly set in.

"You just missed your golden opportunity to—"

"Oh, my God..."

"...to snoop through every drawer and closet of every room in the apartment looking for them," he broke it to her as gently as he could. "Legitimately, too" he was forced to add upon realizing that he simply didn't possess the self-discipline to pass up the opportunity to rub it in.

"Oh, my God," she repeated, realizing the full gravity of her error. She was furious that she'd actually allowed herself to commit such a rookie blunder.

"I may have to keep my eye on you a little more closely next time we pull an all-nighter," he needled her a little more, then decided he should probably stop teasing her altogether. From the sickly expression on her face, he was afraid she might go for the silver box and gulp down an anti-nausea pill.

He reached into the medicine cabinet again and produced a bottle of aftershave lotion with only a scant amount of liquid remaining at the bottom. It had been fun, but he didn't have the heart to leave her lingering in that state.

"Wanna get me another bottle of this?" he asked rhetorically. "Bathroom down the hall, second door on the right. Check the shelves behind the louver door. I think that's where..."

She was gone.

Tony knew Mrs. Sanchez didn't keep the aftershave down the hall, but it was clear that Michelle needed a fix. He would give her a couple of minutes to rummage around the shelves. If nothing else, it would brighten her mood. He was looking forward to kissing her to sleep a few minutes from now; not receiving a brooding lecture, instead, about how mean, heartless, and typically male he was.

"Do you see it?" he called out to her, moving down to the medicine cabinet at the other end of the counter where he knew he would find a full bottle. He paused first to release some of the cold water from the sink and replace it with hot water from the tap, adding another shot of the hand soap he'd poured in earlier. Pulling the panties the rest of the way out of the bandaid box, he gave them a quick kiss before plunging them beneath the bubbly water, smiling at the memory of how incredibly sexy Michelle had looked in them. He felt a familiar clutch in his gut and quickly chased the image away, wondering how he was going to manage to keep such thoughts out of his head once he was back at work again.

Down the hall Michelle had gotten her second wind and was having a veritable field day opening bottles and smelling them with the grace and speed of a gazelle. She busily identifyed which scents matched the ones she smelled on his skin and clothing every day, and scanned for old-girlfriend products, which always seemed to linger on men's shelves twice as long as the relationship had even lasted. She was mildly disappointed that she didn't turn up single item. Not even an old bottle of nail polish remover, or a bobby pin, or even a stray lipstick cap. Little did she know how diligently Mrs. Sanchez had slaved to remove every last shred of evidence that Nina Myers had ever existed. Even if Tony hadn't ordered her to do so, she would've taken the task upon herself. Mrs. Sanchez, with four sons of her own, had a maternal instinct that yearned to strangle Nina with her bare hands for the shape she had left Tony in.

"C'mon, baby, I need it," Michelle heard him call out to her again.

She had successfully scoured the entire medicine cabinet over the sink; the two drawers of the basin cabinet; plus, the relatively empty cabinet underneath. She now worked hastily, with experience and skill, to pick her way through the remaining three-deep rows of products on the last unchecked shelf behind the louver door.

"I don't see it, dear!" she called back, generously offering to check another room for him, but with no response. Perhaps she shouldn't push her luck, she thought, and hurried back up the hallway.

She stopped short immediately upon reentering the bathroom. Expecting him to be stowing his shaving implements away, she found him instead parked up against the tile wall directly across from the open door of the othe medicine cabinet. His arms were folded across his chest, with one bent just enough to allow his fingertips to claw away at the side of his freshly shaven cheek.

"Oh," she said.

He turned his head toward her, but didn't look anywhere near as stunned as Michelle had anticipated. His brow was fixed in more of a frown than a wild-eyed stare, and not an ounce of color had drained from his face.

"Yeah, I was going to get around to bringing that up soon," she added unemotionally and matter-of-factly, leaning herself against the sink counter directly across from him. It was at that moment she realized that she had jammed the tampons in right alongside the box of condoms. Shrewd planning, she admonished herself. Poor Tony. As if the box of condoms alone hadn't been enough to send him reeling.

He had a pretty good idea of how and why it had happened. Once he had gotten past the sight of the tampon box, and the significance of the condom box had finally registered, a theory had instantly formulated in his head. It wouldn't excuse his irresponsible behavior. Although forgoing the use of protection hadn't been a conscious decision on his part, it had still been his ultimate responsibility, which he'd utterly failed to meet.

"That was my fault, honey," he was quick to assure her, with a deep sigh.

"No," she was quick to disagree. "I was there, too. It wasn't like I couldn't have said something."

"C'mere," he said, rubbing his eyes with one hand while extending the other out to her. He suddenly felt exhausted. Propelling himself away from the wall even to cross over a couple of steps and bring her back to his leaning perch suddenly felt like too monumental a task. The best he could do was stoop forward and catch her hand as she approached, then sling his arms loosely around her until she had jockeyed herself into a comfortable position.

"Good?" he checked, once she settled in with her cheek resting against his shoulder.

"Yeah," she said with something that sounded like half a perplexed sigh and half a weary yawn.

"You okay?" he asked, cranking his head in toward hers just enough to kiss her damp curls. He felt her return a kiss to his shoulder.

"Yeah, I guess... A little confused, of course. I don't know what we were thinking... or not thinking..."

"Yeah... I have a theory about all that..."

"Share it. Please. I'm at a total loss."

"Later," he said, rubbing her neck with his fingertips as his mind performed a quick review of the events of the night before.

"No, tell me now, dear. I want to hear it."

"Nah... later. I have to think about it some more," he said, wanting to first rid her of the fears he knew had to have crossed her mind. "Listen... you don't have to worry about anything, y'know," he said in a quiet, comforting voice. "I'm routinely tested... I know you know that. But I also passed a physical, no problem, just a couple of months ago. And I haven't been with any..."

He stopped himself there. He suddenly didn't feel comfortable referencing the past. He resented even having to think about prior relationships. He wanted only Michelle in his words and thoughts. Nobody else belonged in that room with them, he thought, feeling an odd sense of protectiveness toward her, and them as a couple. Even mere thoughts of people from their pasts felt like some kind of gross intrusion; a violation, on some strange level.

Some other time he would tell her about how he had gone a good deal longer than the scant months following his exam. At first, after the daughter of Satan was arrested and Teri's body had been found, Tony had lost all interest in becoming involved, on any kind of level, with another woman.

But Nina was no longer the reason he had only barely dated over the course of many past months: Michelle was. Since the day she had begun working for him, no other woman seemed as pretty or interesting or smart. No other woman smelled as nice, or made modest, subdued office clothes look so provocative. No one had curls sprouting out of their head from every angle, no matter which direction he gazed at them from.

"Anyway, there's nothing for you to worry about," he concluded, gently kissing her ear to punctuate his assurance. "And I'll go get checked out again, if you want me to... Okay?"

Michelle returned the kiss to his shoulder and assured him that it wouldn't be necessary. But his unhesitating willingness to be completely open and honest with her, even about his months-long barren sex life, had oddly compelled her to want to come clean with him about something herself.

"As long as we're getting stuff out of the way here... I, umm... Well, I sort of already knew about... y'know, about your test result... about it being negative, and stuff," she admitted sheepishly into his shoulder, so low that he had to lean in a bit to discern her words. "I always know which day the clinic releases them—with McPherson doing, y'know, that stupid victory dance every time..."

"Uh-huh," Tony listened quietly, like a father confessor hearing a penitent parishioner's sins. Only unlike a pious man of the cloth, he was having trouble suppressing the chuckle that was fighting to free itself from his throat.

"And so... But I didn't hack into your file, or do anything, y'know, unforgivable like that," Michelle was quick to get down on the record.

"Or criminal," Tony was tempted to add, but opted to just quietly listen instead. Michelle was demonstrating great bravery, he thought, fessing up to such an embarrassing truth. He felt proud of her and didn't want to break her momentum, so he allowed himself only a small smile, which she couldn't even see, and gently stroked her hair, encouraging her to continue. He also reminded himself to remind himself of how truly brilliant he was to have kept his ingenious Plan-B protocol operational, noting the wholly unanticipated trickle-down effect it was now producing: Michelle was in the process of spilling her guts without even having been asked a question. He never thought he would live to see the day.

"I just sort of... umm... well, happened across the information, I guess you could say," she admitted with technical accuracy and immense difficulty, feeling herself blushing profusely as she recalled shamelessly picking through his wastepaper basket and stuffing the torn test result into the top of her pantyhose. She was glad that her face was turned away from him; especially after hearing his response.

"It took ya long enough, too," he said in a warm whisper, close to her ear. "I was beginning to think that maybe I'd buried it a little too deep in the trash can."

Her body stiffened in his arms, instantly sending the corners of his mouth arching into an uncontrollable, involuntarily grin. With one hand continuing to rub her back through the thick white towel, he eased his other hand down and lightly patted her butt a few times to both remind her of his earlier vow to return someday and pulverize her, and to generously comfort her in her moment of stunning defeat.

Michelle grimaced. She was hard-pressed to even accuse him of sneakiness under the circumstances. He had pulled off a velvety- smooth double whammy: first by setting her up to snoop; secondly, by orchestrating a foolproof way to preclude her from turning the tables on him and indignantly crying foul play. She'd never even seen it coming, either, which concerned her. Was she getting rusty and complacent, or was he a tad more keen and crafty an opponent than she'd originally sized him up to be.

She lifted her head and begrudgingly threw him the obligatory concession glance. But only long enough to award him the briefest of all possible moments in the sun before returning her cheek to its original place of rest, wincing from that proud, smug grin on his face. Perhaps he had just gotten lucky. She would keep her eye on him and reevaluate his standing in a week or so. Possibly even consult Danny on the matter.

"That said," she moved onward abruptly, with a distinct brooding in her voice that made him chuckle to himself even harder. "I can feel you laughing, y'know," she announced, this time clearly miffed, which nearly made him lose it entirely. Victory could just be so sweet sometimes.

"I'm sorry, baby," he said in as serious and controlled a manner as he could pull together right there on the spot, simultaneously sneaking a hand up to wipe a tear away from his eye. It took her a minute of brooding before she could get herself started again.

"I was thinking that this would be a good time to get my own, umm... activities on the record, as well... just so you can... y'know, know for certain... too ..."

It wasn't the most articulate thought Tony had ever heard flow from that razor-sharp mind of hers, but he knew what Michelle was struggling to get at. He'd never even bothered to devote a moment's thought to the possibility of having contracted something from her... of all people. The thought was preposterous to him, as she was probably the most conscientious person he'd ever met in his life. She would never allow herself to engage in unprotected sex in the first place, of this he was certain — despite her just having done so with him. And even if it ever were to happen, she would never allow a foreign entity, or even so much as the suspicion of one, to dwell within her system. She would have to run herself through the Mayo Clinic twice over before she could sleep at night again.

Besides, he didn't have to hire a clairvoyant to tell him that Michelle wasn't seeing anyone on a regular basis, or even doing much dating, if any. She either worked too late on the weekdays or would announce where she was off to that evening, just in the course of conversation. And on Monday mornings, when he would routinely ask how her weekend had gone, she would always inadvertently mention something that would lead him to conclude that a date had not been a part of it. What Tony couldn't figure out for the life of him, however, was why men weren't killing each other to get to her. The best he could reason was that the men she met were either too intimidated by her beauty; or feared they could never keep up with her intellectually; or wished they could date her, but were otherwise involved; or were just plain nuts.

"You don't have to reassure me of anything," he said gently, wishing to spare her any embarrassment, but also wishing to spare himself any more thoughts of Michelle in the arms of another man, which had suddenly leapt into his mind and was presently boring a hole in his gut.

"No, no..." she insisted, with her eyes still solidly glued to his shoulder. "It's only fair that you hear, directly from me, that you... y'know... don't have anything to be worried about either."

"I figured as much," he softly assured her.

That didn't come out quite right, he immediately realized, but opted to hold her a little snugger and kiss her hair again, in lieu of trying to reel his words back in. Past experience dictated that he'd only get himself even more tangled up if he embarked on a mission to repair his original statement. But he soon realized that his concerns were moot, since she didn't even seem to have caught his blunder.

"What are you thinking?" he asked. Her head lifted from his shoulder and turned to face him.

"Tell me about your theory," she said.

"Nah, later," he reiterated.

It had taken Tony by surprise how, of all people, a memory of his college buddy, Chris, had popped into his head when he'd opened that medicine cabinet door and realized what had occurred the night before. It was something Chris had said when they'd run into each other on a street somewhere downtown just a couple of years ago, which had suddenly made sense to Tony the instant he had zeroed in on that box of condoms sitting on the shelf. He really did want to think about it some more before sharing it with Michelle, since it had everything to do with how he felt about her, and where he knew their relationship was heading. Or at least where he hoped it was.

Besides, Michelle was clearly fading fast, Tony could tell, and he still had something else he wanted to talk to her about before they both eventually passed out for the next several hours. He glided his palms a final few times around her bare upper back and shoulders before taking her hand and easing away from the wall.

"C'mon," he said, turning in the direction of the door, then pausing to cross over to the sink to pull the lever on the drain.

"Where? To bed, you mean?... To sleep?" she asked incredulously, watching him use his free hand to firmly squeeze the soapy residue from the panties he'd retrieved from beneath the bubbles. "How am I gonna sleep knowing that you have a theory about this... this craziness we engaged in... which you won't even share with me?"

"I'm gonna, baby," he said in a soft, reassuring voice. "Just not right now."

She watched him twist the cold tap on and alternately open and close his fist beneath the stream of water, methodically rinsing the silky fabric, which looked so minuscule balled up in his hand. She could see he was collecting his thoughts and realized, much to her chagrin, that she was just going to have to learn to bite the bullet and corral her intense curiosity when he felt a matter required some more reflection. That was a good characteristic, she knew, but hated the thought of having to wait for God knew how long before hearing his take on this baffling incident.

"What are you thinking about?" Tony asked without even having to look at her, given how quiet she'd suddenly become.

On the heels of his refusal to share his theory, she was completely dumbstruck by his question.

"I am absolutely... absolutely not telling you," she stubbornly declared, prompting him to grin in amusement as he leaned into the tub to hang the panties from one of the handles on the wall.

"Fine," he said, facetiously mimicking her. "I didn't really want to know anyway. I was just being polite."

"Oh, you wanted to know, all right, mister," she challenged him. "I could clearly hear it in your voice. You were dying to know what I was thinking. And isn't that just a shame, too, because until you're ready to tell... Whoa!"

In a flash he had turned and crouched forward, scooping her over his shoulder, fireman-style.

"No, I really didn't want to know," he said, casually sauntering toward the door as she kicked and screeched with laughter. "All I wanted to do was dib."

"Dib?... What?... You want to do what?" she howled, pounding his lower back with her fist, which only succeeded in making him laugh, given the lack of force her delicate hand was capable of delivering.

"Dib," he grinned, reaching up under her towel and pinching her butt, causing her to squeal with laughter and kick even harder. Moments later she felt herself free-falling backwards onto the mattress. But before she could move, he was on top of her, pinning her down with the weight of his body and gently wrapping his hands around her wrists to prohibit her from landing any more of her girly punches.

"Wow, that's some defensive training ya picked up at Quantico," he sarcastically chuckled, mesmerized by the glow illuminating her face as tears of laughter trickled from the corners of her eyes.

He slid his tongue into her mouth, but neither of them could stop laughing long enough to engage in anything close to a serious kiss. He tried grinding himself against her, as long as he had her in a pinned position, but had to abandon that, as well. Her laughter was so contagious that all he could basically do was giggle like a schoolgirl against her lips until their laughter had finally tapered off enough to converse.

"I don't think I've ever been dibbed before," she commented, barely able to get the words out, with his lips schmushed up against her own. "Is that something sexual?"

"Dib," he repeated, removing his face from hers long enough to exaggerate the sound of every letter, as if trying to teach a new multi-syllabic word to a chimpanzee. "It's a longstanding Almeida tradition. You're gonna love it."

"I'm loving it already," she beamed, wiggled her hips beneath him in a feigned attempt to free herself, though with no intention or desire to do so. "Gee, with traditions like this, an Almeida family reunion must really be something to behold. Do they call the cops on you guys very often?"

He ignored her, releasing her wrists and sliding his arms under and around her. With one hand lifting her head from the mattress, he gently tilted her face, left and right, placing slow, soft kisses all around her creamy skin.

"We haven't even started to dib yet, y'know," he paused to inform her before tilting her head back to get at the incredibly baby-soft section directly beneath her chin.

She had no idea what "dib" stood for, but added it to her mental list of things she intended to pry out of him before she up and died of curiosity. In the meantime, she would just have to be content, she figured, with the sensation of his soft lips and warm breath bathing every inch of her face. Something inside instinctively assured her that she would somehow manage to muddle through.