Just one more time, she told herself.

Only one more time.

But she already knew that there would be other times.

That she would never overcome this desire inside her that told her to do it again. And again. And again.

Time after time.

Ain't it just like one of us to pick up the phone and call after a couple drinks,
And say: "How you been? I been wonderin' if maybe you've been thinkin' 'bout me."

Nobody knew that she had his phone number.

But he had given it to her the first time she had committed such a crime, and that is how she thought of it, as a crime. She should return him to the Centre, needed to return him to the Centre, not be making love to him or whatever it was they were doing.

When he had handed his number to her, she had been certain that she would never call him.

Then she had had a bad day at the Centre and had felt the urge to talk to him.

She had told herself that they would only talk.

And somewhere in the conversation, an old familiar invitation always arrives.

And then she had felt that he wanted more and she couldn't deny that she also had felt an urge inside her. And so they had met again.

And I may hate myself in the morning, but I'm gonna love you tonight.

And they had done it again.

A few weeks had passed and she had truly believed that it had just been a lapse in judgement.

And then he had called her. They had met. The rest was history.

And from that moment on, she had known that she was addicted to him.

Everyone's known someone that they just can't help but want;

She couldn't help herself.

Everyone makes mistakes. Maybe this was her one.

Or maybe fate just loved to play its cruel games with them.

And even though we just can't make it work out, well the want-to lingers on.

Despite the fact that they both had always known that they could never really be together and have a normal relationship, they had decided that these meetings were better than nothing.

So once again we wind up in each other's arms, pretending that it's right,

Maybe he was a pretender, and she understood perfectly that even he had problems with this kind of arrangement. It wasn't right. He should run and she should chase … She was the hunter and he was the hunted. That was how it was supposed to be, wasn't it?

And I may hate myself in the morning, but I'm gonna love you tonight.

All their doubts couldn't keep them from doing it again.

I know it's wrong, but it ain't easy moving on.

Every time they met, at least one of them told the other one that they really should stop and get a real life. And the other one agreed every time. And then they brought it to and end. Well, kinda …

So why can't two friends remember the good times once again?

They sometimes tried to tell themselves that it didn't mean anything… when it meant everything.

Tomorrow when I wake up, I'll be feeling a little guilty, an' a little sad,

The first few times, she had left his flat before he had woken up.

Then they had decided that he should leave her in the middle of the night when he came to visit her. She was supposed to be chasing him after all, best he left before Sydney or anyone else could find him lying next to her in her bed.

But more and more often, they hadn't been able to keep their promises.

Thinkin' how it used to be before everything went bad.

They missed their childhood when everything had seemed easier.

And I guess that's what it is, in lonely late night calls like this, that we try to find;

Their lives were messed up and they we're both searching for the truth.

Maybe they could help each other by just being there from time to time.

And I may hate myself in the morning, but I'm gonna love you tonight.

Maybe it was forbidden. And maybe it was dangerous.

I may hate myself in the morning, but I'm gonna love you tonight.

But it was all they had …


P.S. There won't be a sequel. The song belongs to Lee Ann Womack.