"Then what were they?" said Franki. "Don't we deserve that much?"

He lowered his eyes to his hands, clenched on the tabletop. "Of course," he said quietly. "It's just so...difficult." That was certainly the truth.

Craig softly cleared his throat. "Maybe I should go."

Sloan nodded miserably. "Yeah. Thanks, Craig. Maybe you should." The trio remained silent as Craig pushed away from the table and stood.

He felt their watchful gaze as Craig stepped closer and leaned down to whisper in his ear, "Are you sure about this? This isn't exactly the scenario you had in mind."

The idea had been for him and Craig to mingle among the teeming mass of guests. They had planned to be seen doing things that might appear suspicious for a pair of heterosexual male friends. The hometown crowd would gossip, and eventually deduce that therein lay the reason for Sloan's defection.

They had planned on rumor and hearsay. They had not planned on an intimate evening and a grand announcement that would demand intricate lies and a dissection of a completely bogus relationship. But there was no going back now. If anything, the need for the lie was greater than ever.

"Yeah, I'm sure," he whispered back. "Just wait for me back at the room."

Craig nodded and placed a hand on Sloan's shoulder. It lingered there, just a little too long. Until at last he squeezed and let go. He straightened and after some pleasantries, excused himself from the hall.

No one said a word.

Bree watched the exchange closely.

Sloan had obviously found a good friend, and maybe that explained his change of heart.

Emotionally speaking, he had apparently found an outlet, a way to cope with his separation from his mother, his home and his friends. And, physically, he certainly hadn't suffered. When he had walked in, wearing that black, mandarin collar shirt and shimmering silver vest, with his slim-fitting trousers, black leather boots, and a diamond sparkling in his earlobe, she had immediately thought, Hello, Mr. Hollywood.

He looked slick and polished, just as her spy had warned her. In him she saw barely an echo of the man she remembered-the man who had cringed at the thought of wearing suits to the office every day, and loathed the image-conscious upper classes he had been forced to deal with in the years he had managed his father's business. At first glance he seemed to have forsaken everything he had once loved and believed in. She didn't think she knew him anymore. Except for the eyes. She knew those eyes.

His eyes were exactly the same as she remembered-the same blue intensity, the same mischievous twinkle. And when he'd looked at her his gaze had stirred things inside her that she had forgotten. Things she had believed to be long dead and forever lost.

The door swung closed behind Craig, and the Fearsome Foursome were alone at last.

"So?" she spat the word in an attempt to cover the vulnerability she was feeling.

Sloan picked up his rye and Coke and drank deeply. He set it down, and tiny rivulets of condensation trickled down its sides. "I left because I was confused about some things."

"What things?"

He raked clawed fingers through his hair and then scrubbed his hands down his face.

"Come on, Sloan. Enough with the drama. We've waited eight years to hear this. I think that's long

enough."

"Sabrina!" Troy's icy tone shivered over her skin. "Give him a break. Jesus. We drag him here under false pretenses, set him up for a big show, and then pull the rug out from under him." He took a deep

breath and shifted his eyes to Sloan. "Whatever he has to tell, it's obviously difficult for him. Let's at least let him do it in his own time."

"Thanks, Troy," murmured Sloan, and Sabrina felt suitably humiliated.

Sloan closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if he were gearing up for something, but then Troy's

soft whisper cut through the silence. "Does it have something to do with your partner?" Sloan's eyes flew open, and Bree's eyes riveted back on Troy. What the hell had he meant by that? He couldn't possibly... That just wasn't... Her mind stuttered at the possibilities.

"How... What makes you ask that?" Sloan's expression was verging on panic, and Bree knew that it was true.

Troy shrugged. "I just got some weird vibes ever since you two came in. And then when I thought about it... Well, it just made sense."

"Is that why you left?" asked Franki, her voice edged with disbelief. "Because you were...well..."

"Gay. The word is gay. You can say it, Franki. It's okay to say it." But even Sloan seemed to have

difficulty squeaking out the words, and the embarrassment that he seemed to be hiding tugged at her

heart. "So, you are?" asked Bree. "Is that what you're saying. And you left because you were afraid wewouldn't be able to accept it?"

He shook his head. "No. Like I said, I left because I was confused. I had started to figure out that something was wrong. Or it just wasn't right." He shook his head, and cast a furtive glance at Bree. "This has nothing to do with you, Bree. I need you to know that."

"I know," she said slowly. "But while we were together, you certainly never gave any indication that you were confused." She felt a smile tug at her lips and was strangely pleased to see him smile as well. "I loved you, and that made it easier. But after a while..." He shrugged again, obviously at a loss for words.

They waited.

"And then my mom left." He choked up a bit at the mention of his mother. "And I admitted to myself

how much I hated my work at Marquis." His eyes turned pleading. "All of a sudden I just got this horrible case of claustrophobia. I had to get out, and figure out what I was all about. You know...where I needed to go."

"But it was so sudden," said Franki. "You barely said goodbye."

"I'm sorry about that." He drained his glass. "I'm afraid I was pretty messed up."

"Yes." Bree nodded slowly. "I remember. For about a week before you left, all of a sudden you got real...I don't know...weird. You didn't show up at the office. In fact you hardly came out of the house. And the couple of times I did see you in that time you looked horrible. I remember thinking that you were fighting some weird flu bug, or insomnia or something."

"Insomnia's pretty close. I hardly slept that week. I felt better once Troy agreed to take over Marquis, but it wasn't enough. I finally figured out that I had to leave." His eyes swept over the group. "And I did. I'm sorry that my decision hurt you guys, but I'm afraid I was so wrapped up in me that I couldn't see anybody else. And then by the time I sorted out everything else, I kinda figured it was too late to try and mend fences again."

"So, it wasn't that you were afraid we'd judge you," asked Troy. "Because you know it wouldn't have mattered. It still doesn't."

"I do know that. But I still can't help feeling awkward."

"You and Craig seem like a good match." It was Franki's voice, and Bree was sure she detected a note of bitterness in it. And then Bree was surprised to realize she felt a twinge of jealousy at the mention of his...lover? She used to be his lover. God, how did one deal with something like this?

"Yeah. I guess." Sloan looked at his hands. "We're good friends, and we work well together."

"Next time I see him I'll tell him how you gushed over him. I'm sure it'll give him the warm fuzzies," said Bree wryly.

Sloan said nothing. He just kept staring at his hands, and Bree hated herself.

"All right!" exclaimed Franki. "I think the interrogation is over. The big question has been answered to my satisfaction, and I think it's time for some serious partying." She grabbed the remote and hit a button.

Amanda Marshall's unique diamond-in-the-rough voice washed out into the room, stealing over their senses with messages of unity and undying love.

Before Sloan knew what was happening Franki had dragged him out onto the dance floor, and plastered herself against him. His surprise soon melted into smiles, however, as Franki worked her hips against his, and worked up some of her usual cheerfulness. Sloan loved to dance and in no time he had lost himself in the music.

Troy moved over beside Bree. "So, what do you think?"

She kept her eyes on the duo that was swaying to the music, their bodies stuck together like peanut butter on pumpernickel. Sloan put Franki through her paces, with a gentle guiding hand in the small of her back and some subtle footwork that would have done Fred Astaire proud. It didn't take much for Bree to recall that soft, but insistent pressure that could somehow transform her usual Jerry Lewis shuffle to a Ginger Rogers glide. She hadn't danced with anyone since him. Not even at her own wedding. "I don't know," she said softly. "I think he's been awfully hard on himself. And us, I guess. You know, making it more difficult than it has to be." She chuckled. "But maybe Franki can loosen him up again."

"And how do you feel about all this?"

Her head snapped around. "What do you mean? Maybe I don't hate him as much as I thought I did, but this doesn't change anything as far as I'm concerned." "Maybe not as far as your plans for him, but can you deny that you still have feelings for him? You don't hate him, Bree. And no matter what you've been telling yourself, you never did." She set her jaw and turned away, refusing to answer. "Come on, I know how intense you guys were." "We must have broken up a half a dozen times." "Yeah. But every time you got back together..." He shook his head. "Holy shit! You could see the fireworks clear on the other side of the bay." "You know the trouble with fireworks, Troy?" She kept watching Franki's pointless flirting with her old friend. "They may be bright and beautiful, but they're all flash and no substance. They're over so quick.

And then all you're left with are empty casings and the smell of gunpowder."

"Maybe," he said, thoughtfully. "But it seems to me that you tried substance. You found someone

steadfast and reliable, and look where that got you." "Mmm." She preferred not to think about the wreckage of her failed marriage. There had been times when she'd blamed Sloan for that, but in her saner moments she admitted it was no one's fault but her own. Troy sighed. "It's just so hard to believe that he was questioning his sexuality back then. I mean, he was so intense about it. About everything. "

"Maybe it was all a cover. Or maybe he didn't really know what was wrong, and he was searching. He was always sort of...restless." "Yeah. Maybe all those stunts of his were his way of compensating...looking for a solution." Troy leaned in and whispered over the music. "So, speaking of stunts, when are you going to drop the bomb?" "Later. I want to see if he'll take a walk with me. This has to be handled very...delicately." Troy snorted. "You can handle it any way you want, I still think you're nuts. He may have pulled his share of stunts when we were kids, but there's no way he'll go for this." "We'll see about that," said Bree as the music shifted into a pounding Bon Jovi hit, and Troy dragged her out onto the floor for a few spastic steps with Sloan and Franki. We'll just see.

Chapter Seven.

Troy leaned back in his chair and reached up to loosen his tie, only to realize belatedly that it was already lying on the table in front of him. Not terribly concerned by his mental lapse, he opened wide and yawned before slugging back what remained of his vodka martini.

"Gee, Troy," said Bree from her position behind Sloan. She'd been massaging his shoulders for the past few minutes and Troy wondered if she was aware of how natural they looked together. And then he wondered if Sloan was aware of it. "You better slow down. You and Sloan are already a notch past wasted."

Sloan frowned. "Wasted? We're not wasted. We're just pleasantly..." Sloan gazed at Troy through bloodshot eyes. "What are we, exactly?"

"Twitterpated."

Franki laughed. "Where on Earth did you come up with that?"

"It's a word," said Troy seriously. "I know I've heard it before."

"It's from Bambi!" Sloan was barely restraining his giggles. "I think it's when the animals are all getting ready to fuck each other in the spring."

"It's a good thing you don't write for Disney," moaned Bree, her hands still working. "I can see it

now..." She swept her hand in an arc. "Bambi Meets Godzilla." "Been done," retorted Sloan. "And brilliantly too. Short and to the point." His eyes popped wide open."Hey, how about, Bambi Does Godzilla?" He looked at Franki. "Sex and violence and small helplessanimals on a grand scale. Whatcha think?"

"I think this party is deteriorating rapidly, and we should all call a cab." Sloan glanced at his watch. "Man, you guys would never make it in Tinsel Town. Most parties don't start until 12:30." "If that was supposed to impress us, it didn't work." Bree slapped Sloan on the head. "And we're much too drunk, and much too happy to be offended." "Happy?" Sloan grabbed Bree's hand and pressed it to his cheek. "You mean happy to have me back?" "Yeah. That's what I mean." "And shouldn't we get you back to Craig?" said Franki with a coy flutter of her eyelashes. "Won't he worry if you're out too late?" "Nah." Sloan let go of Bree and pushed himself to a semi-erect, semi-stable position. "He probably won't miss me. He's usually zoned out by eleven. He sleeps like the dead and snores like a sick walrus." "Ah, what a sweet thing to say about your lover," crooned Franki. "I'm sure he'd love to know how you talk about him when he's not here."

Sloan waved off her threat. "He already knows I bad-mouth him. It's part of my charm."

"Oh, I'm sure you make it up to Craig in many imaginative ways," Franki teased, and Troy thought she was, perhaps, a little too drunk. This could be extremely sensitive territory.

Sloan squirmed visibly. "Yeah, well..."

"He looks to be in pretty decent shape. Is he good in bed, Sloan?" She sashayed over to him, and he took a fearful step back. She traced a finger down his chest. "How exactly do gay men, you know, do it?" Her brows pulled together. "I mean I know the basics, but... For example, is there any foreplay? Kissing? Tongues? I've always been curious."

Sloan's expression was deteriorating toward full-fledged panic. He took another step back.

"If you don't want to talk about it, maybe I could...you know..." She bobbed her eyebrows. "Watch."

"Franki," warned Troy. "Cut it out. That stuff is none of your business. Leave him alone."

Franki pouted. "I was just kidding. Sheesh! Can't anybody take a joke anymore?"

"It wasn't funny," said Bree with a sympathetic glance toward Sloan. Sweat had already plastered hair to his forehead. "Come on, Sloan." She grabbed his elbow. "We're both heading in the same general direction. How about we share the cab that I asked to wait out front." She glanced irritably at Franki. "Maybe Troy won't mind calling another one. And maybe he can manage to get you home without strangling you en route."

Franki merely flipped out her skirt and plopped down in a chair, her chin propped on her hands.

"I don't know." Troy glanced toward Franki but she was still smiling, completely unrepentant. "That's a tall order."

Sloan allowed Bree to lead him toward the doors. He tossed a grateful grin in Troy's direction. "I'm staying for a week or so. See you around?"

"Sure."

And then they were gone.

Troy glared at Franki. "That was inexcusable. You know how hard it was for him to tell us that, and you deliberately made him uncomfortable."