"Revisionist history..." I muttered.

"What? I didn't catch that."

"Revisionist history. One event, two sides, and over the years it changes and twists into what we need it to be," I said, looking at my old friend.

"And it is history, Grace. It really is." He smiled, taking my hand. I was quiet for a moment, taking it all in.

"You know, it really is great to see you," I said shyly, remembering how much fun we all had together.

"You too." He smiled again. "Oh, come here," he said and pulled me into a big bear hug.

I heard the French door open.

"Grace?" It was Jack, standing there in jeans, once again bare chest and barefoot.

I removed my arms from around Michael's neck.

"Good morning, Hamilton."

After Michael went back inside to talk to Holly, I pulled Jack to me for a close hug. He still smelled like sleep, warm and toasty. But his eyes were chilly. He returned my hug, although it felt perfunctory.

"Did you get my note? You must have, you haven't showered yet," I teased, making a show of sniffing his underarm. He gave me a compulsory smile.

"Yes, I got it, and no I didn't yet. Who's the guy?" he asked. Wow, he went right for it.

"His name is Michael, and he's an old college friend. I haven't seen him in years."

"A friend, a college friend. OK." He nodded, his face relaxing just a touch.

"And, he's also a writer. In fact, he wrote the show that I had the meeting about yesterday, and I-"

"Oh, hell, Grace, I wanted to ask you about it last night, but you were so sleepy. How'd it go?" His face was animated again as he asked me about my audition.

"Well, it went well. Very well, in fact. I...I got the part," I answered quietly, looking at him with a hesitance. His face broke into a huge grin.

"Grace, that's brilliant! Well done!" he shouted, sweeping me up and swinging me around in a circle. "Oh, love, that's fantastic! I am so proud of you!" he exclaimed, laughing while he twirled me. Then, he stopped, and without setting me down, crushed his lips to mine.

Love? Pride?

I smiled into his kiss, my legs kicking in the air. He finally set me down, hands settled firmly on my ass.

"Now, let's go get some coffee and you can tell me all about it," he decided, taking my hand and walking me into the kitchen.

Shit.

Once we were in the kitchen, Michael looked at our entwined hands and raised an eyebrow to me. He then walked over to Jack and stuck out his hand.

"Hey, man. I'm Michael O'Connell."

"Jack, Jack Hamilton, nice to meet you," he answered as the two shook hands.

Michael looked him up and down and raised his eyebrows again at the lack of clothing Jack had on. I loved that he didn't feel the slightest bit embarrassed that he was considerably less dressed than all of us.

"So, are you staying here with the girls?" Michael asked, nodding at Holly and me.

"Well, I stayed with Grace last night. And Holly loves having me here, don't ya Holls?" He laughed, ruffling her hair.

"Oh, yes, it's just one big whorehouse here and I'm the Madame." Holly chuckled. "Actually, Jack's an actor and I represent him. He has a huge movie about to open this fall."

"Ah, so you and he work together," Michael said. "Grace, playing this one a little close to home, aren't we?" Michael asked, winking at me.

Jack had been in the process of pulling me close to him, wrapping his arm around my waist when he heard Michael. He looked over at him and I felt him tense a little. He pulled me even closer.

"O'Connell, shut up," I teased, pulling away from Jack and crossing over to where Holly stood by the fridge. We exchanged glances and settled against the counter to watch this unfold.

"So, Michael, was it? You're a writer?"

"Yep, I've written for film and TV for years. This is my first musical, but with Grace as my lead, how can I go wrong?" he answered coolly, smiling at me warmly though.

"Well, Grace is amazing, that's for sure," Jack answered back, winking at me.

This was weird.

"How about I make us all some lunch? Who's hungry, I'm hungry!" I said, whirling around and looking in the fridge for something to make for lunch.

I made food for the four of us, although it was a little difficult with a Hamilton stuck to my hip. Honestly, he could not have been more obvious if he'd just peed on me.

While I bustled about making sandwiches, Michael, Holly, and I talked about old times. It really was nice to talk to him again and he was reminding me how much fun we all used to have together. He was telling the story about how one night we all got drunk, snuck into the theater, climbed up through the fly system and went out on the roof.

"Grace, when the cops showed up, you were white as a sheet!" he howled with laughter.

"I was white as a sheet because I had just vomited over the side of the building." I laughed back.

Holly had tears streaming down her face as she remembered. "Oh, God, I forgot about that. You really had trouble holding your liquor then." She grinned.

"You also had trouble holding on to your clothes. You were in your bra when the cops got there. Wow, all that lace," Michael sighed, making a face at me when I swatted him with the dishtowel I was holding.

"Shut up. I was not!"

"Oh, yes ma'am you were. You tried to convince the cops that it was your costume, that you had just performed in Cabaret and it was really a very tiny corset." He laughed.

"That's true, Grace, you were half naked up there," Holly agreed.

We all laughed while I finished making lunch and we settled in to eat. Jack was quiet most of the time and as the meal went on, I noticed he was not making as much of an effort to touch me as he was earlier. I grabbed his hand at one point and he smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

He was watching me and Michael.

When Michael and Holly were getting ready to leave, Jack and I followed them to the front door.

"Grace, I'm really glad we got things straightened out. It will be so great spending time with you again. I can't wait for you to move to New York."

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I heard Jack's intake of breath and I saw Holly's eyes flash to him. Michael leaned in to hug me goodbye, placing a peck on my cheek. The two of them left through the front door.

I closed it behind them, waiting a little longer than I needed to before turning to face Jack. His face was confused.

"You're moving to New York?" he asked.

"Temporarily."

"When?"

"Nine days."

His face hardened and he spun on his heel, walking upstairs.

When I got up to my room, Jack was standing by the bed, furiously making it. I watched him as he worried the sheets up, trying to make them smooth. I went to the other side and tried to help him, but he jerked them out of my hands.

"Thanks, I've got it," he snapped, darting his eyes up to mine. Since I couldn't smooth the sheets, I attempted to smooth this.

"Wow, third morning making a bed and you've almost got it. Nice, Hamilton. Impressive," I joked, retrieving a wayward pillow from the floor. He didn't smile.

He fussed about for another minute and then he finally rounded on me.

"Explain to me why you didn't bother to tell me that this show was in New York?" he asked, frustration showing through.

Is it wrong that I still noticed how hot he was with no shirt on?

"It was only an audition at first and there were so many other actresses up for the same role. I honestly didn't think I had a shot in hell. And then when I found out I was cast, I didn't, well, I didn't know how to tell you." I looked at the ground, suddenly really sad that I was going to be leaving this man, right when things were getting amazing.

"Grace, I know we haven't known each other that long, but hell! This was a fairly big piece of information to leave out." He sighed. I was still thinking about that text from last night and I almost asked him about it when I noticed him pulling up the duvet, upside down. I smiled in spite of myself.

He was throwing a bit of a tantrum and I was reminded of his age. He was my little emo, but the fact that he was obviously upset at the thought of me leaving touched me.

I needed to touch him. I climbed onto the bed from my side and crawled across. I sat on my knees in front of him and wrapped my arms around his waist. I laid my head against his chest and I felt his arms come up around me. That felt better.

"I know...I'm sorry. Is it that hard to believe that I didn't want to tell you? I'll miss you. I've kind of gotten used to you. Who will tell me my tits are fabulous?" I mumbled into his chest, feeling his little hairs tickle at my nose. I could tell I'd made him smile, even without looking up.

"Fucking Nuts Girl. Are you really leaving in nine days?" he asked, his hands skimming along the skin between my tank top and running pants.

"Yep."

"And how long will you be gone?"

"I don't know, it depends on how well the show does, the response it gets. I would say at least ten to twelve weeks," I answered, pressing my face into his skin. He smelled like my bed.

He sighed and was quiet for a moment. He finally bent down and kissed the top of my head. "Right then, let's not get all dodgy about this, this is great news for you. I'm happy for you, Grace. You know that right?" he asked seriously, tipping my face up to his.

"Yes, I know. The timing just sucks."

"I agree, timing is everything." We gazed at each other for a moment, when he broke the silence. "Now, I believe you requested some shower time? I have cleared my morning and am ready to attend to your washing up whenever you are so inclined." He smirked, letting me know this tiny squall had passed.

"Yes, please. I am soooo inclined," I answered back, kissing his stomach and beginning to move south along his happy trail. His hands came up to my hair and twisted it roughly. I started to pull him back onto the bed, his arms propping himself over me as I struggled to undo his button. I unzipped and...

Hello, commando.

"Hey, I just made this bed and you're going to mess it up," he complained.

I looked around at the pillows haphazardly thrown, the sheet trailing out on the side, the upside down duvet, and smiled. "I love that you tried, but what you are an expert at in this bed has nothing at all to do with making it. Now, get down here," I teased.

I heard him mumble, "This is why it's crap to make a bed," as he laid his full weight on me and my legs came up around him.

It was an hour before we made it to the shower.

Then at least another hour before we made it out.

That afternoon he told me that he had no real plans for the rest of that week and that, if it would be all right, he would like to "spend as much time with me as humanly possible." Who was I to argue?

So we cocooned. We wrapped ourselves in a little bubble of lust and freaking cocooned. We railroaded right through what should have been our first twenty dates, all in four days time.

We ate at FatBurger for lunch almost everyday; he was a freak for it. I made him go running with me at Griffith Park, but only twice. He had trouble keeping up with me the first time, and the second...well let's just say we went a little George Michael behind a tree.

We drove for miles up PCH. He drove while I sat back relaxing, watching him in his sunglasses, looking sexy as all get out. We listened to music, trading iPods back and forth, playing each other our favorites.

We watched hours of DVD's. We watched The Office-UK and US versions, Flight of the Conchords, and we spent an entire afternoon watching a Corey marathon: The Lost Boys, License to Drive and Stand by Me.

We spent a morning at my new house, helping to place all my furniture. I couldn't believe how beautiful it had turned out and I wasn't even going to get a chance to enjoy it.

We talked for hours. I told him all about my new show and how nervous I was about it. He confessed to me that he was getting a little worried about all the hype Time was creating and whether he would be painted with the same teeny bop brush as other actors the same age.

We were barely sleeping at night, but we managed to sneak naps in each afternoon. We cuddled in my bed, usually with me wearing one of his shirts. It was how he preferred me to be, if he couldn't have me naked.

It always started out with me on my back and Jack draped across my chest. I would scratch his head and he would trace little circles on my arm. His breath would get heavier-I had learned to recognize his sleep patterns. Right before he would really fall asleep, I'd turn on my side and he would fit his body into mine, holding me close against his chest, his arms under my shirt, holding my breasts in his hands.

We stayed in and I cooked for us every night. Holly would usually join us and then retreat to her room as Jack cleaned up. He felt that he should do the dishes since I cooked, and I let him. I found that I could watch him do almost anything and be happy.

We would usually go for a swim after dinner and he kept a bottle of wine on the side of the pool for us while we splashed and played. Sometimes, if I was lucky, he'd make us skinny dip.

We sang songs as if we were at freaking camp. I finally got him to play guitar for me and he was amazing. Watching those fingers all over that guitar with the same tenderness and attention that they gave to me was amazing. And hearing him sing? He had a sweet voice, but rough at the same time. A little mushy, thick and wonderful. He was truly talented, his voice hypnotizing. He played some of his favorites, and some that he had written. He played songs he knew I knew so I could sing along. We were so trite. It was nice. He would strum absently while he watched me get ready in the morning, and when I'd make the bed (I'd taken back this particular duty) he'd write me my own little action soundtrack, his playing mimicking my motions. When he thought I should be moving faster, he played faster.

We kissed constantly. We kissed for hours. Whether we were at the table, in the shower (which was now always a synchronized event), in the hallway, on the couch, we kissed. Slow and sweet, furious and frenetic, wanting and needing, we kissed.