I jerked away from Carter and yelled when something smacked against the back of my head.

Rubbing my hand against the spot, I turned around to see T.J. with both his arms in the air doing a victory dance.

"Direct hit, Morgan! That's another point for me!" he yelled as he ran over to the chalkboard behind the bar at the opposite end from me and put a tally mark under his name.

"Son of a bitch," I muttered as I turned back around to Carter.

"Um, what the hell was that about?" he asked with a laugh.

Before I could tell him it was just T.J. being a dick, the man in question ran up and stood next to me behind the bar. He slapped a ping pong ball down on the top right in front of Carter.

"That, my man, is a little something we like to call P.O.R.N."

"Wow, your idea of p**n and mine are slightly different," Carter said as he picked up the ping pong ball and rolled it around in his hands.

"No, no, no. Not porn. P.O.R.N.," T.J. spelled out.

Carter looked completely lost.

"It's just this little game we play when it's slow in here," I said.

T.J. rested one hand on the bar and the other on his hip.

"Claire, don't underestimate the awesomeness that is P.O.R.N. You are completely devaluing the one thing that makes me not want to kill myself every time I come to work. A little more respect for P.O.R.N. please."

T.J. turned his attention to Carter. "Claire made up the rules," T.J. said excitedly as he pulled a piece of paper out from under the bar.

"Rules?" Carter questioned. "Don't you just throw the ball at someone?"

T.J. pushed the paper across the top of the bar and Carter picked it up to read through it.

"Au contraire my friend. There always need to be rules in P.O.R.N. Otherwise, he'll throw a ball, she'll throw a ball, they'll all throw a ball…it'll be anarchy."

"Alright there, Breakfast Club, walk away before I break the ten-foot distance rule and chuck one at your face," I told him.

T.J. walked away and Carter laughed as he read the rules out loud.

"Rule number one: P.O.R.N. is more fun with friends, invite them. Otherwise, you just look pitiful engaging in P.O.R.N. alone. Rule number two: Sharp objects should never be used in P.O.R.N. Poking someone's eye out will ruin the moment. Rule number three: Sneak attacks or "back door action" must come with advanced warnings or have prior approval. Rule number four: Only two balls allowed in play at all times to avoid ball-confusion, unless approved by the judges. Rule number five: P.O.R.N. is over when the other player(s) say it's over. Otherwise, someone is left holding useless balls."

Yes, sometimes I act like a twelve-year-old boy. Don't judge me.

"So what exactly does P.O.R.N. stand for and how do I get in on this action?" Carter asked with wag of his eyebrows.

"Well, the official title is Pong Organization Rules and Notices. But sometimes we shorten it to 'throwing shit at each other.' Frankly, I'm not sure you can handle P.O.R.N., Carter. It's an intense game of skill, determination and craftiness," I explained with a grin as I took the ball from his hand, turned quickly and whipped it across the bar to hit T.J. square in the ass as he was wiping down one of the tables.

"MOTHER FUCK!" T.J. yelled.

"It's all about being talented with your hands really," I said as I turned back around to face Carter.

I have absolutely no idea where this boldness shit was coming from. I felt like I was channeling Liz.

"Don't worry, Claire, I'm pretty good with my hands. I have a feeling I'd be excellent at P.O.R.N. It's all about how you angle your fingers and the stroke you use…when throwing the ball. Sometimes you have to do it slow and gentle, and other times you have to do it hard and fast."

Sweet baby innuendos, Batman.

"What time do you get off?"

In about ten seconds.

"Not until one. I have to close by myself tonight," I told him while I squeezed my thighs together and thought about his fingers stroking and pushing and hard and fast and gentle and…fuck!

"Can I just wait here while you work? I can help you close up and we can talk…or whatever," he said as he stared at my lips.

YES! Holy shitballs mother of YES! Yes, yes, f**k yes!

"Yeah, whatever," I said with a shrug as I walked away to stock the beer cooler and stick my va**na in there to cool it down.

13. Quivering Loins

For the next couple of hours I stared at Claire’s ass – er, I mean watched her work and chatted with her when she had a few seconds.

I also became a proud member of Team P.O.R.N. when I managed to throw a ping pong ball that ricocheted off of T.J.’s head and hit Claire in the tits. There was talk of making me the team captain after that one. Claire told me I really knew how to handle my balls, and I started to wonder if I was turning more than a little pervy by the fact that it turned me on whenever she said "balls."

I wonder what it would take to get her to say "cock?"

T.J. walked by just then, untying his apron and stowing it under the bar. I probably should have felt a little jealous at the fact that he was a good looking guy and he got to be in close proximity to Claire all the time, but watching them interact just made me laugh. They were like brother and sister with the way the shoved each other, threw insults back and forth and tattled to anyone who would listen. As a result, I decided I liked T.J. and I didn't have to kill him.

"Hey, T.J., do me a favor. Get Claire to say ‘cock’ and I'll give you twenty bucks."

"Deal," he said automatically before turning away from me.

All of the patrons were gone and Claire had just switched on the "closed" sign and was in the process of walking back from the front door.

"Hey, Claire, remember that one guy who came in here a few months ago, smacked your ass and called you Cutie Claire? What was it you called him?"

"A cocksucker," she replied distractedly as she got back behind the bar and began organizing bottles.

With a dreamy smile on my face, I slid a twenty across the bar to T.J. and he walked away. This was going to be a beautiful friendship. If he could get her to say, "Fuck me hard Carter," I might buy him a pony.

T.J. said good-bye and walked out the door while Claire finished straightening up. After a few minutes, she came around the corner of the bar and sat down next to me on a stool.

"You look exhausted," I told her as she rested her chin in her hand and let out a sigh.

"Is that a nice way of telling me I look like shit?" she teased.

"Absolutely not. If you looked like shit, I'd tell you. I would also tell you if the jeans you're wearing make your ass look big, if something you cooked tasted like it came from the bottom of my shoe or if a joke you told was not funny at all."

"Wow, that's very kind of you," she said with a laugh.

"It's what I do."

We sat there for several minutes just looking at each other. None of this seemed real yet. I couldn't believe she was sitting here in front of me. I couldn't believe she was still so remarkable and funny and beautiful and I couldn't believe she had a child, my child.

"You kind of amaze me, you know that?" I said, breaking the silence.

I watched the blush brighten up her cheeks and she looked away, her gaze locked on a drink napkin that she started to shred.

"I'm not that great, believe me."

I shook my head in disbelief at how she clearly didn't see herself very well.

"Are you kidding me? You hooked up with a total loser one night at a frat party, got pregnant, had to give up your dreams and quit school, worked your ass off and raised an awesome little boy and now you're opening your own business. If that's not amazing, I don't know what is."

She continued to rip up the napkin at an even faster pace while I continued.

"You're strong and confident and beautiful and you make everything look so damn easy. I am so grateful to have met you again. I will be forever in your debt for taking care of…of our son. You've done such an amazing job with him and you're so selfless that I am just in awe."

Whew, I said it. My son. Gavin is my son. Oddly, it didn't make me want to hurl myself on a rusty nail.

She still wasn't looking at me, though, and it was starting to make me nervous. And I felt really bad for the drink napkin that now resembled a small pile of snow. I reached over and placed my hand on top of hers to make her stop fidgeting with the mess.

"Hey, what's wrong?" I asked.

She finally turned her face towards mine and I'm not gonna lie, it really freaked me out to see tears in her eyes. I didn't do crying. At all. If she asked me to set myself on fire right now I would do it just so I wouldn't have to see her cry.

"Gavin is wonderful. He is smart and perfect, he's funny and he's the best little boy in the world. He has his moments but he’s very well-behaved and just perfect. Perfect! Every single person who meets him adores him and I love every second of being his mom….,” she trailed off.

I knew she was sugar-coating things. If she said the word “perfect” one more time I was going to start crying myself. I didn't want the watered-down version. I wanted to know it all, everything I missed. The good, the bad and the ugly. Her foot was tapping nervously on the rung of the bar stool, and she looked like she was about to explode. I knew with everything going on right now she had to be under a lot of stress. She was a single mom with a lot on her plate and I knew for a fact Gavin wasn't flawless. What kid was? But she definitely wanted me to think so. Was she really afraid I would change my mind if I knew the horrors of being a parent? I’d always wanted to have kids someday. It was one of the biggest issues between me and Tasha. I knew it wasn’t all rainbows and kittens. I knew it could suck the life out of you and make you second-guess your sanity.

"It's okay if you want to complain. I can only imagine how tough it is for you."

"I love Gavin," she repeated with conviction.

I chuckled a little at how panicked she looked.

"No one is questioning that. But you don't have to act like you have everything under control a hundred percent of the time. I'm not going to think less of you or Gavin if you need to vent, believe me. I want to know everything. I wasn't lying when I said that to you earlier."

She was softening a little. The napkin was finally free from her abuse and her foot wasn't tapping manically anymore. She still looked at me warily, though. I knew one way I could get her to calm down and open up. I stood up and leaned over the top of the bar, reaching my arms as far as I could, and wrapped my hand around what I needed.

I sat back down, grabbed a clean shot glass that rested upside down on the bar and filled it with Three Olive Grape Vodka, which I now knew to be her favorite. I set the bottle back down on the bar and slid it out of the way.

"Be honest," I said as I pushed the shot glass in front of her.

She bit her lip, looked down at the shot glass and then back at me. She was like an open book and I could see all of the conflicting emotions as they ran across her face until she finally let go.

"IloveGavintodeathbuthedrivesmefuckingcrazy!" she said as fast as she could and snapped her mouth shut immediately.

"Take a shot," I told her, nodding at the shot glass in encouragement.

Without hesitating, she picked up the glass and tipped it back, slamming it down onto the bar when she was done.

"Keep going," I told her as I leaned closer to her and poured more vodka into the shot glass.

"The first time he said, 'Mommy,' my heart completely melted. But that kid never shuts up. Ever. He even talks in his sleep. One time when we were driving he was going on and on about sheep and french fries and his wiener and the lawn mower, I stopped the car in the middle of the street and got out. After I walked around the car and then got back in, he was still talking, asking me if lawn mowers have wieners. He never. Stops. Talking."

"Take a shot," I said again with a smile.

She downed it, slamming the glass in front of me this time so I could refill it. I did, pushing it back towards her.

"I gained fifty-six pounds when I was pregnant with him. Do you have any idea what it's like to look down and not be able to see your vagina?"

"Uh, no," I muttered.

"My ass had its own zip code."

"If it makes you feel better, it is an awesome ass," I told her honestly.

"Thank you."

I poured her another and didn't even need to prompt her to drink it.

"His hugs are a magical cure for everything. But do you have any idea how much a baby shits and pukes and cries? He projectile vomited every bottle he drank. Drink, burp, spew. Lather, rinse, repeat."

Down went the shot.

“He didn’t sleep through the night until he was three and a half years old. I got so fed up I told him Shasta the Sleep Monster lived under his bed and would bite his feet if he got out of it in the middle of the night for anything other than the house being on fire.”

She tipped her head back and finished another shot.

"I can't believe you don't hate me right now," she said.

"Why would I ever hate you?"

"Because I basically used you for sex and then never spoke to you again," she explained.

"Honey, where I come from, that's like Christmas to a guy," I said with a laugh, trying to lighten her mood. "I should be the one apologizing to you." I reached out with my hand and turned her face towards me.

God she was so beautiful. And I was a complete dick for wanting to take advantage of her being a little tipsy. But fuck, I needed to kiss her. I waited five years to taste her again. She tilted her head so that she could rub her cheek against the palm of my hand, and I almost forgot what I had been trying to say to her.