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he went around the corner into the living room of the small house nearly stumbling as Sara flew by him.
    He wanted to grab her arm, but decided to let her pass. Gordon followed her out, his face a mask of frustration. On his heels was a tall woman who looked enough like Lindsay to make Craig blink, until he realized it was not her. Intrigued, and getting a protective feeling rising in his gut, he followed the crowd. Sara stomped down the steps. Craig waited long enough to note her brother's angry words thrown in Gordon's direction before Rob pulled him inside. Then he grabbed a couple of waters and found Sara sitting in an old tree swing. He crouched down beside her.
    Within fifteen minutes, she was on the back of his bike, hanging on tight, as he sped towards Ann Arbor. The forty-some minute ride was very pleasant, and he had high hopes for the evening. His body was revving on all cylinders and by the time they got to her place, his mind was sharp, and his body more than ready. He helped her off, took the helmet and walked her to the door.
    "Coming in?" she asked. She looked utterly undone – miserable, really. He forced himself to take a mental step away. It was totally the wrong moment. The vision of him between her legs, of her arching into his thrust, nearly blinded him with its intensity. She loved Jack though. What would he be but yet another tool, another boy toy in the life a woman who didn't give two shits about him? Fury made him look away.
    "What?" She asked turning his face around to hers. "Here's your shot, Craig." Her voice was sharp, unhappy.
    "My shot at what, exactly," he whispered. It was his, and he knew it. His goal was well within his grasp. He forced himself to stay calm. He had a temper but kept it well hidden and under control mostly, but it pounded through him now, and he wasn't quite sure how to channel it. One thing was clear:  he had serious competition on his hands. He pulled Sara close, kissed her hair. But grabbed her hands when she started to run them down his back to his ass. "You know what? No." he held her at arm's length. "Not now."
    "Fine," she said, opening to door. "I get it. You don't want me. Jack can't stand me. I'm kryptonite."
    "Sara," he grabbed her arm. "Don't whine. It's a drag. You know damn good and well I want you. Problem is, so does he."
    She cocked her head to the side and shot him a look that went directly to his raging libido. He shut his eyes. "Don't." He said, simply, stepping back. "I'll call you." He turned and ran down the steps without a backward look, his heart pounding, but his mind clear. He was going to win this.
    * * *
    "I need some advice," he asked Grace the next night. "Girl advice."
    "Oh goodie," his sister-in-law said.
    "No, I mean it. There's this woman and I…she's in a relationship, kind of, but he's an asshole and I…I don't know how to proceed, exactly."
    "Take her with you to one of your gigs. You know, pull the rock star thing on her. She'll be a quivering puddle of goo by the time you're done singing. But…" she stopped.
    He smiled. "Not a bad idea. What comes after the 'but?' "
    "We all know how you get. You fall head over heels at the slightest provocation. Don't put more weight into this one than any other."
    He sat a minute contemplating that. He honestly was infatuated with Sara, of that he had no doubt. The more he saw her and Jack together, the more he truly doubted his odds with her. Still, for some reason that light-bulb style realization only served to ramp up his need, his infatuation, and he was starting to dislike that about himself, a lot.  "Yeah, well, so you're right again. Big deal." He was quiet a minute, and she left him to it. "I want her. Bad. I want to jump in with both feet and drag her the hell away from this guy, Grace.  Cave man style. I'm…it's weird."
    She laughed and he relaxed. He loved his family a lot and was grateful to them for everything, even for all the spoiling and enabling of his innate laziness.