angry. So I'm damned both ways. It shouldn't have to be like that. "
Sawyer, who'd been sampling his champagne, set the stern of the glass on his knee.
"Know what your problem is?"
"No, what? Tell me. I want to know."
"You're too pretty."
"There's no such thing."
"There is, and you are. You're a striking woman. It may be the way you dress. Or the way you carry yourself. Or your confidence. You're feminine without trying to be. It's hard for a man to look at you and not think of sex."
"You don't."
He took a larger swallow from his glass.
"That's 'cause you're Jack's girl. You've always been offlimits to me, so I look at you other ways. I know how intelligent and creative and honest and fun you are to be with."
She sent him a glowing smile.
"You are my favorite man." She slipped an arm around his waist and raised the other, glass in hand.
"To you," she declared.
"To me," he echoed.
They both drank deeply of the champagne. Sawyer slipped from her side.
"Hold still. Don't move." He half-walked, half-ran back to the kitchen, scooped up the champagne bottle and was back.
"Maybe we shouldn't," Faith whispered as she watched him refill their glasses.
"I'm hungry."
"Me, too, but we haven't finished with the toasts." Setting the bottle on the floor, he sat beside her again and raised his glass.
"To Jack and Joanna."
"Why are we toasting them?"
"Because they're not here to toast themselves."
"But why do they have to be toasted?"
"Because they're good sports. They put up with us." He chuckled, then pulled a straight face.
"To Jack and Joanna."
He chinked his glass to hers.
"To Jack and Joanna," Faith said and took a drink. Since there were two people in the toast--and since Sawyer seemed to be doing it--she took a second drink on the heels of the first.
"Sawyer?"
"Umm?"
"Maybe we should fix them up."
"Jack and Joanna? Nah. Wouldn't work. Joanna's too maternal."
"Jack's paternal. It would be great."
"Only if they had a kid, but they'd never make it in the sack."
"That's an awful thing to say. Sawyer!"
He considered that for a minute.
"Yes. I'm sorry." He looked at Faith.
She looked at him.
"You're not sorry at all."
"No."
They laughed. This time it was Sawyer who slipped an arm around Faith's waist.
"I can tell you anything. Do you know how nice that is?" He tugged her close to give her a hug, but somehow they lost hold of their perch on the back of the sofa and half-slid, half-fell to the floor. That made them laugh harder.
"Ahhh," Sawyer groaned through his laughter.
"Are you okay. Faith?"
"I'm down, but not out," she declared with mock pomposity. More humbly, she said, "Something spattered on my sweatshirt. Am I bleeding?"
"That was champagne. Com'ere." He helped rearrange her body so they were tucked snugly against the sofa and each other, facing the world beyond the glass sliders.
Taking only a minute to replenish their glasses of any champagne they may have lost in the fall, he picked up where he'd left off.
"You're special. I don't know any other woman I can do this with. I really can tell you anything. Anything."
From time to time, one word slurred into the next, but it was subtle, too subtle for Faith, in her own less- than-sober state, to notice.
"Tell me something," she said. She tapped his chest with her finger.
"Tell me something you wouldn't tell anyone else."
He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Joanna was a lousy kisser." "A lousy kisser? But she was a nurse. What about all that mouth-to-mouth" -They burst into hysterics, leaning over one another in laughter.
Sawyer was the first to recover.
"Honest to God, I don't know how she ever did that. When it came time to kiss, she didn't open her mouth. I couldn't get her to open her mouth."
"And I'm sure you were persuasive."
"I tried. She didn't like the feel of it. So I stopped trying after a while." He looked down at her face in the darkness. "Was Jack persuasive?"
"No. He was punctual."
"Punctual? What's punctual got to do
Sawyer, who'd been sampling his champagne, set the stern of the glass on his knee.
"Know what your problem is?"
"No, what? Tell me. I want to know."
"You're too pretty."
"There's no such thing."
"There is, and you are. You're a striking woman. It may be the way you dress. Or the way you carry yourself. Or your confidence. You're feminine without trying to be. It's hard for a man to look at you and not think of sex."
"You don't."
He took a larger swallow from his glass.
"That's 'cause you're Jack's girl. You've always been offlimits to me, so I look at you other ways. I know how intelligent and creative and honest and fun you are to be with."
She sent him a glowing smile.
"You are my favorite man." She slipped an arm around his waist and raised the other, glass in hand.
"To you," she declared.
"To me," he echoed.
They both drank deeply of the champagne. Sawyer slipped from her side.
"Hold still. Don't move." He half-walked, half-ran back to the kitchen, scooped up the champagne bottle and was back.
"Maybe we shouldn't," Faith whispered as she watched him refill their glasses.
"I'm hungry."
"Me, too, but we haven't finished with the toasts." Setting the bottle on the floor, he sat beside her again and raised his glass.
"To Jack and Joanna."
"Why are we toasting them?"
"Because they're not here to toast themselves."
"But why do they have to be toasted?"
"Because they're good sports. They put up with us." He chuckled, then pulled a straight face.
"To Jack and Joanna."
He chinked his glass to hers.
"To Jack and Joanna," Faith said and took a drink. Since there were two people in the toast--and since Sawyer seemed to be doing it--she took a second drink on the heels of the first.
"Sawyer?"
"Umm?"
"Maybe we should fix them up."
"Jack and Joanna? Nah. Wouldn't work. Joanna's too maternal."
"Jack's paternal. It would be great."
"Only if they had a kid, but they'd never make it in the sack."
"That's an awful thing to say. Sawyer!"
He considered that for a minute.
"Yes. I'm sorry." He looked at Faith.
She looked at him.
"You're not sorry at all."
"No."
They laughed. This time it was Sawyer who slipped an arm around Faith's waist.
"I can tell you anything. Do you know how nice that is?" He tugged her close to give her a hug, but somehow they lost hold of their perch on the back of the sofa and half-slid, half-fell to the floor. That made them laugh harder.
"Ahhh," Sawyer groaned through his laughter.
"Are you okay. Faith?"
"I'm down, but not out," she declared with mock pomposity. More humbly, she said, "Something spattered on my sweatshirt. Am I bleeding?"
"That was champagne. Com'ere." He helped rearrange her body so they were tucked snugly against the sofa and each other, facing the world beyond the glass sliders.
Taking only a minute to replenish their glasses of any champagne they may have lost in the fall, he picked up where he'd left off.
"You're special. I don't know any other woman I can do this with. I really can tell you anything. Anything."
From time to time, one word slurred into the next, but it was subtle, too subtle for Faith, in her own less- than-sober state, to notice.
"Tell me something," she said. She tapped his chest with her finger.
"Tell me something you wouldn't tell anyone else."
He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Joanna was a lousy kisser." "A lousy kisser? But she was a nurse. What about all that mouth-to-mouth" -They burst into hysterics, leaning over one another in laughter.
Sawyer was the first to recover.
"Honest to God, I don't know how she ever did that. When it came time to kiss, she didn't open her mouth. I couldn't get her to open her mouth."
"And I'm sure you were persuasive."
"I tried. She didn't like the feel of it. So I stopped trying after a while." He looked down at her face in the darkness. "Was Jack persuasive?"
"No. He was punctual."
"Punctual? What's punctual got to do
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