Practice Makes Perfect

And in that moment, Payton knew.

The Perfect Chase was doomed.

And not because of a maraschino cherry. The Perfect Chase had been doomed from the very start and the reason—and, in fact, Payton was beginning to suspect, the reason pretty much all of her relationships over the past eight years had been doomed from the very start—was sitting in the chair right across from her, staring her in the eyes.

Realizing that, Payton had only one thing to say. "Oh . . . no," she gasped.

Except she hadn't exactly meant to say it out loud.

J.D. cocked his head. "Interesting response."

Payton couldn't tell if he was amused or angry. She opened her mouth to explain, but was interrupted by a knock at her door.

Brandon strolled into her office, oblivious to everything. "So I found a couple more cases you might want to take a look at—oh, hey, J.D.—I didn't realize you were here."

Payton and J.D. bolted up from their chairs at the same time.

"Actually, I was just leaving," J.D. said hurriedly. "Payton, I don't think you need my help anymore; the two of you should be able to finish off the rest of those cases. It was good seeing you again, Brendan."

"It's Brandon."

"Of course."

Payton watched as J.D. left her office and strode across the hall to his own.

"I hope I wasn't interrupting anything," Brandon said.

"No, not at all," Payton assured him. That's all she needed right now, to be the target of tawdry office gossip. That kind of stuff could kill a career. "J.D. was just helping me get through some of this research." She took a seat at her desk. "So, what did you find?"

Brandon sat down in one of the chairs in front of her desk. And as he began to explain—as eager junior associates always did—the big break in the trial he believed he had just discovered, Payton paid vigorous attention. In between stolen glances across the hall, that is. She wondered what J.D. was thinking, if this was going to be another one of those moments between them that neither of them acknowledged, or if he was angry even, thinking she meant something by the "oh . . . no" that she didn't actually mean, or maybe she did mean it, she didn't know anymore; her mind was a mess of a thousand dangling thoughts and she couldn't seem to grasp any of them except for the fact that she knew she should be focusing on her trial and—

I'd like to drive you home tonight.

Without breaking stride, Payton simultaneously asked Brandon a follow-up question regarding his research and fired off a quick reply to J.D.'s email.

Twenty minutes.

"WELL, AT LEAST now I can say that I've ridden in the infamous Bentley."

As they walked along the sidewalk, approaching her two-flat, Payton saw J.D. grin and check his watch.

"What? What was that?" she asked.

"I've been timing how long it would take you to make a comment about the car. I'm actually surprised you made it the whole ride here without saying anything."

"I'm hardly that predictable," Payton said, starting to fling her hair back over her shoulders, but catching herself.

J.D. noticed and laughed. "Yes, really, you are. In eight years, I don't think I've ever known you to refrain from commenting on anything."

They had reached her front door. Payton turned around to face J.D. "That's not true."

"It's not, huh?" He raised an eyebrow.

Payton looked him over. "I didn't comment on the fact that you parked your car down the street instead of dropping me off out front. Because if I did comment on that, I would've said that you appear to think you're coming inside."

J.D. took a step closer and peered down at her. "And if that thought had occurred to me, would I have been wrong?"

"Hmm . . . no comment." Payton unlocked the front door, and J.D. held it open for her.

"Maybe I'm just making sure you get inside safely," he said as they walked up the stairs to her apartment. "Call me old-fashioned." Then he sprang ahead of Payton, walking backward up the steps and facing her. "Or wait—is it uptight, pony-owning, trickle-down-economics-loving, Scotch-on-the-rocks-drinking, my-wife-better-take-my-last-name sexist jerk? Somehow, I always get those two mixed up."

They had reached the door to Payton's apartment.

"I don't know . . ." she said, "remind me—was that before or after you called me a stubborn, button-pushing, Prius-driving, chip-on-your-shoulder-holding, 'stay-at-home-mom'-is-the-eighth-dirty-word-thinking feminazi?"

She unlocked the door and stepped into her apartment. She tossed her briefcase and purse onto the living room couch.

J.D. followed her inside, shutting the door behind them. He grinned hearing his words thrown back at him. "After, definitely after. That's how it's been since the beginning—you fire the first shot, and I merely react."

He said it lightly, teasingly, but Payton caught something in his choice of words.

"What do you mean, that's how it's been since the beginning?"

She saw a momentary flicker in J.D.'s eyes, as if he realized he'd said more than he'd meant to. He waved her question off.

"Never mind. Forget I said that. It's not important."

Payton was curious. But she backed off, sensing that pressing the issue would only lead to an argument. And the two of them had had enough of those to last a lifetime.

"So . . ." she said, trailing off. She leaned against the wall of built-in bookshelves, facing J.D., who stood across the room from her.

"So . . ." he replied. He looked her over, as if waiting for her to do or say something first. Which was fine because, actually, there was something she did want to say. She cleared her throat.

"You know, J.D.—for the record—I actually don't think you're sexist." She saw him c**k his head at this sudden admission, so she explained. "I just thought, you know, that was a bad thing for me to say. In a few days we won't be working together anymore and I didn't want that left hanging between us."

J.D. slowly began crossing the room toward her. "In that case, as long as we're clearing up the record, feminazi was probably a little harsh."

"A little? You think?"

"A lot harsh." J.D. moved closer to her, then closer still. Payton felt her heart begin to race.

"And, actually, I don't think you're uptight," she said, still managing to appear cool and collected on the outside at least. "Obstinate and smug perhaps, but not uptight."

"Thank you," J.D. said, with a nod of acknowledgment. He stood before her now, so that she was trapped between him and the bookshelves.

"Also for the record," Payton said in a lower voice, "I don't drive a Prius."

J.D. gazed down at her, his eyes dark and intense. "For the record, I've never owned a pony."

"That's a shame," Payton told him in a whisper. "I was thinking it must be kind of nice to own a pony." She felt J.D.'s hand at the back of her neck.

"You're going to stop talking now," he said, pulling her to him. "Because I've already waited long enough to do this."

Then his mouth came down on hers, and finally, after eight years, J. D. Jameson kissed her.

Payton's lips parted eagerly, teasing him as her tongue lightly swept over his. J.D.'s hand moved to her waist and pulled her closer as his mouth searched hers, deepening the kiss. She pressed her body instinctively against his and he instantly reacted, pushing her back against the shelves. With his arms on either side of her, holding her there, his lips trailed a path along her neck.

"Tell me you've wanted this," he said huskily in her ear, and Payton thought her entire body might have just melted. She arched back as his mouth made its way to her collarbone.

"Yes," she whispered thickly, about the only thing she was capable of saying right then. J.D. kissed her again, more demanding this time. Suddenly they both were impatient; Payton pushed at his jacket, needing it off, and J.D.'s hands grasped her hips and pulled her with him as they stumbled out of the living room and into the kitchen. They hit the counter, and J.D. shoved the bar stools out of the way and flung her up onto it.

Perched on top of the counter, Payton pulled back to look down at J.D. Her breath was ragged. "I like this—you're not towering over me for once, trying to intimidate me."

"I doubt there's anything that intimidates you," J.D. teased. "Not even being naked in court, apparently."

"I'm beginning to remember why I don't like you," Payton said. But then her breath caught as he pinned her hands behind her back with one of his and stepped between her legs.

J.D.'s eyes sparkled wickedly. "Good—now call me an 'asshole' and give me that look like you want to throw something at me—that's my favorite part."

Payton laughed, but J.D.'s mouth came down on hers and all joking fell by the wayside. She felt his hands move to her shirt, yanking at the buttons as she simultaneously reached up and tugged at his tie, loosening the knot. There was a rush to their movements, as if each of them was afraid the other would change his or her mind, and Payton was just beginning to have vague musings in the back of her mind about how far this might go, and whether her kitchen counter was the best venue for however far this might go, when—

Her phone rang.

"Ignore it," J.D. said, his hands moving to the front hook of her bra, and for once Payton wholeheartedly agreed with him.

The ring—coming from the phone in her living room—was easy enough to ignore, but then the answering machine clicked on and Payton's voice echoed throughout the apartment, sorry, can't answer the phone, blah, blah.

"Ever hear of voice mail?" J.D. asked as his fingers teasingly trailed along the lacy edge of her bra and Payton tried to muster the wits to think of something sassy to say back when a second male voice called out to her.

"Payton—it's Chase."

It was a true marvel of technology, Payton noted, the way the clarity of her answering machine made it seem as though the guy she was dating was standing right there in the kitchen with her and the guy she had straddled between her legs.