Rebecca keeps walking, straight into Greg, and  hugs him tightly. Two sisters in one night have embraced him. She rests her head against his barrel of a chest, and can hear his heart thudding it's own particular rhythm. Her bosom rubs deliciously across his abdomen. Greg leans his head downward and nestles his nose in the crown of her hair. He breathes deep, sampling her perfume firsthand. They break, but Rebecca takes both his hands, and raises them beside their waists.
    "I'm really looking forward to tonight," She says, grasping her fingers in between his, and closing them together. Greg is speechless. This siren has him transfixed.
"Have you eaten yet?" She asks hopefully.
"No, not at all," Greg replies, "I figured we would go out, so I made room."
"I'm not a very good planner, I know" Rebecca says, "but there's lot's of things we can do tonight. Do you like to dance?"
    Rebecca begins to shimmy her hips in a slightly suggestive manner. She waggles her booty while Greg merely watches. Greg shrugs at her prompting.
"Can you bust a move, Greg?" Rebecca asks, waving their interwoven hands around in circles. Greg laughs and shakes his head adamantly no.
"I like watching you, though," Greg chides, "you should keep going."
"I only ask, because we can hit some clubs tonight, if you want."
    Rebecca releases their hands, and they drop back to her side. She tugs on her shoulder. Greg hears the snap of her bra strap, recognizing another flirtatious move on her part.

    Rebecca squats down and grips the side of the crib to be eye-level with Julie. Greg glances down and sees right down Rebecca's V-neck shirt. After a long glance, he averts his eyes. Greg doesn't want to have arousal mixed emotions when around a child. He would take a figurative step back. Rebecca was putting her child to bed. He exited the room so as not to further entice Julie with staying up. Julie had started rubbing her eyes shortly after Rebecca greeted him. This was fortunate. Greg didn't want to be held up by Julie, as adorable as she was. Greg returns to his chair beside the counter. He gobbles down another piece of cheese and meat. Anxiety equaled Appetite for him.
"So, where are you guys going?" Amy asks expectantly.
"Uh, I don't know exactly," Greg said. He was actually hoping Rebecca would choose the places to hang out. Greg wasn't exactly in-touch with the social scene. If it were up to him, they would just eat and go someplace quiet. A dinner and a movie even sounded good. The prospect of the dance club did not seem appealing to Greg. As a white male, he seemed cursed to wander the world without the ability to dance. Such was his non-musically inclined fate.
"you should go to the Piano Lounge," Amy suggests, "it's quiet, and you can get a table, eat some grub. Unless you want to hit up those lame discos."
"I'm up for whatever," Greg says ecstatically, "I'm sure she's looking to have some fun."
"Yeah, Rebecca's been couped up lately," Amy admits, "she was becoming a nervous wreck, not even leaving the house, afraid to go outside."
Greg shakes his head dolefully.
"I suggested she try to meet up with you, to thank you," Amy says with a wink, "so if things get serious with you two, you'll know who to thank."
    Greg and Amy share a cordial laugh. She has addressed the very thing on Greg's mind. He was in good with the sister, that was important. Women were a conquest, and Greg felt halfway there to his goal.
"Rebecca started thinking about what she would say. she said she wrote you a letter, is that right?"
"Yeah," Greg answers.
"She's the hopeless romantic type," Amy says, "When we were young, we used to read all these fairy tales, and musical movies. It must've got stuck in her head."
"Well, this place seems to be pretty magical, alright."
Greg glances around at the walls encompassing this female den. He was in the lair of the mother and her cub. Greg can overhear the soft talking persuading Julie to rest her eyes. Amy can perceive his antsiness to head out with Rebecca.
"Julie hasn't been sleeping too well lately," Amy says with a sigh, "That's why she's such a chore to get to bed."
    "she's a good kid, that Julie," Greg says admirably.
"She's started wetting the bed after the whole car-jacking thing," Amy says softly, "And she's been potty trained for months now. We just got her outta diapers." Greg leans in to hear her better. Women sure enjoyed their confidential conversations. Amy talks even lower, approaching a whisper.
"Some nights, Julie wakes up screaming and crying. I hope the incident didn't scar her emotionally, know what I mean? Me and rebecca talked to some child psychiatrists. They call it regression, when a kid moves back in development."
    This ruffles Greg. It never occurred to him that little Ju-Ju would have lingering trauma from it all.
"It's good if she can have a guy around again," Amy says even quieter, "She's been awfully lonely by herself. I worry about her sometimes."
    This is a lot for Greg to take in. Yes, he was ready for commitment, but the first date hadn't even really started yet. He swallowed nervously and looked again toward the stairs. The light snaps off, choking off the light from the second floor. Rebecca's boots thud as she walks down the hallway. Upon reaching the stairs, Rebecca quickly navigated them with care, a rapid-flurry of her heels pounding the steps. Her hips swivel as she descends, and her breasts waggle fetchingly from the distributed weight. It seemed this girl had to be dressed up for someone else, it couldn't be for Greg, could it? But it was. She carried a small fedora hat in her dainty hand. Very carefully, so as not to rustle her hair, she placed the hat on her head. There was a light grey hatband around the fedora, tying into the pinstripe shade. Her outfit was complete.
    "Whattya think?" Rebecca asks, "Should I lose the hat?"
"Keep it," Greg says, "You look like a gangsta G."
"OG, original gangsta," Rebecca corrects, throwing up a random unintelligible gang sign, "Represent."
"Tell me you don't listen to that rap stuff," Greg says with a bemused moan.
"I used to, when I was into the party crowd," Rebecca confesses, "It sounds good on the house speakers, you know? Lotsa bass."
    Rebecca twirls gracefully on one of her oversized boot heels. Her hand extends, then swoops downward as she comes to a stop, performing a full 360 turn. Greg sees a startling resemblance to one of those musical jewelry boxes, with the ballet dancer who turns with the music.
    "That's pretty good," Greg says with a small pattering of joking applause, "Did you take lessons?"
"ballet, three years," Rebecca says, crossing her arms across her ample chest, "How many gangstas you know took ballet, huh?"
    She steps forward and mimics a punch into his gut. Greg goes along with it, bending over and pretending to reel. His bare head was exposed. He felt self-conscious of his ever-present bald spot, but she didn't seem repulsed by it. This was a bit immature, but it was always fun to let girls wrestleand let the girl win, of course. Rebecca puts an arm on his shoulder and again drives a phantom blow into Greg's gullet. Greg laughs, feeling ridiculous, feeling giddy, feeling warm. He grabs onto her hand moving it away from him gently, pretending to bend it backward. Rebecca pushes against it, and their clumsy hands knock her hat off her head.
"Geez, you guys are weird," Amy says with a roll of the eyes, "What is this, 8th grade?"
    Rebecca flashes her dazzling white teeth in a carefree grin. She bends over and retrieves her fallen hat.
"Well, maybe we should get going," Rebecca says after replacing her headwear, "where's my purse, Amy? Have you seen it?"
"By the front door, genius," Amy scolds, "I swear you'd lose your head if it wasn't attached."
"I'm a bit absent-minded, Greg," Rebecca says, "Life's hectic when you have a kid. Where are my keys? Oh, here they are."
    Rebecca digs out her car keys from her bulging designer purse. How can women walk around with those things? Greg thinks to himself. He only had his wallet to contend with, and it was always empty. Oh, zing. His self-effacing mind would hurl insults to itself like firecrackers.
    As Rebecca zips her purse back up, Greg could see the contents between the outstretched opening. The can of mace was near the top. the spray nozzle was painted a bright red, and seemed to menace Greg like an angry eye. The tiny black dot of that nozzle could render a man in viscous pain. It was altogether a reminder of what Rebecca had been through.
"Shall we go?" Rebecca says, giving a cockeyed stare from beneath the brim of her hat, "We've gotta lot to do, see? A night on the town, see? Us gangsters are liven' large, see?"
    Rebecca does a terrible 1930's mobster impression. Greg is awed by her wittiness. She offers her hand, which Greg takes immediately. In a spur of the moment, he kisses the back of her wrist, leaning his head forward to do so.
"Oh, isn't that cute," Amy says in a delighted voice, "You are so sweet, Greg."
    Greg had accumulated buko brownie points with Rebecca's sis. Things were moving right along. The front yard walkway was narrow, so Rebecca lead the way as Greg followed behind. The moonlight painted Rebecca's outline vividly. The mechanics of a woman walking was a simple sight, but a pleasure to behold. Her petite butt sashayed back and forth in front of Greg's intrigued eyes.
    This is the hottest girl I've ever been out with, no doubt, Greg thinks to himself. Rebecca's boots rapped the cobblestone path. It was a calming sound. Rebecca points with an unseen object, and her garage door begins retracting up.
"We'll take the car," Rebecca says over her shoulder, "We can't party in a mini van, now can we?"
"well, we could, but we wouldn't look too cool," Greg says.
"My ride has a five star safety rating, bitch!!" Rebecca says to no one in particular. Rebecca seemed kinda like a space-cadet. Her mind was imaginative and sharp, but it was strongest in daydreaming. She was a regular laugh riot. This would be fun.
The door shut on her vehicle, and the car seemed sealed off from the outside world. Her car smelled faintly of jasmine, a result of her choice of car air freshener. Her car starts with a quiet smoothness. She revs the engine. The sound in the enclosed garage is impressive.
"We've gotta make a getaway," Rebecca says, starting a new role in her playing, "You're my hostage. Don't try anything funny, or I'l rape you."
    Rebecca holds up her finger like a gun, Charlie's Angels style. Rebecca really must not get out much. Her energy was almost manic. It didn't bother Greg. It amused him that  she obviously was as horny as he felt, too.
"you can rape me anytime, baby." Greg says daringly. Recess had resumed, and their horseplay had evolved from elementary, to college dorm status.
    Rebecca presses the peddle again and puts her index finger against his temple. Greg does not flinch away. He can feel her finely manicured nail pressing against his skin. She leans in, finger still jabbing him lightly.
"Give me some sugar, see?" Rebecca says, removing her hat with the opposite hand and leaning in close. Greg tilts his head with this kiss, meeting her slightly open mouth with his own. Her tongue protrudes, sweeping for his. He meets the tip of her taste buds, and feels a drop of her saliva drip from her outstretched tongue onto his. He swallows it, while closing his gape slightly. She does the same, and their lips smack wetly from the pressure. Greg' s penis flexes briefly in his khakis.
He hoped it was a precursor to what would follow.
    Rebecca shut her mouth completely, withdrawing that silky tongue. Greg pressed his lips one last time to prolong the kiss, but she turned away and began to buckle her belt.
"Strap yourself in, dude," She says, putting the vehicle in gear, "We're gonna have fun tonight."

LINK TO PART 43:http://www.ebaumsworld.com/blogs/view/82396111/