David rubbed her shoulder through the blanket, pulling her gently against his chest. Penny's eyelids felt so heavy now. It felt so nice to lean against him. Solid. Safe. So restful. Like she'd gotten swept up in some freak, fast-moving squall - and now, by some miracle, she'd washed up on a sandy shore. Safe, on solid ground....

A little prickle of alarm began to penetrate the haze of sleep.

She'd had these thoughts before. Recently. Too recently....

Not here. Not this living room. Another living room. Another man's living room. Another man's couch.

"No!" Penny forced her eyes back open and shrugged his arm off of her. "No," she said again, standing up abruptly.

He held up his hands in front of him, palms out. "What?"

"I am not sleeping on your couch."

"Why not? It's almost morning anyway."

"No!"

"What?" He looked at her, perplexed. "It's not like you've never slept over."

She shook her head violently. "I made a rule against it."

He didn't answer. He'd gotten up from the couch when she did, and now he was standing a few feet away with his hands on his hips, studying her in silence. His face was serious, but she could see the corner of his mouth twitching. She knew what it meant. She'd learned the meaning of that particular expression a long time ago - when the corner of his mouth wouldn't keep still. That's how he always looked when he was trying and failing not to smile.

"You?" he said. "You made a rule?"

She nodded.

The corner of his mouth broke free and quirked upward as Penny looked back at him in exasperation. He was smirking at her. He seemed to be under the impression that this conversation was amusing. Did he seriously think they could just go back to the way it used to be? Messing with each other? Flinging fake insults back and forth between them until somebody broke down and laughed?

No way, she thought. She wasn't in the mood. She refused to play along. So what if she felt the corner of her mouth starting to twitch along with him now? A reflex - that's all it was. Muscle memory. For two years, every time he made that face at her, her face had heated up and mirrored his smirk right back to him. She fought against it now. She would not smile back. She narrowed her eyes at him instead.

"Yes, I made a rule," she said. "Is that funny for some reason?"

"Let's see," he replied, his smirk deepening even further. He'd been holding the discarded sweatshirt in one hand, and he held it out to her as he continued. "How's this for a rule? Don't run around topless at 4 AM."

She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and bit the inside of her cheek. She wouldn't smile. It wasn't funny. She would not smile. Even if it meant she had to chew her own lips off.

"I'm not topless," she ground out, ignoring the sweatshirt in his hand. "And I'll make my own rules, thanks."

"OK, Penny. What's your rule? No sweatshirts before Labor Day?"

She glared at him and shook her head. "No favors from men," she said.

He raised his eyebrows. "That's the rule now?"

"So you can keep your sweatshirt. It smells, anyway."

"I don't know, Penny. All men? That seems a little sexist."

David took a tentative step in her direction, keeping his eyes on her face. She had the blanket wrapped around herself protectively now, but that didn't mean he couldn't still picture the way she'd looked in her bikini top underneath. No, David thought. That was one mental image he had a feeling he'd be revisiting often. Later, though. Plenty of time for that later. For now, he kept his eyes safely above her neck.

Not that above-the-neck was so safe either. She was doing her best to stick to the sullen routine - like a sulky teenager caught out after curfew - but he could see her cheeks begin to flush. He couldn't quite tell if the rapidly deepening color was from anger or...something else.

She let out a little huff of disbelief. "You're going to talk to me about sexism? You?"

"I'm not sexist!"

"Please."

"Penny, I never said those things in the bar. I swear to you. I don't know what you heard that night, but I'm telling you - I set those assholes straight. I shut that whole thing down."

It had come as a surprise before when she'd told him the real reason she'd quit. Those goddamn Chicago traders - he never should have gone out with them that night. He'd known they were pricks from the get-go. And look what they'd done with their juvenile jokes and innuendos. Look what they had cost him. He hadn't seen her in months. If not for that chance encounter on the street the other day, he might never have seen her again at all! Just the thought of it made his heart rate start to quicken.

But she was here now, he told himself. That was the important thing. And now he knew what was at the root of it - the reason she'd left. It was all just a big misunderstanding. She'd heard other people talking. Not him. He just needed to make her see that, and everything would be fine. Maybe she'd even come back to work.

Or maybe not. Maybe it would be better if she didn't come back to work.

Honestly, he thought, how had he ever managed to get anything done with her sitting in a cubicle ten feet from his office door? It seemed impossible now - but he supposed his feelings had changed in the two months since she'd quit. Or at least, he'd been forced to admit to himself what his feelings really were. Now the toothpaste was out of the tube, and he couldn't put it back. He didn't want her to come back to work. The things he wanted now had no business in the workplace.

He inched another step closer to her, waiting to see how she would respond. The color that stained her cheeks had started creeping downward, down her neck, until it disappeared at her collar bone beneath the fringe of the throw blanket.

Above the neck, he reminded himself, forcing his eyes back up. Keep it above the neck. For now. He'd been sure a moment ago that she was trying not to smile. He could see the way her face was fighting against it. He just had to get her smile back, he thought. Just get that smart-ass mouth of hers to laugh at him the way it always used to do. That was all the invitation he needed. Then he'd close the remaining distance between his lips and hers. Wipe that smile off her face. Teach that mouth of hers a lesson once and for all—

"Even if you didn't say it out loud, David. That doesn't mean you're not a chauvinist, too."

"How am I a chauvinist?"

"What about all those rules of yours?" she said. "No one under 26. No one making less than six figures. No one carrying a purse that costs less than 247 dollars. Reducing the entire female half of the population to some kind of formula. You don't think that's just a little bit misogynistic?"

He blinked at her in response, silent for a moment. "Is that why you're mad at me? Because of the rules?"

She shook her head. "Whatever," she said. "This is stupid. I'm tired. You're tired. I'm sorry I came." She started turning toward the door.

"Wait!"

David took another step toward her, reaching out to catch her on the shoulder. He couldn't let her leave. Not yet. She'd just walked back into his life out of nowhere. He had to keep her here. Keep her talking until he could break through this sulky act. Or at least - at the very least - he had to find out where she lived.

"Let me drive you," he said out loud as soon as the thought struck him. "I'll drive you home."

"No." She shrugged his hand off her shoulder. "No, you won't drive me home. That would be a favor."

"So what if it's a favor?" He took a step closer, studying her face. "Where is this coming from - this rule of yours?"

She scowled back at him.

"Something else? Did something else happen that I don't know about?"

She didn't answer. She shrugged and looked down sullenly at her feet.

"And... silence." He let out an exaggerated sigh. "Are we going to play this like charades? OK. Fine. I'm good at charades. Let's see. No favors from men, right? So I'm guessing you let a man do you a favor, and something bad happened."

She rolled her eyes.

"You're supposed to touch your nose," he said, careful to keep his face serious.

"What are you talking about?" She looked annoyed, but he could see it was a front. He could see the little tic at the corner of her mouth. She was so close... so close....

"Charades," he said, rolling his eyes right back at her. "If I guess right, you touch your nose. Haven't you ever played charades?"

"This isn't a game!"

"So then stop playing games and tell me what happened!"

She scowled at him. "I don't feel like it."

"Come on." He put a tentative hand back on her shoulder again. "Was it me? Did I do something else? Besides the thing at the bar?"

"You did plenty."

"What did I do?"

She shook her head.

He looked down into her face, his forehead wrinkling in puzzlement as he thought back. "A favor?" he muttered. "What favor? All I did was give you a sweatshirt..." Then he opened his eyes wide as if a realization had just struck him. "Wait a minute!" he exclaimed, letting his face break into a half-smile once again, even as he pretended to let out a groan. "I know what it is."

Penny tried to look away. He'd just thought of a good one. She could see it. She knew that look he got just before he delivered a real zinger. Her cheeks were starting to ache from the effort of not smiling. She bit her lower lip and pushed the corners of her mouth downward yet again.

His face was so close now. She could feel herself holding her breath. She tried to look down at her feet, but he placed one finger beneath her chin to tilt it upward, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"I know what this is," he said again. She bit down on her lip even harder as he let his mouth widen in a grin. "I'm sorry, Penny. I am so sorry. I gave you a Harvard sweatshirt. I went to Harvard. I didn't have any Princeton sweatshirts in my trunk."

Penny squeezed her eyes shut in desperation, but it was too late. She couldn't fight it any longer. The smile she'd been struggling against for the past quarter of an hour won out at last. She felt the corners of her mouth curl upward as his fingers gently tightened on her chin.