The drive home took less than ten minutes. It took longer to find parking as a party was going on in my street and someone had blocked my driveway. Though I insisted that Erik just let me out, he refused and spent the next five minutes looking for parking.

"Not cool, Sam," he said. "I'm walking you to your door, whether you like it or not."

"You do know that I live right across the corner from the police station," I teased. "I doubt anyone would want to mug me."

"I don't care," he said. "I'm still walking you to your door."

He found a place to park three blocks away and we took our time walking. It was nice to smell the jasmine in bloom along one neighbor's fence and roses at another neighbor's yard.

Two units in the building next door were having loud parties. And by 1 am, I knew they'd quiet down a bit unless they wanted the neighbors to call the police.

My house was much smaller than Erik's beachfront home - and much older. I was almost embarrassed to invite him in because of that comparison, but I was still proud of my little house. It belonged to the first generation of beach homes during the 50's, when Hermosa Beach was a sleepy little surfing town south of the airport. Back then, quirky shops lined Pier Avenue and there was even a vintage theater by the beach. These days, while Hermosa Beach was still a small town, it was far from sleepy.

Through the years, as Hermosa Beach grew, my neighbors packed up and left. They sold their properties to developers who converted the sleepy cottages into condominiums and town-homes, like the ones on either side of my house. One day, I probably would move out of Hermosa Beach, too. Maybe I'd go somewhere that was quieter during the weekends, with no one throwing up in the alley behind the house because they'd had too much to drink.

But I wasn't ready to uproot myself just yet. Hermosa Beach was still a wonderful city to raise a child. And with Manhattan Beach the next city over, the school system was far from mediocre. It was also my home, where I reinvented myself from the loser who tagged walls and keyed cars to a single mother trying to do everything right. And no matter how old my little house was, I loved it, with its fallen shingles and faded boards, and pipes that needed replacing soon.

While Erik browsed through my bookshelves and DVD collection which consisted mostly of children's shows, I went into the kitchen to pour him a glass of water.

"Rosie told me that you both met in high school," He said, thanking me for the water. "She said that you were not even a sophomore when she first met you."

"I wasn't even a student," I laughed as I sat down on the couch. "Rosie was eighteen and about to graduate, I think. I was fourteen and I was looking for a girls' room to tag."

He frowned, sitting down next to me. "What's that?"

I gave him an incredulous look. How could he not know what tagging meant? "Tag. You know, vandalism. Graf-fi-ti."

Erik peered at me. "You? A truant?"

"I wasn't just a truant. I was a juvenile delinquent with a record, though looking at me now, you'd never know it," I said, wondering why I was telling Erik this of all things. "By the time I met Rosie, I already had an impressive record, all misdemeanors, by the way - nothing serious. Skipping school, vandalism, petty theft - like shoplifting a six-pack of beer or a bag of Cheetos. Not that I'm proud of it or anything. Just letting you know."

"Are you serious?" Erik was staring at me with an incredulous look on his face.

"Yup," I said, trying my best to be nonchalant about it. After all, it was a long time ago, though a part of me was begging for me to stop. There were just certain things best kept secret. Still, my mouth was going faster than my rational mind was able to silence. "I was running with a bad crowd then, kids from other foster homes, just like me. My grandmother was in some nursing home then, and no one could locate my mother, so I went to into the foster system - which sucked, by the way."

Erik was looking at me closely, and I could tell he was listening to every word I said. "I mean, there were one nice couple, but they already had two other kids that they actually adopted, and I wasn't really up for adoption since I was about to age out soon. Anyway, I had cut school that day and I went into the girls' room and began tagging the walls. And then who comes out of one of the stalls but Rosie. She was crying her eyes out because some guy dumped her. I felt sorry for her that I convinced her to get back at him."

"Wow," Erik said. "I guess I should be careful not to piss a girl off by breaking up with her."

"He had asked her to go the prom with him - and I guess they were already dating anyway - and then two or so days before the prom, he dumped her so he could take someone else. Someone named Bunny," I said. "You don't do that to anyone - I mean, that's just so low. So we vandalized his Mustang, and that's how she met Chuck, who turned out to have this huge crush on her. He saw what we had done, but he didn't report it."

"That's good," Erik said. "I feel sorry for the car though."

"I know. Unfortunately, it was caught on film."

"What happened?" Erik frowned.

"Rosie had already been accepted at some university in the east coast, so I didn't blab on her. Besides, she had no record. But because I already had one, this time I ended up in juvie for almost a year." I shrugged. "It didn't matter though. I did most of the keying anyway."

It was a lie though, for Rosie actually did most of the keying.

"You were in jail at fourteen?" Erik asked, his expression incredulous. "That must have been scary. Was your record expunged afterwards?"

"Yes, it was," I nodded. "But don't feel sorry for me, Erik. Jail time was way better than living with the foster family I was with at that time. One night my foster dad stood behind the shower curtain, waiting for me to undress-"

"Sam! That's awful!" Erik touched my arm, the concern real upon his face. "Did you report him? Did anything happen?"

"Of course, nothing happened. I kicked him in the balls - the ugliest things I'd ever seen," I said, as Erik howled, leaning back against the couch, his face turning red. "And I went to juvie instead of going back there. Let's just say that it's like finishing school - from the other end of the spectrum. But it doesn't matter now. It was so long ago, it's like a different lifetime."

"It is a different lifetime," Erik said, regaining his composure.

"I bet you're probably wondering now whether I'm trustworthy, huh?" I asked. "Do you want your house keys back? I won't blame you if you did, or even have the keys to your house changed."

Erik eyed me for a few seconds, and for a moment I thought he agreed with what I'd just said. Oh, great, I thought. Me and my big mouth.

"Don't be a drama queen," Erik said. "You came with good references, and that's good enough for me. Besides, you've been at my house for weeks and it's still standing. I also know where you live now." He grinned as he said it, and I couldn't help but believe him. Erik's smile could wipe away clouds on a rainy day.

"What about you?" I asked. "It's your turn to tell me something about yourself - preferably terrible, of course. The more terrible and juicy, the better - that way we can be even."

He set his glass down and leaned back on the couch. "Is this what I think it is? Confession hour? Isn't this too soon for our relationship? Wait! I'm just joking about that, by the way - ow!"

Though I punched him on the arm, we were both laughing. He was a big flirt, I thought, no longer remembering who started what.

"You could consider it as confession hour, but you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. As far as I know, you're perfect," I said, meaning it. I'd yet to hear a bad thing about Erik. And except for the night that Serena had come over, where I'd heard the edge in Erik's voice for the first time, there was nothing I could pin on him except excessive use of charm.

"I mean, look at you," I said. "You're a wealthy and smart doctor working with the uninsured people of L.A.. You babysit when you could be out partying with your girlfriend, and you patronize the art of some loser with a juvie record. There's got to be something that's not so nice about you, but I can't imagine what it could be."

"Whoa!" Erik exclaimed, holding up his hands. "First of all, I'm not wealthy and I'm not smart-"

"Oh, don't be too humble, Erik. You live in the fucking Strand, alright?"

"Hey! I thought it was my turn to confess," he said, holding up his hand teasingly.

"I'm sorry. The floor is yours, doctor."

"Thank you," he said, suppressing a grin. "Well, first off, I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I'm not smart. At least not that smart. My parents are originally from Ireland - Killarney, a small little town southwest of Dublin. They both came here separately, met through mutual friends and got married. Then they bought their first apartment in Gardena, just along the border of Manhattan Beach and they managed it, even doing repairs themselves to save money. They believed in hard work and it's what they taught Olivia and me. So I'm not a stranger to cleaning toilets if I have to. Not that I want to, but if I have to I will."

"Are you always this self-deprecating?" I asked.

"Only when I'm trying to impress someone," he replied, grinning, before winking at me. "Seriously, Sam. My parents made Liv and I work for everything, even our way through med school. By the time I finished, I was quarter of a million dollars in debt - and still am, though what I owe isn't that much anymore. Still, I'm not smart enough to want to pursue a specialty like surgery or neurology, where I could make tons more money. I like treating colds and runny noses, sprains and high fevers. And the serious ones, I refer out to the specialists. Are you listening? You're just staring at me."

"I'm shocked, but I'm all ears."

"Second, I babysit my niece because I want to to spend quality time with her before she grows up too fast, and also, to give my sister a break. It also gives my ego a break. Believe it or not, when people treat you like a god, it's easy to believe that you are one. And there are times when I do think I am, that I can do nothing wrong. But there's something humbling about caring for a baby, letting them smear mashed potatoes on you and watch Barney for hours. And after taking care of so many other kids, it's nice to take care of one who's actually related to me."

I frowned. "I don't know, but everything you're saying only makes you more perfect. Somehow this isn't working out for you - if we're supposed to be doing confession hour."

"Oh please!" Erik scoffed, shaking his head. "And third, I don't have a girlfriend. I can't seem to keep one happy enough to want to stay with me for the long term."

"Somehow I find that hard to believe," I laughed. Erik was gorgeous, rich, and humble. What woman would not want that?

"Well, believe it," he said. "I'm too busy to be in a relationship, and even when I do make the time to date, I can't see myself in a committed relationship just yet."

"Committed - as in committed to one person only? Or a person at a time while dating others?"

"I don't play the field, if that's what you mean, Sam, though I'm not a saint either. I'm a man, for crying out loud and I have needs, too. I just don't have the time to give a woman what she really wants right now - " He paused, giving me a soft punch on the shoulder as I snickered. "It's not what you think, Sam. I can give a woman what she needs, no problem. Get your mind out of the gutter. That's not what I meant."

"Oh, but it's comfy here in the gutter, Erik," I laughed. "Anyway, I hope you at least make some time to give a woman what she needs," I teased. "After all, I'm sure you must have them, too. You know - needs?"

"Of course I do." He smiled. "Don't you?"

"Well, we all have needs," I replied, not knowing why I was being so flirtatious. Maybe it was because I wasn't blind to the fact that I had a handsome man sitting on my couch, and for the past five weeks, we'd been flirting through handwritten notes. But the idea that we had been flirting all those weeks somehow sobered me up. Suddenly, the thought of David came to me. Was that what he saw in me? That glow that comes to a woman when she likes someone?

"Forget it," I stammered, blushing. "I didn't mean for the conversation to go there."

"And where is there?" He asked, grinning.

"I don't know. I mean, you know... It's a bit risqué to be talking about needs, I think...at least the needs men and women have. Why don't we keep our relationship simple, as benefactor and artist? Maybe keep the conversation on canvasses, brushes and tamales." I was rambling now, the panic rising.

"Why should we limit it to art?" Erik asked. "You're still a woman, and I'm a man. And regardless of the type of professional relationship we may have agreed to, we both have needs that the other can fulfill. Hypothetically, I mean," he quickly added.

"It still doesn't-"

"We all have them, Sam," Erik continued. "Some more important than others, like breathing and eating. It's human nature. But it's up to us whether we acknowledge those other needs or not."

I wanted to stop, I really did. But the words that followed tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop myself. "And which one are you, Erik? Are you the type to feed those other needs or are you one to bury them beneath work and other responsibilities?"

He thought for a minute before answering. "It all depends," he answered slowly.

"On what?"

Stop it, I told myself as I licked my lips nervously. Stop leading him on. Stop flirting!

"It depends if the other party is the right one to fulfill those needs with. And if they feel the same way, too. That usually makes the experience much more fun," he replied, watching me carefully. "But enough about me. Which one are you?"

I took a deep breath, not exactly too thrilled about where the conversation was going. It made me nervous. I was a woman of the age which men Erik's age chose to ignore, preferring to be with women much younger and with less baggage. Or a juvie record, for that matter.

"When I was growing up," I began. "I learned early on that while there were people who really cared for you, there were others for whom your well-being was last thing in their minds. And satisfying their own needs came above all else. So I guess you could say I fall between those two extremes."

"That's a safe place to be," Erik said. "Though you can't play it safe forever, Sam. You can't keep running away from what it is you really want to do - or have. Everything doesn't have to be of the extremes. It's okay to take risks."

"Is that what you think I do then? Run away?" I asked. I began to be aware of how close he was to me, as if the space between us had somehow disappeared. I could smell the scent of soap and rosemary. Erik leaned closer to me and my breath caught in my throat as I looked at him, his blue eyes framed with thick lashes.

"Not everyone is out to hurt you, Sam," he whispered. "There are those who truly care for you."

"Sure," I snapped, wanting nothing more but to wrench myself out of the fantasy that was never going to be. "Like you?"

Before I could move away, I felt Erik's fingers touch my cheek, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

"What if I really do care for you, Sam?" He asked, his voice low and gentle. "Would you run away then?"

I slid away from him, trying to widen the distance between us. Even though I'd flirted all night with him, this wasn't what I wanted to happen. Or maybe it was, I thought.

"I don't think this is a good idea," I whispered. "I can't do this."

Erik frowned. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," I replied. "But I think it's best to stay within that benefactor-artist relationship we established when we started. It will be less complicated."

"There's nothing complicated about this, Sam," he said softly, reaching for my hand and squeezing it. "What are you so afraid of?"

Before I could answer, the door burst open - and David walked in.