Holy Mother of God, this woman was killing him. She was halfway angel with a sinfully delicious smile. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was about her that had him so hypnotized, but whatever it was, he sure as hell didn’t want to be a stranger by the night’s end.

"Okay Miss Joey, you know what I do for a living, what about you?" Better get the basics down as soon as possible.

She was apparently relieved at the subject change, "I’m what’s considered a renaissance woman, also known as a professional student."

Pacey made a face, "You got to school for the hell of it? What planet are you from?"

She poked him with the cue stuck, leaving a blue mark on his brightly colored shirt. "Earth, thank you very much. Yes, I got to school for the hell of it. I only take a class when I have the time. My major was Psychology."

"Ohh," he smiled in understanding. "That explains the knee-jerk analysis." He frowned as he noticed there were only two balls left on the table.

"Yeah, yeah. It’s become a habit at this point," She smiled ruefully. God, she was pretty. "I also freelance as a writer, usually critiques, sometimes other stuff. It puts food on the table and pays the rent."

"Doesn’t sound as though you enjoy it much." He casually commented.

"It’s not my passion."

His smile was feral. "And what is your passion?"

Her cheeks flushed faintly. "Painting."

"So let me get this straight." He leaned against his pool stick, "You’re a part time student, a writer, and a painter. And also, a bar fly on Monday nights. What do you do in your free time?"

"What free time?" she repeated with a smirk. "I usually get pretty caught up in my art, I’m ashamed to say that I’ve been known to spend days locked away in my condo. And I travel a lot."

"Yeah? Business or pleasure?"

"I wish it was pleasure. Usually it’s for art shows or one of my writing assignments. It’d be nice to travel for pleasure once."

Smiling nostalgically, he agreed.

"What was that for?" She asked with a curious smile.

"What?"

"That blissful look on your face like you just—" she cut herself off before she could embarrass herself.

"Just what, Potter?" He probed with a knowing smile.

"Nothing," she shook her head, "Just answer the question."

"I was just reminiscing back to the days when I did travel for pleasure. I spent two summers in high school sailing up and down the coast."

"Sounds amazing." She sighed wistfully.

"Best days of my life. So far," he added, giving her his sexiest smile, "This one’s starting to climb the charts."

He amazed him that she blushed. "I just want you to know that you’re not at all charming."

"Oh, really?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Really," she nodded emphatically.

"I think we’re done with pool for the night," he moved in front of her, taking her pool stick and reaching around her to place it into the rack, his body pressing firmly against hers.

He was satisfied to see her breathing speed up considerably. "Not so immune to my charm now, are you?" He teased breathlessly, finding himself more than just a little susceptible to her charms. He lid his fingers into her hair, caressing the soft strands around her face, and then tucking them behind her ear, tracing his finger tip around the soft shell.

"Unfair use of physical touch," she whispered thickly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Oh, yeah?" He murmured, "What’s my penalty?"

She swallowed, "Two minutes in the box."

He laughed out loud at that, taking a step back from her to give some space, "The box, huh?" He asked suggestively.

"Oh my God, you big goon!" She hit his shoulder, blushing furiously. "That’s completely not what I meant!"

"I’m not complaining. Sounds pretty damn good to me," he couldn’t help laughing as she walked back to the bar to gather the drinks, taking them to a booth in the corner.

"Just for that," she called over her shoulder, "I’m not going to dance with you tonight." She gave him a sensual look, "And I’m a damn fine dancer, Mr. Witter."

"Aww, man," He pouted, watching with appreciation as she gracefully slid into her seat.. "You truly know how to punish a man, Joey."

She tilted her head teasingly, "What can I say? It’s a gift."

"You know," he started after taking a drink of his Jack Daniel’s. "In all the talk of how busy your schedule is, you never mentioned if you were seeing anyone."

"I’m seeing you right now."

"Cute, but that’s not what I meant, sweetheart." He leaned back, resting his arm across the back of the booth. "Try again."

"I don’t have a boyfriend, if that’s what you’re so subtly trying to get at."

He grinned, "Good. Neither do I."

She smiled widely, "Now I never would have guessed you were hiding homosexual tendencies."

"That’d be because I’m not. The only gay man is my brother, the deputy."

"The deputy?" She smirked, "That explains the rebel aura that emanates from you."

"Sure it wasn’t the cologne?" He joked. "No, actually I get the black sheep aura from the deputy. The rebel aura comes from my father, the sheriff."

"And let me guess, the chef job didn’t fit in with the family tradition?"

"In a nutshell? No." He shrugged an indifferent shoulder, "But I’ve done well for myself, I don’t need them."

She rested her cheek against her hand, her eyes compassionate. "Everyone needs family, Pacey. Even the black sheep. Maybe them most of all."

"I plan on creating my own family…one of these days." He shot her an arch look. "And let me guess, Ms. Psychologist. You had the full package at home. Mom, Dad, Sister, Brother, a dog and cat named Fluffy, right?"

"Wrong." She shook her head, straightening. "You couldn’t be more wrong. My father was in prison before my tenth birthday and my mom died of cancer when I was twelve. I grew up with my much older sister and her black boyfriend on the wrong side of the tracks in an town where the tracks defined the local caste system."

"So I’m not quite as astute as you are," he frowned apologetically, "I’m sorry."

"Don’t be. I am who I am because of my upbringing. It was tough, but we had a lot of love in that house. I get the feeling never had that."

"Right again, Jo. But I had a surrogate family, and they were good enough."

"Have you ever been in love?" She blurted, setting down her empty martini glass.

"Abrupt, but okay," he laughed uneasily. "It’s a fair enough question."

"So?" She arched an eyebrow teasingly, "Ya gonna answer it?"

"Once. I was young. It was puppy love. A long story." He averted his eyes uncomfortably.

"I’ve got no where to be."

"I met her at school, she was new to the area. Father was rich, mother was insane. She was beautiful though, and smart. Way too smart to be with the likes of me."

"Well?" She prodded gently, noticing that this was a difficult subject matter. "What happened?"

"She killed herself."

"Oh." Her eyes widened, "I—I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have…"

He waved a hand, "Don’t be. It was years ago. I’m over it."

"People don’t just get over something like that," she said compassionately.

"You’re right. They come to terms with it, and move on. I have." He shrugged his shoulder, "She was the first woman that I loved." He smiled faintly, "Come to think of it, she was the last too."

"You haven’t been in love since?" She decided to move on.

"Are you sure you didn’t miss your calling as a therapist? I don’t usually discuss matters of the heart with close friends, let alone strange women I meet in a bar."

"So now I’m strange?" She pretended to sound offended.

"To me. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you."

"That’s a good thing right?" She sounded a little unsure.

His smile was soft, "The best."

She glanced away from the intense look on his face, "You still haven’t answered the question, Pacey."

"Nope," he shook his head, swallowing the last of his drink. "I was kinda girl crazy from then on. Recently, I’ve started rethinking that theory of existence. It’d be nice to have someone to come home to. I just haven’t seemed to find anyone I click with."

"You’re looking for a click?" Her tone was teasing.

"A click, a spark, bells chiming, fireworks…" he grinned, "I’m not picky. Whatever it is I feel when I touch you."

"I think you’re crazy."

"Yeah," he continued to smile, his lips curving upward in the corner. "Most likely. But as far as craziness goes, this feels pretty damn good. Are you saying you don’t feel it?"

"Well, no…but I…"

"But what?"

"It’s probably just the alcohol. I mean, we don’t even know each other." She waved her hand, her eyes not nearly as convinced as her words.

"What’s your point? We’ll get to know each other."

"It just seems fast," she finished plainly.

"It is. But what are you gonna do? Life is like that."

"How do you even know this is real? It could just be the atmosphere."

He chuckled, and gestured out to the bar, still mostly empty. "Do you find this place particularly romantic?"

She lowered her eyes to the table, "Honestly?" She toyed with the napkin before looking up at him, her voice soft, "I think it’s the most romantic place I’ve ever been."