Chapter 29

On the delicate fringe of sleep and wakefulness, Philip sighed. Then, wiggled his nose. His face scrunched in irritation, before his hand rubbed across his nose at the tickle. He heard a giggle. His eyes cracked open. As his morning vision defuzzed, he saw Chloe gazing at him from above, fanning herself with a long tress.

Still foggy brained, his only defense was to cock a brow at her. She bit down on her lip with a mischievous grin. Her eyes followed, as she traced a silky trail with that tress down his neck, across his shoulders, and down his chest. His eyes clouded, but not with sleep. His hand closed gently around her neck and dragged her down, so her hair fell like a sweeping curtain around them. So, all he could see were those eyes. His hands pushed away the blanket and slid along her naked skin. So, all he could feel was that heavenly body. Then, he reared up, capturing her lips with his. He shifted her, so she straddled him. He held her closer and closer. So, all he knew was her.

"When do we have to go back?" asked Chloe, stroking his side.

"I told Henderson we'd get back around three in the afternoon," he replied softly. His arm rested on her back. He could hardly think of Salem and normal life, when he was here now with her in his arms. She felt so soft, so warm. So right. "We've still got a few hours. Central Park's only a couple blocks down. And you still haven't tasted your first New York hot dog."

"Euuu," she grimaced against his chest, "Do you have any idea what they put in those things?"

"Uh… mustard and relish?"

"Philip," she said, rising on her elbows, "Hot dogs are all the leftover parts of livestock, mixed together and grounded up."

His brows furrowed. "Well, when you put it that way… I'll take mine with extra chili," he grinned, when she gave his rib a poke. "Come on, Chloe. It's like as American as apple pie."

"Philip. The hot dog is a disavowed descendent of the sausage. As in frankfurter. As in Germany."

"You lie," he gasped with wicked grin. "Oscar Meyer has some serious explaining to do."

Suppressing a giggle, she smacked him in the shoulder. "You're hopeless."

"Chloe, baseball season starts next week. And yours truly is captain of the team. And you're my girl. Hot dogs to baseball is like pita to the Greeks. If you don't scarf dogs at a baseball game, it's like… sacrilege."

She laughed. "You're crazy, you know that?"

He grinned and tugged on her hair. "Ok, we'll split one. What do you say? Can't leave New York City without having a hot dog. Then, we'll go for some New York pizza. I know this great little place a couple of blocks from here."

"Philip…"

He gave her an entreating puppy dog pout, eyes wide as could be.

"Oh… okay." She shook her head at his jubilant smile and laughed. "I'll just have soy dogs at your games."

"Now, that sounds gross," he chuckled, "Come on, beautiful. We'd better get ready for breakfast."

He laid a quick kiss on her lips and scooted to sit on the edge of the bed, allowing her privacy. The sheets rustled, as it slid from her skin. He waited. Footsteps padded toward the bathroom. He smiled. His sweet Chloe.

The footsteps paused.

"Philip…" she said hesitantly.

"Yeah?" he said, still staring at his feet. He definitely needed a tan. Maybe, he and Chloe could go away to somewhere with a beach next time…

"Uh, Philip…"

"Yeah?" he repeated. Without thinking, he looked up and felt his heart stop.

She stood there, perfectly naked. In her hands was the shimmery blue satin negligee that he'd kissed off her body the night before. She blushed, attractively so, but she let her hands fall to her sides and stood there, inviting his gaze. Then, she smiled and his brain simply short-circuited. "I guess I'll take my shower first."

He could only nod. The soft morning light shone off her skin, like a halo. He'd never seen anything so beautiful.

"Ok, then," she said quietly, feeling his eyes caress every inch of her. With a glowing smile, she walked into the bathroom and closed the door gently behind her.

Niles the butler picked up the receiver after two efficient rings. "Kiriakis residence… Why, hello, Henderson old chum… Yes, indeed. They just departed. I must say, young Philip is turning into a fine young man… Yes, she is a lovely girl…" He chuckled, "You and your orange blossoms. Say, old boy, how is your ladylove? Marie, isn't it?"

Exhausted, Chloe flopped down on her bed. Home, at last. And now she could relive every moment of their weekend together. Her bags could wait. She hugged herself in glee. It'd been like a dream. She'd sat in the center parterre box at the Met and saw Giuseppe Verdi's "Aida." Italian opera. Achingly romantic. Forever tragic. The young Radamès sacrificed everything for the love of enslaved Aida, and in the end, they faced cruel fate, together. Was there a force on earth more unpredictable or inexorable than human emotion? Especially love?

She thought about the past year and this morning and was certain that there wasn't.

Philip. Just the thought of him made her heart swell so that she thought it'd burst. All the suffering and tears of her previous life, she thanked God for them, because they had brought her here. And made her truly grateful for her blessings.

She picked up the picture frame beside her bed. She fingered that handsome image. He was definitely a blessing.

The phone rang. She smiled. Could he know that she was thinking of him?

"Hello?" she answered expectantly.

"Hi, Chloe," piped a forever buoyant voice.

Her smile spread, "Hi, Belle. What's up?"

"Hold on," replied her chipper friend, "Mimi, are you there?"

"Yeah," responded Mimi on the third-party line.

"Ok," huffed Belle, "Now, spill it, girlfriend."

"We want details!" added a grinning Mimi.

Chloe laughed, replacing Philip's photo on her nightstand, grabbed a pillow, and recounted a PG-13 but thorough version of her amazing weekend.

With a hop in his step, Philip walked into school the next day.

"Hey, K-Man!" greeted Jason, who trotted up with a bookbag, slung casually on one shoulder. He took one look at his buddy's face and whistled. "Somebody got lucky…"

"So, what'd you and Shawn do this weekend?" asked Philip, trying to keep his face neutral. And failing.

"You sly dog," grinned Jase, giving an easy punch to his friend's shoulder. "Are we talking lingerie and the works, dude?"

"Coach said, we gotta start weight training this week," replied Phil, turning the combination dial upon reaching his locker and partially concealing his face. "Round up the guys, when you see 'em."

"Damn, it was that good," chuckled Jase, "So, where'd you guys go?"

Philip pulled out the necessary books and closed his locker, but not before glancing affectionately at his girlfriend's picture taped to the back of his locker door. "You ready for that History test on Wednesday?"

"You wrong, man. I bet all her friends know by now. Down to the color of your freaking underwear. Come on, dude. Quid pro quo."

"Fine." Philip continued his walk down the hall toward her locker. "You ask Mimi out yet?"

"What?" sputtered Jason, a flush creeping up his neck.

"Well, there's the quo." When they came upon Chloe's locker, he greeted her softly with a kiss to the cheek. "Hey."

"Hi," she replied, her cheeks pinkening prettily.

"Hey, Chloe. How was--" Jason folded over with the sudden blow to his solar plexus. Chuckling painfully, he grinned up at Philip, who shot him a warning glare. "How are you?" he coughed finally.

She observed this bizarre display of random male aggression and shook her head. "Fine. And you?"

"Hey, guys!" greeted Shawn, with his arm around Belle's shoulders.

The males exchanged their customary punches and grunts.

"Hi, people," said an arriving Mimi.

The females exchanged secret smiles.

"See?" smirked Jason to Philip, noticing telltale feminine gloating.

His buddy rolled his eyes and gave his girlfriend another kiss on the cheek, when the first bell rang. "See you later."

"Yeah," she smiled. "See you guys later." Then, she headed for AP Biology, while her friends dispersed behind her, each in the direction of respective classes. Chloe smiled to herself. During yesterday's phone conversation, she had edited much of her weekend down to sightseeing, food, and theatre. But her friends were no fools and guessed the rest. Especially Belle, who'd helped pick out the negligee. Perhaps, as females, they were expected to share every possible aspect of their experience with each other. But Chloe didn't see the point of it. She valued her privacy too much.

Now, Mimi, on the other hand, would probably have visual aids at the ready. Chloe laughed to herself. Her friends were blessings, as well.

A scuffle up ahead brought her out of her happy thoughts.

"Whatcha gonna do, nerd?" taunted the seven foot bully and his posse, who cornered a scrawny, curly haired boy between a group of lockers. The contents of his backpack were scattered across the linoleum floor. The halls were virtually empty of students and teachers, who'd rushed to make the second bell. They hooted sadistically, as their victim wriggled in their grasp, cringing as they drew closer.

"Hey," shouted Chloe, "What do you think you're doing?" Gathering her courage, she raised her chin at these brawny giants. The bruise on her cheek had healed barely a week ago. "Leave him alone."

"This is none of your business, sweetheart. So, beat it," said the largest member of the group, obviously the self-appointed leader, who glanced at her, as if she was nothing more than an annoying fly.

"I said, leave him alone," she commanded, louder now. If she screamed, help would come in an instant. She was sure of it.

"Who the fuck are you?" The leader turned now and approached her. Then, his eyes widened with recognition.

The final bell rang.

"Free advice, sweetheart. Learn to keep your nose out of people's business," he warned, puffing his chest. "Come on, dudes." Grumbling, the jocks sauntered to their classes.

Sighing, the boy bent down to pick up his things.

Chloe shifted her books to one arm and moved to help him. "Are you alright?"

"You shouldn't have done that," he said plainly.

Her brows furrowed, as she returned to him a textbook. "You're welcome. Those boys were picking on you."

"Now, they'll just beat me up after school instead. You pissed them off." He sighed once more, piling his books and papers back into his bag.

She frowned, "Do they do this a lot?"

He shrugged.

She handed him back his pencil. "Why don't you just tell the principal?"

He scoffed, "Do I look like I have a death wish to you? Look, I know you were trying to help me. But just stay out of it, ok?" He slung his bookbag over his slight shoulder. It was hell being a guy and a late bloomer. More like a never bloomer. He forced a shrug. Whatever. It didn't touch him, he told himself. None of it. He sighed again and turned to head for class, for which he was late, again.

"Hey," she said, "My name's Chloe."

"I know. Everyone knows. That's why those guys didn't mess with you."

She frowned. She'd have to think about that strange statement later. "Ok. So, what's your name?"

He hesitated, suddenly realizing he was talking to one of the most popular people in school. But she was different. Because she'd been one of them. The picked on. The outcasts. "Andrew."

She held out a hand, waiting patiently until he took it. "Nice to meet you, Andrew. Don't ever let them see you cry. Those assholes live for that," she advised, thinking of Jan and all those who'd made her first months at Salem High a living hell.

Saying nothing, he nodded and left.

Chloe sighed and headed for AP Bio, preparing to beg entrance.