"Fourty-five minutes. She's forty-five minutes late. Where is she? Where is she?"

He looked around. Again. There were so many people that no matter who he'd be trying to spot in the crowd, failure was certain. And the music . . . it just made it worse, serving as a distraction. Taking his mind off important things and making him focus on how it was loud and annoying.

"I need to call her."

Seth placed his hands on Dean's shoulders in an attempt to calm him, but Dean shook them off almost immediately. He was too determined; already making the call.

Seth waited about five seconds before a necessary comment. "What is it, fourth, fifth missed call?"

"Third," Dean let him know. There was no need for making Dean a compulsively obsessed freak. But then again, he was keeping count, and he wouldn't stop even at the fourteenth. He mumbled, "I hope she's got a good excuse. . . ." Appearance lied. In fact, he wasn't as angry as he was seriously disappointed. Not that he cared about this masquerade. However, he had enough courtesy to come, that being said, so she should have too. In fact, she should have been the one waiting for him at the entrance. But no, clearly making him wait was the way to go, according to her.

Then he realized there actually could have been a reason, a legitimate reason, for her absence. "What if something happened to her?" he said. Horror appeared in his eyes.

At that point Seth left. Dean again dialed her number . . . he actually typed the number in, as if that would make any difference. "Come on, pick it up . . . please," he insisted. Worrying changed his attitude. Anger gave way to preoccupation.

A sigh came when it went to voice mail. Another failed attempt.

"Dean," somebody called his name.

"What?" he snapped.

"Would you like to take part in your own party?"

Dean calmed down first, then said, "Sure. Yeah. Just give me a minute."

"Is something wrong?" It was Kofi who was asking.

Dean sighed and looked around again. No, she hasn't magically appeared. "Renee's not here."

"Huh," was his only reaction. Except for adding, "Well. . . ." Without finishing the thought, he walked away. He seemed confused. Now he, too, was searching the crowd.

But Dean didn't give a damn about where that guy was going. All that mattered to him was that he had no clue where his girlfriend was. And it sucked because she was the only person he actually wanted to spend his birthday with. Birthday or whatever . . . His real birthday was a couple of days ago, but what can you do when you have no time to celebrate it then. He wouldn't care about celebrating it at all, as a matter of fact, it was no big deal to him, but they insisted. He had no choice but to surrender and participate.

Now he felt betrayed. He agreed to this under the condition of her presence. Damn it, he should have made that demand public . . . and get her signature in case. But he thought it was given that she'd be there. Yet she was nowhere in sight.

After another attempt at a call – yes, it was the fifth time, okay? – he gave up. Either she's been ignoring him or she's away from her phone. The bottom line was he had no powers to get her to talk to him.

Seth was approaching him with a glass of wine in each hand. He handed him one, or more like made him take it. "Drink! Celebrate! Stop worrying already." He took him away from the crowd, into the corner near the food table. "Have you tried the goat-cheese stuffed mushrooms?"

"I'm not hungry," Dean replied. His tone was not very friendly, but then again, he did not try to hide the irritation.

Seth reconsidered his attitude. "Okay, Dean, stop being such a pain in the ass, and start entertaining you guests. What's the point of the party at all if you stand in the corner by yourself and the only activity that you are willing to be part of is self-pity?"

"You all wanted to get drunk, there's your reason for this party. So stop pouring drinks in me and find a company that's actually interested in getting wasted. I didn't want to be here anyway," Dean uttered, and headed for the exit.

Seth found himself uneasy. He knew the task assigned to him was difficult and time-restricted. He was checking the crowd and the area on the other side of the big hall. It was hard for him to see all the way down there, but clearly he found somebody involved in the organization and started a long-distance telepathic conversation. First though, Seth had to check how far did Dean get, if he managed to leave completely yet. Somebody stopped him – or at least slowed him down – so that gave Seth additional few seconds. He again focused on the guy on the other side of the room and raised his head up in a question that he knew the person would understand. He got a nod in response.

Then he walked fast to get to Dean. He just managed to prevent him from opening the door.

"So I'm being held hostage now?" Dean asked.

Seth did not react to the anger and annoyance on Dean's part. Instead, he started smiling. "Come with me," he advised him. "The cake's ready."

That elevated Dean's mood a bit. He had to make a little joke. "Have they been baking it till now?"

Dean let Seth guide him. The people started forming a way in the middle so that they could pass. Everybody wanted to get close to the area of current attention. Between the big speakers there awaited Dean's present. A huge birthday cake. Seth and Dean stopped in front of it.

Dean's mouth was slightly open. With suspicion he looked at Seth. A giant cake. Renee's nowhere in sight. . . . Please let there be Renee inside the cake, he made a wish.

Enthusiastically he waited what would happen. His eyes were sparkling. He believed he was right. She had to be inside; that was the most logical explanation for her absence. Also it was the only excuse he would accept.

His face started to shine like that of a little kid under the Christmas tree. The images that the nerves sent to brain were transformed into wild imagines. He was too impatient to not give in to the pressure.

Unfortunately, he was made to wait. Uncomfortable situation was on the list before the anticipated one. People were looking at him, all smiling, and he knew they meant well, but it looked as a scene from a horror movie. Seth took the role of a conductor, directing his improvised orchestra to create a masterpiece. That was strange too. Why was he so initiative and enthusiastic about being the center of the attention in such a non-wrestling – although full of wrestlers and people associated with wrestling – event? The answer did not matter at all. The fact was that people starting singing Happy Birthday. It would have made Dean uncomfortable, the way birthday boy or girl feels when all those people are singing and he has to sit through it, having nothing to do, but for Dean it was different. Watching the cake kept him busy. He observed, paying attention to such details as the frosting imperfections and the font they used to write Dean's name. However, what he really cared about was its inside. The way they would reveal the secret. Because, let's be honest, there had to be something inside that was meant to be a surprise.

The song ended. Now waiters starting going around, handing glasses of champagne to everyone. Dean was given one too. For a brief second he looked into the glass but then his eyes again set on the white-ish golden-ish cake.

"Dean," Seth called him. Surprisingly, he succeeded in getting Dean's hard-to-appease attention. Then Seth started focusing on the crowd instead of Dean, and that proved a fatal mistake. He lost Dean again. At least Seth did not care that much. He spoke to the guests, "As Dean's number one enemy –" Seth started his speech, but the conflict arose early on.

Bray deliberately coughed.

"Seriously?" Seth asked, taking it as a personal offence. "Dean and I have been enemies for longer –" Now he himself stopped, realizing it was not true. "But what we two have is much more intense, it's a passionate love-hate relationship. We're like Cain and Abel."

"Seth, let it go," Dean uttered to him, though hardly paying any attention to him.

Seth did. "Anyhow, I'd like to make a toast." Somebody indicated to Seth that he shouldn't make it unnecessarily long. "I just want to wish Happy Birthday to the guy who's not even looking at me," he added, in hope to change that. As if he could. "All I want to say is, never change. Or do. . . . Not that you'd ever listen to me."

Dean grinned.

"I wondered if you could be less egoistic, less moody, not such a maniac, and if you could do something about that arrogance," he named some suggestions.

"You're done?"

"No. Actually I have a list." And to show he was serious, he took out a sheet of paper from him pocket. He looked at it, appeared to be about to read it out loud but he didn't. Among other reasons, time was pushing him. "Well, consider it my present to you." He handed the paper to Dean. "You can go through it whenever you like."

Dean accepted the "present" but put it in his pocket, not thinking to ever take it out to read it.

"I've actually asked everybody here to make a list of a few ideas they had about what you could change about yourself. No pressure," Seth said to him casually. Somebody pushed a box toward Seth. Seth picked it up, mumbling, "Uh, it's heavy," and gave it to Dean.

"Thanks, everyone," Dean shouted to make sure even people far away from him heard him. "There are no words to describe what it means to me," he said. Then he turned to the right, made four or five steps and threw the box into the trash can. After all, actions speak louder than words.

Seth couldn't say Dean's reaction surprised him. To be fair, it was just a trick to see what happens.

Faking disappointment, Seth went to get the box. He put it down on the floor right in front of Dean. "The truth is," he started, holding a squat position and opening the box with a somewhat sharp knife. "There are no 'suggestions.'" He mimicked the quotation marks. "Ain't nobody got time for that." He waited till he managed to open the box. Then he gave Dean a chance to see what the box really contained.

"Rose petals?" Dean did not understand. Was that supposed to mean something?

"Dig deeper," Seth advised him.

Dean leaned to put the petals aside. At the bottom he revealed a simple sheet of recycled paper. There was something written on it. He read it out loud, although too quietly to allow wider audience to hear anything. "A gift certificate?"

Seth was smiling. Yep, that was it.

"For what?" Dean wanted to know.

It appeared that not even the guests at this party knew what this was about. However, it didn't seem very interesting anyway.

Seth patted Dean's shoulder, looked to his left at some guy, then pointed at the screen and a short movie made of embarrassing enough pictures of Dean started to play. A suitable music, light, playful, with joking undertone accompanied it.

Dean had no interest in watching the screen. Instead of repeating what others did he turned to Seth. A "gift certificate" in his hand. "What's this?" he asked, and demanded an explanation.

Before answering, Seth had to check if anybody was listening, then, when it felt safe, he spoke to Dean. Whispered, actually. "Trade," he said. He reached into his pocket. "You give me this." He took the paper that Dean was holding. "And I give you this." In an exchange, Seth handed him what appeared to be a walkie-talkie. Dean was far from having understood. What was he supposed to do with it?

"What's this?" he asked again. He found that this question had wide application.

"That is a device that will make everyone in this room hate you."

Dean's eyes kept watching Seth. "What?" The meaning was still escaping him.

The video was coming to an end. The final verse of the song was playing as well. Seth did not want the presentation to last long, just as he did not want to embarrass Dean much. All was aimed at creating that perfect moment where nobody would notice.

"Just press the button," Seth told Dean.

He did. Just in time. And the result? Enormous explosion. The cake was all over the room, destroying people's clothes, nor rarely expensive. Yes, that was what Seth meant when he said that everybody would hate Dean. But Dean did not care. He had cream in his hair, chocolate on his shirt, and there was even a smashed strawberry stain on his crotch. Nothing mattered.

It was all worth it. The result was amazing. Yes, there stood Renee. And no, neither she escaped the cake damage. Yet there could be hardly any talk about "damage" in her case, for all she wore was white underwear. Okay, that was not totally true. She was wearing a dress actually. White, laced, and more than fairly transparent. It was far from useful since it hardly covered her lady parts. Oh, and yes, she wore one more thing. Angel wings. She looked like an angel. A Victoria's Secret angel, to be precise. Or a snow queen. Either way, she looked gorgeous. Breathtaking.

Only after a minute of constant staring a conflict arose in Dean whether to appreciate the sight of a beautiful girl or to condemn it, for this was a perfect opportunity for everybody to see his girlfriend almost naked. The internal struggle was tough, but ultimately predator instincts won.

In a perfect silence she spoke. "Happy birthday," she said in an angelical voice as she walked toward him, not caring for stepping into Dean's birthday cake. When she was close enough for him to hear her whispering, she added, "The king of my heaven."

She offered her hand for him to take it. He did, but giving orders to his body was almost impossible. The brain was able to focus on one thing, one person, only. His angel.

They laced their fingers, in front of everybody. They shared private moment in a hug and a subsequent kiss. When he touched her back, he felt the goosebumps. He wondered if she were cold. In reality, excitement was the primary reason for the reaction.

Inside he couldn't stop smiling. On the outside, there appeared nothing. His nerves couldn't even deliver the message from brain to his lips. If only he could say I love you.

The way he was holding her sufficed to her. She knew he was happy. Surprised, as well.

She did the first step. She pronounced what he wanted but couldn't. "I love you."

Now the smile arrived. In response, he drew her closer to him, if it were possible, snuggled her in his arms and kissed her more passionately than the first time.

"I love you more," he finally said.

They were so thankful that nobody interrupted their private moment. As long as others remained quiet, neither Dean nor Renee cared about the audience.

After breaking the kiss, which got gentle at the end, Dean told her, "I love you, my little angel." Now he was coming back to his sense. He stepped back to view her again, more complexly this time. Astonishment did not go away, just . . . "You know what would improve your already almost perfect costume?" He looked down when he felt slight embarrassment over the self-centered suggestion. "A DA sign on the cups," he said.

Renee smiled, and the smile continued growing wider before she finally revealed, "There is a DA sign. But it would be inappropriate to show right here right now where it is." She added in a whisper dedicated only to his ear. "You'll have to look for it later."

His expression suggested he liked that. Now he just wished to be with her alone. But there were people all around, and they came because of him – okay, they didn't, but they pretended they did – so he had to spend some time with them.

After minutes of staring at her and her only, Dean looked away. The courage allowed him to see the expressions of people who witnessed the exhibition of affection they did not get to see very often. And it lasted, because Dean kept holding Renee's hand. He felt like never letting go.

Only now Dean realized why they were rewarded with silence, no interruption, no stupid jokes. Seth no more stood next to them.

First, it confused Dean. As before he searched the room for Renee, he now did the same for Seth. Yet he was not there. "Where's Seth?" Dean asked people standing closest to him.

"He left a couple of minutes ago," somebody gave him the answer.

"Why?"

At that point, he stopped asking. He stopped wondering. As well as he knew that nobody would reply to his second question, he knew that there was no need for it. It was pretty clear to him.

He turned to Renee, "I should go. . . ."

She knew what he meant, even without hearing the end of that sentence. She nodded in understanding.

That was when someone grabbed Dean's shoulder to get his attention. "I'll go check up on him. You stay here and enjoy the company of your lovely girl."

He liked how "your lovely girl" sounded. It made him smile. It made him very happy. He drew her closer to him again. This seemed to be the right time for suggesting that she put something on. His boyfriend instincts were waking up, and they did not like what they saw.

He offered her his jacket but she refused, saying, "I can go change." She knew she would have to, eventually.

"No, don't change," he opposed her idea. His voice sounded terrified, but in a cute way.

Renee smiled. She realized the solution would not come easily. "You don't like me wearing this but you don't want me to wear something else either. What do you want?" she asked him, still smiling.

As he leaned toward her ear, he whispered the evident answer. "I want to be alone with you." He hushed his voice even more. "And do things to you that would result in my ban from heaven. And yours as well," he playfully added.

Dean's words made her shiver. Now she really wished to be alone with him as well. However, the reward of absolute privacy would come only after sacrificing their immediate desires and spending at least half an hour in the company of their colleagues. Freedom was not free. But it should work out. Those people would get drunk soon. Then they can do whatever they like.

Most of the people were looking at Dean. Some in anger, some in anticipation of his speech.

Somebody turned the music down.

"So, am I getting a real cake?" Dean joked. Like he would give a speech. . . .

Apparently, he was. A waiter brought another cake. A smaller one that was not hiding any surprise. For some time that was enough explosions.

The new cake had candles – Dean preferred not to count them. He just approached the table where the waiter was finishing lighting up the candles. Guests encouraged Dean to make a wish,, but since his wish had already come true he had no need to make another one.

When he took a deep breath to blow them all at first try, he changed his mind. Instead of doing it the conventional way, he licked his fingers and manually extinguished the flame, candle by candle.

He noticed the confused looks on peoples' faces, to which he responded with simple, "What? I have my own way of doing things." He didn't give a damn about people's shaking heads. As long as Renee was smiling as a result of having been entertained, everything was fine.

Music got loader again. The partying was supposed to resume. First, though, the attending WWE personnel wanted to get those pieces of cakes from their clothes, their faces, and their hair. Waiters brought something to wipe it with but not everyone got a cloth. Therefore, some headed for the bathroom. So did Dean and Renee. While waiters were serving the birthday cake, Dean grabbed Renee's hand and took her away from the crowd. As they walked through the corridor in a hurry, Dean tried to push open every single door that appeared by his side. He found one bathroom that was, however, only for people working there. As if he cared. . . . They entered.

There was no lock, and they had no interest in entering a cubicle. Conditions were not perfect but they were good enough. They started making out on the spot. After the first wave of affection, the urgency of the connection gave way to playfulness. Dean dipped his finger in the cream that covered Renee's shoulder, then he put it on Renee's nose. She let him. And she let him subsequently lick her shoulder clean. "Umm, vanilla," he spoke.

"If you look for it, you'll find chocolate as well," she replied.

He loved the way she accepted his actions. She no longer found them weird; now they were cute. She hasn't got used to them, learned to live with Dean's peculiar behavior; she came to love them.

For a minute, Dean pretended to be looking for chocolate flavor, failing on purpose, until she licked the cake filling off Dean's neck. He waited to see what she would do. . . . She gave him a try. . . . And their tongues were interlocked again.

Without looking, Dean's hands tried to take off Renee's angel wings. When they succeeded, with Renee's assistance, they wondered what to do about the dress.

They got interrupted before the decision could be made. Well, better now than when somebody'd be naked.

A disturbance came from their colleague. Soon after Dean realized it was Jey, he shouted, "Authorized personnel only!"

"Hey! They said we could use this bathroom, too. But I see you two already are," he added humorously. As if the sole presence wasn't enough, he had to say, "Great outfit, by the way." With the grin on his face, he got pushed out the door.

For Renee this sufficed. "Thirty minutes. We can wait that long."

"Twenty-three. That's all I can promise."

Renee smiled, and picked up her wings. Then she opened the door and waited for Dean to walk out of the room. He lingered, but finally he did. She followed him.

His slow pace made her take the lead. Now Dean got chance to appreciate her look from behind. He loved what he saw but couldn't allow other people to see it. As a result, he took off his jacket and asked Renee to put it on. Although not with much enthusiasm, but finally she did. However, Dean had to admit it only made things worse. Sure, nobody could see her boobs anymore, but Dean gave people great chance to see her ass. And it was somehow more visible now. Or, better said, it attracted more attention. That skirt that she was wearing was useless. It was hiding literally nothing.

"You can't go there like this," he finally said what became clear to him a while ago. Besides, "You can't even be here wearing this." As a guardian he approached her and hid her from the view of passing people. But he knew that solution was only temporary.

Renee sighed. She knew it would come down to that. "I guess I'm changing then."

"No." That option was still unacceptable to him. What was the problem? If she took that sexy costume off, she wouldn't put it back on. And even if she did, it wouldn't have the same effect. Now it was perfect. If they were alone. Damned unfavorable circumstances.

"Well, I suppose in that case we're staying here forever."

Dean had to come up with something. The position they were holding – his body covering hers, her back pressed against the wall – was not ideal for curious passers-by. And it was not helping his 23-minute promise either.

The universe ceased to exist for him when he was looking into her hypnotizing eyes. Only his reflexes worked; brain didn't. That was why he almost punched the person tapping his shoulder. Not seeing who it was, it was Renee who grabbed Dean's arm and saved Dolph from having his nose broken.

Dean decreased the tension in his arm. It became powerless one second after she started holding it.

"I just wanted to ask if you're coming." It was logical that people wanted to see Dean at his party.

Renee answered for both of them. "We'll be right there."

That sufficed for Dolph to leave them alone again.

Renee returned to looking at Dean while Dean never stopped staring into her eyes. He put his right hand, the one she finally let go off, on her waist. He felt the strange fabric of her dress. There were holes in it; he did not understand. Small holes attracted him to try and see if his finger fits in there. Of course it didn't; they were far too small. But if he managed to get his fingernail in, he could . . . and he was tearing it now.

"Is there any reason why you're ruining my dress?" Renee asked. Maybe surprisingly, she didn't appear, and she wasn't, angry.

Dean did not stop. But he argued, "It's not a dress." It was far too revealing for that.

Renee gently placed her hand on Dean's fingers and got control of their movements. Dean did not protest. He was in some kind of haze. Hypnotized by the strange appearance of the fabric. But what had greater effect on him was the touch that rewarded his damage action. Her skin. The softness. The please thoughts that intruded his mind again.

"Ok. Now I really have to change."

This time Dean did not object. He listened to her, yet somewhat distantly. He still focused on the revealed part of her waist with most of his senses.

"Will you be alright if I leave for five minutes?" She wanted an assurance because Dean's mind was a mystery to her right now.

Rather unexpectedly, he replied with a nod.

"Go back in there, and then I'll find you."

He lingered, not feeling like doing anything, just . . . he wanted to touch. He wanted . . .

She gave him a little push – a literal push – so that he'd move toward the grand hall where the main party was taking place. "Go," she ordered him nicely.

Dean nodded again. But did he even know what he was agreeing to?

He let her go. Slowly, patiently, she escaped his touch. One last smile and she was gone.

First, he looked to the left where the party was. He could hear the noise all the way there. Loud and annoying music, people chatting in a friendly manner or having a heated dispute over something stupid. He didn't care much for that. Then he looked to the right. The way she went. He could still smell the trace of her perfume.

The decision was an easy one. He chose to follow her. Fortunately for him, he encountered nobody who'd try to stop him and drag him into the center of what they called fun. The trip to the third floor was without problems. The desire supervised each his step. The brain had only a vague idea of what was happening. But it worked. He managed to get to her door. He knocked twice.

She opened the door immediately. She said nothing. Sort of ignoring him, or at least not making a big deal of his presence, she went back to her previous activity. Her clothes hasn't changed yet. Of course; she only entered the room shortly before Dean. "Are you coming in?" she finally asked Dean, who was still standing in the open door. It would not be pleasant if somebody happened to see her changing.

Seconds were passing but he hasn't moved one inch. She smiled at him as he watched her. "What?"

Dean kept observing. The perfume was stronger now, and it wasn't solely because of her being in the room. She has reapplied it. And so she did the lipstick. Actually, it appeared to be a different shade of pink. Strange how he noticed. Oh, and the cake was gone. She cleaned it all up. Her hair was combed but the glitters remained. The only thing that stayed the same was her dress. Which didn't seem to be the most logical thing because it's easier to wash yourself when you're not wearing anything. Dean put two and two together.

"You knew I would come."

She didn't try to prove him wrong. "Of course. You aren't that unpredictable."

She thought that now that they cleared that up he would finally get in and close the door. However, nothing would change until he gets one more answer.

"You wanted me to come."

Her eyes did not avoid the tense look. Her legs bravely moved toward the danger. She pulled him inside and closed the door. She stayed standing by the door, with him watching her every move. And her lips. They finally moved.

"Yes," she said quietly.

All returned to the beginning. She was leaning against the wall – or the door in this case – and he surrounded her. His left hand touched her waist, resuming the battle it had earlier with the dress. He located the hole he created and ripped it even more. She did not protest. The dress was ruined already. Why not have some more fun before throwing it away? It was a game to him. Not always an easy one, but finally he managed to rip it all apart. The next level was the underwear. But it was no real challenge.

"Have I told you that you look beautiful?" he asked.

"I think so," she replied. And added, "Even if not, your look makes that clear."

"Sorry for staring."

Renee chuckled. "You keep doing that."

"I got an idea. How about closing your eyes?"

She looked away and smiled somewhat covertly. She had to ask. "What will you do? Kiss me?"

"Yes."

Finally she closed her eyes. Keeping his promise, subsequently he kissed her. Slowly, gently. As if they were surrounded by a crowd of people and didn't want to raise suspicion.

After some time he engaged his tongue as well. His hands kept securing her waist. Learning that she was cold, he stopped.

"What?" She did not understand.

"You're shaking."

He snuggled her in his arms as a means of giving her first aid. But that wouldn't sufficed, he was aware. He kissed her on her cheek. "I wish I could kiss the cold off you," he admitted as a joke to a certain extent.

"I'm not cold," she lied.

Her protesting would not be taken. Dean kept thinking. What were the options? Hot bath. Get under the sheets. He decided for a more challenging option. "I need to make you hot." For avoiding sounding it like an insult, he added, "Not that you aren't already extremely hot."

They returned to kissing. The difference was evident. No more patience. The kiss was urgent and filled with passion and desire. The message that the kiss delivered was clear: greater things were to come.

In the middle of it all, Dean realized what he was doing. Undergoing yet another challenge. It sounded stupid, and maybe even immature, but he believed he had the right age for these kind of games. And as long as she complied, as long as he fulfilled the promise, the way of achieving the goal did not matter.

But the road to victory was problematic. It was hard for him to work under the current situation. There was a need to start from the beginning. He took off his shirt and covered Renee in it. He tied the sleeves, so in the end, the shirt was hanging around her neck like a cape. More importantly, the loving gesture was ineffective. Maybe the instinctive actions of his body would deliver better than the propositions of his brain.

He was stroking her leg that was tied around him, however, it was difficult to judge the real purpose of this. But his lust and the need to keep her warm had to cooperate.

An idea popped into his head. He carried her into the bathroom. No, he would not drown her in the water. But he turned on the faucet and let the hot water fill the bathtub. Steam shortly gathered around them, and since it had nowhere to escape, it was trapped in the room with them. That should increase the temperature.

The mirror steamed up completely. The environment became inhospitable for him but she seemed to like it.

"Are you still cold?"

She shook her head no. He hesitated whether to believe her, but since he was about to burn, it would surprise him if she was still trembling from cold. She must have been telling the truth. She even threw the shirt away. They were too occupied to notice that it landed on the bathtub and one sleeve was deep in the water, which continued to flow. Hopefully, somebody would realize before it overflows.

They were distracted by each other's presence. And soon Dean got distracted by something else, something very specific yet hard to identify. It required a more attentive observation. But it was clear that something was hiding underneath her light-golden panties.

She noticed he was focusing on something other than the foreplay. That was okay. She was glad actually. Excited. Finally she got the chance to show him the surprise.

It was just on the right side of the groin region so moving the underwear down a bit fully sufficed to reveal the black ink. At last, he found the DA sign.

"Is it . . ." He had a question on his mind.

"Only temporal but yeah, it's a tattoo."

"Oh my god!" he exclaimed, clearly excited. "That's awesome."

She was content; her smile left little doubt about it. Now she knew it was worth it. Maybe she would even consider a permanent tattoo. . . .

Wanting to feel it, he touched it, really softly. Once there, he didn't feel like leaving that part of her body. And he had a strong desire to reconnect his lips with hers.

"You're amazing," he whispered, as he slipped his hand deeper in her already wet underwear. "No, you're not cold anymore," he said, knowing he was right.

"How could I be when I'm so close to hell?" was her reply, ended rather sharply and followed with a gasp. She spoke no more.

On the other hand, he still had words to address her. "You're the best birthday present I can imagine." She clearly wanted to reply somehow but he made it difficult for her to even stand on her own two feet. "And I know that it probably took a lot of effort to prepare the whole party downstairs, but all I really want is to be with you." How was he even able to formulate the sentences? "Not pretending, not answering some stupid question, and not faking a smile each time somebody wishes me happy birthday." Seriously, how he managed to hold up was a mystery to her. "My only birthday wish is to be with you. And make you happy." He was already working on that. When he leaned toward her ear and whispered the three magical words, her brain stopped functioning and body took charge. Dean knew what he needed to do. His attitude changed. The devil side of him contained the gentleman in him. "I'm keeping this fallen angel." She resembled one, since she lost the wings minutes ago. But there still was that angelical appearance. Although if she were an angel, she certainly was a naughty one. What kind of heavenly creature walks around in her underwear and sells her soul to the devil in exchange for a sexual pleasure?

She was already aware of her sins. "I've been banned from heaven. I better find a new home."

"Home? No, hell's not your home. It's your prison."

Well, she didn't seem to care for that. Home or prison . . . as long as the devil was on her side, it was alright. Devil may have ruled the hell but he did not have absolute control over himself. That was the spot she occupied; queen of the king.

However, right now she was powerless. And it would take her some time to recover.

Now he finally stopped the water. Just in time. "The bath is ready," he joked, disregarding the fact that Renee was hardly paying attention.

In the meantime, he washed his hands, and get that chocolate, vanilla, and who knows what else off his face. There wasn't much, but he had more in his hair. That was supposed to be annoying, but who gave a damn.

As he was staring at his reflection in the mirror, wondering if there was a way to improve his appearance without too much effort, he noticed her standing behind him. She hugged him from behind and said, "It's your birthday, not mine."

The objection was not taken. Dean had his reasons, the most important summed up in, "Today is not my birthday."

"I know, but we're pretending that it is."

He turned around to face her. "Then take it as my expression of gratitude for your presents."

Renee smiled. "I haven't given you my birthday present yet."

"Hmm . . . so the party, the cake bomb, the naughty costume, the DA tattoo . . . those are not presents?"

"Well, yeah, I guess."

The answer implied there might have been more.

"Is there another one?"

"Yes, there is. The main one." She hesitated when she realized there was one more, so she felt the need to explain to Dean, "And I don't mean the typical I'll-do-whatever-you-want. That goes without saying."

It suddenly occurred to Dean how lucky he was to celebrate his birthday twice. Double the presents, double the privileges of a birthday boy. "I should have birthday more often," he joked.

Renee countered, "Once a year is enough. Remember that there is also Christmas, New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day. . . ."

"Can I get a special treatment every time I win a match?"

She chuckled. "You already do. Even if you lose. And especially when they carry you off on stretcher."

"Maybe I should fake those injuries more often," he changed the plan, to much disapproval of his girlfriend who worried about him fake or not. To change the topic, he asked about his birthday present. "So what do I get? And where is it?" He started looking around, just pretending to be impatiently searching for it, even though he knew very well she had it hidden somewhere, but certainly not in the bathroom.

"It's downstairs. Among the other gifts."

"Oh." So he would have to return, after all. "Well, at this time most people will be drunk anyway," he concluded.

Renee joked, "That's the spirit. Seriously." She laughed. "It's your party and you're not even there."

"Should I tell you again how these people can kiss my ass?"

"Come on. Don't be so ungrateful."

There was a need for explanation to avoid being taken for a jerk. "All I'm saying is if it's them or you, it's you. If it's nobody or you, it's you. And if it's me or you, it's you again."

She saw right through him. "You're not getting out of it. You have to go there. Dedicate those people at least five minutes of your precious time."

"But that would mean five minutes less with you," he objected.

"I'll be there as well."

In fact, he had no problem being around some drunk people making corny joked about how old he was and shit, it's just that there were better things to do. But if he had to go, they better leave before his mind gets dirty. Or. . . .

"How about that bath first?" Dean suggested. "We don't need to hurry. It's not like those people will leave anytime soon."

"They may." Only after saying that sentence Renee realized that was actually Dean's strategy. "No." Although she initially wanted to accept Dean's idea, now that she knew Dean's reasons, she changed her mind. "How about this? I take a bath, you go downstairs enjoy your party, and then I'll join you in ten minutes to one hour." An unhappy look on Dean's face appeared, which Renee had to take full responsibility for. Nevertheless, she wouldn't back down. "Go," she was encouraging him, "have fun, get drunk, I don't care." She was pushing him out the room.

After some persuasion, Dean finally yielded to her insistence. "But you'll come in fifteen minutes max," he claimed his requirements. "And I reserve the right to open any present I find without the consent of the owner."

Renee laughed at how formal he made himself sound. "Fine."

Dean, happy with what he achieved, turned to her with one last enquiry. "What does it look like?"

"I'm not obliged to tell you that. Besides, we both know you'll end up opening all the presents. And making a mess around."

Dean sighed and opened the door. With puppy eyes he looked at her, attempting for the last time to get the details.

She couldn't resist. "It's a small box with blue ribbon."

Now he could leave in peace, happy as one could be. Renee accepted the price she had to pay for getting those few minutes alone, which she would use for repackaging herself with a new outfit. What she didn't realize was that the real reason why Dean insisted on knowing which gift was from her was so that he knew which he shouldn't open. Of course she would want to be there when he opens it, to see his expression. That he knew and respected.

Dean descended to the ground floor. Somewhat made him believe that he would find less than half of people there. He wasn't lucky. They were almost all there, partying, even without him. But soon after appearing there, he attracted attention.

"Dean, Dean," somebody was already shouting at him.

"Yep?" he replied, lacking the previous enthusiasm. He appeared a bit depressed. Just a bit.

"Feeling old yet?' Cesaro interrupted overly-excited Jimmy.

He answered with confused look and, "I'm five years younger than you."

Cesaro, drunk as he was, took it offensively and replied, "Yeah? Well, we'll see about that."

"Have you seen –" Dean had a question on his mind but didn't ask. "Never mind," he just said, when he noticed the medium-size pile of birthday presents, ready on the table for him to see what bullshit he got this year. This distraction made him forget about his original interest and elevated his mood. With eyes set on the target, he walked straight toward the middle of the room. Blue ribbon of one gift caught his attention in an instant. That was the one he should avoid, no matter how curious he was. He would have to wait for his girlfriend to open the . . . wait . . . there was another box with blue ribbon over it. Or was it turquoise? Damn it! How was he supposed to know what she meant by blue? Did she even say blue? Or was it green? Or red? That quite notably decreased the number of presents he could open without breaking the rules he created. Ok. He was sure she said small box. That was a good start. His mission could still be successful. But that didn't suffice. He had to know which present she bought . . . or made. Whatever. Which one was it?

"Hey, John!"

Cena raised his head to see who was calling him. Then he came over to Dean. "What's up, man?"

"I need your help."

That sentence resulted in laughter on John's part. "I knew it would come to this," he joked.

Ignoring the comment, Dean went straight to the point. Well, first he tried his luck. "Do you know by any chance whose present is this?" He pointed at the one with the blue ribbon on it. "Or this," he added, now holding the other, though very similar one.

"No." Clearly believing he was offering a sufficiently substitute answer, he added, "but I know this bottle of champagne is from me." He handed Dean the box and a bag, which Dean immediately looked into. There was a T-shirt inside.

"Never give up?"

"Yeah, spread the word."

"I guess I know what I'm giving you for your birthday."

"I don't mind Unstable shirt," John replied.

"Oh, no, not my merchandise. Yours. In fact, why don't you take it right now?"

John did not get the chance to refuse; the T-shirt was forced into his hands. Dean kept the champagne.

"But back to the point. I need you to tell me –"

The "champ" interrupted him. "Seriously, keep it. Give it to somebody. Charity, man."

Frustrated Dean found another victim to his crime. "Which one of these is blue?" he asked Adam.

"Neither."

That was of much help.

"This one," John said, and pointed at the one in Dean's right hand.

"Cool. So would you describe this as a small box with blue ribbon?"

John hesitated. He thought about it, then let Dean know the conclusion. "I'd say that description would better fit the other gift."

"Why?"

"Well, it's smaller. And bluer."

"You just said this one was blue!" Dean was losing patience.

"I don't know," cried John. "They both are."

Dean tried to calm down. In the worst case scenario, he could just abort the mission. But as long as there was hope. . . .

"Open it," Dean gave the order.

"What?"

"Look inside. Don't tell me what's there, just decide whether it's something a girl would give you."

Though hardly persuaded about moral rightness of what he was asked to do, John decided to assist. He carefully opened one present – not really tearing the paper – it sufficed to see what was inside. "Can I check the other one?" he asked.

"Sure. Go ahead."

Dean was impatient. He didn't feel very good about doing this, but he had to do it. Moreover, if it really was that wrong, if somebody or something didn't want him to do it, Renee would already appear and prevent him from opening her present.

"So?" Dean asked when John opened it. This time he had to really open the box to see what's inside.

As a result, John swallowed with a lot of effort, taken back by the contents. Quickly he closed the box again and with scared eyes he looked at Dean.

"Who's the present supposed to be from?" John wanted to know to fill the missing information.

"Renee."

John bit on his lower lip, stepping nervously, before finally handing the box over to Dean. "Yeah, I think it's this one."

The reaction he witnessed on John made Dean reconsider whether he wanted to know what Renee was giving him for his birthday. Actually, it became pretty clear. No. But he had to wonder. What was inside?

As Dean kept staring at the little box, appearing focused as though he had X-ray eyes, John decided to say another thing. "Actually, you know what? Let me take that reaction back. We're all grown-ups here. Congrats, man." And Cena went on to give Dean a handshake.

Now that was strange, Dean thought. Seriously, what was the present?

She appeared out of nowhere, wearing short white dress, but much more decent. There was still that sexy appearance about her. Less naughty, though. This creature stopped him from worrying and ended the moral dilemma whether to look or not.

She walked right up to him. Soon she realized what was happening, how Dean was doing exactly what he said he would do. Open her present.

At last he looked inside. Now it didn't matter anyway for she was close enough to see his reaction.

First, he was shocked. Similarly to Cena. Yet it wasn't fear that related to his emotions the most. He saw a pregnancy test. Positive. Still, this did not become one of those run-for-your-life moments.

His face was turning more and more unreadable. Until he smiled.

"So, what do you say?" Renee asked.

Dean kept staring into her eyes. And the smile grew wider. Then he started laughing.

"Is it funny?" she wanted to know; the tone implying she didn't think so.

"No. It's. . . ."

"Yes?"

Until now it was his face what she was focusing on. But a little glance at the object in his hand turned into longer, more conscious look. Observation. "That's not my present." The shaking of her head strengthened the credibility of the statement.

"Yeah, I realized." There was a card inside. Dean took it out, and after placing the box on the table behind him, he read it to himself. Then he gave it to her so that she, too, could read it.

"I wish I were there to see that reaction. Seriously now, just wanted to remind you that your age is not just a number." Renee did not understand at all. "What?" she addressed a simple question to Dean.

"He's testing me," Dean explained. "Testing my maturity." Dean appeared genuinely amused.

"Who is it from?" Renee asked, turning the card around, hopelessly looking for a name.

"Roman." Then Dean proceeded to give Renee the thoughtful present from his friend.

When she saw the content, terrified expression arrived. She had to look at Dean. He was smiling. How could he be smiling?

"Seriously, seeing this makes me freak out and you're . . . you're smiling?"

"Would you prefer if I freaked out?" he asked. Then he added, "Don't worry, darling, I'm saving that for later."

She chose not to react to that comment. She just wondered, "How could he even know our boxes would be so similar? And that you wouldn't open it in front of everyone? And –"

"Let me stop you right there. He didn't. He's just lucky. As always. Except that he miscalculated. I'm not freaking out. I've matured," Dean said, and went on to celebrate that accomplishment with a little dance. Now he even felt like drinking and partying. "I win," he said. Then he shouted it. "I win!" And added, "Twenty-nine and no accidents."

Renee decided to interrupt his little celebration. "Now tell me, was the real reason you didn't freak out your maturity, as you say it, or was it because you knew from the beginning it was not real?"

That was an interesting question. And it made her believe that she got him. Initially it appeared so. But what she did not realized was that her opponent was tough. He was not a quitter willing to surrender without fight. Therefore, he came with a way to counter her question. He came with a question of his own. "What do you think?"

Anyone who saw her would say that Dean caught her off guard.

"What do you think that I would do in a situation like that, but a real one?

"Dean, I don't even know what I would do," she started. That was far from pleasing for him to hear. But then she continued, "But I'm sure you wouldn't run away and leave me to face with that situation on my own."

Dean, looking much more serious than before, nodded.

"I know that I can trust you. I know that you wouldn't let me down. You'd be there to support me. I know I can count on you."

"I'd be the best damn boyfriend you can imagine."

That made her smile "We both know you're saying that just so that I say that you already are." She paused, but in the end she said it. "You already are."

Whether she one hundred percent meant it or not, it was nice to hear it. Having closed that topic, he focused on the box on the top of the pile beside him. The real gift from her.

He asked for a permission. "Can I open it now?"

"Go ahead."

The box was really light. Then again, so was the previous one. Yet the chances of getting the same thing were low. This wasn't the time he wished to win the lottery.

He opened the box. He took his time so that everything would stay undamaged. And he successfully ended his fight with the wrapping paper and looked inside to know what the surprise was. He found female lingerie.

"Is it yours?" he asked.

"It would be funny if it wasn't."

"Then those would be some crappy that I've got this year."

"It's mine," she admitted, and let him soak that information in.

The evaluation came in no more than five seconds. "You're not wearing a bra." That made him wonder what else she was not wearing. He checked out her dress again. More patiently this time. Short albeit not short enough to reveal the answer. Where sight failed, other senses took charge. He'd have to figure out manually.

He wasn't even really paying attention to all those people around them. He just walked straight to her, with a sort of wicked smile, and engaged in a kiss. That was to distract her as his hand was searching for an evidence.

"There goes the maturity," Renee proclaimed.

"You're the one to talk. You're walking around here in a tiny little dress and you're completely naked underneath. Look around. See those people? Do you see the danger?"

"Oh, I see the danger." It was standing in front of her and she was looking at it fearlessly. "Danger in delay."

"What do you mean?"

He lost the track. But she remembered. "You said twenty-three minutes."

Now he realized and started laughing. "But you wanted me to be here, with my guests."

"What difference does it make when you're talking to me and ignoring them anyway?"

"So I understand it we're done pretending this is the birthday party?" He was right. The real party would come after this one. And only VIP guests were allowed to attend.

The answer was a kiss on the cheek. If she aimed for the lips, the results could be disastrous. They had wait. So what that Dean said twenty-three minutes were all he could promise. If he could wait until now, he can a little longer.

"Let's get out of here," he suggested. To make everything perfect, he took that bottle of champagne he got from Cena and, seeing the cake sliced on plates and not wanting to miss the opportunity to taste it, he went to take two plates. Now he was ready to leave.

He returned to his girlfriend and smiled at her. "Thank you for an amazing party," he said. He liked it; so what that he spent so little time there?

Before leaving, he shouted at the drunkards all around him, "Thank you all for coming." He wished he didn't add the next thing that popped in his head but he head to. "If anyone looks for me, I'll be upstairs with my birthday present." Yes, he meant Renee and yes, he made it quite clear when he pointed at her with index fingers on both hands. Yet, and he was well aware of his words, he said more. "Unpacking it."

They wished people weren't listening to him.

"Are you drunk?" She was the one to answer her own question. "No. Just crazy."

"I'm not crazy when I know I'm crazy."

"If you say so." She laughed. "I just know that every half-self-aware person in this room knows what we're going to do."

That did not bother him. He didn't think his proclamation had much to do with it anyway. "It's my birthday. You're my girlfriend. Don't you think they already figured it out?"

The truth was, their co-workers did not care at all. Their relationship was no longer a secret and the public display of affection caught people's attention only rarely. And of course they knew that there were things that were happening out of their sight.

"Why are we even arguing over this?" at last Renee asked.

Dean had the answer, the explanation indeed, ready. "It turns you on." She blushed because she knew it was true.

"It doesn't. . . ." She unsuccessfully protested.

"Don't you think I know by now?"

To show that it was not a reason for her to be ashamed, rather proud that he has learned so much about her – as she did about him – he took her hand into his. A look full of affection for the person standing in front of him accompanied this loving gesture.

That was when she remembered. She grabbed the box containing her missing underwear and from the bottom picked up an envelope.

Before learning what was inside, he joked, "I'm too old and too rich to be getting money." He accepted the envelope when she handed it to him and opened it without waiting.

"I know you said there's no point in going to New York over Christmas –"

"Renee," Dean interrupted, anticipating the re-opening of what he thought to be a resolved discussion.

However, she stopped him immediately. "I understand. Although I'm not too happy about us spending the holidays separately, I admit you have a point. But since we won't be together on Christmas Day, I want us to really enjoy New Year's."

Dean smiled at her. He wasn't happy either that he wouldn't be with her when she gets to open the Christmas presents from him, but that's the way it is. They would enjoy each other's presence the last day of this year and the first day of the following one twice as much.

Now he was reading a list of things Renee has planned for them to do over those days off. Attached were tickets to some badass party in New York.

Dean again focused on the list. They wouldn't do half the things. There were two reasons. First, they would be so glad to be finally together that they'd just want to be alone, not giving a damn about some planned activities. Second, Dean would ruin Renee's well-thought plan with his own, based on spontaneous ideas. That was the kind of holiday he liked. Without any detailed planning.

She knew that. She wasn't even sure why she made the list. She had to get lost in the moment because now it made no sense. So what she did was taking it off Dean's hand and tearing it into two halves. "No plans."

"How about going to that party and then we simply see what happens?"

"Sounds good to me. We'll see what New Year brings."

Great things, Dean was sure. He took her hand. "But now let's focus on more immediate future."