Lupo isn't kidding. She is really good at COD. Really freaking good. And, no surprise, hyper competitive.

I'm still distracted. Nick douchebag Fowler got my fucking job. And my fucking lab. Meanwhile I spent most of two years bouncing around to every lab director desperate enough to put up with me. The only thing that made it bearable was when I started picking up the slack in IT.

So I'm busy tallying up all the bullshit I've put up with while Fowler got his own space – my space, damn it – from the start. Space he holds onto mostly by sucking up to a bunch of dead-weight senior physicists and staying out of Fargo's line of sight, and not because he's making much progress on anything. Oh, and not that I'm counting, except that I am, each of my unpublished dissertations get cited at least twice as often, if not more, than his singleton does. Hell, my master's thesis gets cited more often than his dissertation.

As a result, Lupo is handing me my ass within about fifteen minutes.

She turns and glares and says, "We're starting over. This time my character is named Fowler. You better than him, or not?"

I'm not better than him, it turns out. Not when he's actually being run by Lupo. But I'm much, much better than I was at first.

We play for an hour or more, breaking only when I have to go get the pizza out of the oven. I notice that she's not really drinking her beer, which is probably already flat and bitter, so I clear it away and bring her water instead. She smiles and takes it, but doesn't say anything other than, "thanks."

Eventually it's obvious that it's not luck or my lack of concentration. She's better than me at this – and probably all other – first person shooters. We're mostly playing now to see how many things we can blow up and laughing when we do. Lupo, Jo, has a wonderful laugh when she's really letting go. And her smile, when she's happy and winning, is brilliant.

By now we've slid down into gamer's slouch and when finally I toss my controller onto the coffee table and turn to look at her our shoulders are brushing and our eyes lock. And that's it. The moment when you have to decide. What comes next?

But before I can do that – decide – Jo is lunging for me. As much as you need to lunge across something like ten inches.

Just like before, she slips her hands around my head, taking control of the kiss from the moment our lips touch, and then I have my hands, my arms and now my lap full of Jo Lupo. And just like before, it's mind blowing.

I'm operating mostly on instinct now, not trying to push ahead, just concentrating on the feeling of holding her while putting every single thing I've ever learned about kissing into practice. And Jo kisses back, give no quarter, take no quarter. Not fighting for dominance but trading it back and forth, easy and smooth and there's a rhythm and I feel like maybe I've been doing this my whole life. In my hands, in my arms, I can feel that her body's coiled tight, not with nerves but intense focus and purpose and I can just begin to dimly imagine what it's like to feel all that energy finally burst around me and it is freaking incredible.

But it is also seriously perturbing. I convinced myself this wasn't going to happen tonight. Now that it is, I'm not sure what I think about it.

And then Jo's slipping away almost as fast as she came on to me, curling up into the far corner of the couch, her eyes huge. I briefly regret having shopped for a couch that's long enough I can sleep on it without bending my knees.

I realize that I'd much rather be kissing her than not kissing her.

"Sorry," she says, looking stricken. "Old habits."

"It's a good habit," I say, with a reassuring smile. "No need to change it up on my account." Because, hell yeah! Fantastic habit. Jo kissing me.

"Hmph," she says. Or huffs, really. I decide not to bother trying to decode it, because her shoulders have relaxed a fraction and she hasn't left the couch and that's probably more important.

"Did every gaming session end with making out?" I ask, pulling myself back up to a proper sitting position. If I manage to move four inches closer? Hey. Player. "Cause that's pretty awesome."

"No!"

I raise my brow, trying to say, without words, 'are you being serious? Because two minutes ago you were all over me. And I liked it.'

She must understand well enough. "Okay. Yes. Sometimes. Most of the time." She smiles then and ducks her head a bit, "I guess I got confused. Crossed the streams."

"Ghostbusters?" I laugh out loud. Full of surprises, Lupo is.

She shrugs, her laughing eyes back on display. "I dated a geek."

"A sexy geek, right?" I'm leaning toward her now.

She uncurls from the corner and settles back into the seat. Not as close to me as before, but not far. "Yeah. In his own way."

"What with the post gaming making out. And the sex."

"What with all that."

"Well. I'm available for post gaming sex any time," I say, propping my head on my hand as an excuse to inch closer while trying to keep it light, keep that door open. "Just so you know."

"Nice," she says. "Very romantic."

"Bachelor pad," I say, taking in my place with a wave of my free hand, "remember?"

"Right," she says. Then she cocks her head, looking speculative. "So. It wouldn't mean anything, then."

"What wouldn't mean anything?" I'm suddenly afraid I've lost the thread and have no idea what we're talking about.

"If I took you up on the offer."

That's what I thought we were talking about, but now I find I'm completely at a loss for words. I keep floundering on anyway. "I, um, …"

I consider telling her what she obviously wants to hear. Which is that it would mean nothing. But, that's not true for me. There is something here, between us, and I want desperately to know what it is. I hope it's true for her too. And from all I've been able to observe about Lupo, old or new, she doesn't do anything casually. Especially not sex, I'm guessing. So I temporize. "No. It wouldn't mean nothing. It would mean something. I just don't know what."

She shifts closer. "But it wouldn't be romantic. Right? Or trying to recapture an old… thing? Just satisfying curiosity. You get to see me naked. I get to see you."

"You've already seen me." I don't mean to sound whiny, but I do. A little.

She drops her gaze to my chest and then, so lightly I can barely feel it, trails her fingertips along the skin of my upper arm, where my bicep just happens to be semi-flexed because I've been leaning my head on that hand. She says, "Not this version of you."

Hmm. I straighten up, and use the movement to rest my arm along the back of the couch. Behind Lupo. Yes. I have been at the hooking up thing for a while. "You like what you see?"

She's inching even closer. "Yeah. I do."

"You're curious?" I sound pleased. I am pleased. Nice to know I come out ahead of my doppelganger on something besides interior decorating chops.

"Yes. I am."

And then she's in my space again. I shift to face her squarely. I intend to look her straight in the eye, but I accidently look at her mouth first instead. I can't help it. Her mouth is beautiful. I finally get my eyes focused on hers. "Jo? If you aren't sure about this, you can take off now. No harm, no foul, absolutely no big deal."

She goes quiet, her eyes are huge and dark and she's searching my face, looking for I have no idea what. Then, without moving, she says, "Would you like me to go?"

I drop my hand on her thigh, gripping harder than I probably should. "No. I would not like you to go."

Because I would not like that at all. Not because of something I lost before I knew I even had it, but because she's tough and smart and can kick my ass at COD anytime she wants. And she's right here, right now. And I want her to kiss me again.

If I encourage her to leave, I'll probably get another chance. But that's not a good reason to give away the opportunity I have now.

I say, "I would like you to stay."

She doesn't answer. She just leans in and kisses me. Which, for now, is answer enough.