Chelsea stepped through the calf-high mountain of dresses she'd tossed to the floor after trying them on, then pulling them back off. She KNEW she should have gone shopping, but once she'd gotten back to her apartment from the airport, she'd fallen into a near coma-like sleep. Unfortunately, she'd pissed away most of the day that way, and now the department stores were closed. 

Nearly tripping as she made her way back to the closet, she reached out blindly to steady herself. Her hand snagged a green, strapless sheath dress that still had the tags on it. When the hell had she bought that? And why? As she pulled it from the hanger, she remembered. The salesgirl had gone on ad nauseum about how it matched her eyes. As Chelsea held it up to herself in the mirror, she decided to go with it. A pearl choker and off-white heels completed the outfit. Another twenty minutes and her makeup and hair were done. Gone was the trademark fedora; she'd not had time for curlers so she simply swept her short hair to the side and pinned it back.

Staring at herself in the mirror, hands on hips, she wondered if anyone could tell what she was. She preferred to leave that life behind her tonight. She had a date. A REAL date, not a job where cash was exchanged at the end. She'd never been on one before, and wasn't sure how she was supposed to act. Like herself? Or should she try to figure out what Fio might like in women, and play to that? She was so used to being told ahead of time what she needed to be. How do real people maneuver through real encounters? It hardly seemed worth the trouble.

Well that was a lie. Fio seemed worth the trouble. Worth a lot of trouble, actually. It felt irresponsible to not see where this went. What were the odds that two Vegas folk should bump into each other in Chicago, literally, only to find each other again in Detroit? More so, he hadn't been repulsed by her profession. Or if he had, he hadn't revealed as much. Had called her, in fact.

Maybe that was BECAUSE of her profession, though? But that didn't sound right; if he'd wanted a piece of ass, he could have had that back in Chicago when they first met. Like, ten minutes after the coffee was gone. Instead, he'd accepted work in Las Vegas and begun sending her things in anonymity, finally revealing himself after she'd drawn him out in Detroit.

And now, he'd called.

Again, she stared in the mirror and tried to see what he saw. After too many minutes had passed, a knock sounded at the door. Blinking herself back to the here and now, she took a deep breath, stepped hazardously over the mound of scattered clothing in the bedroom, and hurried to the door.

When she opened it, she couldn't help but smile. Something about the sight of Fio's face pleased her beyond reason. Leaning in, her lips brushed his cheek and she caught it again...that crazy good smell he had. She breathed it in quickly before standing back to allow him entry.

"Did you, uh, want to come in for a drink before we go? Or. Well if you have a cab waiting maybe we should just...I'm sorry. I'm not good at real things," she floundered. 

Suddenly, and without warning, it hit. Something she'd not felt in years. Honest to God desire. Where it came from, what caused it, and why now, she would never know, but it was nearly irresistible. Her skin got too hot, her pupils went wide, and a tingle raced from her chest, heading due south. She could feel the heat in her cheeks and wondered if the makeup she'd applied covered it. Clearing her throat, she shifted on her feet uncomfortably. As much as she wanted to act on the impulse, was that how she wanted this to go?

Inhaling a ragged breath of air, she continued to look at him, praying he'd take some sort of lead here before she passed out in a heap on the floor.

The moment Chelsea left that card with him and turned out of the café, Fiorenzo had wrote his letter in response to Nebula in Vegas. The Strip sounded like a place he could put his skills to good use anyways. Chicago had never been what he thought it would be when he first came to America.

Had he really just pledged his life to a family? He knew what that meant all too well. If it were possible to live a long one, he’d just assume be on his own in this business. People were useful though. “Not Chelsea.” He blurted out loud in his tenement.”She isn’t a pawn. She’s a player.” A smirk formed across his lips and he retrieved the card from his wallet. He had to see this ‘Crossfire’ once more.

This town had been reborn. It was obvious. Everyone was vying for favor. It was such an ass-kissing fest that, if not for Chelsea, Fiorenzo might have just caught the next flight back out of town. He had searched for a good restaurant, but he wasn’t really in the mood for the same old wine and dine routine she must have seen a thousand times. Would that disappoint her? Was she expecting this to be like that? The lady on the phone just gave him a time and address. Fiorenzo had requested it to be on a Monday.

The black 1932 Chevy pickup that Fiorenzo had acquired shortly after arriving in Vegas made him smile every time he started it. It was the first vehicle he had owned. Well- He supposed he owned it now. It had belonged to a man that Fiorenzo only knew as Wallace. Wallace had a few too many to drink at the local shit hole. Fiorenzo had been in for a drink and some information on a laundry mat that was overdue on their protection money in town. Wallace wouldn’t stop interrupting Fiorenzo’s meeting. This guy was the worst in most every way. What’s more he wouldn’t stop staring at Fiorenzo. It wasn’t a bright move.

Fiorenzo had told him so right after he stabbed him for the first time. He had just wanted to talk to the bastard outside. He wanted to teach him how someone should act. Wallace had other thoughts on the matter. Sometimes you have to solve a disagreement quickly. Fiorenzo loved his new truck. He looked in the side view mirror and touched the cut above his left eye from Wallace’s fake Reverso watch. He didn’t wince, but it fucking hurt. Hopefully Chelsea wouldn’t mind anyways.

He stared at the door for a brief moment and then knocked. He didn’t mean to hold his breath. He couldn’t help it. He was excited to see her again. The woman had been in his mind since the first time they ran into each other. When the door flung open and he saw her in that green dress and choker, Fiorenzo knew it wasn’t just a dream in Chicago. She was everything that had kept him up since the last time he laid eyes upon her. He wanted to grab hold of her in an embrace when she brushed his cheek. What had she done to him?

“No cab, I drove. I’d love a...” He smirked as he trailed off. While stepping into her place and shutting the door, He looked her over slowly starting at her feet all the way up those stunning green eyes. Eyes that were looking at him as if he held everything she wanted. He wondered if this was how she looked at all the other men she would see on business? Surely not? She would be so much richer. It didn’t matter to him. He could feel it. “A drink.”

He stepped closer to her. They were so close that it would be more comfortable if they had just been touching. Fiorenzo stared at her studying her as her blushing cheeks and ragged breath told him everything he had hoped. Chelsea wanted him. It wasn’t just him that was enraptured by the other’s presence.

“I hope you don’t mind. I was hoping maybe this could just be a typical Monday. Maybe we stay in and order some delivery? Out there are a lot of distractions.”He bit down on his lip and stopped himself before rambling. His hand found her the side of her head and his fingers traced into her hair locking firm to her as his lips followed behind to find hers. It couldn’t be helped. He had no intention of this going like this. It wasn’t something that the two of them would be able to fight. He couldn’t just stare at her hear alone looking at him like that. It was too much.

Her lips were soft and inviting, yet they shocked Fiorenzo’s nerve endings like a hot poker. The heat radiated off of Chelsea’s face and Fiorenzo could feel his own temperature rising. Their tongues soon found each other and began to play back and forth with one another. Something in the back of Fiorenzo’s mind screamed for him to stop. He didn’t want Chelsea to think this was why he called. “It's too late. She’s already got me in checkmate.”

There was a nanosecond when she froze before she responded to the kiss. Not for lack of wanting, but out of the shock of it. She hadn't been kissed in ten years, not since she was a freshman in high school and a boy had asked her to the Christmas dance. After it was over, her father had pulled up in front of the gymnasium while it was happening and blared the horn angrily at her, shredding to pieces what would otherwise have been a lovely memory.

Here now, though, after that portion of a second, her eyes closed and she sunk into it wholeheartedly. It was as if time had ground to a standstill, and nothing else in the world existed nor mattered, even the need for air.

Well that wasn't true. As their tongues traced each other's mouths, Chelsea felt the edges of the world going fuzzy. With a huge gasp, she pulled away, panting.

"I'm sorry," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder so he wouldn't think she was sorry for the kiss. "I don't do that, so I apologize for not doing it right. I'm about a decade out of practice," she laughed, moving her hand to his face and stroking his cheek with her thumb.

"You have a remarkable face. I've been thinking about it ever since Chicago. And Detroit," said, studying his features like an appreciative patron studies a work of art on display. Her hand slid down his arm again, eventually finding his hand. Their fingers locked together as they continued to stand there in the entryway.

"Come in. I guess I haven't properly thought this through; the place is a mess. Not much of a housekeeper," she said, kicking some clothes back into the bedroom which had tried to follow her to the door earlier.

"Nor do I have the best selection of alcohol. I don't work here, so it's just my white wine in the fridge, I'm afraid. Oh! I do have a bottle of Irish whisky someone gave me for my birthday last year. Does whisky go bad? The bottle's unopened, anyway," she continued, entering the small kitchen and leaning down to pull the bottle out of a cabinet. "Honestly, I don't even know if this is good stuff, or rotgut, so you-"

She stopped talking when she rose again and saw the fire in his eyes. She didn't know if it had been her ass in the air or the heaping portion of cleavage he'd just been dished, but it seemed pointless now to even try and finish the sentence she'd started. Reaching out to set the bottle on the counter, she let go of it too soon and missed, the whisky coursing towards the floor and exploding on impact. 

Neither noticed. Chelsea was on him, arms wrapped around him while revisiting his mouth. The smell of him enveloped her, driving her into him further. He staggered a step backwards, then leaned back into her just as forcefully. His hands were on her bare back, leaving an electrical current wherever they traveled. Eventually Fio's back found a wall, and Chelsea's hands went to exploring him. They fanned slowly across his chest, and then her fingers slid down to his stomach. She felt the muscles there tense as she continued downwards, separating them wide and turning them so that she could angle her hands down the front of his thighs. When her hands had gone as low as her arms allowed, they began to travel back up again, closer together now. With a heavy, dreamlike sigh, she pulled back slowly and looked up at him.

"I wonder if Italians deliver around here?" she grinned, then leaned in once more and bit his lip.

“I’m here aren’t I?” Fiorenzo sounded a bit different with his bottom lip on lockdown.

Chelsea had a tendency to hit him hard it seemed. The way she came at him screamed passion to Fiorenzo and it was something he hadn’t seen in years. He tugged away playfully with his eyes piercing into hers. The flesh of his lip pulled and she didn’t let go at first. Fiorenzo was still trying to catch his breath. Chelsea had apologized for kissing, yet Fiorenzo couldn’t remember the last time a kiss felt like that for him.

“Ti penso ogni giorno.”

He said as he stared into those green eyes longingly. Fiorenzo hadn’t been able to help but to think about her. It wasn’t that long since Chicago and Detroit, but the statement still held true. The smell of Irish whiskey hung thick in the air as it pooled across her kitchen floor.

Fiorenzo pulled her close to find her lips once more. He couldn’t help it. She said it had been a decade since her last kiss, but each moment away from her lips felt like two decades tonight. “Chelsea, I want you.” Fiorenzo didn’t want to just ravish her. He wanted to make love to this woman. He wanted to feel something with her that she didn’t give out to others. Fiorenzo always wanted things others couldn’t have.

She turned and pulled him towards her bedroom by the belt loop. Fiorenzo’s eyes traveled down her once more. When he glanced back up he saw two emerald pits of desire burning back into him from over her shoulder. Her stare didn’t feel wrong. Fiorenzo didn’t even notice the mess in the floor until his foot caught a stray dress. He smiled when he saw the dresses.

The way Chelsea looked at him in the dim light of her room was something Fiorenzo would never forget. Her face said everything to him. She wasn’t on the clock. He was pretty sure she was nervous. What made him so different than any other man that had paid to be with her? His suit jacket slid down off his shoulders to blend into the clothing strung across her room.

.....

The bed he was sleeping in was much more comfortable than the shit hole motel he had rented out for the month on The Strip. That was the first thing that went through Fiorenzo's mind even before his eyes opened. The second was a flood of memories from last night as he looked around the room. Chelsea's clothing graveyard of a bedroom was just starting to brighten from the morning sun. Then it hit him. His eyes went wide and he cursed himself for scheduling such an early flight for today.

Fiorenzo went to slide out of the bed and put his foot down to the floor. He held back the string of Italian curses that came to mind when he stepped directly on his own belt buckle. Fiorenzo searched the room for his clothes with a nearly bleeding tongue. Eventually he decided underwear wasn't necessary for his flight. The room had eaten them anyways. His movements had been quick but silent. Chelsea still looked peacefully asleep when he glanced back on the way out the bedroom doorway.

The first step Fiorenzo took down the hallway he was punched in the face with Irish whiskey. He hoped that it wasn't later in the morning than he had first thought. A glance at Chelsea's kitchen clock told him otherwise. He stood there for a moment. The mess needed to be cleaned. He didnt have time. He had wasted time arguing with himself. He had to leave it.

Fiorenzo's foot caught on the newspaper already there at Chelsea's door mid stride. He watched as it slid across the ground and stopped up against the foot of an elderly neighbor. He shut the door behind him obviously trying to be quiet about it. He then turned and walked towards the lady who was shaking her head with a grin.

"Good morning. I'm surprised you are moving around so early....you two, heh. Well you look like a nice young man. I'm glad Chelsea finally found one. God knows the girl needs some normal in her life," she said, slowly stooping to pick up the paper at her feet. "I'm Molly, we spoke on the phone. You must be Fiorenzo, then? Figures you'd be an Italian. Married one myself, once. God rest his soul," she murmured, crossing herself. He'd been a mob accountant, and indirectly responsible for the deaths of nearly a dozen deadbeats, but he'd been a good Catholic husband regardless.

Fiorenzo's head tilted to the side as he looked over the woman. So she was the one that took all of Crossfire's calls? He wasn't sure what he expected Chelsea's 'handler' to look like, but he probably wouldn't have ever imagined such a gentle looking woman. He gave her a grin. The way she spoke about her husband turned it into a warm one. "Buongiorno, Molly." He stopped when he was standing next to her and looked towards the door. 

"I well, yes I'm Fiorenzo. You live here too then I take it?" His eyes looked at the door open behind her. She lived just one door down from Chelsea. How close were the two of them? He shook it off. He had stopped moving. He needed to get to the airport. "I'm dangerously close to missing my flight. Mi dispiace." He said with a wink as he turned and took off down the hallway. "Arrivederci!"His hand waved, but he didn't look back.