I felt cornered. We sat at the kitchen table playing Blockus and concentrating on the game, as we had been now for three or four games, not talking a whole lot, and actually feeling the sexual tension in the air around us. All our words were companionable but wary.

I had this running litany going--- it's going to happen, Aubrey, you know that right? As long as you know.

But this is also what I heard: I want you Aubrey, I need you Aubrey. It's going to happen, Aubrey.

And all I could do was internalize it, with my own voice. And it sounded like sin.

Finally I pushed my chair back and stretched my arms overhead, yawning. When I opened my eyes Rafe was staring at me intently.

"What?" I asked, wiping my mouth self-consciously on the discarded napkin I'd left on the table after we'd eaten.

"Nothing." He grinned, but then he pushed back his own chair as well and leaned on his elbows. "It's time."

Because of my previous thoughts, I felt extreme alarm and it must have shown on my face.

He laughed. "What?"

"I--- nothing. Time for what?"

"The 'girlfriend' talk."

I felt instant reprieve. "I don't think it's necessary."

"I want you to know."

I shook my head, declining with a modest shoulder slump. "Why don't I just discover the you without that past interfering?"

He sat back, stretched his legs and crossed his arms over his chest. "What about this talk is bothering you? Too much commitment involved? You don't want to be the next victim?"

I chuckled and then bit my lip. "Actually, that's pretty much what I was just thinking but not in relation to your girlfriends. Just that I don't want to be the next victim."

Now it was his turn to be alarmed.

I rushed ahead. "This sexual tension, the way you've been handling me, pushing---."

"Pushing you." He hung his head, and then looked back up at me expectantly, and intently, those blue eyes piercing.

"Well, it's more than I am used to."

"More than you want." He stated flatly. "And yet you respond to me."

I closed my eyes in annoyance. Yes, I did respond to him. Who wouldn't? He fairly oozed charisma. His whole demeanor was like that predator he'd described in a song once hunting his prey. And he never stopped pushing.

Running down a hall at the studio-- I honestly thought he was hungry, or looking for a bathroom, or a special guitar or something. I didn't fall into it with my eyes open each and every time, and so, he generally caught me off guard. Not that that is any kind of excuse at all. But in my defense, he wasn't always what I expected, and he could get out of his clothes in less time than it takes to wash your hands.

"You want me to stop?"

I nodded, hesitantly, because I really was torn about that. Part of me knew we were playing with more than fire. We'd already gone farther than I'd ever gone with any other guy, and it might not be much to him, but, therein lay the discrepancy. Our experience levels were way off the opposite ends of the charts.

"I'm afraid I'm not--- up to your prowess----." I searched for the right word and the only thing that came was prowess, or maybe virulence, and neither seemed appropriate. They seemed romance novel-ish.

He laughed. "Do you think that bothers me?"

"No, I don't. I think you're very experienced. I think you're used to getting what you want."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"No." I knew ambition in his field was a good thing. Smart business and confidence went a long way. His energy and charisma also played a part. That's not what we were talking about, though. "But maybe toward me it is."

"Why? Because you can't resist me?"

I wobbled my head and shoulders and let my eyebrows speak for me. "Basically."

He sat back again, studying me.

I blew out my breath. "Listen, Rafe. I hate to say it, but you've been saying it for the whole time we've been together on this trip."

"These two days." He corrected, reminding me that we actually didn't know everything there was to know about each other, even though in our five days we'd done a lot toward meeting that goal.

"That's why you want to tell me about your girlfriends, you feel like warning me off, yet again. But then you will do something--- incredibly sexy and we'll end up nearly naked in each other's arms, and I will love it, and have compromised my standards yet again."

That about summed it up, I thought, and by the look on his face, I knew he knew it.

"You're not one of my little bimbo model girlfriends, is that what you're trying to say?"

I was affronted. "I didn't say your girlfriends were bimbo models. I don't even know them and I don't pretend to think their career choices make them bimbos. That's unfair."

He huffed. "Yeah. It is unfair, and they aren't/ weren't all bimbos. And I think I really cared for some of them. But I do have a prolific tendency."

"You want to try them all."

He shrugged. "You could say that."

I sighed. "And you were attracted to one while in bed with another."

"Maybe I've had one while in bed with the other."

I felt slightly repulsed, and slightly turned off picturing it. "The definition of a playboy."

He cocked his head to the side, eyeing me. "To be with you---"

I was shaking my head in long, knowing sweeps. "Me? You have no idea. Your scant knowledge of the church--- well, ever since you told me you'd been raised in the church I've counted on that knowledge to keep us in check, and I think once or twice it may have. But now--- I think you truly inside, don't agree with church standards and don't think they will hold fast if push comes to shove. And honestly, I feel a little guilty that I've given you that impression."

He didn't answer, and maybe he couldn't. And even though I'd prayed for me in regards to him, as per his request, I hadn't prayed for him-- I felt like I wasn't going to be the one to lead him back to the gospel if that's what this was all about.

Finally, he laid his arms on the table and leaned over them looking up at me through dark lashes. "To be with you, I would have to change. Because you won't compromise. You're absolutely convinced that your way is the right way."

I stood up. "You know? Maybe not. My way might be what's right for me. I'll give you that. We each have to make that choice for ourselves. I may believe that my way is the only way back to Heavenly Father, and that my way is proven to bring happiness in marriage and family life. But that doesn't mean that your goal is to get back to Heavenly Father or to have a stable and happy family someday. I don't actually know what your goals are."

His face looked pinched and annoyed. I knew I was hitting a chord, but frankly, it was time to cut to the chase. We had one day left--- today. If we kept on the way we were--- he would leave me high and dry and alone and unworthy, and that--- honestly--- might kill me. That's how deep my feelings went, even though--- even though being with him had given me a whole new perspective on how powerful the sexual emotions were. He hadn't given me any real reason to think that he understood me, or loved me, or wanted that side of me. In fact--- just the opposite.

"My goals." He started and I leaned forward to show that I was ready to listen. "I want a family. I'm ready for it. I want kids, as many kids as is decently possible. Twenty-five or so." He was referencing my own family. I eyed him sharply. He pursed his lips, settling his mind, not looking at me. "And I want a wife. Not a girlfriend."

I let that sink in. I heard the implied-- but--- however, he hadn't used it yet, so I left it hanging.

"I just don't see myself as the husband."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Your thought about ending the band, and going into producing wouldn't be conducive to a family and a wife?"

"It might." He rubbed the back of his neck, and finally peered up at me.

I was at a loss. I knew producers, I knew actors and pop stars, and they were all married and had families and were busy and fun, and energetic and good members of the church. It wasn't impossible. I didn't know what he was looking for. But obviously, it wasn't what I offered.

I went into the living room and plopped down on the couch.

"Aubrey. You know, you haven't given me your five-year plan."

"Five-year plan?" I realized I didn't know anymore. "I'm going back to work."

"Are you?"

"Yeah--- tomorrow," I said, making that up. But as soon as I'd said it, I knew it was right. I slipped my phone out of my pocket and texted the USC Medical Center Chief surgeon and said that I'd be available for a consult the day after tomorrow. That would get the word out. I texted my partner at the practice and said the same thing.

"Shit! Did you just tell them--- somebody--- that you'd be back?" He was standing over me now---- legs spread, arms flailing.

I sat up. "Why not? You're leaving on tour, and I need an income." I stood also, facing him, but not close. His eyes searched mine in disbelief.

"I thought maybe you'd consent to come with me. We aren't finished here."

I scrunched up my face. "I think we are finished here."

"Aubrey?"

"Anyway, I can't come with you. I'd be in the way. I have things to do at home. You would be distracted, and annoyed and unable to be yourself on tour."

He stood there, already distracted and annoyed and unable to be himself. His whole stance was confused. I did feel bad--- a little.

"You promised we'd be together, that you wouldn't leave me."

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. "I promised----"

"Yeah. You did. But maybe that doesn't mean to you what it means to me!"

I whirled around to face him, and his eyes were blazing mad, his demeanor--- hurt, and flaring in self-defense. I wanted to go to him--- that urge was now ingrained-- whenever he got mad like this-- and I felt it was my fault, I wanted to assuage the feelings, reassure him, give him another chance. Give myself another chance.

*****