Chapter 1: January - "Starting the Year With a Bang"

"Hey, asshole."

Isn't it funny how some things never change? First and last impression, like mirror images. Those were the first words Greg Bartels had ever spoken to him, and despite not having seen the guy for nearly two years, were the first to spill out of his mouth again. It wasn't unexpected, but Jahn hadn't liked the guy since the beginning; he came off a cocky bastard who had none of the physique to back up the unspoken threats of violence that he always seemed to carry with him. Bartels had that unpleasant demeanor of someone who would happily pick a fight and make a miserable ear-biting mess of it. The kind of scrappy little prick who might lose the fight, but would guarantee you regretted ever being in it.

The man had a problem, though in perspective Jahn really couldn't blame him. It wasn't just any problem. It was Andrea Dunlap. Jahn's girlfriend.Greg's girlfriend. Doing the math, it added up to "What the fuck?"

Any man would leap at the chance to hook a woman like Andrea. Nice rack, nice legs, nice ass, hell – nice everything, for anyone who was into just the surface. That, and more – Andrea was the total package: looks, brains, and money, most of which she'd built by hard work and simple determination that life owed her something, and that she was going to take it by the balls if it wasn't given to her. Unfortunately she was also a bit of a bitch, as if she felt she had to live up to some sort of ice queen stereotype. Years ago, he'd made the first move, prepared for outright rejection, and had been pleasantly surprised when she'd said yes to a date. From that point on, he was smitten. Perspective and hindsight were the watchwords, he guessed. Little things could be overlooked. Her materialistic outlook could be forgiven; he had enough money to afford nice gifts now and then. A lack of physical intimacy other than the occasional blowjob could also be ignored, as she'd made it clear that she was waiting for marriage. When it came right down to it, Jahn Halvers wanted to be the guy she married.

//I'm so sorry for all the things I put you through, she whispers up at him, glittering green eyes swimming with regret. Can you ever forgive me? Andrea lifted her arms beseechingly to him from where she knelt, sheer robe falling back on her arms, exposing that beautiful flesh she always kept so well hidden behind pretty clothes and sparkling jewelry. Make love to me, and say that everything will be alright?//

Then Greg showed up, and everything had been fucked up ever since. Despite the little man's visible desire to take a swing at him, Andrea had shown up for her date with him at just the right time, and the Tough Guy demeanor fell apart. And all of a sudden, she was sweet-talking the pair of them like a car salesman. Before they knew it, both men had walked away convinced that their expectations of what was clearly a casual relationship were utterly wrong, and they should be more accepting of Andrea's lack of commitment. In retrospect, he got the impression that maybe she'd manipulated things so that she could play off the inevitable competitiveness that had sprung up between them.

But that was hindsight. Here on New Year's Eve, dateless in some dump of a bar, he couldn't help but think he'd lost whatever head-butting contest he and Greg had going on. All the jewelry and gifts, romantic dinners and overtures, all of it had counted for exactly shit. He wasn't a drinker, hadn't ever been drunk in his life, but goddamnit, he was ready to tie one on and call an end to this bullshit year. Even the solace of that self-pitying thought was interrupted, however, by the ringing of his cell.

"Hey, asshole." The words came out in a slur, and it was pretty obvious not only who the caller was, but that he was well into his own bottle.

Annoyed, he snapped off, "Not really interested in whatever shit you've cooked up for me, Greg. What is it?"

A pause and then the rough slurring continued. "Just called'a tell ya Andy's all yours. I'm tired'a gettin ditched like this, man and I really, I wanna spend my holidays with someone what ackshully gives a shit."

Shocked, he responded, "Thought she was with you tonight? Told me she had other plans..." Silence met his reply, and he thought Greg had either hung up or passed out.

"Wha tha fuck. Anotha asshole?"

Probably, he thought, anger rising like bile. "No idea. She's had better things to do for the holidays."

"Y'know, just ain't worth it anymore. Y'know how much money I blown on that bitch, tryn'a to getter ta love me, y'know? It'sh, it's like tryn'a hug a block'a wood. Y'know?"

That was one too many "y'knows" for Jahn, and he replied, "Yeah, I guess I do know. I'm done with it too. Think I'll stop by her office tomorrow and drop the good news."

A coughing bark of laughter greeted that, "Yeah, that'll piss'er off. I might just do that too. Later, asshole."

Dead air. He considered that Greg might actually try to use the opportunity to get clear with Andrea but did he really care? No, he supposed he didn't. Andrea had been serving them both a steaming pile on a shiny silver platter for nearly a year now. Ready for something new. Staring at the glass in his hand, he made his resolution.

Give the little bastard credit. He had followed through. When Jahn arrived at Andrea's office, she'd had a sullen look on her face that did nothing to complement her looks. More importantly it was an expression that also meant she'd failed to get her way on something serious. The little things didn't matter to her – she wormed her way around them. Like water on the window, the scowl slipped away as Jahn walked in. Perhaps she thought he'd heard about their confrontation and was there to be her shoulder to lean on. Again. How fitting.

Being an asshole about it hadn't strictly been necessary, and the smugness on his face probably been uncalled for. Before he was done announcing their split, she dissolved into screaming hysterics that followed his hasty retreat to the other side of the office floor. Never expected that out of her, he thought with a self-satisfied grin.

"Ugly split?" The low, throaty voice came at him from nowhere, and he turned, startled to find himself face to face – well, chest to face, with a rather short woman he was sure he'd met before. Short, but very attractive, he thought. Petite figure, smaller breasts, but fantastic legs, and shoulder-length brown hair. Freya? Freida? Oh yeah, the high cheekbones. "Fiona from Accounting, right?"

//Of course I recognize you, Fiona sighed. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since the last time we met. Her slender fingers stray to the buttons of a silk vest, fabric slipping soundlessly aside expose her breasts. Have you been thinking of me?//

Fiona smiled, lips curving in pleasure that he'd remembered. They'd only met a few times during his visits to the office. "That would be me. And you're Jahn ... Andrea's former boyfriend, if the screams are any indicator?"

Suddenly, the whole scene seemed a little awkward and not quite as satisfying. "Yeah," he said, somewhat embarrassed. "I think I had a little too much fun with the break-up."

"Understandable. The other one was here earlier. Don't know his name."

"That would be Greg," he muttered. More awkward by the minute. Perhaps he was justified in being a jerk, but he was also now the guy whose girlfriend had been cheating on him. He'd considered for a second that he might like to ask Fiona out, but now...

"You don't need to be embarrassed about it. Everyone here knows what kind of person Andrea is: total user. Still, she does her job, and does it well enough that nobody's going to complain as long as she keeps making the company money." Nothing he shouldn't already have realized, he supposed, mentally kicking himself again for taking so long to figure it out. The brunette interrupted his internal self-abuse with a hopeful "Maybe you'd like to go out sometime, now that you're free?" Realizing that had come out poorly, she tried to backtrack, "Not to sound like an opportunist or spiteful or anything..."

Jahn laughed. "No, I'd love to. Time to move on. How 'bout dinner?" Inwardly, he speculated that he probably didn't need another girlfriend so soon, but he couldn't let Andrea wreck any chance of having a normal relationship with women. He wasn't bad-looking, pale and almost effeminately slender, but he'd only ever met a few women forward enough to make the first move. He should probably enjoy the opportunity while it presented itself. Besides, even with the appreciative look she was giving him, it was probably a bit ... no, face it: a lot premature to think Fiona would be interested in anything beyond the first date.

Dinner was an enjoyable affair, and he found he really did like her. Fiona had a quick intellect, worldly and insightful in a way that was utterly different from his ex's sharp and calculating mind. While not as hot as Andrea (he knew that was an unfair standard, because very few women were) the accountant was fresh and pretty, far less severe and not so hard-edged that you were afraid she might cut you if you put a finger wrong. She seemed to dig him as well, but would trail off from something she was saying in a way that he was sure meant she was distracted by other thoughts. Was he boring her, or was she trying to figure out whether he was interested in her? He could empathize with the awkwardness, as it'd been far too long since he'd been on a date last and he just couldn't work out the signals she was sending. God only knew if he could actually pull off proper flirting anymore without coming off as a complete tool.

When they'd finished eating, Fiona invited him back to her house to watch a movie, and his heart did somersaults in his chest. Was he going to get lucky already?!?

Slow down, idiot, he cautioned himself. It's just dinner and a movie.

Her house was surprisingly large, two stories, maybe three or four bedrooms, if in somewhat poor repair. Jahn supposed it was the family home, one she'd inherited from her parents, and asked her about it. The answer was a mumbled response, and he turned his attention from the wheel briefly enough to realize that she was scowling at a sporty little car sitting in the driveway. Oh shit, he thought. Does she live with her parents? This was gonna be a short, uneventful evening, he lamented inwardly.

Their entry into the house was greeted by the blare of a television in the living room and a lilting voice that came from a blonde head just above the couch, "Left-over take out on the table if you want it."

Still scowling, Fiona coughed pointedly, saying "Company."

The blonde mane whirled around and wide blue eyes stared at him, immediately followed by a yelped, "Shit!" as the girl sitting there popped up like a jack-in-the box and fled for a staircase that led up to the second floor. A treat – the girl, whoever she was, was wearing ass-hugging jeans and nothing but a bra that emphasized a sizable bust.

Fiona snorted under her breath, "Jeezus Jenny," and moved towards the kitchen to begin clearing a bunch of take-out cartons from the table, busying herself with the task of clearing a number of dishes from the table.

"Housemate?" he speculated after he'd hung his jacket by the door and joined her, enjoying the view as she leaned over put some dirty silver into the dishwasher.

"I should be so lucky." After dumping the remainder of the trash, she turned her attention back to him. "She's my sister."

He raised an eyebrow. The brief glimpse he'd caught didn't indicate they looked anything alike, but you never knew. "Wouldn't have guessed by looking."

"Because her tits are so much smaller than mine?" piped up a high voice from behind him, startling him shitless. As he turned, he saw Fiona raise a middle finger at her sister, and flush slightly in embarrassment when she saw that he'd noticed her doing it.

He was greeted by a lovely spectacle: the blonde girl ... no, definitely a woman ... leaning against the doorway with a wide grin, arms crossed beneath her breasts, wasn't much taller ... or older for that matter ... than her sister, but had a spectacular figure, nice hips and breasts complemented by a slim waist and toned limbs. Unlike the tan skin of her sister, she was pale, with lovely blonde hair that looked natural. Lips pursed in thought, she stared at him with intent blue eyes for a moment, then spoke, "Half-sister. The better half, of course. Older, wiser, prettier and all that."

//And we share everything, the nameless blonde tittered at him suggestively. Would you like to watch?//

"Only by a year," came the retort from behind him. "Yeah, yeah," the blonde laughed. "You've reminded me of that ever since you finally got old enough to buy your own booze." Jahn got the distinct impression that Fiona was the more mature of the two, whatever their age.

"I'm Jenny, or Jen if you like. Are you into Scientology?"

Baffled by the question, he blurted out, "The fuck? Not in this lifetime..." She seemed to be making fun of him, but he didn't get it.

"How about acting?" Frowning, he shook his head at her question. Seeing that he was taking the question seriously, she laughed at him. "I'm just teasing. You look kind of like a young Tom Cruise, except skinnier."

"Oh." The light dawned. "Scientology? Fuck you." She raised a hand to her mouth, stifling a giggle, and said to Fiona, "Yeah, I bet you picked him up just because of that, didn't you, sis?" Turning her attention back to him, "She totally had a crush on him in Top Gun even though he's like, insanely old now."

He turned his attention back to his actual date, expecting to the scowl to have turned into something angrier, but instead found her grinning at Jenny. "Maybe I did. And maybe we should pull all those old posters out and see how many of the same ones you have, hmmm?" Jenny's pale cheeks reddened, and she muttered something that was probably meant to be a scathing response, but was inaudible. The back-and-forth banter petered out from there, and so did Fiona's good mood. He wondered if he'd been ogling her sister without checking himself or something. When the movie finished, he was surprised to receive a lingering peck on the cheek, and an indication she'd be up for a second date later. He liked her, and hoped it would go further from there – she had the kind of lively intelligence and acerbic wit that promised engaging dates and at least a shared interest in what was being discussed, rather than elaborate sighs and thinly veiled condescension. They even had a few interests in common that she could go on for hours about on the phone. Maybe he could take her on a bike tour to photograph some of the local landmarks if he could keep her interest that long until the weather got nice again.

That hope seemed to be doomed. Oh sure, he got the second date after a week of cell tag, but there was a definite disconnect with her over the course of their conversation, as if she had more important things on her mind. Evening's end, he finally decided to dispense with the guesswork, preferring to move on to greener pastures if she wasn't interested. After he'd voiced his concern, she gave him an apologetic smile. "It's not you, just me. I've a lot of ... work-related stuff rolling around in my brain. Let's go out again sometime, okay?" Jahn gave a grunt of assent that earned him another lingering kiss on the cheek, but his heart really wasn't in it. Not you, just me. The kiss of death, the kissing cousin to Mr. Friend Zone. Just his luck.