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Author's Chapter Notes:
Special thanks to Willow Trees for all her help in the editing and planning of this story.


Spike watched her through the windshield of his car as the slim blonde slid off her coat and did an adorable wiggle-shimmie thing on the bar stool. He twisted his wedding ring and wondered if he should leave it on or take it off, uncertain which one would make her more comfortable.
Spike realized his hands were shaking when he lifted them off the steering wheel. He slid the gold band off to give his hands something to do other than quake like a bloody teenager. He took his wallet out of his back pocket, and tucked the ring in next to the picture of his wife, Dru. He returned his wallet to its proper place, took a deep breath and stepped out of the car.

**
"You're Dawn's favorite teacher," she'd said as she crossed her legs and leaned forward, showing him a glimpse of black lace flashing behind the v-neck of her red blouse.

It was awkward to cram one's self into the children's desks and Spike tried to remind himself that she was probably just trying to get comfortable, not flirting.

"Well, I wish all my students were as interested in Literature as Dawn," Spike said, his tongue darting out to lick his lower lip. Fuck, he was sweating, she was making him sweat.

"She's been keeping a diary almost as long as she's been able to read," Mrs. Finn said, crossing her legs again, the other way.

"That's really something," he said.

Spike loosened his tie slightly and sat back in his desk chair.

She leaned forward again as he moved back, showing him the swell of her breasts, rolling her pen in between the flats of her palms.

"What's your first name?" she asked abruptly, her eyes meeting his.

"Spike," he said.

"Really? That's not a nickname or anything?"

"Nope, parents were punks," he said with a shy smile.

"Must be an English thing, like Apple Martin," she said.

"Don't know that bird," he said.

"Bird? You're so cute," she said.

"So you think I'm cute, do you?" he smiled, curling his tongue behind his teeth.

"Little bit," she said with a blush.

"Do you want to get a drink with me?" he asked, hardly believing his own boldness. It was a move he would've made when he was younger, but not now. Not the married, thirty-seven-year-old, ninth grade English teacher who had a mortgage and an emasculating little, white Bichon Frise named Sunshine.

A look of fear flashed across her wide, green eyes.

"Yeah, I'd like that," she said.

He reminded himself to close his mouth.

"Do you know the Holiday Inn out by the highway, there's a bar in the lower level. We could go there, Sunday night, around four?" she asked.

"Yeah, s'great," he said.

She eased herself out of the desk and stood up, still tiny despite her high heels.

"My mother-in-law has Dawn until seven," she said, apologetically.

She gave him a brave smile and then walked out of the classroom. She'd come up with that place so quickly he wondered if she'd gone there before with another man, or if she'd been fantasizing about him the way he'd been about her.

The first time Spike had met her, he'd actually asked if she was Dawn's sister. It came off as a line, maybe subconsciously it was, but she sure as hell didn't look old enough to be the mother of a fourteen-year-old. He’d felt humiliated for saying something so pat until she'd given him a sparkling grin and laughed. That smile was worth sounding like an utter ponce.

After that he'd make up little excuses to see her and he'd actually started looking forward to parent teacher night for the first time in years. He'd only been hoping to talk to her one on one, maybe make her laugh again. He had no idea the evening would play out like a guilty day dream.

**
Spike came up behind Buffy and touched her shoulders. She was wearing a brief, coral-colored tank top, a tight beige skirt that showed off her legs and matching heels. The feel of his fingers on her bare skin made Buffy jump.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," Spike said.

"You didn't, I mean, maybe a little," she said, giving him another of those toothpaste box smiles.

He moved past her, careful not to jostle her crossed legs and hopped up on the stool beside her.

The bar was dim despite its track lighting, done up in neutral colors with Ansel Adams prints on the walls. The only other people there were the bartender and an exhausted looking business traveler in a rumpled suit who didn't seem to register the presence of anything but the beer in his hand.

It was the perfect place to meet with a woman who didn't want her neighborhood community group to know she was about to break the seventh commandment, with her daughter's teacher no less.

The bartender was watching an American football game. Spike caught his eye and ordered a whiskey neat.

"What no umbrella or pineapple chunks?"

"Never drink with a grown-up before, kitten?" he asked.

"You just sounded all professional when you ordered that, like you're a serious drinker," she said, stabbing the cherry floating in her pink, fizzy drink with a little plastic sword.

"Just a dedicated amateur," he said.

That pretty much summed up his whole life, he thought.

"It's weird seeing you in civvies," she said.

After a few moments' deliberation he’d put on a pair of tight, faded blue jeans and a black t-shirt to meet her. He hated his jacket and tie, so that had been right out. But seeing her outfit, he wished that he'd dressed up for her. Spike just hadn't been able to put on something nicer; would've been that much more crushing if she didn't show.

"Not in my skivvies, yet, but if you play your cards right," he said, arching an eyebrow at her. God that was lame, he thought, but she was blushing. Her hand flew to the locket on her neck and she started toying with it.

"Civvies, civilian clothes. I've only ever seen you all tweeded up," she said, the words coming close together.
The bartender plunked Spike's drink in front of him. Spike took out his wallet and saw the gold band winking in the low light as he pulled out a few bills. He refolded the leather quickly and jammed it back in his pocket. The bartender whisked the money away with a nod. Spike took a sip and rolled the liquor over his tongue.

"We don't have to do this if you've second thoughts, Buffy," he said. It was strange saying aloud a name he'd only read before on a crumpled permission slip.

"But we kind of already are, having a drink, I mean," she said.

"It's a little late to be coy, love. I won't tell anyone if you want to finish that glass of estrogen and tropical fruit then walk out of here without touching my hand. I also won't breathe a word if you want to get a room and let me fuck you senseless, but let's be honest, yeah? One or the other is going to happen, which do you want?"

"You make it sound so easy," she said, biting at her glossy lower lip.

"It is."

"I love my husband," she whispered.

"I love my wife," Spike said. He threw back his head and emptied his glass, hoping she didn't notice the way he couldn't meet her eyes at the mention of Dru.

"Then why are you here?" she asked, her concentration trained on staking her garnish.

He wanted to tell Buffy that his wife had left him four months ago to go find herself, but instead found several strange men's cocks inside her. He thought better of sharing, though. The knowledge might drive Buffy away, and she was already skittish. The fact that he was alone instantly made him seem more invested in this tryst, whatever it might be, even though that wasn't necessarily true.

She had no intention of leaving her husband and he wanted her to think he had no interest in leaving his wife, that he was ‘safe.’

"I want you more than anybody I've ever met," he said, truthfully.

She gave him a half smile and tilted her head.

"What makes me so special?" she asked.

"Don't know but I want to find out," he said.

Buffy positioned her drink on the exact center of the coaster.

"I already got a room, 202. Should we go up separately or together?"

"Separately, more exciting, isn't it?" he asked.

She slid off the stool, her knee touching his and walked toward the elevators.

Spike ordered another drink to steady his nerves and wished he had a cigarette.


Chapter End Notes:
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