Slowy Joey kicked off her muddy shoes, trying to figure out a way to keep her wet pants on. Next came her socks, equally as wet. She stood barefoot in Pacey's kitchen, her hair dripping water down her back.

Finally, she reached for the button of her jeans. Figuring the sooner she got them off, the sooner she could put warm ones on. Besides, she thought with a small half-smile, it was the last thing he'd expect from her. With difficulty she shimmied out of her wet pants, being mindful of her bleeding knee.

That's how Pacey found her, pants-less, just like he'd asked her. Her t-shirt was plastered to her skin, her sheer bikini underwear hiding nothing from his view. Clearing his throat, he stepped into the kitchen.

Clearing his throat, he stepped into the room, and was pinned by the 'deer-in-the-headlights' look from Joey. "I brought you a pair of sweats and a t-shirt of mine to wear." He put the folded items on the table and then placed the peroxide, cotton swabs and BandAids next to them. "Let me take a look at you."

She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "I meant your knee," he assured her with a wicked smile.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"You standing half naked in my kitchen? Is there something about that I shouldn't be enjoying?" He saundered towards her and she took a step back. "Scared of me, Potter?"

"Please," she stopped and stood her ground stubbornly as he advanced within a breath of her. "You're harmless, Pacey."

He caught a strand of her damp hair and twirled it between his fingers. "Most women would disagree with you."

"Most women don't know you like I do." She replied definatly, her insides quivering at his nearness.

"Like you used to," he corrected her, his voice rich and warm like the bourbon he'd been drinking. "I've changed Joey...best that you remember that."

"Pfft. The day you change so much that I don't know you is the day I marry Dawson!" His body was nearly touching hers, the heat emenating from him enveloping her.

"It's Mrs. Leery now, is it?" He arched an eyebrow.

"No!"

"Good." She resited the urge to ask what that was supposed to mean. "You on the other hand," he stepped back to let his eyes travel over the dips and curves of her body, "haven't changed in the least," his voice was husky and low with approval.

She swallowed, "Don't think I don't know what you're up to."

"Oh, yeah?" The tips of his fingers trailed up her arm.

"I'm not here to-to-"

"To what, Joey?" His dark blue eyes were smokey.

"To sleep with you!" she blurted.

He laughed, a deep, honey'd laugh. "You're not? Damn. And I was so looking forward to getting some."

She glared. "My car broke down. That's the only reason I'd even dare step foot near you again."

"If that's what'll help you get some sleep tonight, then fine." He slipped his hands under her arm pits. "Unless sleep wasn't what you had in mind...?"

She let out a gasp when he lifted her from the floor and sat her on the kitchen counter. "N-no, sleep is perfect."

"Good," he gave her his heartstopping smile--the one teenage girls had posted to their bedroom walls all across the United States--and got his first aid supplies.

She watched him work silently. He pulled one of the chairs from the table to right in front of her and sat down on it, pulling the foot of her injured leg to rest on his thigh. Her entire body sefused with a drugged heat as his hand slowly trailed up her calf, gently touching the skin around her injury. His smokey blue eyes looked intently at the gash.

"This is going to hurt," he frowned as he dabbed the cotton ball in peroxide. He started to clean the wound and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. If he noticed her hands fisted on the edge of the counter, he gave no indiciation.

Once he'd cleaned the little bits of gravel and dried blood, he poured the peroxide directly onto it, mopping up the excess that ran down her leg. He glanced into her grimacing face. "The worst is over," he said gently, drying the skin around the red mark that continued to slowly bleed. He carefully applied two of the largest BandAids he had and then carefully bent forward to lightly kiss the covered scrape.

When his eyes met hers, she swore he wore the same Pacey she was in love with ten years earlier and not a day had passed between that time.

The moment was broken by the sudden chime of the clock in the living room, signaling the time at ten o'clock. "Here," he moved away first, handing her the clothes.

She hopped down from table and started to hobble to the door. "Thanks."

"I think you know the best way to repay me," He gave her a sultry look.

"Don't count on it, Witter." She gave him a scathing look in return.

"I don't know why you're here, Potter. But as long as you're under my roof, you're fair game."

She looked at him, her eyes sliding over his well toned body. Oh, he meant what he said. If he wanted her, he'd have her...and it wouldn't take anything more than a kiss to convince her it was all for the best.

"Goodnight, Pacey." She turned and skurried away upstairs.

He followed, watching the sway of her underwear clad hips as moved up the stairs. He had always liked her ass. "Choose any room you want. You know where mine is if you need me."