The week seemed to fly by. Jenna worked on varied editing problems mornings, the DFSC site afternoons, practiced with Rhythm Tribe and Inspiration evenings, and nearly collapsed into bed each night. She didn't get the chance to personally go to the club again that week, instead sending a few staffers to collect the information or having hard copy information sent directly to her office.
    Without fail, Greg stopped in every day at noon, joining her for lunch in the diner across the street. They talked about various things and Jenna actually enjoyed those noon meetings.  For one thing, it made sure that she actually took a break and had real food rather than another package of ramen noodles at her desk.  Friday night was looking better and better to her.
    When Friday actually came, Jenna was glad for the extra time she had. Inspiration's practice had been cancelled, so she had from five to eight to get ready. "What to wear, what to wear," she muttered, flipping through the hangers in her closet. "Ugh. I hate picking out clothes. Can't I just go in this?" she asked the mirror, gesturing to her flannel robe. "I'd better find something."
    After about a half-hour of searching and tossing clothes hither and thither across her room, she finally decided on her old stonewashed jeans, her boots, and a short sleeved, dark blue button-down cotton shirt. She pulled her hair into a high ponytail and secured it with an elastic. "Six-thirty," she muttered. "It's only six-thirty. I have an hour and a half before he shows up."
    She paced back and forth in her apartment for a few minutes before deciding she needed to calm down. She poured herself a glass of iced tea from the fridge and retrieved an apple. Sitting on the couch, she turned on the TV, flipping channels aimlessly. She stopped at the Classic Sports Network, catching the end of the 1988 World Pro Figure Skating Championships. "It's better than nothing," she commented before taking a bite of her apple.
    For the remaining hour after the program ended, Jenna logged onto the Internet and cruised around, checking her e-mail (three messages from her mother, one from her younger brother and two from her dad), reading the latest posts on the message boards she frequented, and chatting with a friend in Tennessee through instant messenger. Just as she was getting ready to open her solitaire program, her doorbell rang.
    "Finally," she exhaled, turning off her computer. Greg stood on the other side of the door, helmet in hand.
    "Ready?" he asked.
    "More than," she replied. Kristy's words rang in Jenna's mind. I am not going to think about it, she told herself.
    Yeah, right! a small part of her mind echoed back.
    Greg had brought the Harley again, so Jenna found herself hanging on to him again as they flew over the roads to the concert arena. "I almost thought you'd bring the car," she shouted to him when they were stopped at a red light.
    "I was going to, but it was too nice a night not to take the bike," he called back.
    Jenna didn't argue. She loved riding motorcycles, had since she was little and her father had one. Besides, it was a beautiful mid-September night, not too cold, not too hot. The sky was free of clouds and the sun was just starting to set. Definitely not a night to be cooped up in a car.
    They slowed down as they reached the arena, traffic backing up for several blocks. "Can you believe this?" Jenna asked. "I've heard about concert backups before, but I've never experienced one."
    Greg rested his legs on the ground since they were bound to be stopped for a few minutes. "This happens every time there's a major event. You'd think they'd start planning better for the traffic." He half-twisted so he could see Jenna behind him. "It's not too bad, though. It was worse when the Red Wings were in the playoffs."
    Traffic began to move slightly, so Greg turned back to front, advancing the bike the few yards before traffic stopped again. They kept the advance-stop pattern up until they reached the parking lot. There, Greg found the space the attendant directed him to and he and Jenna dismounted.
    Greg took Jenna's hand in his as they made their way through the crowds to find their seats. "So we don't get separated," he explained. Jenna didn't mind too much. He had nice hands, but no matter how hard she concentrated, she didn't feel anything more than a friendliness. Certainly nothing like when Thom held her hand those two times.
    Stop that! she told herself. You're here with Greg, not Thom. Have a good time! She allowed him to lead her to their seats, only then realizing how close they were to the stage.
    "How on earth did you manage this?" she asked, astonished. "Eighth row!"
    Greg just shrugged. "I have a cousin who works on the road crew. These were his tickets. He never uses them, so usually he puts them back in circulation. He knew that Dave and I wanted to go, so he sent us his tickets."
    "That is so awesome. None of my cousins do anything like that. Of course, two are still in elementary school, two are in high school, and the last one's working hard to flunk out of college, but still." She laughed. "What a family."
    They didn't get much more of a chance to talk, as the opening act was coming on stage. For the three hours of the concert, Jenna was aware of almost nothing other than the music. They were in the area where it was standing-only, so when Greg came to stand behind her, arms around her waist during "That Old Wind," she was painfully aware of him. On one hand, it was pleasant, having someone to lean against, but on the other hand, she felt uncomfortable with him so close. She almost felt like squirming away, to keep her personal space. She settled for just keeping her back straight and not letting him draw her closer.

    The night air was cool when they left the arena. Jenna was glad she'd brought her denim jacket again, since it was colder during the trip. She was silent during the ride back to her apartment.
    Greg again walked her to her door. "I'm glad you came," he said, stepping closer.
    "I'm glad you asked," she replied honestly. She had her keys in her hand and was reaching for the lock when Greg suddenly pulled her to him and kissed her.
    It was a firm kiss but not hard, searching without demanding. Jenna's breath caught in her throat, surprise mingling with shock and a strange, detached feeling. Greg released her and she slumped against the door, eyes wide.
    "I'll see you Monday," Greg said, holding her gaze with his.
    "Monday," Jenna replied, tightening her grip on her keys. She waited for Greg to leave the building before turning and unlocking her door. Inside, she slid to the floor, back against the door. "Aye yi yi," she muttered. "Kristy's not going to believe this."
    Nothing. Jenna felt absolutely nothing after that kiss. Sure, it was a good kiss, but it did nothing for her. She didn't feel like singing, or dancing, or shouting out into the night. She didn't feel like vomiting, or scrubbing her mouth with soap, or having a "disgust fit." Nothing.
    "Yeesh," she muttered, getting up off the floor. "Maybe Kristy was right. Maybe there is something wrong with me."
    She hung her jacket over the back of the couch and went to her bedroom. She didn't have time to worry about it tonight. Tonight, she needed to make sure she got some sleep before the competition the next morning.