Better Man

Mike sat on a stool in the recording studio, his customized Fender bass resting on his lap as he plucked along to what Dave was playing on his guitar. The two of them were just sitting there, jamming, commenting on how something should sound here or there.

By chance, the Green Day bassist looked up just as the door into the recording studio opened and Caroline walked in with Giselle at her side, the two of them holding four Starbucks coffees.

"How goes it, gentlemen?" Caroline inquired, handing the extra two coffees to Dave and Mike.

"It's going well," Dave replied with a smirk.

"You know, you two have been in those same positions since this morning? And now it's, like..." she looked at Giselle's watch. "What time is it?"

"Five."

"Five," Caroline repeated.

"Well, we've been making a lot of progress," Mike piped up, smiling at Dave and then looking up at Caroline through his eyebrows.

"I don't doubt that," she smiled back, sipping her drink slowly. "But we had a busy day, too. I took Giselle down Lombard, and to Pier 39, to Chinatown and tomorrow I might show her Old Sacramento."

"And we rode a trolley," Giselle added. "And I got pictures of myself at Coit Tower."

Mike smirked. It was always amusing when people who weren't from the area got a kick out of the things Bay Area residents saw on an everyday basis and took for granted.

"Sounds like a busy day."

"Yeah, but I didn't get to take a boat cruise around the bay or to Alcatraz 'cause, believe it or not, Miss Rockstar here hates boats," the younger sister mock complained.

"You've known about my fear of boats since we were, like, kids. Don't go gettin' bummed out now," Caroline retaliated. "As if you're just finding this out."

Giselle pushed her older sister, playfully and leaned forward toward the two guys, holding her free hand up to her mouth as if about to whisper a major secret. "When Caroline was 11 and I was 10, we went on our Uncle's speed boat on the Chesapeake Bay. We were wearing life vests, mind you, and we were going pretty fast when the boat hit this wave that sent Caroline flying over the edge of the boat and into the water. She was flailing around like she was drowning, crying and screaming; thinking sharks from the ocean were gonna eat her."

Caroline folded her arms and scowled. "It wasn't funny. I was really scared," she replied, coming to her own defense.

"And since then," Giselle continued, "she hates boats."

"And rightfully so," Caroline quipped. "Which is why you'll never get me on a boat, lest I be heavily sedated." With that, Dave broke out into the chorus of The Ramones' 'I Wanna Be Sedated' on his guitar, garnering a look from the lead singer. "Oh, very funny."

"Oh, come on. How could I pass up an opportunity like that?" he asked with a smirk. "Bah, bah, bah-bah, bah-bah, bah, bah-bah...I wanna be sedated..." he sang.

"Don't think I won't throw this hot coffee on you," she threatened.

Mike licked his lips, moving his bass off of his lap and resting it on the ground as he sat up straighter and looked between both sisters. "Um...well...if you want...I could take Giselle on the cruise," he offered, a little shyly at first as he glanced at Caroline with thoughtful eyes.

She looked back at him and considered. "Really? You'd do that?"

Mike nodded. "Yeah."

Caroline grinned, patting her sister on the back. "Looks like you get your boat trip after all." Glancing back to Mike, Caroline gave him a nod. "Thanks."

"Yeah, thanks a bunch," Giselle agreed, doing a little 'I Get To Go On A Boat Cruise' victory dance. "Woo."

"You're welcome," Mike responded, bobbing his head slightly as he looked at Giselle. "Anytime."

* * *

The following evening, Mike had driven to Tre's house where Giselle was staying as a guest. He picked her up, made pleasant chitchat with her in his BMW, drove them to San Francisco where they paid for parking, and then even paid her fare for the cruise around the bay. It was a last minute decision that Giselle decided against going to Alcatraz after, coincidentally, catching a show on the Travel Channel the night before about how the place was supposed to be haunted.

"So, Caroline's afraid of boats and you're afraid of ghosts," he commented as she walked onto the small cruise liner, looking for a seat on the upper deck. "Wait, that just rhymed."

Giselle laughed and nodded. "Yeah. It didn't take much for Care to scare the hell out of me when we were growing up either," the younger sister informed. "When she wants to, Caroline can have a very graphic and disturbing mind. I'm talking freaky, sick shit. But not the 'I think we should worry about her sanity' way...just...she's got a creative mind."

"I bet," he smirked as they sat down, with Mike letting her take the seat next to the railing.

As the boat pulled out of its dock, the boat moved past the sea lions laying on the wooden planks in the small harbor, making their annoying noises. Soon, they were sailing by 'The Rock,' better known as Alcatraz, with Giselle taking pictures of everything with her digital camera.

They were having a pretty good time, sitting there and taking in the sights while the cool wind off the water whipped madly through their hair. They were having such a good time that, after the cruise was over and they were walking off the boat, Mike asked Giselle if she'd like to get some dinner somewhere, to which she agreed with a smile.

Giselle was a beautiful girl. Almost a decade younger than him, but given that she was twenty-five, it wasn't that big of a deal to be out with her. After all, Michael Douglas married Catherine Zeta-Jones and she's twenty-five years younger than him. But it's also not like Mike was trying to think of Giselle in a sexual way; more as a friend. The sister of his crush, no less.

He took Giselle to a nice restuarant in the city. Chez Panisse. Kinda French, kinda fancy. But more along the lines of casual-fancy. They ate, drank some wine, and they were really getting along well. Just like friends would.

After dinner, Giselle commented on how she felt like such a princes, being treated to all this free stuff, which made Mike smirk. It was only on the drive back toward Tre's house, that Mike turned to the Giselle and asked if she'd like to stop at his house first, if she just wanted to hang out. She nodded, curious to see the bedroom Caroline had been telling her about with the painting and decorating.

They arrived to his home a little after nine, and he offered her a drink, and she accepted a glass of brandy. The two of them walked upstairs and he showed her Estelle's room that was damn near finished. All that was left to do was add furniture accents and straighten up, but that was stuff he wouldn't really need Caroline for, although it would be nice to still have an excuse to have her over.

And as the night progressed, and the drinks doubled, Mike never planned on the following event to happen. It never even crossed his mind until the last minute.

Giselle had said something and laughed, similarly to Caroline's and he commented on it, and how even though they weren't blood sisters, they acted so much like each other.

And then it happened.

Without any warning at all, even surprising himself to some extent, Mike leaned forward and kissed Giselle gently on the lips at first. When he pulled back slowly, considering what he'd just done, he was even more surprised when Giselle set their empty glasses aside and grabbed him back up in a stronger kiss.

In an instant, the bassist had his arms wrapped so tightly around her waist as their kiss deepened. Sinking down to the floor in Estelle's room, Mike laid Giselle on her back and moved down her body a little to kiss her neck and down to her chest. And he knew it would be going further than just making out on the floor when he felt her hands grab at his belt and undo it, throwing it to the side before unsnapping the button to his pants and shoving her right hand down and---

"Oh..." he gasped, tipping his chin down and biting his lip, closing his eyes for a moment. It felt as if he'd go blind from the sensation alone. It was seemed like it had been forever since anyone but himself had taken a hold of the situation, so to speak.

Unbelievably aroused by this point, Mike fumbled as he lifted her shirt over her head and unsnapped her bra, expertly. Years of practice, you understand.

And, then, the pants were peeled away, as with the boxers and panties. Lying together on the floor in a mess of limbs, Mike braced himself to go ahead with the deed, when he stopped.

"What?" she asked, breathily.

"You wanna do this?" he asked. Off her nod, he added, "I need a condom then."

Giselle nodded and allowed him to get up and scurry out of the room and into his bedroom where he rifled through a dresser drawer and pulled out a box of Trojan condoms, taking only one and putting it on.

As soon as he returned, she was leaning up to pull him down to her.

And then their bodies connected.

The only odd thing Giselle noted, was that he never said her name. He groaned and moaned and panted and muttered a simple 'Oh, yes' here and there, too. But he never said her name. Almost as if he was avoiding it.

But it wasn't a big deal. The two of them were just so engrossed in making love on the floor that it was almost unnecessary that they spoke at all.

When they were spent, Mike collapsed down onto her body for good and made sure he was a gentleman by holding her afterward and not muttering the lame, "Well, that was good for me. Was it good for you?"

He kissed her jawline and then her lips and smiled as he met her eyes. But the contemplative smile she wore on her face started to make him feel a little self-conscious.

"Something wrong?"

She shrugged and started to shake her head as she ran a hand through his hair. "No, nothing's wrong," she replied. "I mean...that was...wow," she grinned.

Mike sat up, bowing his head with an impish grin. "Thanks. You were---"

"Thanks," she cut him off, a little shyly. "But, yeah. That was great. Only one thing..."

"Yeah?"

Giselle sighed and smiled almost sympathetically. "I'm not offended, because God knows I needed that. And I'm sure you did, too. But..."

"But what?" he asked, starting to feel a little nervous.

"Mike..." Giselle began. "I'm not her."

"What do you mean?"

"Caroline," she answered simply. "I'm not stupid, you know. After all, I'm going to med school to be a psychiatrist."

Oh, fuck. Giselle is gonna analyze me, Mike thought, grimly.

"I know you feel something for my sister. And I know you probably see me as an extension of her, biological or not. I think, to you, that this was your way of being with her, even though you can't."

Mike's heart grew heavy out of embarrassment and guilt. "I'm not---"

"Like I said, Mike. I don't take any offense, because frankly, you're great in the sack," she smirked. "But I can see in your eyes how you long for her. Especially when you're in the same room together. You find any excuse to look at her or talk to her, or even bring her up in conversation."

Mike looked her in the eye, his guilt over what she was saying written all over his face. "What's your point?" he asked a little sorely.

She touched his shoulder affectionately, and smiled. "Don't let your feelings for her eat away at you for too long. You'll only drive yourself mad in the end," she informed. "If you really feel strongly about her, and you consider each other good enough friends, then you should be able to talk to her about this."

Mike was quick to shake his head. "Uh uh. No. That's not gonna happen," he commented defensively, getting to his feet and grabbing for his pants.

"Mike..."

"No, Giselle. I mean, I appreciate you being able to care about my feelings and thinking I'm a sex God or whatever," he began as she smirked at him. "But I don't need any advice on how to conduct my personal affairs. I've done quite well for myself."

"But are you really happy with your life? Do you feel complete?"

"No," he admitted, honestly. "But who is? Who does?"

"True, but if you let this eat at you for too long, you could really stress yourself out. To quietly pine for someone should be left for Shakespeare's sonnets and plays. It's possible to give yourself an ulcer or worse over something like this."

"I don't appreciate the analysis, in case you're wondering. Analyzing everything won't mean shit when we're dead and gone."

Giselle frowned. "I was only trying to help."

"Well...don't," he replied, putting his pants on.

"Alright. I won't," she said lightly, grabbing for her clothes. "But don't blame me when your appendix bursts or whatever."

"I won't. 'Cause it won't happen."

As Giselle dressed, she shrugged and mumbled, "If you say so..."