Author's Note: After Freddie's explanation of the situation, we return to where the story began in chapter 1 . . .

That afternoon is the first time that I mention it to Carly.

The fact that overuse of massage chairs can lead to poor posture and scoliosis.

"I think that Sam can handle the danger," she smiles, looking amused.

"Yeah, well, you may be all right with it," I say becoming angry, "but I'm not."

"Of course you're not, Freddie," she says, trying and failing to stifle a laugh.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" I ask, rapidly losing what little cool I had to start with.

"Freddie," she says gently, putting her hands on my shoulders. "You're jealous."

"Hah!" I scoff, crossing my arms and stepping back from her. "You couldn't make me sit in that thing if you tried."

"No," she says, giving me an amused look. "You're jealous of the chair."

It's the most ridiculous thing that I've ever heard and completely out of left field.

"That's crazy!" I say, shooting Carly a warning look.

"Yeah, it kind of is," she smiles at me in amusement.

"You're no help at all," I scowl, running my fingers through my hair in frustration. "I'm going to talk to Sam."

I have no idea what I'm going to say or do, but Sam Puckett is getting out of that chair.

I just . . . refuse to let her mess up her back!

And there she is, just like I imagined her, sitting in that thing. Her eyes are closed and her lips are open, turned upward in contentment. As I enter the studio, I hear her breath hitch and she lets out a soft moan.

I think of the difficult nights that sound has caused me and I feel my blood start to boil.

I'm angry at her and I still can't explain exactly why. But at this point, I don't care.

"Sam!" I say loudly, storming over to her. "Get the hell out of that thing!"

"What's got your panties in a bunch, Benson?" she says, looking surprised and perturbed.

"I said get out of that thing!" I repeat, ignoring the angry expression that's forming on her face. The time for reasoning is over.

"Not gonna happen!" she says, angrily, not budging an inch.

"I'm warning you, Sam, get up or else!" I yell, telling myself that she'll one day thank me for preventing curvature of the spine. By this time I'm practically on top of her. I'm standing over her legs and angrily looking down at her.

"Oh, now I'm just quaking, Fredward," she says defiantly, smirking up at me. "What exactly are you gonna do?" Her shoulders roll, her breath inadvertently hitches again, and something inside me just snaps.

My arms come down on the arms of the iJoy and I'm completely straddling her. Before I have time to think to think about what I'm doing, my lips are crashing against hers and my tongue is pushing through her open lips . . . It's violent, frantic, and completely unlike anything that I've ever done before. And I realize with a start that I've wanted to do it from the moment she sat down in the thing.

I'm shocked when I feel her arms snake around me and she doesn't push me off. Instead, she pulls me toward her, forcing my whole body against hers and frantically running her fingers through my hair. I can feel her moving and rubbing against me and thank god that I no longer wear that scratchy anti-bacterial underwear. I am about to completely lose myself in the moment when I feel her moan into my mouth. And then a crazy question enters my mind.

Was it me or the chair?

With massive effort, I wrench myself away from her and take several steps backward.

A look of horror forms on her face and at first I think she's angry about what we've just done.

"Where the hell do you think you're going, dorkwad?" she says, breathing hard and motioning that she wants me to come back.

I laugh in surprise.

"Get out of the chair, Sam," I smirk and she glares at me in anger.

"You get back in it!" she says.

"Yeah, I don't think so," I continue to smirk, crossing my arms over my chest.

A moment of silence passes as she sits there fuming and glaring at me.

And then it happens. Sam Puckett gets up.

And suddenly she's pressed up against me again, kissing me more intensely than I thought was possible. I run my fingers through her hair and down her back, feeling like my body can't be close enough to hers. I'm vaguely aware that we're stumbling around the room as we kiss. Then I feel her bite my bottom lip and lose all traces of awareness of anything besides her body. Somehow she maneuvers us into a reclining position, and this time, she's straddling me. She grips my hair with one hand and undoes the first button on my shirt with the other, all the while continuing to kiss me and rubbing my back in slow circles . . .

And then the utter impossibility of that hits me, quickly followed by a wave of anger as I realize that she's not rubbing my back at all.

I'm sitting in the iJoy-300.

"Guess you finally got your turn," she smirks, biting my lip again.

And I can't figure out of if I've lost or won. It's infuriating and sexy and ridiculous all at the same time. And I can't help it. I laugh.