For a weeknight,<i>Mama’s Home-Made Pizza </i>was surprisingly busy.  Paul scanned the room, searching for a familiar face.  He was a few minutes early, so maybe she hadn’t shown up yet.  No such luck.  Jemma waved at him from a corner booth.  Walking toward her, he was still at a loss as to why she couldn’t say what was on her mind over the phone.  Suspicions and a gut feeling all pointed toward her UPS pilot boyfriend.<br/><br/>Sliding into the booth opposite her, she greeted him with a smile and a “Hi, Paul.”  Jemma’s smile in and of itself was just a smile.  What stood out for Paul was that the last time he’d seen a smile like that from her, they were dating.  “Hey, Jem,” he said evenly.<br/><br/>Jemma reached for his empty pint glass and proceeded to fill it from the pitcher on the table.  Her own glass was just approaching the halfway point.  “I know how much you like the IPA here, so I hope you don’t mind that’s what I ordered.<br/><br/>“Not at all,” he said, “and thanks.”  Okay, something was definitely up.  She was being way too nice, he thought.  Following a healthy swig of tasty IPA, Paul cut to the chase.  “So, what’s up?”<br/><br/>That simple question resulted in her smile and bubbly demeanor quickly fading.  Now she looked like varying degrees of miserable.  “It’s Stan.  He’s been cheating on me, and I know that for a fact,” she emphasized.  Well, well, Paul thought, somewhat satisfied, now she knew how it felt.  And he assumed Stan was her pilot boyfriend, though he never knew the man’s name until now.<br/><br/>“What makes you so sure?” Paul asked.<br/><br/>With that inquiry, Jemma’s appearance shifted from sadness to madness in the blink of an eye.  “Because I’ve received four texts, with questionable pictures, from four different women.  All addressed to Stan with pet names.  I mean, what the fuck is that all about?!”  She drained the rest of her beer, and quickly refilled it while also topping his off.  Her eyes confirmed another pitcher for them to a passing waitress.<br/><br/>Paul had a hunch, though he still chose his words carefully.  “Way I see it, that’s your man’s chickenshit way of telling you he’d like to break up.  He don’t wanna do it himself, so he gets these women to text you,” he hypothesized.  “Makes it look accidental, cuz really, how else would they have gotten your number?  Besides, y’know that they know his number.  Well, that’s my two cents anyway.”  He chugged from his pint, cuz he sure needed it right now.<br/><br/>Jemma was fuming, calling Stan every name in the book and then some.  Paul just smirked, remaining quiet.  With all that off her chest, she softened a bit.  “I, uh, I’d like a second chance, Paul.  With you.  With us.  I know I fucked up,” she pleaded.<br/><br/>“I dunno, Jem,” he said softly, not really surprised at her reveal.  For some reason, Charlette’s face appeared in his mind’s eye, and then her favored lady bits.<br/><br/>“Is it because of that bimbo back at the house?” Jemma flippantly asked.<br/><br/>“What makes you think she’s a bimbo?  She’s studying to be a nurse, y’know,” he stated in Charlotte’s defense.<br/><br/>“Sorry,” Jemma mumbled.  “We, um, we could take it slow, Paul, not rush into anything.”<br/><br/>A shrug was her only response, while he brought his pint glass to his lips.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">&gt; &gt; &gt; &gt; &gt; &gt;&lt; &lt; &lt; &lt; &lt; &lt;​</div><br/>Two hours later, he eased his Subaru into the driveway, seeing Charlette’s VW already there.  His vehicle’s clock fluorescently read<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#00ffff">8:54</span>.  At least he didn’t have to fumble with the house lights, since they were already on.<br/><br/>Pizza and beer, beer and pizza.  Always an awesome combination.  Paul was unsure what to think of The Jemma Factor, however.  Car locked, he shuffled toward the front door.  Once inside, he wondered where Charlette was.