WELCOME!

You hated the night shift with a bone-deep resentment. It wasn’t just the parade of drunks and crazies who stumbled through the ER doors after midnight. It was knowing that every extra hour you spent here meant another chunk of your already pitiful paycheck vanishing to the sitter. Lila deserved better than a string of late-night strangers watching over her, and you deserved to be the one tucking her in instead of dragging yourself home at dawn, smelling of hospital.

It was close to one in the morning when triage called your name. “Room four. Walk-in laceration. Deep cut to the eyebrow. Came because the bleeding won’t stop.”

You nodded, tugging on fresh gloves as you headed down the hallway. You expected the usual, maybe a drunken stumble, or a bar fight. You stopped on your feet as you pushed the curtain aside.

The man sitting on the exam table looked like he’d stepped out of a gym magazine. His broad shoulders were impressive even under a plain grey hoodie, and you spotted right away how scabbed and bruised his knuckles looked, a typical sign of a bar fight. He kept his head low, his elbows on his knees, while pressing a wad of gauze to his brow with his hand. 

He lifted his head when he heard you approach, looking at you with ocean-deep blue eyes. There was a cut slicing through his left eyebrow, still weeping blood that had already trickled down the side of his face. And yet, despite the obvious injury, he didn’t flinch or scowl.

For a moment, you forgot the room around you. You shook it off, stepping closer.

“Looks like you took a pretty good hit there,” you said, doing your best effort in order to keep your voice even. “Let me take a look.”

He didn’t move at first, almost like he was surprised someone was speaking to him so gently. Then he took the gauze away, revealing the full split in his skin. The cut was deep enough that the edges wouldn’t sit together on their own. It definitely needed stitches.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean t’ bleed all over your floor.”

You gave the faintest, amused exhale. “Trust me, this floor has seen worse.”

Something like humor flickered in his eyes. You stepped between his knees to get a closer look, clicking on your penlight. He smelled faintly of sweat, and his breath hitched almost imperceptibly when you tilted his chin with two gloved fingers to move his face toward the light.

“This is going to need sutures,” you said, meeting his eyes again.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly. “Figured.”

“Did you get in a fight?”

He didn’t respond for a few seconds, and you wondered if he’d pretend it was something else. But then he gave a small shrug. “Somethin’ like that.”

You didn’t pry, people lied,  people hid things, and your job was just to patch them up and send them out, not listen to their life stories. You prepped the tray, laying out the needle driver, the suture kit, and the anesthetic. Tommy’s gaze followed your hands, like he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

“Little pinch,” you warned him, holding the syringe.

He barely blinked when the needle slid in, no hiss or flinch from him. You found yourself glancing at him longer than necessary, studying the way he seemed to be used to pain. As you waited for the anesthetic to take effect, you cleaned the dried blood from his cheek. You could feel his eyes on you, but he didn’t speak.

“So,” you said lightly, trying to fill the quiet, “you planning to tell me what did this? Or am I supposed to imagine something dramatic?”

An amused breath escaped him. “You probably got a better imagination than the truth.”

“Oh? Try me.”

He was quiet again, but the corner of his mouth twitched just barely, enough that the tiniest curve softened his face. “Gym sparrin’,” he muttered finally. “Caught a bad elbow.”

“That’ll do it,” you said. “Well, next time, try blocking with something other than your face. It’s not the ideal choice.”

This time, the exhale he gave was unmistakably a laugh, but he choked it down fast as if he wasn’t used to letting something like that out. “Thanks for the piece of advice. Hadn’t thought of it.”

You stepped closer, lifting his brow to test numbness. “Feel this?”

“Nah.”

“Good. Try not to move.”

He locked his gaze on yours as you threaded the first stitch. And though you’d done this a thousand times, there was something strangely intimate about holding his skin between your fingers, guiding the needle through with precision.

He watched you work, his eyes never leaving your face, and you felt the heat of his stare, making your cheeks grow increasingly hotter.

“You’re good at that,” he said quietly.

“I should hope so,” you replied with a faint smile. “I’ve stitched up more eyebrows than I can count.”

You kept working, closing the skin while he sat still, keeping his arms on his knees and hands clasped.

“So, I take it you fight. What is it? Boxing?”

.

“MMA,” he replied without elaboration. 

“How long you been doing it?” you asked, keeping your tone casual, trying to ease the tension.

“Long time,” he murmured. “Since I was a kid.”

“You do it professionally?”

He hesitated, and you could tell he wasn’t used to people being interested in him, not like this. “Kind of,” he said. “Just… doin’ what I know.”

You’d placed half the stitches when you noticed how his shoulders had relaxed, how he was letting his guard slip the tiniest bit under the sound of your voice. “Almost done,” you said softly.

He nodded once, and when the last knot was tied and the final suture trimmed, you stepped back. “There,” you said, removing your gloves. “Good as new.”

He reached up to touch the area by habit, then stopped himself at the last second before brushing against the fresh stitches. “Looks alright?”

“You’ll have a scar,” you said, “but honestly, you strike me as someone who can pull off a few of those.”

He huffed again, a stifled laugh that seemed to surprise him as much as you. You handed him the aftercare sheet. “Keep it clean, watch for infection, come back if anything seems off.”

He took the paper from you, brushing his fingers against yours for a second. A single second, but it was enough to send a warm, startling jolt through your arm.

He flicked his eyes up to yours, and for one suspended heartbeat, he let the truth flash through him, how beautiful he found you, how utterly unexpected it was to be sitting in an ER room at one in the morning, being touched gently by someone who looked at him like he truly saw him. Then the walls snapped back up.

“Thanks,” he said. “For… all that.”

“It’s my job.”

“Still.” His gaze dipped once to your lips, not long enough to make it obvious, just a flicker, and then away so fast it might have been imagined. “You were… real kind about it.”

You smiled. “Come back if you need anything else.”

He stood, pulling his hood up, towering over you close enough that you had to tilt your head slightly to keep his face in view. Tommy looked at you for a long second, like he wanted to say something more, but he swallowed it. He just put his hands in his pockets and walked toward the door.

Tommy had been hit in the head more times than he could count. He’d been punched, kicked, slammed, choked out, elbowed, kneed, and wrestled by men bigger and meaner, and he’d always managed to keep his mind blank when he needed to. Keeping his mind blank was safer. Blank meant control, meant distance, meant nothing could get inside the places he’d spent years boarding shut. But ever since that night in the hospital, since the warmth of your hands against his skin, Tommy’s mind refused to stay blank.

The next day, he woke before dawn like always. The apartment where he’d been living for two months now, ever since he returned to Pittsburgh, was cold, and the floorboards creaked under his feet. He splashed water on his face, checked the stitches in the mirror, and saw the neat line you’d left on his eyebrow. He stared at it too long, he didn’t even know why. Then your voice echoed faintly in his head, warm enough that it had landed somewhere in him he hadn’t expected. It’d made him feel a way he hadn’t felt in way too long.

Tommy gripped the sink. “Fuck,” he muttered, as if cursing at his own reflection would shake you loose.

But it didn’t. He went to the gym before sunrise, wrapped his hands mechanically, and even then, he could feel you haunting the edges of thought. When he started hitting the bag, your face came back anyway, every time he blinked, he saw that moment your fingers brushed his, just for a second. He saw your eyes, the way you leaned close without flinching, the way you didn’t look at him like he was something dangerous or broken or barely-held-together. You looked at him like a person, like a man, like he was allowed to sit there with his guard half-down and not be punished for it.

Two days passed quickly, and nothing changed. If anything, the thoughts got louder. Tommy wasn’t used to wanting things. Wanting was dangerous, wanting made you weak. And wanting a woman felt like standing on the edge of a long drop he wasn’t sure he could climb back from. This was stupid, he didn’t do this. He didn’t get stuck on people, didn’t let himself feel drawn, pulled, warmed, whatever the hell this was, but he couldn’t get you out of his head.

Tommy tried everything. He trained harder, ran until his lungs burned, lifted until his arms shook, went home exhausted, hoping fatigue would scrape you from his thoughts. Instead, exhaustion made it worse. His defenses were lower, he closed his eyes and felt again the moment you’d leaned in close enough that he’d felt the faintest warmth of your breath on his cheek. 

By the eighth night, his stitches itched a little, it was normal, he knew that. He’d had enough cuts in his life to recognize healing when he felt it. The area wasn’t warm, wasn’t swollen, wasn’t red. It was perfectly fine. But he needed an excuse to see you again.

What was he supposed to do? Walk back into the ER like some guy who didn’t know how to take care of a cut? Tell you he was worried about infection when it was healing cleanly, neatly, exactly like it should?

He shouldn’t go, it was ridiculous, it would look pathetic. What would he even say? Hey, uh, I’ve been thinkin’ about you nonstop for a week like some kinda idiot, so I made up a reason to see you again.

He snorted and shook his head. Absolutely not. You’re not goin’. No way. Not happenin’.

So the next day, there he was, standing at the hospital’s entrance. He almost turned around, but he kept moving,  with slow steps down the hallway. And then he saw you. You were at the counter, typing something into a chart, with your hair slightly out of place from the long shift, the concentration softening your features. A stray strand fell toward your cheek, and you brushed it back, and Tommy felt something far too warm flood through him.

He froze. Every instinct told him to leave, to protect himself, to turn around and go back to how his life was before he’d met you, where nothing hurt, and nothing tempted him.

But you looked up before he could, your eyes found him like you’d been expecting him without expecting him, like time paused for the briefest second when you recognized him. You lifted your eyebrows slightly with surprise.

“Tommy?” you said, stepping around the counter. “What are you doing here?”

He swallowed and cleared his throat, dropping his eyes to the floor before he forced them up again. “Uh… thought maybe, uh… the cut was… infected,” he muttered, hating how rough his voice sounded. “Feels… weird.”

He felt stupid the second the words came out. Like a huge fighter pretending to be concerned about a ten-day-old eyebrow stitch.

But you didn’t laugh, you didn’t even doubt him. As you stepped close and touched his arm lightly, you guided him toward one of the exam rooms. “Let’s take a look.”

Inside, under the light, Tommy sat on the edge of the table again, just like before. You put on gloves, pulling the curtain closed. Tommy watched you with intensity, like he was soaking in every detail he didn’t let himself look at the first time. You stepped between his knees again, and he felt his breath catch.

You lifted his chin with your fingers, and he went very still. The warmth of your skin through the glove seeped straight through him as your thumb brushed near the cut, not touching the stitches, just the skin nearby. 

“You’re healing beautifully,” you said after a moment. “No redness, no warmth, no drainage. No signs of infection at all.”

Tommy’s chest tightened. “Oh,” he said quietly.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Any fever?”

“No.”

“Then why do you think it’s infected?”

Tommy hesitated. He shrugged. “Just… felt weird.”

You studied him for another moment, then let go of his chin. He missed the touch instantly and hated himself for it.

“It’s probably just the stitches tightening as the skin closes,” you said, stepping back. “Nothing to worry about.”

Tommy nodded. You started taking off your gloves. “I’m glad you came in, though. Better safe than sorry.”

He lifted his head slightly and saw the way you were smiling at him, like you were genuinely glad he was here.

His pulse thumped once, hard enough he felt it in his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “Guess so.”

You scribbled a quick note on the chart, then looked at him again with that same gentle calm that had snared him the first night. “How’ve you been feeling otherwise?”

He swallowed. “Fine.”

“You look tired.”

He let out a faint breath, something between a laugh and a grunt. “Been trainin’ a lot.”

“Fighting?”

“Yeah.”

“You should be careful with your face then,” you teased lightly. “I worked hard on that eyebrow.”

Your smile deepened, but Tommy’s didn’t, he had so many things he wanted to say, but none of them seemed to go past his lips. How could he be so brave in the face of death, but be scared shitless when it came to talking to you? 

“If it gives you any trouble, come back.”

He met your eyes and held your gaze longer than he should have. “I will.”

Tommy didn’t even make it to his car. As soon as he pushed through the sliding doors of the hospital, he just walked across the parking lot, pacing back and forth.

He ran a hand over his face. This was stupid, he wasn’t a kid, he wasn’t some teenager trying to gather the courage to ask someone to the school dance. He wasn’t the kind of man who stumbled over simple things. He fought grown men in cages and rings, and gyms. He took punches that would break the average person’s skull. He’d lived through things that should’ve shattered him.

But asking you out? That terrified him. He paced faster, told himself to leave. Go home. Forget the way she looked at you. Forget the warmth in her voice. 

He made it halfway to the edge of the lot before he stopped again. He realized he couldn’t stand the idea of you not knowing. Not knowing that you mattered to him. That you’d gotten into his head, his chest, deeper than you had any right to, and he didn’t want you out.

He turned around. “Alright,” he muttered under his breath. “Alright. Go.”

He took a step and stopped. “What’s the worst that can happen?” he growled to himself. “She says no. That’s it.”

He could take rejection, he could take a hit. He could take anything, except the regret of not trying. He forced himself forward, and the automatic doors opened again. You were behind the nurse’s station again, writing notes. You didn’t notice him right away, you were concentrating, your bottom lip tucked slightly between your teeth in a way that made his stomach tighten.

Then you looked up, and your eyes found him. “Tommy?” you said slowly. “Did you forget something?”

He stopped halfway between the door and your desk. He stood there, looking big, broad, and intimidating to anyone else, and looked at you like you were the only thing in the room.

His voice came out rough. “Uh… yeah. Kinda.”

You waited, lifting your brows gently.

Tommy swallowed, feeling the hammering of his heart. He took a few steps toward you, each one careful, like he was approaching something fragile. When he reached your desk, he stopped again.

He cleared his throat. “I… wanted t’ ask you somethin’.”

Your eyes softened. “Sure. What is it?”

Tommy rubbed the back of his neck. He looked like he’d rather take a punch than say the words, but he forced them out. “You wanna… maybe go out… sometime? With me.”

The world didn’t end, and nothing exploded. He’d finally dared to say the words.

You shook your head slightly. Not a no, more like disbelief. “Tommy… I… I don’t think you really want to go out with me.”

He snapped his eyes to yours so fast the movement almost startled you. “Yeah,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “I do.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he beat you to it, leaning his elbows slightly on the counter as if closing the distance made it easier to say things he’d never said before. “I ain’t… good with this kinda thing,” he muttered. “But I been thinkin’ about you. Since that night. A lot.”

His words got your pulse jumping, and Tommy just kept going. “And I ain’t gonna pretend I’m not, or act like I came here for any other reason. I wanted to see you. Wanted t’ ask you properly. Didn’t wanna keep talkin’ myself outta it.”

You felt the warmth climb your chest and into your throat. He looked vulnerable, stripped down, unguarded. “Tommy…” you breathed.

He shook his head slightly. “You can say no. It’s fine. But don’t say it ‘cause you think I don’t mean it.”

You looked at him, and at the way his shoulders were tense, but his eyes were open, at the way he stood there waiting, bracing for a hit that wasn’t coming. And suddenly, saying no wasn’t even an option.

You said the thing that made his heart thump hard enough he actually felt dizzy for a second. “Okay,” you said softly. “Yes. I’ll go out with you.”

Then his chest rose in a deeper breath, the kind you take when something heavy lifts off you. “Yeah?” he murmured.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling.

He looked down for a moment, then gave the smallest huff of breath. “When?” he asked.

“Whenever you want.”

“Tomorrow night,” he said instantly without hesitation. “If you can.”

You nodded. “I can.”

Tommy pushed a hand into his pocket, like he didn’t know what to do with it, then lifted his gaze to you again. “I’ll pick you up. Somewhere nice. Dinner.”

“Alright, Tommy,” you said softly. “Tomorrow night.”

He nodded once, firmly, like he’d just been given a mission, then he stepped back slowly. He didn’t want to leave just yet, but he needed to let you work. As he walked toward the exit, and for the first time all week, everything in him felt sure. He was taking you out, there was no turning back.

You hadn’t dressed up in a long time, at least not feeling the excitement warming your chest, not with that sense of anticipation that kept sneaking up, no matter how hard you pretended to stay calm. The bathroom mirror was fogged at the corners from your shower, and you had your hair pinned halfway up, with strands falling in curves around your shoulders. You were still in your towel, rushing from the sink to your bedroom to your daughter’s room and back again because, of course, your life never seemed to pause when you needed it to.

“Mommy, where’s my bear?” a small voice called from the other side of the hallway.

“On the bed, baby,” you answered, stepping into your room and rifling through your drawer for the necklace you swore you’d left on the nightstand.

The soft patter of feet followed you. “No, it’s not! He’s lost. I lost him, mommy. I lost him forever.”

You suppressed a laugh, leaning toward the mirror to swipe liner under your lashes. “He’s definitely not lost forever.”

Your daughter appeared in the doorway, her curls bouncing around her small face. Five years old and bright as a spark. She was wearing mismatched socks and holding three crayons in one hand, her frustration already forgotten as she saw the makeup scattered across your vanity.

“Are you gonna be a princess?” she asked, climbing onto your bed and bouncing once.

You smiled, grabbing your dress from the closet. “Not a princess. Just… Mommy on a date.”

She blinked. “What’s a date?”

You hesitated a moment. “It’s when you go out with someone you like,” you said finally, simple and honest.

She hummed, contemplating this deeply as only a child could. “Do you like him?”

The question hit more directly than expected, making your fingers pause on the zipper of your dress. “Yes,” you said softly, because you’d never been one to lie to her. “I think I do.”

You slipped into the dress carefully, a simple one, but pretty, black fabric that ended barely above your knee. You looked at yourself in the mirror, thinking about how long it had been since you felt this… alive. 

Tommy would be here in less than twenty minutes, and you still had to put on shoes, finish your hair, grab your purse, check on your daughter’s dinner, and…

“Wait,” you said suddenly, turning. “Honey, did you brush your teeth after your snack?”

She froze, her eyes widening comically. “I forgot!”

“Go,” you said, pointing toward the bathroom and laughing.

She sprinted down the hall, and you moved fast, slipping into your heels, adjusting your dress at the waist, spritzing a little perfume on your wrist. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. It’d been so long since a man made you feel this anticipation… this excitement.

You checked your phone. It was 6:48 PM. and that meant the babysitter should be there any minute. Your daughter shouted something from the bathroom about SpongeBob toothpaste, but you didn’t have time to investigate, so you called back, “Rinse carefully!”

Just as you reached for your earrings, your phone buzzed. Great, that must be her.

You picked it up, but the second you saw the text, the smile you had on your face vanished.

babysitter: Hey! I’m SO sorry, something came up last minute. I can’t make it.

I know it’s late but I really can’t get away.

I owe you!!

You stared at the screen. No no no no no. You read it again, hoping maybe it would magically say something different the second time, but it didn’t.

You felt your stomach dropping, but you didn’t have time to sink, because your daughter came skipping back into your room, proudly opening her mouth. “See? Clean!”

“Yeah,” you managed to say, touching her cheek with a shaky hand. “They look great, sweetheart.”

She didn’t notice the tension in your voice, she was too little for it. She climbed back on your bed, reaching for her crayons, content while your entire night threatened to collapse.

Your date, your first date since… well, since before you had her. And a man who had looked at you like you were worth it, with a man who had paced a parking lot working up the courage. With a man who probabl wouldn’t understand if you suddenly cancelled right before he arrived.

You closed your eyes. “Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “Okay, okay… think.”

Call another sitter? Impossible in ten minutes. Ask a neighbor? Not an option, you didn’t know any of them enough to trust them with your daughter. Bring your daughter? You laughed weakly at the thought. Absolutely not. What would he think if you suddenly showed up at the diner with your five-year-old daughter in tow… the same daughter you’d conveniently forgotten to mention existed?

Maybe this was your fault. You should’ve told him from the beginning, laid it all out before saying yes to the date. But you knew how it went: men in their early thirties didn’t exactly line up for single moms. Most of them bolted at the first whiff of responsibility that wasn’t their own. When Tommy had asked you out, like he hadn’t expected you to say yes, you’d just wanted one night to feel like someone else. Not the exhausted nurse, not the mom scraping by, just… you. nd, in any case, you weren’t planning to hide her forever. Just long enough for him to fall irrevocably, stupidly in love with you, so the news wouldn’t feel like a dealbreaker. So he’d look at Lila and see something worth staying for instead of an “extra package” to run from. Stupid, maybe. Selfish, definitely. But hope had a way of making you lie to yourself, and you’d been lying for weeks.

Your throat tightened, and the disappointment was rushing in, just when you’d been so excited. And now… A soft knock sounded on the door.

Your heart jumped. Tommy was already here. You froze in place, but your daughter hopped off the bed, excited to meet this mysterious man who was supposed to take you out on a date. “I’ll get it!”

“No—!” you called, but it was too late, trying to grab at her arm only to catch air as she streaked down the hall like a comet.

Your heels clicked on the floor as you chased after her, but by the time you reached the door, she’d already swung it open.

And there he was. Tommy, standing on your doorstep in the fading evening light, wearing a clean black jacket over a dark shirt. His hair was neat, and you could smell the faintest scent of cologne drifting with the cool air. He looked painfully good, so handsome and broad.

Your daughter looked up at him with awe. “You’re big.”

Tommy blinked once, then, one corner of his mouth tugged upward, not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one. He didn’t react outright to the little girl standing in the doorway. No flinch, no widening eyes, no flash of irritation or surprise that you’d braced for.

You searched his face, trying to read the unreadable. Was he that good at hiding it or did he genuinely not mind? 

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Guess I am.”

You stepped behind her, catching your breath as his eyes lifted to yours. He stopped breathing for a moment, then he said, very quietly, “You look… beautiful.”

The words made you feel warm all over your body, but the panic returned in an instant. “Tommy,” you said, stepping into the doorway. “I—there’s a problem.”

His shoulders tensed slightly. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“My babysitter cancelled,” you said. “Ten minutes ago. I’m so sorry. I can’t leave her alone, and I can’t find anyone else, and—I’m really sorry, I know you came all the way here, I just… I can’t go out tonight.”

Your daughter leaned into your leg, looking between the two of you with curious eyes, sensing something was wrong but not quite understanding what.

Tommy flexed his jaw once. He didn’t seem angry, just thinking. He looked at you, then at your daughter, then back at you.

For a moment, you expected him to nod, say “it’s fine,” and leave politely, disappear into the night, and never contact you again.

But he didn’t, he stepped closer, lowering his voice to speak to you. “…then we don’t go out.”

Your breath caught, but Tommy held your gaze. “We can stay right here,” he continued softly. “We can order food. Talk. Watch somethin’ with her. Whatever you want.”

He wasn’t disappointed, he wasn’t irritated or backing away. He was offering himself into your real life, into the messy, chaotic truth of you. A truth that included a five-year-old girl. 

You felt your throat tighten. “You’d… be okay with that?”

His eyes softened in a way that made your knees feel unsteady. “I’m more than okay,” he murmured. 

You stepped aside, smiling despite everything. “Come in, Tommy.”

He did, Tommy stepped inside your house like a man walking into unfamiliar terrain. He took everything in quickly, the soft light of the living room lamp, the scattered crayons on the coffee table, the half-drawn pictures on the floor, the faint smell of laundry detergent in the air. Your home felt lived-in and warm. Nothing like his apartment with bare walls and empty shelves.

“So, this is Lila.” You crouched a little, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder as she peeked up at him with wide eyes. “My daughter.”

You straightened, offering him a small smile, the one that said. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry I let it get this far without being honest. I’m sorry if this changes everything.

Tommy’s gaze dropped to Lila for a long beat, taking her in, then he lifted  his eyes back to yours, and he pressed his mouth into a flat line, not quite a frown, not quite a smile, just acknowledgment. He gave a single, slow nod, the kind that said he’d heard you, he’d seen her, and he wasn’t running for the door.

Your daughter immediately sprinted back to the couch, climbing onto it, and bouncing once before plopping down with arms spread wide.

“Mommy! Can we watch the movie with the dragon?” she called.

You rubbed your forehead with a tired laugh. “Which one, baby? There are about four thousand dragon movies.”

“The one where the girl is a warrior!” Lila’s voice pitched higher with excitement, her tiny fingers ticking off each detail like she was checking boxes. “And she has a little dragon, and a black horse, and a cricket, and she fights, and—”

“That’s Mulan, baby. Why don’t you go look for it on the DVD rack? It’s probably with all the princess ones.”

Lila gasped, already spinning on her feet toward the shelf. Tommy stood awkwardly near the door, keeping his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, shifting his gaze from you to your daughter and back again. He clearly didn’t want to intrude. His presence, normally towering, felt strangely tentative here, like he was trying to shrink himself out of politeness.

You stepped toward him, giving him a grateful smile. “Come in. Really. It’s okay.”

He nodded, stepping further into the living room. He lingered near the armchair, unsure if he should sit, wait, or stand at attention.  Your daughter solved the dilemma by pointing at him and declaring loudly, “YOU sit THERE.”

Tommy blinked, and you covered your mouth in embarrassment. “Honey… let him sit wherever he—”

But he didn’t look offended, just startled. And then… a little amused. “Yeah?” he said quietly. “That my spot?”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded, kicking her feet against the couch cushions. “You’re big. You need the big chair.”

Tommy glanced at the chair, then at her, then at you. His voice softened, it was clear he was making an effort into sounding less rough, especially when it came to speaking to a little girl, but clearly had not much experience in it. “Alright. Big chair it is.”

“WAIT! You have to ask it for permission first.” Lila pointed solemnly at the armchair, like it was a living thing that deserved respect.

Tommy paused mid-step, glancing around the room as if expecting someone to jump out and yell “gotcha.” No one did. He dropped his eyes back to Lila’s upturned face, completely serious. She stared right back, expectant. 

He cleared his throat, and turned to face the armchair. “Can I sit down?” he asked, just doing what the kid said.

Lila’s face lit up like he’d passed some test. “It said yes!” she exclaimed, bouncing both legs so hard the couch creaked. “You can sit now.”

Tommy gave the smallest nod, and he sat carefully, as if the furniture might break under him. It didn’t, but the chair did creak in protest, earning a delighted giggle from your daughter. “It made a noise!” she squealed.

Tommy almost smiled, and you felt something warm spread slowly through your chest watching him try.

You picked up the phone. “Okay, how does pizza sound?”

Your daughter hopped up again. “Yes! Yes! Pizza!”

Tommy cleared his throat softly. “I can, uh… pay for it.”

You shook your head instantly. “No. Absolutely not. I feel too embarrassed already for ruining the date. I’m not letting you pay for takeout.”

He looked ready to argue, but your daughter tugged on the leg of his chair, distracting him. “Do you like cheese pizza?” she asked.

He hesitated. “Ain’t had pizza in a while,” he admitted.

Her eyes widened. “What? Why?”

Tommy opened his mouth, ready to explain that with training and fighting, he usually took much care into what he ate, but that seemed too confusing and complicated to explain to a five-year-old, so he lifted one shoulder in an awkward shrug. “Just… don’t get it much.”

She gasped dramatically. “That’s SAD.”

Tommy blinked, and you burst out laughing. Slowly, he did too. A small exhale, a twitch of his mouth, a softening in his eyes. Like he didn’t remember the last time a child had spoken to him at all, let alone made him laugh.

You ordered the food while your daughter climbed onto the couch again, dragging a blanket with her.

You glanced at Tommy. “You okay with animated movies?”

He nodded, then frowned slightly. “Uh… can’t say I’ve seen a lot of ‘em.”

Your daughter gasped again as though this were a tragedy. “Mommy, he didn’t watch the dragon movies OR eat pizza?”

“Baby, I think he did eat pizza,” you corrected gently. “Just… not recently.”

“Oh.” She nodded as if this were a great revelation, then she turned to Tommy. “It’s okay. I’ll teach you.”

Tommy stared at her, unsure how to respond, then gave a tiny nod. “Alright.”

You slid the DVD inside the player and clicked play once the film had loaded. Tommy watched you sit beside your daughter on the couch, pulling her into your side. She rested her head on your shoulder immediately, humming contentedly.

“It’s about a girl who goes to war to fight really bad guys,” Lila launched in, barely pausing for breath, “and there’s a lucky cricket, and a funny dragon, and a horse, and the girl falls in love wi—”

You laughed, reaching over to gently tap the tip of her nose. “Baby, don’t spoil him too much, you’ll ruin the whole movie for him.”

Lila’s mouth snapped shut mid-sentence, like she’d just realized the gravity of her near-betrayal. She clapped both hands over her lips, then whispered through her fingers, “Oops. Sorry, Tommy.”

Tommy, still sunk into the armchair like he belonged there, gave the tiniest lift of one shoulder, but his eyes flicked to you for a split second before he looked back at the screen. When the movie started, your daughter scooted forward, leaning her elbows on her knees, fully absorbed. Tommy sat stiffly in the big chair at first, with his back straight and his hands on his thighs like he was waiting for instructions. But after a few minutes, he relaxed a little, leaning back. His eyes flicked to you often in stolen glances he tried to hide. Watching you laugh, watching you smooth your daughter’s hair back, and the way you mouthed some of the lines because you’d clearly watched this movie a hundred times.

And then, unexpectedly, he laughed at something from the movie. It slipped out of him, a soft and yet rough sound that made your heart squeeze.

Your daughter gasped again with delight. “You laughed!” she shouted, pointing at him.

Tommy seemed startled. “Yeah.”

“Do it again!”

“That’s… not how it works.”

“Yes, it is!” she insisted.

You covered your mouth to hide the grin forming. “Honey, let him watch.”

She huffed dramatically and settled back down. Tommy shook his head once, faintly amused. There was a softness there, an unguarded warmth he didn’t usually show, but he couldn’t help it around you.

When the pizza arrived, you all moved closer to the coffee table. Your daughter took two bites before launching into a monologue about kindergarten and her favorite teacher and how she once fed a squirrel at the park and how she thinks dragons were real.

Tommy listened. Sometimes, he blinked slowly, not understanding a word she said about stickers and glitter, but he tried. He nodded at all the right moments, murmured “yeah?” and looked at you sometimes for translation.

Your daughter finally pointed at him with a crust in her hand. “Do YOU have a kid?”

Tommy froze and shook his head once. “No. I don’t.”

Your daughter nodded like this was reasonable. “You should.”

Your heart stopped when you heard those words, feeling your cheeks burn. “Honey,” you said firmly, but your daughter kept going.

“He’s nice,” she said to you, as if announcing it. “And he’s big and strong. And he sat where I told him. And he laughed at the movie. So he should be a dad.”

Tommy made a strangled sound in his throat, caught between confusion and embarrassment. You covered your face with your hands. “Oh, my God. Please, don’t mind her, you know how kids are, they just say whatever pops into their minds. No filter.” You laughed awkwardly.

Tommy’s ears were slightly red. “It’s alright.”

He wasn’t upset, ot uncomfortable, not really. Kids weren’t part of his world, he had zero practice, no blueprint for how to talk to them, what made them laugh, or what scared them off. But sitting here, in your old armchair, watching Mulan on the TV, Lila curled against your side… he didn’t feel out of place.It made sense in a way nothing else had in a long damn time. It all settled over him like something familiar, like he’d stepped into a room he hadn’t known he was looking for.

Your daughter munched pizza for a moment, then leaned sideways into you, already sleepy from a full tummy. You brushed her hair back, and Tommy watched your hand move gently over her curls. He watched your daughter’s eyes flutter closed, and how you lowered your lips to her forehead and whisper something soft.

As Tommy watched you with Lila from the armchair, something in his chest tightened, sank, really. He couldn’t look away, even though part of him wanted to. The way you brushed her cheek with gentleness, the way in which you spoke to her in that soft voice that made everything okay again, it was too familiar. Too close to memories he’d spent years trying to bury. He remembered his own mother like that: the gentle scrape of her fingers through his hair when nightmares kept him awakeunder the covers, the murmur of lullabies she sang until his breathing evened out. She’d looked at him the same way you looked at Lila now, fierce and protective, like the whole world could burn and she’d still stand between it and her kid. That primal, bone-deep love only a mother had fro her child.

When the movie ended and your Lila’s breathing had grown steady against you, you looked up at Tommy again. He was already watching you. “She’s real sweet,” he murmured.

You nodded gently. “Yeah. She is.”

“You’re good with her,” he said.

“I try.”

He shook his head softly. “No. You… you’re good. Real good.”

You smiled. “Thank you, Tommy.”

He swallowed, dropping his sight briefly to your daughter curled against you, then lifting again. “Thank you. For… lettin’ me stay.”

“Of course,” you whispered. “I’m glad you did.”

You lifted her carefully, and she made a soft little noise, a sleepy hum. “Let me put her to bed.”

Tommy nodded slowly. “Yeah. Take your time.”

You carried her down the hallway to her room, tucking her under her blankets, kissing her forehead, and standing there for a moment watching her breathe, letting the peacefulness of it wash through you.

Then you went back to the living room. Tommy was sitting where you left him. He stood instantly when you appeared. You smiled and gestured to the couch. “Do you… wanna sit here? It’s more comfortable.”

He hesitated, but then nodded. He moved slowly, like he was afraid of breaking something, and took the spot on the couch’s far end, leaving a respectful amount of space between you.

You sat beside him, still warm from carrying your daughter, smoothing your dress over your knees. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You folded your hands in your lap.

“I’m really sorry,” you said gently. “That everything tonight got… messed up.”

Tommy’s brows pulled together, his expression denoting his confusion. “Wasn’t messed up,” he said.

“I mean… movie night? Pizza? That wasn’t exactly the dinner date you planned.”

“I didn’t mind.”

“You should’ve had a proper date.”

Tommy shook his head slowly. “This was fine. Better than fine.”

You searched his face, and could see clear as day that he meant it. As you swallowed, you dropped your eyes for a moment before lifting them again. “And… I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner that I have a daughter.”

He looked like he wasn’t sure what to do with the apology at all. “You didn’t have t’ tell me right away,” he said.

“I feel like I should have,” you continued. “It’s a big part of my life, obviously. And some men don’t want to deal with that. And I get it if it’s a deal breaker. I really do. So if you don’t want to see me again after tonight, or if it’s too much, or—”

“Stop.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through your words instantly. You looked up, Tommy was watching you with that same intense focus he had the night you stitched him up, like he was giving you his full attention because what you were saying mattered. “You think I’d walk away ‘cause you got a kid?” he asked quietly.

“I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Well, I would,” he said.

“What?”

He shifted a little closer, not much, but enough that you could feel his attention settle on you. “I ain’t the kinda man that scares easy,” he said. I’d be an idiot to walk away from you just because you have a kid.”

“My life is… complicated, Tommy.”  And complicated didn’t even begin to cover it. Between the endless string of twelve-hour shifts at the hospital, and the nonstop orbit of a five-year-old who needed snacks, stories, bandaids, and bedtime songs all at once, you barely had scraps of time left for yourself. Forget carving out space for someone else. Dates? Conversations that weren’t interrupted by “Mommy, I’m thirsty”? A night where you didn’t collapse into bed? Those felt like luxuries

“Yeah,” he murmured. “So’s mine.”

You let out a shaky exhale, leaning back slightly into the couch. He watched you for another moment, then looked down at his hands. “Look,” he said slowly, “I ain’t been around… families. Not much. Not really ever. So I might be… awkward. Or quiet. Or not know what the hell I’m doin’ around little kids.”

“You did fine,” you whispered.

He huffed a soft laugh. “I talked to a chair.”

“She loved it.”

“Yeah.” His eyes softened. “I could tell.”

There was a pause before he said the next words. “I liked watchin’ you with her. You’re a good mom. It’s… nice. Seein’ that. Real nice.”

Something inside you loosened, unwound, melted, whatever word fit the way your heart warmed and softened all at once. You sighed, looking down briefly before meeting his eyes again. “So… you’re not scared off?”

“Not even close.”

You tried to smile, but the emotion in your chest made it tremble.

Tommy looked at your face, almost carefully, like he was trying to memorize something without making it obvious. “Why’d you think I wouldn’t wanna see you again?”

You hesitated, saying it out loud sounded stupid, but you’d been there before, when guys suddenly made up any excuse to get away with you the moment the word “daughter” left your mouth.

“Because… guys don’t usually want a woman who comes with… baggage.”

“I ain’t other guys. And your daughter isn’t baggage.”

“I didn’t want to… trap you into a situation you didn’t sign up for,” you whispered.

Tommy leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, turning toward you. “I asked you out, not some perfect single version of you. Not some pretend life. You. The real you. Whatever comes with that. So don’t go tellin’ me what I do and don’t want.”

Your lips parted slightly with disbelief about how nonchalant he appeared to be with it all. The room felt warmer suddenly, or maybe it was Tommy leaning closer. Or maybe it was the look in his eyes, stripped of the walls he usually kept wrapped tight around him.

You nodded once. “Okay.”

He studied your face for another moment. “If tonight made you think I’d disappear… you don’t know me very well yet.”

“Then tell me,” you said. “Help me get to know you.”

His breath caught. No one had said that to him in a long time, maybe ever. He leaned back against the couch, glancing down as if choosing his words. “What do you wanna know?” he asked.

“Anything you want to tell me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh… don’t talk about myself much.”

“I noticed,” you teased him.

A faint smile tugged at his mouth, and he looked at your coffee table, your daughter’s drawings, the empty pizza plates… then back at you. “You make it… easy.”

Your heart warmed so deeply it almost hurt.

“What about you?” he asked suddenly, like he wanted the attention off himself as fast as possible. “What’s… your story?”

You shifted to face him more fully, tucking a leg under you. You told him small things, how you became a nurse after your mother because of how much you admired what she did for others, how long you’d lived here, one year now after you moved, because your old apartment had become too small for a little girl who practically climbed up the walls. You told him about long nights at the hospital, about balancing work and motherhood, about the challenges and the joys.

Tommy listened, and most importantly, he asked questions, simple ones, but thoughtful. He watched your eyes as you spoke, like the way you told your stories mattered as much as the stories themselves. He leaned in when something made you laugh, softening further each time.

You kept talking a little more, but then the conversation quieted. Not because it was awkward, but because there was a natural pause. Tommy shifted slightly, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. Then he cleared his throat, a small sound but it was enough to draw your eyes to his.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” he murmured.

You nodded. “Of course.”

“It’s about her dad.”

The words were soft, almost reluctant. “You don’t gotta answer if you don’t want to,” he added quietly. “I ain’t tryin’ to pry. Just… curious.”

You inhaled slowly, the question you’d answered many times before, it was something everyone was curious about when you mentioned you were a single mom, but it still stung a little. You picked at the seam of a couch cushion before speaking.

“It’s okay,” you said gently. “You can ask.”

Tommy waited, giving you the silence you needed, not rushing you or pushing you. Just waiting. You folded your hands in your lap. “He wasn’t around much,” you said finally. “Not when I was pregnant. Not when she was born. Not after.”

Tommy’s eyes darkened, not with anger at you, but anger at someone who had hurt you without ever meeting you.

“He… disappeared,” you continued. “Called twice. Maybe three times. Always with excuses. And then nothing.”

“He ever meet her?”

“No.”

“Ever try?”

You shook your head. “I don’t think he wanted to. And I stopped waiting for him to.”

Tommy exhaled through his nose. He looked at your daughter’s photograph hanging on the wall, at her tiny shoes near the hallway, then back at you. “Sometimes…” he said quietly, “it’s better not havin’ a father at all… than havin’ a shitty one.”

The truth in his voicemade you shiver. There was something in the way he said it, in the rawness of your voice that made you believe he knew what he was talking about. “You say that like you know.”

He let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, but more like a huff. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

You waited to see if he’d say something more, not wanting to look intrusive. Tommy rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the floor for a moment like he wasn’t sure where to start. “My dad… wasn’t exactly father of the year.”

You didn’t interrupt, and he kept going. “Man drank more than he breathed. Had a temper. Big one. My mom took most of it. My brother and I took the rest.”

You watched the pain flickering across his face, it looked like a wound that time had attempted to heal, but it was still somewhat open. “You have a brother?” you asked softly.

“Yeah. Brendan.” A faint smile ghosted across his mouth. “Good guy. Real good.”

You could tell, immediately, how much that meant. “Your dad… he hurt you?” you asked carefully.

Tommy swallowed. “Yeah. A lot. Enough.”

“You can stop if you want to.”

He shook his head. “Nah. You asked about him. Just givin’ you the real.”

He leaned back slightly but didn’t put distance between you, just shifted into a position that felt more honest. “I figured out pretty young I had two choices,” he said quietly. “Learn how to hit back, or learn how to take a hit.”

“Did you hit back?”

“Eventually,” he murmured. “But… mostly I got good at takin’ them.”

The admission was so quiet that you felt something ache deep inside your ribs. “And then I got out,” he added. “Joined the Marines. Figured if I was gonna fight… might as well fight for somethin’. Do somethin’ that meant somethin’.”

“Did it?”

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “It did. But it fucked me up too.”

Your heart tightened again. “Tommy…”

He didn’t flinch at the softness in your voice. If anything, something in his expression eased “Lost a lot over there,” he continued. “Friends. Brothers. Pieces of myself I don’t think are ever comin’ back.”

You didn’t speak. You just let him talk, let him unspool himself. “When I came home…” he shook his head. “Didn’t know how t’ be in the world again. Didn’t wanna talk. Didn’t wanna sit still. Just wanted to… disappear. Keep movin’. Fight, not think.”

“And now?” you whispered.

“Now I’m… tryin’,” he said. “Tryin’ not to run all the damn time. Tryin’ to… talk. A little.”

“You’re doing a good job,” you whispered.

He let out a tiny, disbelieving breath, almost a laugh. “You think so?”

“I really do.”

His gaze flicked from your eyes to your mouth and back, then he leaned back again, but only enough to exhale. “So yeah,” he said, returning to your earlier confession. “Sometimes missin’ father figures ain’t the worst thing. Sometimes it saves you from growin’ up broken. She’s got you, that’s enough.”

Your heart squeezed so hard you had to look away for a second, but he wasn’t done. “And if her dad walked away?” he said, voice softening in a way you hadn’t heard from him before. “That ain’t on you. That ain’t on her. That’s on him. He walked out on the best part of his life.”

Emotion swept through you, Tommy saw it, and he just held your gaze with a grounding calm.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to unload all of this. It’s a lot.”

“Nah,” he told you. “You gave me real. I gave you real. That’s fair.”

Suddenly, he seemed to realize how dark it had gotten. He glanced at the window, blinking slowly, like he hadn’t meant to stay this long, like he’d slipped into your world and forgotten time existed.

“I should… probably go.”

You nodded, and he stood first, moving with a kind of heaviness, like leaving wasn’t as easy as standing up and walking out the door. You rose with him, smoothing your dress automatically as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Want me t’ walk myself out?”

“No,” you said. “I’ll walk you.”

You crossed the quiet living room together, his footsteps soft behind yours. When you opened the door, the night breeze slipped in. Tommy stepped out onto your small porch, and you followed him out. Tommy turned to face you. The porch light cast a gold glow across his face, catching the scar at his brow, the sharp lines of his jaw, and the softness of his eyes that he didn’t give to just anyone.

“Thank you for coming,” you said softly.

He huffed the faintest breath through his nose, almost a smile. “Thank you for lettin’ me stay.”

He took a slow step closer, and you felt the heat of him, he wasn’t touching you, but he might as well have been. Another step, he was so close now… close enough that if you leaned forward even an inch, your chest would brush his... close enough to feel his breath ghosting softly across your cheek.

“You’re real easy t’ be around,” he said quietly. “Feels… good. Bein’ here.”

Tommy watched the way your breath caught, and his eyes dipped to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “Can I…?”

The question trailed off, he didn’t even finish it. You lifted your chin just a fraction, giving him all the permission he needed with that small motion.

And Tommy moved, he stepped into you with intentionality, but still giving you every chance to stop him. His hand came up first, brushing your jaw carefully, grazing your cheek with his thumb. Then his other hand lifted to your waist, sending electric warmth spiraling up your spine.

He dipped his head, brushing your mouth, nothing but a careful press of lips that felt like a question. He tightened his hand on your waist gently, drawing you closer but not pulling you, just guiding. You felt his chest rise against yours, the tiniest shake of breath he didn’t mean to let slip.

You kissed him back, dragging a low sound from the back of his throat. His fingers slid from your jaw to your cheek, holding you like you might disappear if he wasn’t careful.

The kiss deepened. It wasn’t rushed or rough, but hungry in a quiet way, like he’d been holding back all night and this was the first crack. He stroked his thumb over your waist once, and then he moved his mouth from yours to the side of your lips, then lower, across your neck.

You gasped softly as his lips touched your skin, and Tommy froze for a split second, but you didn’t pull away. His lips found the curve of your neck, barely a kiss and almost like a breath, soft enough to make your knees weaken. He dug his fingers gently into your waist, holding you steady while he pressed another kiss, deeper this time, to the side of your throat.

You whispered his name without meaning to. “Tommy…”

His mouth paused against your skin, then he kissed one more time, he brushed his mouth just beneath your ear, and as he dragged his mouth up toward your jawline again, you placed your hand gently on his chest.

He stilled instantly, his body freezing, but not in rejection, in respect. “We should stop,” you whispered. “Before we get ahead into something we can’t finish.”

He stayed close for a few seconds more, with his forehead nearly touching yours and his hand still warm at your waist. Then he pulled back, and you watched a smile paint his face. 

“I wanna see you again,” he said without a second of doubt.

Warmth bloomed in your stomach. “Good,” you whispered. “Because I want to see you again too.”

He exhaled a breath that almost sounded like relief, and held your hand a second longer, brushing his thumb across your knuckles, then he reluctantly let go.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, stepping backward down the porch steps.

“Goodnight, Tommy.”

He walked to his car, turning once to look at you again, before he opened the door. Even long after his taillights disappeared down the street, you could still feel his lips on your neck.

The week unfolded with a new brightness that was woven into the edges of your days. Tommy didn’t text often, but he did text, and that surprised even him. It started the morning after the kiss. You were making your daughter’s breakfast, half-awake, wearing pajama bottoms and an old T-shirt, when your phone buzzed on the counter.

tommy: Did you sleep good?

A simple message, but enough to light up your morning, to know he was still thinking of you first thing in the day. You smiled before you could help it.

you: I did. What about you?

It took him a full minute to respond, you imagined him staring at his phone for a while, thinking for a long time before typing.

tommy: Yeah. Been thinkin bout last night.

you: Me too.

tommy: Good.

He texted again that afternoon, and the next day, and just enough the day after that. Never too much, or anything that felt forced. But every message felt sincere.

tommy: How’s your girl doing?

you: She’s good. She’s making you a drawing 

tommy: For me?

you: Yeah, she’s been asking when she can see you again

tommy: I’d like to see her soon Both of you

By Wednesday, he started to send more than short answers. He’d ask about your day, about your daughter’s school, or what movie she watched that afternoon. You told him small things, and he surprised you almost daily by engaging, asking questions, and remembering details.

tommy: She still likes dragons?

you: Obsessed.

tommy: What’s her favorite one?

you: She likes purple ones with wings

tommy: Friday. I wanna take you out. If you’re free.

you: I’m free.

tommy: Good. I got somethin in mind.

you: Oh?

tommy: There’s a big fair down by the water going on all weekend. I used to love the fair when I was a kid.

you: That sounds amazing.

tommy: Thought maybe your girl might wanna go. If that’s okay.

You blinked, like the words might rearrange themselves if you stared long enough.

You read the message once, then twice, then a third time. He wasn’t just asking you out again, wasn’t pretending Lila didn’t exist, or skirting around the obvious complication like so many others would. No, he was asking for both of you. This wasn’t avoidance or tolerance, this was him reaching out, deliberately, to pull her into the picture, to make space for her the same way he was making space for you.

you: Are you sure? I mean… I thought maybe you’d want us to do something alone.

tommy: If your daughter’s important to you then she’s important to me. Ain’t no part of you I wanna avoid.

You pressed a hand to your chest because the emotion hit too fast for you to brace for it.

tommy: If you wanna do something alone we can. But I want to know her if that’s okay with you.

you: It is. It’s really okay.

tommy: Good. Feels right.

you: She’s going to be SO excited.

tommy: I’m excited too. Been thinking about this all week. I want this. You, her, the whole thing. I wanna try.

You set your phone down for a second, pressing your palms into your eyes because the vulnerability and honesty were overwhelming.

you: I want to try too.

tommy: Friday. Pick you both up around 5.

Friday evening came. The sky was painted in gold, fading into lavender. And Tommy stood on your porch holding a small stuffed dragon. You opened the door to find him wearing a dark jacket, jeans, and boots. His hair was a little neater than usual, and he’d shaved. He looked… good. Handsome and strong. But under his rough edges, he looked almost shy.

Your daughter came barreling toward him with the force of a hurricane. “Tommy! Tommy! Tommy!”

He stiffened instinctively, just a fraction, then adjusted his stance like he’d prepared to catch a football. She skidded to a stop right in front of him, staring wide-eyed at the dragon in his hand.

“What’s THAT?”

Tommy looked down at it like he’d forgotten he was holding anything. “Oh. Uh…” He cleared his throat, then held it out awkwardly. “This is for you.”

Your daughter gasped with a sound so dramatic and joyful that it made you laugh. “For ME?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Thought you might like it.”

She snatched it from him with both hands, clutching it to her chest. “It’s purple!” she squealed. “With wings like my favorite dragon!”

Tommy blinked in surprise at how much emotion a five-year-old little girl could hold in her small body. “Yeah. That’s… that’s why I picked it.”

Your daughter leapt immediately onto his legs, hugging him with the ferocity of a small bear. Tommy froze like his system had shut down, before slowly, carefully, lowering a hand to pat her back gently.

It was the single most cautious pat you’d ever witnessed, and you had to bite back a smile. “She likes you,” you murmured as you locked your door behind you.

Tommy looked almost startled. “Yeah? Really?”

“She loves the dragon,” you corrected softly. “But yes, she likes you too.”

He looked at your daughter again. “Good,” he muttered.

The fairgrounds exploded into color as you approached, with strings of lights arching over food stalls, the Ferris wheel turning in circles, people laughing, and music booming from the speakers of the carousel. 

Your daughter’s eyes went wide. “There’s EVERYTHING here!” she screamed.

Tommy exhaled softly, looking around. “Ain’t been to a fair in years.”

“You said you liked them when you were little,” you said.

He nodded, drifting his gaze over the crowds. “Used to go every summer with my brother. Ride all the coasters. Eat too much shit food we got sick in the car on the way home.”

You laughed. “That’s how you know you did it right.”

Your daughter tugged his sleeve. “Tommy, can we ride the dragon ride? There’s a dragon there. LOOK.”

Tommy followed where she pointed, toward a kiddie ride shaped like a dragon winding in a small circle. He stared for a few seconds. “…Yeah,” he said. “We can do that.”

Your daughter grabbed his hand, and Tommy froze again. Then, slowly, like he was testing the waters, he closed his fingers around her tiny hand.

You felt something soften so deeply inside your chest that your breath caught. There he was, this big man, holding something so small and fragile. Lila’s tiny hand wrapped trustingly in his much larger one. No hesitation or awkwardness, it felt just… natural. Like he’d done it a hundred times before, even though you knew he hadn’t.

The ride line was short, just a handful of kids before you. Tommy stood rigidly beside your daughter in the queue, painfully aware of the parents around him. Every so often, he’d glance at you like he needed reassurance that he wasn’t doing something wrong.

He leaned close. “She’s… uh… allowed to ride by herself?”

You smiled. “She’s five, Tommy. She’ll be fine.”

“And you’re okay with this?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Go put her in the dragon car.”

He took a slow breath, nodded once like he was prepping for battle, and guided your daughter forward. She sprinted to the front, choosing the very first seat in the dragon-shaped car. She climbed in, and Tommy helped her buckle the seat belt, fumbling with it and double-checking the latch.

“Is it too tight? Too loose? You good?” he asked.

She giggled. “Tommy, it’s good!”

“You sure?” he insisted.

“YES!”

He finally stepped back just as the operator started the ride, and you moved to stand next to him. “That wasn’t so hard,” you teased.

Tommy crossed his arms, watching your daughter like a hawk. “I’m keepin’ an eye on her. This thing goes pretty fast.”

“It goes like three miles an hour.”

“She’s too little.”

You bumped his shoulder lightly. “You’re sweet with her.”

His jaw flexed, but he didn’t look at you, just kept his eyes on the ride. “I’m tryin’.”

“She sees it.”

“Yeah? Hope so.”

The ride kept moving, and your daughter screamed in pure joy, waving at you both with enthusiasm. Tommy’s stance softened instantly, whenever she passed in front of him, he lifted his hand in a small wave. It was awkward, a little hesitant… but real.

You spent the rest of the evening wandering through the fairgrounds. Your daughter wanted everything, balloons, popcorn, glow sticks, and face paint. 

She pointed at a balloon cart. “That one! The unicorn!”

Tommy crouched down beside her, lowering himself to her height with surprising gentleness. “Okay,” he said softly. “Pick one, alright?”

She pointed again. “That one!”

“Alright. Stay right here. Don’t move.”

He looked at you next, checking if he was doing it right. You nodded, and Tommy bought her a balloon. She shrieked with delight, hopping in a circle before grabbing his pant leg and wrapping her free arm around him in a sudden hug. Tommy froze again, but slightly less than before. His hand hovered, and then landed gently on her back, giving the lightest squeeze.

Later, you all sat on a picnic bench near the food stalls while Lila devoured a cup of ice cream. Her face was sticky, and she was humming between every bite.

Tommy watched her with awe. “She’s somethin’,” he murmured.

“I know.”

“You do a real good job with her.” His voice was quiet but still carried firmness. “Real good.”

You looked at him, and he didn’t look away. “You’re doing a good job too,” you whispered.

His brows lifted, and he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. “I ain’t doin’ much.”

“You’re trying,” you said. “That’s more than most.”

He swallowed as his voice dropped to something almost vulnerable. “I don’t know how to… be around kids. Never had any. Never been around them.”

You touched his hand lightly. “She doesn’t see that. She sees someone who cares.”

“Thanks,” he murmured, looking at your linked hands for a long moment, brushing his thumb slowly across the back of your fingers.

Ten minutes later, your daughter had spotted the carousel next and dragged Tommy by the hand once more. This time, he didn’t freeze, he let her tug him along, only glancing back at you once to smile. When she chose the biggest horse on the ride, Tommy helped her climb up. You stood beside him, both of you watching your daughter beam, her hands gripping the pole and her legs swinging excitedly.

Around you, the carousel lights spun, the music filling the air, and your daughter laughing brightly. Tommy’s hand brushed against yours again, and this time he threaded his fingers slowly between yours. And as the carousel turned and your daughter laughed into the night, the two of you stood side by side, with your hands linked.

By the time the fair was winding down, the sky had turned a deep blue adorned with bright stars. The music softened in the distance as families drifted toward the parking lot.

Your daughter lasted exactly twelve minutes into the drive before sleep won. One moment, she was talking and giggling excitedly, with her balloon bouncing on her wrist and the dragon toy gripped in the other hand. The next, her head was slumped sideways, her breathing slowed, and the balloon slipped from her fingers and floated until it bumped the roof of the car.

Tommy looked back at her in the rearview mirror, the sight of Lila sleeping so peacefully softened his features so noticeably that your heart swelled.

“She out?” he asked.

You turned, brushing hair from her forehead. “Completely.”

Tommy drove the rest of the way with the volume turned low, one hand steady on the wheel, the other draped loosely on his thigh. He kept checking the backseat every few minutes, not out of worry, but something gentler, maybe even protective.

By the time he pulled up to your place, the night was quiet except for the soft breathing coming from your daughter’s seat. You reached for your purse, unbuckled your seatbelt, but before you even opened your door, Tommy was already out of the car and circling to the back.

“Tommy—” you began, following him.

He held up a hand gently, not to stop you, just to wordlessly say he’s got it. He opened the back door carefully. Your daughter was curled on her side, hugging the stuffed dragon to her chest, her lips parted in the softest sleep.

Tommy looked at her like she was something fragile and precious. He hesitated for half a second, checking with you. With a small nod, you stepped aside.

“I’ve got her,” he slid his arms under her tiny body with surprising tenderness. She barely stirred, only mumbled one sleepy sound as her head fell against his shoulder. Tommy adjusted her gently, supporting her head with one big and careful hand.

You had never seen a man so powerful move so delicately.

“She’s okay,” he whispered, like you might be worried. “She’s good.”

“She is,” you whispered back, trying not to melt at the sight of him.

He carried her through the parking lot, up the stairs, into the house, quiet as a shadow despite his size. In her room, you pulled back the blanket while Tommy slowly lowered her into bed. His movements were so careful it almost didn’t seem real, his hands easing away, fingers brushing her little curls by accident, freezing as if afraid he’d wake her.

She sighed, rolled onto her side, and hugged her dragon again. Tommy stepped back, relaxing only when he realized she was still asleep. His eyes held something strange and soft, a tenderness he didn’t think he had in him.

You whispered, “Thank you.”

He nodded, stepping out of the doorway so you could tuck her in. After a final kiss to her forehead, you turned off the light and closed the door behind you, leaving her in the warm quiet of her room.

The house felt different when you walked back into the living room with Tommy, more intimate. Tommy… he stood there like he wasn’t sure what to do now, like the vulnerability of the whole night had shaken him loose and left him standing softer than he meant to be.

You smiled, brushing your hair back. “Do you… want a beer?”

He paused, then slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

You grabbed two cold bottles from the fridge, popped the caps, and handed him one. He took it with the same care he’d shown carrying your daughter, brushing his fingers against yours for a second longer than needed.

You both sat on the couch, close enough to feel each other’s warmth, not close enough to touch

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

Tommy looked at you. “For what?”

“For tonight,” you whispered. “For the fair. For carrying her inside. For being so sweet with her.”

He stared at his beer like he needed something to focus on. “Ain’t nothin’.

“It wasn’t nothing,” you said gently. “It meant a lot.”

He took a slow sip. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Meant a lot t’ me too.”

You let out a breath, leaning back into the couch. “And I’m sorry,” you said suddenly.

Tommy snapped his head up. “For what?”

“For her asking for a million things,” you said with a small, embarrassed laugh. “For dragging you to rides and making you chase balloons and spill ice cream and—”

He cut you off firmly. “Don’t apologize for her. Or for any of it. I mean it,” he said, turning toward you fully now. “She’s five. She’s excited. She’s a kid. That’s how it’s supposed t’ be.”

You swallowed, feeling surprised at his certainty. “And you ain’t gotta be sorry for me bein’ there,” he added. “I wanted t’ be. She’s important to you, so she’s important to me.”

Your throat tightened again. “Tommy…”

“I don’t know what I’m doin’,” he admitted. “Not around kids. Not around… all this.” His hand gestured vaguely to your cozy living room, the toys in a basket, the tiny shoes near the door, the warmth he wasn’t used to. “I ain’t had much of it, but I’m tryin’. And I wanna keep tryin’.”

You felt tears threaten, not sad tears, but something warm and overwhelming. He wasn’t trying to impress you, he wasn’t performing. He was telling the truth. Tommy was offering you something you hadn’t dared to hope for anymore, a man who wanted all of you. Not just the easy nights when you could laugh and flirt without interruption, but every single tangled part, the messy, the real, the part that came with responsibility and no off switch.

He wasn’t flinching. He wasn’t making excuses or quietly fading away. He was staying, and he didn’t just look comfortable. He looked… glad. Truly glad, like being part of this chaos, this small and imperfect family you’d built on your own, was exactly where he wanted to be.

You didn’t realize you’d moved until your hand found his, resting on the couch between you. His fingers froze for a second, then curved gently around yours, brushing the back of your hand in slow strokes.

“You did good tonight,” you whispered.

He huffed a breath, almost a laugh. “Didn’t drop her.”

“You did more than not drop her,” you said. “You listened to her. You were patient. She adored you.”

His jaw tightened with emotion he didn’t know what to do with. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I adored you too.”

He leaned back slightly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, like he was trying to ground himself. “It’s been a long time since I… since anythin’ felt like this.”

“Like what?” you asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead he looked at your hand in his. “Ease,” he murmured. “Warmth. Like I’m supposed t’ be here. In this room. With you. And her.”

Your chest tightened so sharply it almost hurt.

“Tommy…”

He swallowed hard, looking away for a moment, jaw clenching. “I ain’t used to that. I’m used to walls. Distance. Hurtin’ people or gettin’ hurt. But this—” He gestured vaguely between you. “This is… good. Scares the hell outta me.”

You slid a little closer on the couch, closing the space by inches. “It scares me too.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Your knees touched, and slowly, so slowly you felt every second, he shifted toward you, angling his body closer, his hand releasing yours only to slide up your arm, tracing a path so light it made your skin shiver.

You didn’t stop him, so Tommy leaned in a little more. The space between your mouths narrowed until you could feel his breath trembling with restraint.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, almost pained.

You didn’t even think. “It’s perfect.”

A low and relieved exhale escaped him, and then Tommy slid his hand to your jaw, curling his fingers behind your ear, guiding your face up as he leaned down.

The first kiss was soft, barely there, like he was remembering the shape of your lips before claiming them. He pulled back half an inch, resting his forehead against yours, and he kissed you again. Deeper this time, his mouth was warm and sure against yours, the kiss was unfolding like something he’d held back all night. You sighed into it, catching his shirt and pulling him closer. He made a low sound in his throat and moved over you, guiding your body backward until your spine met the couch cushions.

He hovered above you, braced on one hand, the other sliding around your waist, gripping just enough to feel the shape of you under him. You arched instinctively, making him groan.

“Jesus…” he breathed. “I want you so bad.”

Your breath hitched, before his mouth crashed back onto yours hungrily. He shoved his tongue deep, fucking into your mouth like he was starving for it, curling around yours until you moaned into him. His heavy body pinned you harder against the couch, but it still wasn’t enough. You hooked a leg high around his leg, yanking him flush, grinding up shamelessly so the thick ridge of his crotch slotted right against your soaked cunt through your clothes.

He groaned as his hips jerked forward on instinct. You could feel every obscene inch of him, rock-hard and straining painfully against the tight denim, the head of his dick throbbing insistently like it was trying to punch through the zipper just to get inside you. The rough drag of fabric between you only made it worse, his erection pulsing right where you ached.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your mouth, almost a growl. “You’re… you’re killin’ me.”

He moved his lips down your throat, each open-mouthed kiss leaving your skin on fire. Tommy slid a hand up your side, stopping just beneath your ribs, holding you like he wasn’t sure if he should pull you closer or let you breathe.

You arched your neck as he lingered on the curve where your pulse fluttered. “Tommy…” you whispered. He lifted his head instantly, checking you. You cupped his cheek. “It’s okay,” you breathed. “Just… not too far.”

His eyes darkened with both desire and restraint. “I know,” he whispered as he kissed you again, his nose brushing yours. “I know. I won’t. I swear.”

But his body pressed closer anyway, like he physically couldn’t stop himself. He rolled his hips forward in a slow grind, and when you didn’t pull away, he rutted into you shamelessly, with deep strokes that notched the swollen head right over your clit every time, chasing relief for the aching throb in his groin while stoking the wet heat between your thighs until you were clenching around nothing, desperate for more.

He kissed you, sliding his tongue against yours in lazy strokes that left your lips swollen and tingling. Again and again he came back for your mouth, sucking your bottom lip, biting just hard enough to sting, then soothing it with another slow lick, until your head spun and your whole body felt molten under him.

His hand roamed with tenderness, splaying his palm over your waist, digging his fingers in like he needed to anchor himself; sliding up to cup the underside of your breast, brushing the stiff peak through your shirt until you arched into it, then down again, gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, pulling you tighter against the insistent grind of his erection. 

He never shoved under your clothes, never rushed past the line, but every touch made your breath shake, like he was memorizing every inch of you while barely restraining the urge to tear everything off and bury himself deep.

His voice was low against your collarbone. “God, you feel good…”

His mouth traveled back to yours, capturing your lips one more time before he slowed, then stilled, breathing hard above you. He pressed his forehead to yours. “I should stop. Right now. Before I do somethin’ I shouldn’t.”

You cupped the back of his neck, threading your fingers through the short hair there. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He let out a shaky laugh. “If I stay any longer, I will.” He kissed you once more time before pulling back. “It’s late,” he murmured.

“I know.”

He pushed himself up off you slowly, like every inch of separation cost him something. Tommy dragged a hand through his hair, tugging hard at the roots as if the sting might ground him back to reality. His chest rose and fell too fast from the way he’d been grinding into you like he could fuck you through the clothes if he just pressed hard enough.He shifted his weight, dropping one hand low to discretely adjust the thick, straining bulge in his jeans. The denim was stretched tight over his cock, the outline unmistakable now, still throbbing from all that relentless rutting against your heat. He tried to angle away as he stood, but you’d already felt every pulsing inch of him notched right where you ached most.

Tommy snagged his jacket off the back of the chair, then his eyes found yours, the look wasn’t polite. It said I’m walking out that door because if I don’t, I’m gonna bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you until neither of us can stand. 

He walked to the door, cupping your waist one last time. “You’re somethin’ else,” he said.

“So are you.”

He stepped outside onto the porch, breathing in the cool air like he’d been holding his breath beside you. “I’m seein’ you again,” he said, no hesitation at all.

“I hope so.”

“You will.” He paused, looking at your lips again with that hungry restraint. “Soon.”

You whispered, “Goodnight, Tommy.”

He gave you a small, crooked smile. “Goodnight.”

And he walked away slowly, every few steps looking back at you before getting into his car and finally pulling off into the night, leaving you breathless on your porch, and wanting him even more.

The next day, Tommy had texted you, already planning the next time he was gonna see you. Dinner, together on Friday night, this time only you and him alone.

Friday came fast, all week, your mind kept circling back to him. His hands on your waist, his body over yours, the way he whispered how good you felt. By Friday morning, you were already checking the clock too much. By the afternoon, you were useless, picking up the same objects twice, staring into your closet like none of your clothes were good enough.

Your daughter sat on the living room floor, drawing a dragon with concentration, her tongue sticking out just a little. You peeked around the corner and said, “Honey? I need to tell you something.”

She didn’t look up. “Is it about TOMMY?”

Your heart fluttered. “Yes,” you laughed. “About Tommy.”

She turned all the way around, looking at you with her big eyes wide open. “He’s coming to play dragons?”

“No, sweetheart,” you said gently. “Tonight he’s taking mommy out. Just him and me.”

Her mouth made a perfect O. “A date?”

You swallowed softly. “Yes. A date.”

She crawled closer on her hands and knees like a kitten. “But… why?”

Your heart melted at the blunt innocence. “Because I like spending time with him. And he likes spending time with me.”

She squinted at you like she was a detective. “Like friends?”

“Like… something that might become more than friends.”

She blinked, then asked the most important question in her mind. “Will he bring me more dragons?”

A laugh escaped you. “Maybe next time. Not tonight.”

She nodded solemnly. “Okay. But tell him I said hi.”

“I will.”

You kissed her forehead, ruffling her hair. “Now I have to go get ready, alright?”

“Can I watch you get pretty?”

You hesitated, but she was already scrambling to her feet. How could you say no?

You stood in front of your mirror, trying to decide between two dresses. Lila flopped dramatically onto your bed with a gasp.

“That one!” she declared, pointing to the dress you weren’t even holding.

You laughed. “Sweetheart, I’m not wearing the Christmas dress to go out.”

“But it sparkles!”

“It does,” you agreed, “but I don’t want to blind Tommy.”

She hummed thoughtfully, then poked your leg. “Wear the green one.”

That was the one lying across the back of your chair, a soft green dress that hugged your waist and was backless, simple but elegant. “You think so?” you asked carefully.

She nodded enthusiastically. “It makes you look like a princess.”

“Well… okay then.”

You slipped it on. Your daughter rolled onto her stomach with her chin in her hands, watching you like you were a princess from a movie. You brushed your hair, then curled a few pieces. 

“You’re so pretty,” she sighed. “Tommy’s gonna FALL OVER.”

You choked on a laugh. “Let’s… hope not.”

Next came a tiny bit of makeup, nothing heavy, just a shimmer across your eyelids, mascara, a soft hint of color on your lips. 

“Mommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you nervous?”

 “A little.”

“Why?”

You thought about it, lowering your hand after finishing applying your mascara. “Because I really like Tommy,” you admitted.

She nodded like she understood the weight of that. “It’s okay to like him.”

You smiled. “I know.”

“Is he going to be your boyfriend?” You froze, and her eyes widened at your silence. “Oh.”

You sat beside her on the edge of the bed and brushed her hair back gently. “I don’t know yet,” you said honestly. “But… maybe in the future. If things go well.”

She considered this with the seriousness of a little kid. “Well,” she said decisively, “I like him. He’s big, but he’s not scary.”

“You don’t think he’s scary?” you teased.

She shrugged. “He’s nice big. Like a bear. Or a giant.”

“Well… I’m glad you like him,” you said, pulling her into your lap for a hug. “That means a lot to me.”

The babysitter arrived ten minutes early this time. They exchanged greetings, and Lila immediately began showing her the newest dragon drawing.

“You going somewhere fancy?” the sitter asked with a smile when she saw your dress.

You tried hard not to blush, imagining Tommy’s reaction when he saw you. “A little.”

“Well, you look great.”

Your daughter burst in before you could respond. “My mommy looks like a princess, and Tommy is her knight!”

You covered your face. “Okay, sweetheart, that’s enough.”

The babysitter laughed reassuringly. “Go. Have fun. She’s in good hands.”

You knelt to your daughter’s level. “Alright, honey. I’ll be home in a few hours. Listen to the babysitter, okay?”

“Tell Tommy I said he BETTER bring me a dragon next time.”

You laughed softly. “I’ll pass the message.”

You kissed her cheek, hugged her little body, and stood. As you grabbed your purse, you took one last deep breath and stepped out into the cool night air. The moment the door closed behind you, your heart began to race, and at the bottom of the stairs, leaning casually against his car was Tommy.

He straightened when he saw you, dragging his eyes slowly over you, taking in your dress, your hair, the soft color on your lips, and the look that crossed his face was equal parts heat and disbelief. “Jesus…” he murmured. “You look…” He swallowed like he needed a moment to compose himself. “…you look incredible.”

Your heart fluttered wildly. “You cleaned up nice too.”

“Ready?” He asked, you nodded and walked toward him.

Tommy opened the car door for you like he’d rehearsed it. The door swung open, his other hand hovering near your waist as you climbed in, like he wanted to help but didn’t want to presume. When he slid into the driver’s seat, he glanced at you again, just a quick look.

“You look real good,” he said, catching on your lips for a half-second too long.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “You too.”

He huffed a quiet laugh like he didn’t quite know how to take a compliment. “I tried.”

The drive was smooth, Tommy kept one hand on the wheel, the other draped loose over his thigh. Every so often, you caught his eyes flicking your way, then back to the road, like he couldn’t help it.

After a few minutes, he cleared his throat. “You nervous?” he asked.

You smiled at how transparent he could be around you. “Yeah. You?”

He didn’t even pretend. “Yeah,” he admitted. “A little.”

You rested your hands in your lap. “It’s a good kind of nervous.”

He glanced at you then. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It is.”

After a couple of minutes, the restaurant came into view, and it was nicer than you expected. One of those intimate and romantic places that look like they come from out of a romantic movie.

Tommy parked the truck, got out, and walked around to open your door again. You took his offered hand as you stepped down. He curled his fingers around yours firmly, as if he didn’t want to let go too quickly.

Inside, you were seated in a small booth in the corner, with a candle flickering softly between you. Tommy sat across from you, his posture was alert but comfortable, you noticed it in how relaxed his shoulders looked. The table was small enough that your knees brushed under it, but neither of you moved them away.

“So…” you said, picking up your menu with a grin. “Do you come here often?”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “You makin’ fun of me?”

“Maybe,” you teased.

A slow smile tugged at his lips. “I don’t. Been here a few times. Figured it was… nice. For a real date.”

“I’m glad you brought me here.” You could see how much thought he’d put into it,how much this actually mattered for him.

He ducked his head slightly and focused intensely on his menu for a moment. After a few seconds, he said, “You can get whatever you want. Don’t hold back.”

You laughed. “What do you think I’m going to order? A gold-plated steak?”

He smirked. “Dunno. You look pretty fancy t’night.”

You laughed, and the sound seemed to soften something in him, his whole expression shifted into something almost boyish.

It didn’t take long for conversation to start flowing. You told him about your day, about Lila’s latest favorite movie, about the dragon drawings overrunning your fridge. Then you nudged lightly, “What about you? What did you do today?”

He took a sip of water, exhaled, and started talking, slowly at first, then progressively more comfortable as you coaxed him gently.

He told you about training, and you listened. “You must be exhausted after that,” you said.

“Not so bad,” he replied, shrugging. “Been doin’ it a long time.”

“Still,” you said. “You work hard.”

His eyes lingered on you. “You do too. Harder than me, I bet.”

You shook your head. “Tommy…”

“You do,” he said more firmly. “Raisin’ a kid, workin’ at the hospital. That’s real strength.”

The sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten.

“I’d like for you to come see me fight one day,” he said almost careful, like he was testing the words before letting them out. “I get it if it’s not your scene. But I promise it’s not at rough as it sounds.” He rushed the last part, like he didn’t want you to feel pressured, already giving you the out.

You tilted your head, smiling “I think I’d find it… interesting.” The word came out soft. “And if you don’t win, I’ll be right there in the front row with ready to patch you up. Might even kiss it better.”

Tommy let out a rough chuckle. “Nah. No way I’m losing if you’re there staring at me the whole time.”

Heat crept up your neck, but you held his look. “Then I’ll be the one cheering the loudest.”

Before he could respond, the waiter returned, and you both ordered. When the food arrived, you slipped easily back into laughter and conversation. Tommy told you about Brendan, sharing stories from his childhood, at least the few happy ones he could remember. Later, as plates were cleared and you shared dessert, you noticed the way he watched you, and how every now and then, your knees brushed under the table, and his breath would hitch for a split second before he leaned back in, unable to keep distance for long.

“You’re easy to talk to,” he said quietly at one point.

“You are too.”

He snorted. “I ain’t easy at anything.”

“You’re wrong.”

He looked at you, like he was trying to understand why you kept saying things that made his chest feel strange. “You havin’ fun?”

You didn’t even need a second to answer. “Yes,” you whispered. “A lot.”

You watched as the relief softened his features. “Good.”

He took a slow sip of his drink, then said, “I ain’t had a night like this in… a real long time.”

“Me neither,” you admitted.

When the bill came, Tommy reached for it before you even moved.

“Tommy, we could split—”

He shot you a look that said not to even bother finishing that sentence. “I asked you out,” he said, sliding his card into the leather folder. “I’m payin’.”

You raised your hands, surrendering. “Alright.”

He smirked. “Good.”

Outside, the night air was cool, he walked beside you, close, but not too close. His arm brushed yours once, and he didn’t pull away. You reached the car, and he opened your door again. When you turned to thank him, he stood a little too close. Close enough that you felt his breath and saw the flicker of heat in his eyes.

His voice dropped a fraction lower. “Still nervous?”

“Not as much.”

His gaze dipped briefly to your lips, then he stepped back letting you climb in. When he settled in the driver's seat, he drummed his fingers restlessly against his thigh, like he was trying to work up the courage to say something. He kept glancing at you, then back to his hands, then at you again.

You had to bite back a smile. “Tommy?” you asked softly.

His grip on his thigh tightened. “Yeah.”

“You okay?”

He let out a low breath. “Yeah, I… yeah. Just…”

He looked at you then, like he was weighing the risk against his desire.

“Can I… ask you somethin’?” he said finally.

You nodded. “Of course.”

His rough voice was barely above a whisper. “You wanna… come over? To my place?”

For a moment, he didn’t breathe. He looked so nervous it was sweet. With his eyes faintly wide, and his grip tight, like he thought he’d just ruined everything and was bracing for the blow. But you had no doubt. In fact, you’d been waiting and hoping for him to ask exactly that. The night wasn’t ready to end, and neither were you. Your skin still felt hot from the memory of that last kiss on your couch, you’d replayed it too many times since, imagining what would’ve happened if Lila hadn’t been asleep down the hall.

“Yes,” you said quietly. “I want to.”

His exhale came out shaky and relieved. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” you repeated, smiling. “Take me.”

He let out a tiny and disbelieving laugh. “Alright then.”

The drive took only five minutes, but it felt like the air grew warmer with every turn. His apartment complex was modest, tucked behind some trees. He parked, killed the engine, and for a second neither of you moved. Then he got out and came around to open your door, because of course he did. As you climbed down, his hand lingered on your lower back longer than it needed to.

Inside, his apartment was clean and minimalist. The lights were low, but you could see a couch, a coffee table, and a dining table with four chairs.

He closed the door behind you and stood still for a moment like he wasn’t sure if he should let you settle in or grab you by the waist and kiss you senseless. He chose the second.

Tommy stepped in close, allowing you to feel his breath warm against your cheek. “C’mere.”

You didn’t even have time to respond before his mouth was on yours, hungry and impatient, sloppy in the way you’d been craving. He slid his hands to your waist, pulling you in and pressing you against him. You responded by tangling your fingers in his shirt and pulling, and he groaned as he stumbled you backward until the back of your knees hit the couch.

You fell onto it with a soft gasp, Tommy followed, bracing himself with one arm above your head, the other gripping your hip as his mouth crashed into yours again. You tugged him closer by the front of his shirt and he deepened the kiss, settling his body partially over yours, pressing into you in a way that made your head spin.

He dragged his lips to your jaw, then your neck, his breath trembling against your skin. He whispered into the curve between your neck and shoulder. “Fuck… I want you so bad.”

Your fingers sank into his shoulders, feeling the strength there. Tommy kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, like he was trying to memorize every inch of your mouth. When you finally pulled back to breathe, your lips were swollen, his were flushed, and both of you were panting.

He rested his forehead against yours. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, even as his hand slid over your waist. 

You shook your head. “I’m not telling you that.”

He let out a strained laugh, kissing you again in a quick press. “Good.”

You leaned back slightly, still breathless. “Tommy… I need to tell you something.”

He froze immediately, his eyes darkening with concern. “What?”

Your hand slipped to his jaw, brushing the faint stubble. “It’s been… a long time since I’ve done this.”

“How long?”

Your voice came quiet. “Since my daughter.”

Tommy’s expression shifted instantly. The desire was still present in his eyes, but it softened into something more protective. “Since… she was born?”

“Yeah, I just… I was busy. A lot changed. I didn’t really date. I didn’t have time or energy for people who weren’t serious. And I didn’t want anyone around her who wasn’t safe or good. So… it just never happened.”

Tommy studied you for a long moment, and then a hand slid up to your cheek, brushing tenderly along your skin. “That’s okay,” he said softly, so softly it almost broke you. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”

“I just didn’t want you to think—”

“I don’t think anything bad,” he leaned in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Not one thing.”

You exhaled shakily, and he rested his forehead against yours until your noses were touching. “And if it helps,” he whispered, “it’s been a long time for me too.”

“How long?”

He shook his head. “Long.”

“Tommy…”

He sighed, brushing his knuckles down your cheek in a careful stroke. “Long enough that tonight feels… important.” 

He kissed you again then. "Bedroom?" His touch on your cheek, grounding you even as his hips shifted subtly, grinding just enough to make you gasp. "We'll be more comfortable there. If you want."

You swallowed, nodding, your body already aching for more. "Yeah. I want."

He led you down the short hall, keeping his hand laced with yours. The bedroom was simple too, a bed that wasn’t too big with dark sheets, a nightstand with a half-read book and a water bottle, and a closet.

Tommy turned to you then, stepping close and backing you toward the bed. "You sure about this?" his eyes were searching yours in the dim light. "We can stop anytime. Just say the word."

"I'm sure," you whispered, loud enough to be heard over your heart pounding. "I want you, Tommy."

That seemed to unlock something in him. He walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. You sat, and he followed, kneeling between your legs on the edge of the bed, his broad frame was towering over you in a way that made your thighs clench. Tommy ran his hands up your sides, brushing the undersides of your breasts through your dress.

"Can I take this off?" he asked, hooking his fingers under the straps of your dress. "Wanna see you. All of you."

You nodded, lifting your arms as he peeled the fabric up and over your head, tossing it aside. The cool air hit your skin, pebbling your nipples instantly under the thin lace of your bra. Tommy dropped his gaze to take you in. "Fuck," he muttered, almost to himself, like he couldn't believe you were real. 

His hands came up, cupping your breasts gently at first, circling the stiff peaks through the lace with his thumbs. "These are perfect. You feel that? How hard you got me already?" He took your hand, bringing it to the front of his pants just so you could feel the hard press of his cock, already stirring to life.

You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping as he squeezed your tits, massaging them with a hunger that made heat pool between your legs. "Tommy..."

He leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, down the swell of one breast. "Tell me if it's too much," he said between kisses, his voice muffled against you. "Or if you want it different."

"It's good," you breathed, threading your fingers into his short hair. "Keep going."

He unclasped your bra with one hand and slid it off, exposing you fully. His eyes met yours for a beat, checking, before he dipped his head, taking one nipple into his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue made you gasp, swirling slowly, sucking gently at first, then harder as you whimpered. His free hand worked the other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers, pinching just enough to send jolts straight to your clit.

"Like that?" he asked, pulling off with a soft pop, his lips looking shiny and swollen. "Feels good?"

"Yes… god, yes," you panted, guiding his head to the other breast. He obliged immediately, latching on with a groan, sucking deeper this time, grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud in a way that had you squirming. 

Your heart melted at how attentive he was, how much care he poured into every single touch. He wasn’t just skilled, but considerate too. He knew you were nervous after so long without this kind of contact, without anyone touching you like this, and wanted you to feel good instead of just taking what he needed. Every time he checked in with you, it chipped away at the last of your hesitation. He wasn’t rushing, he was making sure this felt right for you, that you were enjoying every second, that the nerves twisting in your stomach turned into heat instead of fear. And god, it worked, the more he asked, the more he listened, the safer you felt.

His hands were everywhere, kneading, caressing, worshiping your breasts like they were the center of his world. He alternated between them, lavishing attention until they were flushed and aching, every lick and suck drawing out louder moans from you.

All the while, his body pressed closer, one knee nudging your thighs apart so he could settle between them. You felt the hard bulge of his cock against your inner thigh, but he didn't grind, he sucked harder on your nipple, flicking his tongue relentlessly while he trailed his hand down your stomach.

He paused at the edge of your panties, lifting his head to look at you. "Can I touch you here?" he asked, tracing the lace trim. "Tell me if it's okay."

"Please," you whispered, lifting your hips instinctively. "Touch me."

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips like he was relieved, like making you feel good was all that mattered. He cupped your pussy over the thin fabric, pressing his palm firmly against your mound, and you bucked into it, the friction sending sparks through you. 

"Fuck, you're soaked," he murmured, almost in awe, as his fingers rubbed slow circles over your clit through the damp lace. "That feel right?

"Yeah… harder," you gasped, and he adjusted instantly, pressing more firmly, rubbing up and down your slit until the fabric clung to you, outlining every fold from how drenched you were. He went back to your breasts then, closing his mouth over one nipple again, sucking in time with his strokes.

You were writhing now, clutching the sheets with your hands, the dual sensations were overwhelming: his hot mouth tugging at your tit, nipping gently, while his fingers worked you over your panties, teasing your entrance through the barrier, circling your clit until it throbbed. "Tommy... more," you begged

.

He lifted his head, kissing the underside of your breast softly. "Want my hand under? Want my fingers inside you?" His eyes searched yours, always checking. "Or we can keep going like this if you want."

"Inside," you nodded frantically. "Please. Need you."

He kissed you, before hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your legs slowly, like he was savoring the reveal. You kicked them off, spreading your thighs wider, exposed and dripping for him. Tommy groaned, settling back between your legs, one hand returning to your breast, kneading it gently while his other hand finally touched you bare.

His fingers were calloused, rough from training, but so gentle as they parted your folds, slicking through your wetness. "God, you're so wet for me," he rasped, circling your clit with his thumb while he teased your entrance with one finger. "This okay? Tell me how it feels."

"Perfect—keep going," you moaned, rocking your hips into his hand.

He slid one thick finger inside you deliberately, letting you feel every rough callus drag along your slick walls as he pushed in to the knuckle. The stretch was perfect, enough to make your breath hitch, not enough to overwhelm. He curled it upward immediately, hooking right against that swollen and spongy spot deep inside, pressing firmly until sparks exploded behind your eyelids and your hips jerked off the mattress on instinct.

“Like that, baby?” His thumb never stopped its relentless circles over your clit. “Feels good? Want it deeper? Tell me.”

“Deeper… fuck, Tommy, deeper,” you pleaded, your thighs already trembling around his wrist. “Another one. Please.”

He groaned against your breast, the sound vibrating straight through your nipple as he obeyed without hesitation. He withdrew just enough to line up a second finger, then pressed both in together, carefully stretching your soaked cunt wider. The burn was exquisite as your walls fluttered and clenched greedily around the invasion, when he sank them to the hilt. 

Tommy paused there for a heartbeat, letting you adjust, letting you feel how full you were, how perfectly his fingers filled the aching emptiness you’d been carrying since that night on the couch. Then he started to move with slow pumps at first, dragging out almost to the tips before sliding back in, curling them hard against your g-spot on every upward stroke. 

The wet squelch of your arousal filled the room with every thrust, loud enough to make your cheeks burn even as it turned you on more. He scissored his fingers gently between thrusts, spreading you open, working your tight walls until they softened and yielded around him, greedy for every inch.

His mouth found your tits again, he e latched onto one swollen nipple, sucking hard, hollowing his cheeks, flicking his tongue fast and mean over the stiff peak while his free hand kneaded the other breast, rolling the neglected nipple between fingers. 

“Feels good?” he rasped against your slick, spit-shiny skin. His fingers were fucking you faster now, deeper as the heel of his palm was grinding down hard on your clit with every brutal thrust. “This what you need? Want me to curl ‘em more? Tell me, baby, I’ll give you anything.”

“Harder… fuck, right there, don’t stop,” you gasped, digging your nails into his shoulders, bucking your hips wildly to meet his hand. “Right there, Tommy—”

He growled, the sound was feral, and he gave you exactly what you begged for. He slammed his fingers deeper, curling viciously against that spot on every stroke, slapping his palm wetly against your swollen clit with force. The pressure coiled tighter, a knot low in your belly that kept winding and winding until your whole body felt like it was vibrating on the edge.

He never let up on your tits, they were so sensitive now, flushed and aching, every hard suck and pinch shooting pleasure straight to your core, amplifying the rhythm of his fingers fucking you open.

Your thighs shook, your breath was coming in short and desperate sobs, and the coil inside you finally snapped.

“Tommy—I’m—fuck—I’m cumming—”

He didn’t slow down. If anything, he fucked you through it harder, curling his digits relentlessly, grinding your clit in tight circles, sealing his mouth around your nipple, sucking hard as your walls clamped down around.

You shattered. The orgasm ripped through you in violent waves, forcing your back to arch off the bed, and your thighs to clamp around his wrist. A broken cry tore from your throat as your cunt pulsed and gushed around his fingers, soaking his hand, the sheets, everything. Tommy kept fingering, kept grinding until every last tremor was wrung out of you and you collapsed back against the mattress.

Only then did he ease up, slowing his thrusts to gentle strokes, circling your oversensitive clit with feather-light touches now.

“Fuck… you’re beautiful when you cum,” he rasped as he slipped his fingers free slowly, leaving you empty and fluttering, and he brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a groan, never breaking eye contact.

"Need a second? We can slow down if—" He asked, but you didn't want slow down. The aftershocks of your orgasm only made you crave him more.

After five long years without the touch of a man, Tommy had woken something primal in you, a hunger you hadn’t even realized was sleeping inside your bones. You’d forgotten what it felt like to be wanted like that, and now the hunger was awake.

Your hands reached for the hem of his shirt before he could finish, curling your fingers into the soft cotton and tugging upward. "No," you breathed. "I don't need a second. I need you."

Tommy lifted his arms, letting you peel the shirt off him. It hit the floor with a thud, forgotten instantly as your gaze raked over his bare torso. God, he was built like a Greek god, with his broad shoulders carved from years of training, every muscle defined and rippling under his skin. His chest was like a wall, you moved your eyes to the chiseled V of his abs, and the happy trail leading to the place you wanted to see the most. 

Your hands explored him greedily, sliding up his chest, feeling the heat of his skin. "You're... incredible," you murmured, tracing the lines of his pecs, the way they flexed involuntarily under your touch. He was ripped, every inch of him honed to perfection, like a fighter's body should be, but up close, it was overwhelming. Powerful arms that could pin you down or hold you up, abs that tensed as you scraped your nails lightly over them. You leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his collarbone,  inhaling the musky, masculine scent of him that made your head spin.

Tommy exhaled, settling his hands on your hips, squeezing gently as you worked lower. "Like what you see?" he asked, a hint of that rare, teasing half-smile in his voice.

"More than like," you replied, your voice a purr as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his pants. You popped the button, dragged down the zipper slowly, feeling the heat radiating from him even through the fabric. 

He lifted his hips just enough to help you shove the pants down his thighs, kicking them off along with his shoes. Now he was down to his boxers, black and fitted, straining obscenely over the massive bulge of his cock. The outline was clear: thick, long, the head already pushing against the elastic, a dark spot of pre-cum soaking through where he'd been leaking for you.

You palmed him over the thin material, wrapping your hand around the hard length as best you could, feeling it twitch and throb under your touch. He was huge, veins pulsing under the fabric and against your palm as you stroked him slowly from base to tip. 

Tommy tipped his head back for a second. "Fuck... yeah, just like that."

"I want it," you whispered, squeezing him a little harder, rubbing your thumb over the damp spot where his pre-cum had seeped through. The words tumbled out, bold and needy, your core aching anew at the thought of him inside you.

He looked down at your hand stroking his cock, and then he snapped his eyes back to yours. He reached down, covering your hand with his own, guiding you to stroke him firmer. "Take it," he rasped. "It's yours."

The words sent a shiver down your spine. You stroked him for a while longer, slow pulls that had his hips bucking subtly into your hand and his breaths coming ragged. You watched his face, the way his brows furrowed, how he parted his lips on quiet groans, how his abs flexed with every twist of your wrist. He was beautiful like this, undone, but still so controlled, letting you set the pace even as his cock wept more pre-cum, soaking your palm through the boxers.

Finally, you couldn't wait any longer. You pushed at his chest gently but firmly, urging him back. "Lay down," you said. "I want to ride you."

Tommy complied without a word, shifting up the bed to lean against the headboard, his body stretching out beneath you like an offering. He hooked his thumbs into his boxers and shoved them down, freeing his cock at last. It sprang up, thick and curved slightly, the shaft veined and flushed. Your mouth watered at the sight, god, he was perfect, bigger than you'd even fantasized, and you ached to feel him stretch you.

You straddled him quickly, until your knees were bracketing his hips, your slick folds brushing against his length as you settled over him. Tommy's hands found your waist, steadying you, but he didn't push, just held you.

 "You set the pace," he murmured, eyes locked on yours. "Whatever feels good for you. I'm here."

You nodded, reaching down to grip him, lining him up with your entrance. The first press of his head against your soaked pussy made you both gasp, he was so thick, splitting you open inch by inch as you sank slowly. 

"Oh god—Tommy," you moaned, bracing your hands on his chest, digging your nails into his pecs as you took him deeper. The stretch was exquisite, burning in the best way, your walls fluttering around him until you bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt inside you.

He groaned, tightening his fingers on your hips but not guiding you, allowing you to move however you pleased. "Fuck, you feel amazing," he breathed. "So tight. So wet for me. Take what you need, baby."

You started slow, rolling your hips in experimental circles, feeling every ridge and vein drag against your sensitive walls. The fullness was overwhelming, hitting spots inside you that made you see stars behind your eyes. You built a rhythm, lifting and dropping, grinding your clit against his pelvis on every downstroke. 

Tommy watched you, transfixed as his hands roamed up to cup your breasts, flicking your nipples in time with your movements. "That's it," he encouraged you. "Ride me just like that. Does it feel good?"

"Yes—feels so good," you panted, speeding up, bouncing harder now, the slap of skin on skin filling the room. Your tits bounced with the motion, and Tommy couldn't resist leaning up to capture one in his mouth again, sucking hard as you rode him. The added sensation pushed you higher, and you took the lead fully, chasing your release, angling your hips to hit that perfect spot inside, grinding down until he was as deep as possible.

Tommy let you, his groans were muffled against your breast, his hips staying still beneath you, letting you use him however you wanted. But you could feel him throbbing inside you, his control fraying as your pace grew frantic. "Gonna cum," you whimpered, tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to your chest. "Tommy—I'm close—"

"Cum on me," he growled against your skin, dropping one hand to rub your clit in tight circles. "Let me feel you squeeze my cock. Cum for me, baby."

Waves of ecstasy crashed over you, your pussy clenching around him as you cried out, shuddering. You ground down hard, riding out the orgasm, milking him with every pulse until you were boneless, collapsing forward against his chest.

That was when Tommy wrapped his arms around you, holding you close for a moment, kissing your shoulder as you caught your breath. But he wasn't done, not even close. You felt him shift beneath you, planting his feet flat on the mattress for leverage, gripping your ass firmly.

Tommy drove up into you with force. His cock slammed home in one punishing stroke, the head battering that spot inside you that made your vision go white and your breath punch out of your lungs in a broken cry.

“Fuck—Tommy—”

He didn’t slow down or ease up. He kept giving you relentless upward thrusts that lifted your hips off him every time before slamming you back down onto his length. His hands gripped your ass harder, digging his fingers into the flesh, spreading you wider so he could bury himself even deeper with every snap of his hips.

.“Still with me?” he growled. Even now, mid-fuck, with his hips pistoning like a machine, he checked. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“Too good—don’t stop,” you gasped. “Harder—please—”

“Like that?” he snapped his hips up harder, the head of his cock grinding against your cervix with every stroke. “You take it so fucking well. So tight.”

The bed creaked under the force as he continued to snap his hips with power, every drive stretching you wider, filling you completely. "Fuck—take it," he grunted, sweat beading on his brow, muscles straining as he pounded into your slick heat. "You feel so fucking good. So tight around me."

It was overwhelming, almost animalistic, his hands were bruising your hips as he held you in place, using your body to chase his release. You moaned brokenly, oversensitive but loving it, the slap of his balls against you echoing with the wet sounds of your arousal and Tommy's breaths that came in harsh pants.

“Fuck! Where do you want it?” he ground out, the words slurring together as he fought to keep control. “Tell me quick… can I… can I finish inside you? Need to know, baby. Right fucking now.”

You clenched around him on instinct and nodded frantically. “Inside,” you gasped. “Cum inside me, Tommy. Fill me up! Please.”

He groaned your name like a curse. “Fuck—can’t hold it—gonna cum—”

One last brutal thrust, holding you down so every inch of him was buried to the hilt, and he broke. His cock pulsed violently inside you, and soon thick spurts of cum were flooding your already soaked channel. He kept thrusting through it, nothing but short, jerky rolls of his hips that milked every last drop out of him, grinding his release deeper while your walls spasmed and clenched around him in aftershocks. 

A low, guttural moan tore from his throat, shuddering beneath you as he emptied himself completely, “Fuck… take it all. All yours… all fucking yours.”

For long moments, neither of you moved, his softening cock was still twitching inside you every few seconds as the last pulses faded. “Still okay?” he murmured eventually, pulling you down so you lay fully on top of him. 

You managed a shaky laugh against his neck. “More than okay.”

You didn’t want to break the moment. If it were up to you, you’d stay right there all night, wrapped in the solid heat of his arms, his big body curled protectively around yours, the thump of his heartbeat against your back making everything else feel distant. But the clock on his nightstand glowed, it was far later than you’d realized, and Lila was waiting with the sitter. 

“I should get going,” you said softly, your voice was still a little husky from everything you’d just shared. “I wish I could stay longer, but Lila—”

“No, no, I get it.” Tommy cut in gently before you could finish, like he’d already anticipated the words. He pressed a slow kiss to your forehead. “She comes first. Always.”

He rolled off the bed. Naked and unselfconscious, he padded to the bathroom, you heard the faucet run, then he was back seconds later, with a warm, damp washcloth in one hand and a soft towel in the other. He knelt between your legs without a word. The cloth was warm against your sensitive folds as he cleaned you with careful strokes, wiping away the mess he’d made. Every few passes, he paused to press soft, open-mouthed kisses to the crease of your thigh, the soft skin just above your knee, the curve where leg met hip.

You shivered again, this time from the tenderness more than anything else. When he was done, he helped you sit up, steady hands on your waist. You reached for your dress, muttering half-heartedly, “I can do it myself—”

“Let me,” he said simply, already gathering the fabric. He slipped it over your head with surprising gentleness for someone so strong, smoothing it down your sides and zipping you up. 

Then he stepped back into his own clothes, and finally dressed, he wrapped both arms around your waist from behind, pulling you flush against his chest. His chin rested on your shoulder as he spoke low against your ear. “I had a great night,” he said. “Probably the best night I can remember in… a long damn time.”

You turned in his arms just enough to meet his eyes. “Me too,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his in a kiss. “It was… perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He kissed you back, deep but gentle, like he was memorizing the taste of you, then pulled away with visible reluctance. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

A/N: Soooo, here’s the fic based on an idea someone sent me a long time ago about Tommy Conlon and a single mom reader.

I was writing this and pasting each section into the draft as I went until it eventually reached the limit lol. It was originally meant to be longer and just one part because nobody reads series anymore apparently, but I guess now I’ll have to make a second part to include the rest of what I had in mind. Let me know if you’d like to read that, or if I should just leave it like this.

I feel like I poured a lot of personal details about myself into this, both into the reader and a bit into Lila as well. (Also, I have no idea how a five-year-old is actually supposed to speak or how much they understand about life, so just ignore that haha.)

The rain had darkened the wood just an hour before, but that didn’t stop you from walking down to the end of the dock overlooking the harbor and sitting down, dangling your feet over the water. Your head tilted to allow the early morning breeze to lift the hair from your neck while the sun cast its glow over your cheeks, painting and warming them gently.

The cold lingered, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Gulls screeched around and boats hummed in the distance. It was the same every morning.

Nothing could break your peace of mind; not the joggers’ rhythmic steps on the concrete behind your back, nor the yelling voices of the men whose lives depended on that harbor.

Yours mainly depended on art. Painting people’s faces, chatting with new friends over the phone about upcoming exhibitions and such.

You didn’t depend on a man though, for the second year now. You’d had all those things back then, but you hadn’t been in the right state of mind for any of this, which had dramatically, unsurprisingly, led to the downfall of it all. In your loneliness, you’d realised how much you’d needed it. This break, this silence, this pain. It had been a necessary stop in the journey if you really thought about it. Your cupboards were free of the bottles that once took up all the space, and your apartment was generally clean and fresh. You’d enrolled in the art classes you’d always thought you’d be bad at, which turned out to be the most fulfilling parts of your days. And you weren’t so terrible anymore. 

Like every day, you took your first sip of the coffee from the usual place. In less than an hour, you’d be at the office, mentally complaining about your back pain. You weren’t quite an artist yet, which was why you got that job a few months before. You painted in your free time, mostly at night, but you were confident enough to think you’d make it your whole life once you gathered enough money from that job. A lifeless job. 

Your name was carried by the wind, loud enough to fly your way. But you didn’t look back, too caught up in a young couple snuggling a bit further away, on the dock too. 

Your name wasn’t very original either, something your mother had chosen in a hurry while she’d dealt with your father’s troubles. 

You blended in pretty easily. It could have been anyone.

Which was why you ignored the second time the voice said your name. It could have been that young woman whose eyes devoured her partner, or that older woman helping out on the first boat facing you. An even older bearded man sketched the view stretching in front of him on a small canvas. You made to get up to watch him draw, but when a pair of sneakers stopped beside you, long, thick legs obstructing your vision of the left side, your heart started racing.

I ignored that guy and he won't move until he gets what he wants. 

Almost by instinct, your finger went up to wipe any trace of coffee off your mouth and you looked up at the intruder. His eyes shot down to your mouth and to your finger. 

It’s the smile that you caught first,  familiar and friendly in the way that was contagious. Those lips that had blessed yours a thousand times in the matter of a few weeks. Then, his rich brown eyes that were trained on you.

“Hey,” he said gently, the same voice that used to lull you to sleep. 

In your trance, you hadn’t realized that the bottom of your coffee cup pressed against your thigh, burning through the fabric. You were quick to set it aside, awkwardly rubbing your leg over the hot patch. 

“Tommy?”

Dressed in black, he looked intimidating, though the look in his eyes was nothing but. His hoodie hugged his frame perfectly, matching the dark beanie you’d seen him wear once or twice. He might have looked hard, but you clearly remembered the way he’d clung to you at night, or the tears that had welled in his eyes when you were yet another person to bail on him. 

“You’re all alone?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder for confirmation. 

“Yeah,” you uttered after a moment of odd silence, the strength to speak out loud coming out like each wave that carried the boats in the distance. “I always come here in the morning.”

Tommy nodded. “I didn’t know.”

Sitting there while he looked down at you was just as awkward as talking, so you looked back at the boats. You avoided his eyes just like you avoided reality: the man you’d loved for a few weeks, whom you’d started to fall in love with when you’d left already. 

“You look good.”

You took a breath, realizing your heart was sprinting in your chest. Saying Tommy was a handsome man would be an understatement. Even without meaning to, your eyes were drawn to his arms. 

“Thank you.” You tried for a smile, shielding your eyes from the sun with the back of your hand. “So do you.”

Tommy blessed you with his own smile, sliding his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. It moved beneath the fabric, like he was picking at his fingers nervously. 

And goddamit. You hadn’t spent all those nights drowning in regrets for you to stay fucking mute in front of him. There lay the opportunity you’d been hoping for. He was there, not looking like he hated you for what you’d done.

So, you tried. 

“So, what’ve you been up to?”

“Same old. Training at the box.” He gave a little shrug, as though that summed up his whole life. “Nothing much else.”

You smiled too, reminded of the sweaty t-shirts you’d washed with yours once, and how strict he’d been with his diet once or twice. You hadn’t really loved knowing he could get hurt at any moment, but he’d always seemed too determined to fight for some reason you ignored. 

Gathering some strength, you grabbed your coffee and stood up without grace, your eyes coming to his height. The breeze picked up, hiding your vision for a split second. 

“I thought of calling you,” you admitted. “Last week, actually.”

“Yeah?” His voice dropped lower, caught between curiosity and disbelief. “I’d have answered. You know I’d have.”

You nodded. “I felt guilty. Still do. I didn’t want to drag you back into the mess I was in back then, but… I thought we could still try hanging out once or twice.”

His smile twitched. It almost looked like he was laughing at you and your cautiousness.

“You look at me awkward,” he said.

“I feel awkward. We barely know each other after all, and I’m talking to you like we used to be married.”

“Don’t know about that. Six weeks was plenty to figure you out.”

Feeling bashful, almost like an open book, you squinted at the harsh rays of sunlight hitting the sidewalk, suppressing a smile that threatened to break free. Tommy had asked more about you in six weeks than your family had in all your life. 

“Six weeks,” you repeated, almost laughing out of embarrassment, or maybe nerves. 

It sounded silly said like that, but it had been the most intense period of your life.

“That was nothing.”

Your attention got snagged on the curve of his mouth, the sight of it taking shape under the morning light.

“Not long enough,” you agreed, your eyes drifting between his. “But… I’m better now. I’ve made lots of progress. And I’d really like for us to be friends, Tommy.”

You didn’t miss the way his lips twitched.

“Let me get you a proper breakfast first.”

“I gotta go to work.” You drained the last sip of coffee, sorry for the slump in his shoulders. “I clock off at 5, though.”

“Come straight to the gym, then.”

Though you hated anything that came near sweaty armpits and the metallic clangs of weights, you knew Tommy was inviting you into his world, which he’d been so reluctant to show you back then. It meant more than going to his place or to some fancy restaurant.

He’d lost you once, and now that he’d found you again, he trusted you blindly. It must have meant something. 

“Not if everyone’s there."

“Ain’t gonna be everybody there. Just me and a few guys. And the guy I’m gonna put down.”

You chuckled. “Is that so?”

Tommy’s smile grew. “You want me to come pick you up?”

You gave him that look. Like be serious. But when he repeated that he really would, as if he thought you didn’t trust him, you reminded him you always had.

"You know there aren't many people I'd drag myself there for.”

“Yeah, I’m honored.”

You chuckled again. Fuck it. The next minute he got a text from you giving him the address. 

The day passed faster thanks to the pack of sweets hidden in your drawer, used in urgent situations like today. As soon as the bottom of your computer screen indicated 4:55, you turned it off and put away your stuff methodically, putting all your thoughts into your movements so you’d avoid thinking about him waiting downstairs. You’d spotted him through the window, three floors down, when you’d slipped to the bathroom thirty minutes ago. Which meant he’d waited at least thirty-five minutes for you. 

That didn’t settle your nerves at all. Plus, it was hard to understand how you felt. Relief at knowing he was okay. Stress at knowing you’d start it all again. Or at least start being friends again.  

The elevator's hum faded as it closed behind you. You crossed the main entrance with steady footsteps, looking around. They were all leaving, though oblivious of your nervous presence. 

Motion-neon signs flickered like blinking eyes and streetlamps pooled golden halos onto the wet pavement. It had rained earlier, and he’d still waited. Maybe afraid you’d bail on your promise. 

Tommy was waiting under the covered entryway, his beanie still covering his ears. He straightened when he saw you and it only took him a few steps to be standing in front of you. 

“There you are.”

Your lips turned into a full grin. He stood close enough that you could smell him. So you naturally inhaled, letting it fill your lungs. 

“There I am.”

“You cold?”

Instinctively, you burrowed deeper into your jacket, too lightweight for the chill that'd crept into the evening. 

“Um yeah, actually,” you chuckled. “I bought a coat online and it’s taking forever to ship. But I—”

Before you could protest, Tommy was unzipping his large hoodie (which hid another one underneath) and waiting for you to slip your arm in. Freezing under the gesture, you were quick to add that you’d be okay, but he insisted. 

“Put it on.”

Still warm from his body, the hoodie smelled faintly of soap and something earthy you couldn’t name but remembered. You probably looked silly like that, trapped in that oversized hoodie. But Tommy’s fingers brushed yours as he reached for the zipper with deliberate movements, close enough to feel you, and you suppressed any thought about your current looks. 

“I’d have survived a ten-minute walk, you know,” you teased, your voice tight with something you hoped passed for humor.

Tommy tugged the zipper a little higher, making sure the collar sat right at your throat. 

“You’re shivering,” he said, as if that were explanation enough. 

You exhaled, a puff of white mist in the cold. 

“Gotta make sure you see me fight, um?”

The thought of kissing him out of the blue flashed through your mind, but you pushed it away just as quickly. 

"You know how to draw a girl in.”

Tommy huffs a laugh, low and unsteady. “We can get food if you’d rather.”

“I’m joking, Tommy. I’m coming with you.”

Neither of you talked as you walked, which became slightly awkward when you thought about it. Tommy looked okay, but that didn’t mean his head wasn’t boiling with thoughts underneath that beanie. Just like you. Eventually, while passing by a laundromat, he asked you who you worked for and what you did. 

“Admin stuff, mostly. I’m sort of an assistant.”

Tommy squinted slightly. “All day?”

“It pays. That’s kind of the point.”

“You still paint?”

“I do,” you smiled wider now. “I’m saving up so I can try living off it. I actually got my first commission last week. Some guy from Portland who’d come to our student exhibition.”

“That’s good. Means you’re good at it.”

You huffed a small laugh, a bit flustered by the compliment. “I hope so.”

There were more than a few pairs of eyes on you as you stood in the entryway of the gym, the door slowly closing behind you with a squeaky creak. The spotlights above your head did nothing but illuminate how out of place you were in that moment, beside the man who was more at home than in his own place. Your arms crossed across your chest, unsure whether you were going to make a run for it or not. You were more than a little tempted to hightail it back to the street and call a taxi. 

But you met Tommy’s bright eyes, saw how glad he was about finding you again, and you blew out a small breath. You’d never been there before.

The floor was sticky beneath your feet. It reeked of something. Two men were chugging their water in a corner. You hadn’t even seen them in the first place.

“Come with me,” Tommy said, pulling you out of your thoughts. “I’ll get changed.”

“I can wait here.”

Tommy made no move to show he’d heard you, so you followed him like a lost puppy to the locker room, coming to a brutal stop at the sight of a bare ass in front of you. You cleared your throat, meeting Tommy’s eyes again as you stuttered that you’d wait outside. 

“Stay with me,” Tommy asked, opening his locker with more strength than necessary, which was the guy’s cue to hurry up getting dressed.

So you stared at his locker instead, especially at the picture he’d stuck inside. 

“Who’s that?”

The guy mumbled an apology as he walked past behind, slipping on a hoodie at the same time. 

“My brother.”

“Brendan." He’d told you about his fucked up family one late night in bed, and it’s been the only time he’d mentioned it. 

Tommy shot you a look like he didn’t think you’d remember such a detail. But the very fact that he’d hung that picture there of his brother and two little girls meant he was opening his life to them, too. Knowing this made you feel safer, somehow. Tommy had changed too. 

You sank down on a bench and watched as he slipped off his beanie and hoodie. As soon as he started unbuttoning his jeans, you couldn’t help but snort. 

“Jesus Christ, Tommy.”

He turned around to look at you. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” 

His grin lingered. A trap you could sense, a slow crawl to being captured.

Yet, you burst out laughing. You couldn’t even remember how many times he’d laughed with you during those six weeks. Surely you could count them on one hand. He must have thought about it too, as he kept his eyes on your face for a second longer before taking off his sweatpants completely. Black (what else?) boxers clung to his hips. Though you tried, you really tried, your eyes drifted up to the sight of his ass. You smirked and snorted again, wondering what you’d even do after leaving. Go home, open the nightstand and try to orgasm at least twice. If, by chance, you could keep the hoodie on and pretend you’d forgotten it, the smell would surely push you to the edge in no time.

This was ridiculous. 

“How many times a week you train here?” you croaked out, focusing on the tiles’ pattern. 

Tommy paused mid-movement, tugging his fight shorts up his thighs. “Couple. More if there’s something coming up.”

“Right." You dared to look up. "I didn’t even ask how Brendan's doing.” 

“He’s fine.” He stared at something in his locker. After a second, he moved things around. “He wasn’t good for a while. Me either. But… water under the bridge. We’re both trying."

“I’m glad to hear that. That you’re not alone.”

He made a small grunt, something between agreement and end of conversation, and straightened. You heard the soft smack of fabric snapping into place (a very erotic sound) before he turned to face you again. 

Face to face with his tattooed chest, you thought there would not be a better way to die than to let him smother you.  

“Still wanna watch?”

“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

Tommy smiled as you slipped off his hoodie. You thought of leaving it there on the bench, but you’d rather have had something to hold on to. The fabric stayed in your hands. 

You sat where some handbags were hung up. The other side of the room was set up like a gym, with a bunch of weight-lifting and exercise equipment. Picturing Tommy lifting some weights, lying on his back, caused another sudden warmth to spread to your core. 

He used to kiss your thighs while you were high out of your mind, burying his nose so deep into your cunt you could almost still feel the aftermath. And yet, not one clear visual memory came out of it. Just a distant touch from the times you hadn’t enjoyed properly. 

Tommy leaned forward out of nowhere until you could feel his breath over your ear, his eyes tracking the movement of a short guy coming up. 

“Look at him going.” His voice was casual, but his posture shifted subtly, his shoulders squaring as the guy grew closer. “Last time you see him walking."

“Oh. Wow. Okay.”

Tommy glanced down at your lips as you laughed (nervously so) and squeezed your arm before stepping into the ring. You could tell he was pumped already: his muscles gleamed and his eyes were sharp with focus. Ready to tear the guy apart. 

The short guy swung at Tommy as soon as the whistle shrieked, and he ducked just in time. He danced around, not engaging yet, as if he wanted to draw his opponent out. You supposed it worked, as Tommy followed with a hard jab of his own, getting the guy on the cheek. A flurry of jabs was thrown, and the smell of sweat invaded the air again.

You didn’t even remember standing up. You stared at Tommy the whole time, silent in the middle of all the “get him there!” and “fuck him up!” thrown around. 

He’d get hurt. Which was a ridiculous thought as it was, but true nonetheless. Though there was some coping mechanism behind all those moves, all you saw was his bloody nose and glistening chest. Nothing past that. 

And you hated that. That he fought. That you cared. 

At some point, the other guy was lying on the ring, holding up a hand to tell Tommy to give him a break. 

Panting, Tommy removed his gloves. Blood streaked his nose, and he brought a towel up to his face, dabbing at it not so gently. 

You stared in pure fascination, as though it was the first time that you saw him. And it was, in a sense. He’d never shown you that side of him. 

"You did good," you said as soon as he was facing you, just so he knew you didn’t regret coming here. "Though I can’t believe you willingly put your body through this."

"Helps me clear my head." 

A trickle of blood glided softly out of his nose, making its path straight to his upper lip. You caught the movement with a fleeting look at his mouth while he chugged his water, panting. 

"Well, I hope it was worth it."

"You see how bad I beat him?"

"Yeah. It was…" you took a deep inhale, thinking of the correct way to put it, "interesting." 

He searched for the truth in your irises, slightly bent down, and joked, "You can hide it all you want. Those eyes tell me you hated it."

"I didn’t hate it," you laughed, the sound of it bringing another smile to Tommy’s lips. "It was fun. I might've liked it more if you weren’t bleeding right now.”

"I’m good," Tommy said again, turning around at the sound of his opponent’s calling. 

The guy slapped him on the shoulder, winked, and lumbered out of the room. Others came to exchange a few words that let you think beating down on someone and inviting them out to get a beer afterward was totally acceptable. And when one of them bid everyone his goodbyes, most of the men followed too. That left you and Tommy alone in the calm room, in which the only noise was a distant rumbling.  Maybe the heater. Your mind worked just as hard, turning over the words you’d say next.

"I’ll help you clean up your nose."

Your voice drew Tommy’s attention again. 

"No need."

"I want to." 

Tommy looked back once more before heading to the locker room. He showed you where the medical kit was stocked, assured he could do it on his own, and wordlessly nodded when you replied you did want to help. 

You stood before him, as close as you could while still being friendly, and tried to touch him as lightly as possible. That Hulk of a man probably had a pain tolerance higher than average, but you’d done too much damage already. 

You started by wiping his nose with a few cotton pads, but it wasn’t cut or anything. 

"Pain on a scale of one to ten?"

"Zero."

Your smile grew. His eyes were fixed on your face. 

"You were good on that ring.” You broke the silence again, pretending to wipe some leftover blood even though he was doing just fine. 

"You told me that."

"I know," you whispered, looking back in his eyes very quickly, a short break before you went on. “I’m telling you again”. 

"Thank you." 

It didn’t sound like a casual word. It was laced with something deeper, like it truly meant a lot to him. You’d always felt a deep sense of satisfaction in pleasing him. 

You tilted his head to check for a hidden bruise on his jawline, but his skin had just reddened a bit here and there. It felt so soothing to touch him like this, caring for him like he was just a boy.

You don’t really know how you ended up cradling his face with your thumbs on his cheeks, but you quickly dropped them. None of this was friendly, and Tommy surely didn’t look at you like a friend. His eyes darted quickly to your lips, and he stood up abruptly, digging through his locker. 

"Wanna get pizza?"

This time, you didn’t hesitate. "Yeah."

He stayed facing the lockers, stiffer than ever. 

“I’ll take a quick shower, then we’ll go.”

“Sure.” You tried to sound casual, erasing any image of his chest under a stream of water. “I’ll wait here.”

Tommy grabbed his clothes and held them in front of him, though it was clear he’d gotten hard from your mere touch. A door closing in the distance broke through your distracted mind.

It took him maybe fifteen minutes to come back. Your heart leapt with a mix of anticipation and dread, wondering, what now? What if it became awkward and he definitely put an end to whatever had barely begun? 

“My place or yours?” 

He stuffed his fighting shorts in his locker. Meanwhile, you opened your mouth in vain attempts at replying. You couldn’t choose. Tommy looked back at you upon your silence, and you finally answered, “Mine.”

Even exhausted, Tommy carried himself like the fight had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience. The sunset hadn't completely faded, but the light outside was failing fast. Inside, the harsh glow made you squint as you waited for your pizza at a barely clean counter. Tommy stood next to you, so serious again. If you’d never seen him before, you probably wouldn’t have stepped near. But you loved that about him. He acted like your own personal bodyguard. 

In a poor attempt to make him laugh, you picked up a flyer on the counter advertising the closest strip club. You pointed to the cute brunette sitting on the flashing letters GIRLS WANNA HAVE FUN. 

“That’s Hannah.”

He didn’t budge. Only watched with slightly confused eyes. 

“I work there on weekends.”

“Excuse me?”

“I like dancing and wearing these kinds of… what’s that? Leopard thongs.”

There was a long pause.

“You're messing with me, or what?”

You stared at him and burst out laughing, the sound breaking the tension in the calm place. “Yeah, sorry. That was bad. I don’t know why I said that.”

Tommy's gaze lingered on you, like he was still making sure that was, indeed, a bad joke. 

“Had me thinking for a second,” he replied, which made you laugh again. 

He stared at your lips until a pair of hands slid a hot pizza box in your direction, all thoughts of you wearing that sort of outfit forgotten. At least you hoped so. 

Before you could untangle your feelings about the whole thing (aka Tommy picturing you in the revealing outfit), Tommy had fished a few dollars out of his pocket and picked up the pizza. 

“Thank you. I could’ve paid.”

“Next time,” he said, already turning away with the box.

Those two words warmed something in your chest, your cheeks flushing red, though you could pass it off as the cold. At least you’d see him again.

While the rest of the house felt like a museum, the kitchen felt like home. Tommy waited there while you made a quick trip to the bathroom and shredded your clothes, taking the fastest shower of your life. And you slipped on cotton shorts, hesitating for just a second before slipping on his hoodie again. You’d missed a spot when shaving your legs the last time, but you couldn’t care less. 

The thought of wearing his clothing made gooseflesh race up your arms for reasons entirely unrelated to temperature. Still, you set the thermostat up and met Tommy in the kitchen again, smiling softly at the sight of him sitting on one of the chairs: leant down, legs open. 

You fought against manspreading every day of your life, but he made it hard to hold onto that principle. 

“I had a look at the canvases all around. They’re real good.”

“Yeah? I’m not completely satisfied with most of them, but I could probably fix them one day.”

“What’s to change?”

You thought for a second. No one had ever asked. You’d never even asked yourself. What could you even fix on those? The mistakes had been made. 

“I don’t know. Guess I’m being too harsh on myself.”

“You must be. That’s real talent right there.”

The cold seeped through your socks as you crossed the room to get two glasses, shrugging in modesty. 

“It’s all practice. Lots of failure, too.”

Tommy hummed.

“Sorry, I don’t have any beer or anything,” you added as you filled both glasses with tap water. 

“Water’s fine,” he said, watching you intently. “You know I’m ain’t the artistic kind, but I can see why it’s your thing.”

Something shifted in the air. You dreaded a serious talk, but it was obvious it’d have happened at some point. 

I can see why that’s your thing.

I can see why you left. 

“It’s all–” Tommy shifted his hand in the air as if holding a paintbrush, “you know, precise.”

“I try to be. Faces change, but I like capturing a single moment of them.”

You hesitated, setting the glasses on the table. You’d meant to take them straight to the living room, but you supposed Tommy deserved at least some explanation before the next act. “I needed something steady, I guess. Something I could get good at. I wasn’t really like that before. I didn’t care enough about anything.”

Tommy caught you before you could draw away, his hand wrapping around your lower arm, gently tugging you closer. 

His thumb made a slow arc along your wrist. You held your breath, too aware of the pulse in your throat and the loud exhales rushing out of his nose. 

“But look at you. You did it.”

You inhaled, a little shudder that made him smile. “I did it."

Tommy seemed content with the answer. He squeezed you and let go, rising to his feet. 

“That’s good. I’m proud of you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek so you wouldn’t really react, but that didn’t stop your stomach from swooping. You wanted to cry. More than that, you wanted to curl into yourself and ask him to say the four words over and over again. It was overwhelming, hearing him say that like you were the only person in the world. 

He smiled at you, a strange sadness to it, and casually asked, “Wanna watch something?”

And sit silently in the dark next to him? You thought you’d choke.

“Sure.”

Turns out, it was neither dark, silent, nor a matter of distance at first. 

Tommy sat at the edge of your couch and waited while you moved around, closing the blinds before disappearing momentarily into your room. You returned with an extra pillow that fitted well against the armrest. 

“Sure you’re fine?” you asked. 

“Can’t ask for more.” 

Nodding, you turned on a lamp that cast a warm and dim light over the room, leaning down to find the switch. Tommy’s eyes flicked to your bare legs, but he didn’t say anything. While you settled on a bikers TV show, sprawled quite disgracefully beside his warmth (your toes against his thigh), Tommy talked about the next few days. Something about another opportunity that could pay off. It felt oddly familiar.

You ate two slices of the cold pizza. He ate four. You weren’t really hungry anymore. 

For a fleet second, you were back in the same place, two years before. Tommy had come back from his place, pissed at his father again. You’d been lying in that exact position, doodling an old friend’s face in a notebook, almost ashamed at how bad it looked. You’d felt insecure about money then, which was why the thought of taking classes again seemed impossible. And you’d also just met Tommy, and it felt even worse to put yourself first when someone finally cared about you. 

He hadn’t changed in all that time, at least physically. You had, you supposed. Money was no longer that issue gnawing at your nerves, you didn’t drink until it soothed some deep pain inside you, and you always came first. No matter what happened. 

God, you felt so close to unraveling, like the breeze outside could send different bits of you scattering into the unknown. You wanted to tell him all about the lonely nights and the heartbreak after leaving him, but the night was going so smoothly and you didn’t want to end that long day with tears.

The memory of that night replayed in your mind. The worst part was that you knew you had no right to feel this way. You had ended things to “get better”. You had refused to let him come with you, only to pick up the pieces of your life, alone again. 

And it had worked well for you. 

This was a chance for a fresh start, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to speak. It felt so selfish to brag about your own accomplishments while he’d been pushed aside. 

So you said nothing.

But Tommy felt everything. 

“What is it?”

You’d been staring at his side until then. “Nothing.”

Tommy’s brows furrowed. “Hey, come on. You look like you’re about to cry.”

Wrong thing to say. Tears welled in your eyes, though you tried fucking hard to keep them in, staring at the TV screen.

“I missed being with you.”

Your throat closed on itself while you turned your head from him, trying to swallow your humiliation. After all, you were the only person who deserved to taste the bitterness of the aftermath. 

“Listen to me.” Tommy had straightened in his seat, getting closer. “That day we had? Best day of my life. We can do it again whenever you want. But I won’t hold you back if you ever want to leave again.”

“It’s not about… I mean, I’m not planning on leaving again.”

Tommy nodded, that line of worry etched across his forehead. “Good, yeah. So what’s that you’re worried about?”

Tearing your eyes from the screen, you met his intense gaze and thought you’d faint if you weren’t already seated. “Being here with you, feeling so at ease… it feels like going back in time.”

“It does, yeah.”

“I miss how we were.”

His thumb stroked your ankles in comfort when he replied, “Yeah. I do, too.”

You rubbed your weary eyes, letting out a shaky exhale. 

“I didn’t mean to sound all sappy.”

“Ain’t sappy.”

Tommy didn’t move for a long moment, staring at you, not saying anything. Maybe waiting. So you went on. The more you talked, the quieter you got. 

“I want to apologize so bad, but you must know I needed to leave Tommy. I hated myself for so long, but I had to leave.” 

“Shh,” he rasped, his thumb on your ankle slowing. “I’ll never blame you. It wasn’t right, what we had.”

“I know, but… God, I feel like such a big coward for leaving you. For allowing myself to have fun and… and laugh with people while you were stuck there.” 

“You left ‘cause you had to.” He stared at you, trying to make a point. “I don’t blame you.”

“You’d be right to.”

“I knew you’d come back to me one day.”

You paused for a moment, at a loss for words. 

“You really thought so? That I’d come back?”

“That’s the thing that got me going, yeah.”

There was nothing but sincerity behind his eyes, which was one of the reasons why you started tearing up again, though it was quiet this time. He’d never even looked at you like that. He’d always been so… distant. So angry at the world. 

“I don’t want you to think I’m making some reckless decision,” you croaked out. 

“About what?”

“Our relationship. That I’m now suddenly into you again. I’m very, fucking, into you. Have been for a long time.” You swallowed, close to panic. “I told you I thought of calling you again, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“I meant it. I care about you too much to let it go.”

“I know,” he replied quietly. “I believe you.”

You nodded, blinking away the tears as your head fell back onto the pillow. He was the one who’d fought a guy earlier, and yet you were the one experiencing the aftermath: a growing headache, mostly. 

“Would you kiss me if I asked?”

Tommy moved in a second. Half a second.

Already hovering over you, his breath smelling like the pizza he’d eaten but you really, really didn’t give a shit. He slid closer and braced both hands on the armrest under your head, caging you. Your legs naturally opened as he settled between them, subconsciously wanting him to crush you with his weight, perhaps to take all the blame physically. 

He searched your eyes and leaned in and up a little, testing the waters, and finally brushed his mouth slowly against your lips. 

So slow you could whisper thank you, maybe two or three times, like it was a real relief, a life-or-death matter. It sent a wave of something warm down your body and into your gut. Finally, you could breathe. 

As Tommy ducked his head, biting carefully at the line of your throat, you inhaled deeply and thought of all the nights you’d dreamed of meeting him again. The dreams had never ended with both of you on your couch, the TV on while he kissed you so softly. 

You had to check if he felt it, too. Your hand went up to rest against his chest, feeling his heart pounding hard in quick succession. He did.

Tommy let his parted mouth rest over yours, breathing in like he was trying to breathe the air right from your lungs. 

You’d had plenty of sex during those six weeks with him, but nothing had ever felt so intimate. The feeling of him above you, pliant and eager, unsure yet desperate to follow where you lead, was exhilarating. You stayed close, your mouth brushing his once more, drawing out another deep breath as your lips parted. 

Slowly, you loosened your grip on his shoulders and took one of his hands, coaxing it lower to your hips. Tommy resisted at first, leaning back. Not in refusal, but in hesitation, like he was afraid to take what wasn’t his. So you guided him more firmly, pressing his palm up along the curve of your hips, the shape of your waist. His fingers splayed wide, testing the edges of what you’d given him, gripping tighter when he realized what you needed. 

You’d wanted him to eat you out ever since he laid eyes on you that morning, but the need spiked even harder now, so sudden and so sharp you could barely focus.  

Your own vision was just as bleary as his, tracking sluggishly from point to point on his face, cataloguing each detail to make sure this was real..

And with that same confidence he’d used on you all this time ago, Tommy inhaled sharply and pulled your shorts and panties down as he went. It made your eyes prick with tears you didn’t know you had left to shed. And he noticed, asking you if you were okay.

“Don’t stop. I need this.”

With one last look, he lowered himself down onto the couch and got his mouth to you quickly, as though he couldn’t wait either. He moaned louder than you did as his tongue parted your folds, so gentle and yet so intense. Your exhaustion was creeping nearer and nearer, and soon enough, there would be nowhere else to run. But it felt like you’d die if he dared to stop. 

The first move of his tongue made you gasp, and the second left you completely mute, your mouth wide open as your hands flew back to clutch at his back, his neck, whatever inch of him you could find.

Cool air was blown against your overheated body, and he only stopped to trail his lips on your thighs for a second. It only took a few whimpers and a couple of please before he finally went back to work and let his tongue go flat, dragging up long and slow all the way to your clit. 

“Just like that– you can—”

Tommy knew what you wanted.

He curled one finger slowly inside of you, cursing under his breath when you groaned louder and bucked your hips against his mouth for more. There was a slight sting when he added a second finger, quickly eased by his tongue lapping at your clit again. You seized up at the feelings, so many feelings, your thighs clamping around his head. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck.”

His grip on your thighs tightened. 

You almost wanted to ask him to take it slow, to drag it out by eating you out so peacefully, wearing his hoodie. But you’d never been one for patience. You wanted to come. And you wanted to come fast. 

“Feels good?”

It was honestly so good that you had no idea whether you wanted more or if you wanted to push his head away, though there was a possibility it wasn’t even possible with the iron grip he had on you. 

Another whimper escaped you. “So good, Tommy.”

“Fuck,” he looked up again, meeting your eyes. “I’ll come first if you keep saying my name.”

And it only seemed to make him more eager, hungrier as he concentrated on bringing you closer, encouraging each wave of your hips with a low moan. Tommy let you fuck his face slowly, rolling and grinding on him. The second his thumb came to rub quick little circles into your swollen bud, you shattered on his tongue.

Another cry ripped free as he worked you steadily through your orgasm, obscene squelching noises coming from where Tommy's tongue met your pussy.

He even kissed between your twitching legs like you were made of glass, though you instinctively pushed him away, overly sensitive.

You’d barely come down when he crawled back up your body, realizing you were crying again. A chuckle escaped your lips, feeling so spent and ridiculous, and his cock twitched again at the sound. 

He wiped your tears off with his glossy lips and his dazed eyes. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. 

Your legs wouldn’t stop shaking now. It had been that long. 

“You’re incredible,” he breathed, his face hovering over yours. 

Now it felt like a fucking miracle. 

Tommy grabbed your chin to kiss you, this time languid and sweet. 

"Fuck," was all he said after that.

“Yeah. Fuck."

"I’ll get you something for the—"

"No, no. Don't worry.” You stopped him before he could move, as you were now certain that being parted from him for even one tiny moment would break your heart again. “Can you stay tonight?”

As a response, he nuzzled your neck and left a kiss over your thrumming pulse.

“Anything you want.” 

“Want me to give you head?”

It came out as a slur, somewhere among the sounds he was still wringing out of you.

“No, you gotta sleep. I’ll take you to bed.”

Unable to utter a single word, you let him hold you up like you weighed nothing. He knew the way. 

Tommy yanked his hoodie up and over his head from the back, leaving his t-shirt only momentarily before he pulled that off too. Through your half-lidded eyes, you gazed at the wiry strength of his arms, earned through physical weight lifting and whatever the hell he did at the gym.  

He glanced at you for a split second before his fingers went to the waistband of his sweatpants. Then he walked back toward the bed, one hand going down to the edge of the duvet and flipping it back. 

Despite the way your brain yelled at you to finally pause it for a couple of hours, you slipped off the hoodie and motioned him towards you. Here, naked and vulnerable, you wanted nothing more than to feel him against you.

He scooted closer, and you let the gentle brushing of his fingers over your hair and the far away noises lull you into a deep sense of contentment. Everything was right again. You’d never left him, you’d healed by magic.

You never wanted this to end. 

“I woke up thinking about you today and I’m in your bed tonight,” Tommy murmured. 

“You must be some kind of psychic. You manifested me, or whatever they say.” 

He snorted, his chin bumping against the top of your head. “Yeah, I did. Fate took its sweet time, though.” 

You took a deep breath.

“You’re too good to me.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he muttered, as spent as you. “I like taking care of you. You deserve good things.”

It felt mutual. The edges of your life were still a little blurred, everything not quite in place yet, but his place in it was clear. Tommy belonged with you. You belonged with him. Whatever it was, it felt complete now.

your skirt was bunched up around your hips, straddling the boy who laid on the floor of the bleach-smelling janitor's closet, filled with your mingled heavy breaths and the perverted squelch of his cock inside your wet cunt.

rafe watched you under lidded eyes, your head thrown back as you used him to get yourself off, his hands on your plushy thighs, hips ramming up into you as one of your own hands hand cupped your tit, the other one between your own legs, helping yourself; you never let him touch you like that.

god, he felt like such a fucking loser. rafe would've done anything for you, and he pretty much did. he did all your homework, got you whatever illegal substances you wanted (most often coke or molly), but fuck, you could probably get him to hurt someone without the boy even regretting it.

rafe couldn't help it; whenever you walked into the room, every pair of eyes locked onto you, and you didn't even care; you didn't care how obsessed people were with you. you knew you were everything and you didn't give a shit. all you cared about was your own pleasure, all you cared about was being seen as smart and getting off, whether it was by sex, by being a bitch, by stomping over the hearts of all the boys obsessed with you.

your hand went to his neck and squeezed slightly, a small whine leaving rafe's lips. you groaned in frustration over how loud he was being, stuffing the damp pair of red panties you'd been wearing into his mouth as you continued to ride him, mumbling, "shut the fuck up..." you mumbled, and rafe could still taste the tang of your arousal on the lacy fabric, his eyes closing in bliss as the tip of his cock kissed your cervix when his hips bucked up, making you let out quiet moans.

rafe tried mumbling through the fabric in his mouth to tell you that he was getting close, only for your grip on his throat tightening, your own face scrunching up in pleasure.

"f-fuck..." you moaned, the finger on your clit picking up the pace of its circling, and you felt the coil in your stomach tightening, speeding the movement of your hips as you moved up and down on his cock, the lewd squelching and rapid breathing filling the small space.

rafe let out a muffled moan when he felt your pussy squeeeeeeze around him and clench with the force of your orgasm, his hips bucking up involuntarily as warm spurts of his cum started coating your gummy walls, his grip on your thighs tightening, your head thrown back in bliss.

but when the both of you started getting down from your orgasms, you groaned and took your hand off his neck, getting off his softened cock as you looked down, seeing his cum trailing down your thighs and scoffing in irritation, your breathing still heavy as you spoke, "you fucking came in me."

you stood up on wobbly legs, grabbing a wet wipe from your bag as you started wiping the white substance off your legs. rafe sat up tentatively, and took your panties out of his mouth slowly tugging his boxer shorts back up, clearing his throat, "i'm sorry..."

"you should be." you sighed, throwing the wet wipe into a trash can and straightening your skirt, "better remember to never tell anyone about this." you scoffed, taking out a pocket mirror and holding it up to inspect your face, fixing some of your makeup as rafe stood up and pulled his jeans back up, sliding the lacy fabric in his back pocket.

"i won't... do it again." rafe mumbled, starting to button his shirt back up as you were touching up your makeup, using your phone as a mirror, "y-you know, you'd probably look much nicer without makeup..."

what rafe thought would be a compliment seemed to offend you, though, making you scoff and roll your eyes, "i don't care what you or any other guy thinks about me. now wait five minutes before you come out to make sure no one sees."

and so you opened the door about to make your way out, leaving the boy panting in the dark janitor's closet, haphazardly dressed and chest still slightly heaving as he ran a hand through his mussed up hair, you mumbled,

"this never happened."

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