𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒊 .ᐟ 𖹭

“I’ll just take another vodka cran please!” You called, two nice rows of teeth practically falling out of your mouth at this point.

With a short smile of amusement, “Sure.”

And then you were carefully working your way back through the crowd, one hand wrapped around your fresh drink while the other steadied yourself against the occasional shoulder you had to squeeze past.

Your friends were exactly where you'd left them, huddled around one of the tall cocktail tables just off the open floor. They barely noticed your return before making room for you without thinking, instinctively shifting their drinks and elbows to give you a place to lean.

"There she is," one of them laughed, eyeing the glass in your hand. "I was starting to think the bartender kidnapped you."

You rolled your eyes, bringing the rim of the glass to your lips. "He almost did. There were, like, twelve people trying to order at once."

"Mm," another friend hummed knowingly. "Translation: she got distracted."

Your mouth fell open as if it was a ridiculous and totally not true accusation. "I did not."

"You absolutely did."

"I literally just stood there."

"You stare into space a lot," someone teased. "It's very believable."

You laughed, nudging her shoulder with yours. "You're all dramatic. I was gone for maybe 7 minutes."

The conversation drifted effortlessly after that, bouncing from whatever song was playing to the couple making out far too aggressively near the jukebox, then to complaints about work schedules and someone's horrific attempt at online dating.

You chimed in here and there, smiling into your drink as the warmth of the alcohol continued blanketing over you. Everything felt easy. Easy that only happened on nights where nobody cared what time it was and everyone had silently agreed tomorrow wasn't worth worrying about yet.

Your attention wandered past your friends' shoulders, following nothing in particular as your eyes skimmed over the crowded room. People blurred together beneath the low amber lights, faces coming and going as servers slipped between tables carrying trays of drinks.

Then, as if the crowd had shifted just enough to clear your view, your eyes landed on two unmistakably familiar figures sitting toward the back of the bar.

Your breath caught before you could stop it.

No.

There was really no way.

You blinked once, convinced the alcohol had gotten the better of you.

It hadn't.

Your dad sat facing the room, in the midst of conversation, completely oblivious to you standing across the bar. Beside him, leaning comfortably back in his chair with a drink in hand, was Harry.

You felt yourself go completely still.

"...Hello?" your friend beside you laughed. "Earth to y/n?"

You didn't answer right away. Your mind had suddenly become far too loud. You hadn't seen him in weeks, and the realization hit you all at once. The way he spoke to you at the party. The way he was leaned up against the side of the wall with a sickening smirk and a deep husk in his words. The way you two hadn't spoken a word to each other since.

Your first instinct was immediate excitement. It was your dad afterall, and seeing him unexpectedly made something loosen inside of you. It felt natural to walk over, hug him, ask how he was doing. That part was easy.

It also wasn't totally uncommon to see your dad out and about like this. He had you young, and even with a daughter your age he still found time to have his fun. To go out with his friends every once in a while and share a couple of drinks. With you moving closer to home after graduation, it was even more common.

Harry complicated everything.

The excitement twisted itself into something far more difficult to name the second your eyes settled on him. Your stomach tightened in a weird way that you couldnt quite explain, every bit of liquid courage you'd built up over the evening suddenly deciding to pull you in two completely opposite directions.

Half of you wanted to pretend you hadn't seen them at all. Stay exactly where you were. Finish your drink. Leave before they ever noticed you.

The other half knew that not saying hello to your dad would drown you in guilt for the rest of your night.

The real other half was already wondering what Harry would look like when he realized you were here.

Your pulse quickened despite yourself.

It was ridiculous, really. You'd only met him twice now. Two times. One, two. A handful of lingering glances that neither of you had ever acknowledged out loud. Nothing substantial had happened between you. There was no reason your chest should tighten the way it did whenever you thought about him, no reason seeing him across a crowded bar should make your thoughts dissolve into complete chaos.

And yet it did.

Maybe it was the alcohol making you bolder than usual. Maybe it was because you hadn't expected to see him here, and the surprise had sent your brain into overdrive. Whatever the reason, your emotions refused to cooperate. It was all just colliding at once until you couldn't tell whether you wanted to march confidently across the room or hide behind your friends until he left.

"You okay?" one of your friends asked, quietly as to not bring too much attention.

You tore your eyes away from the table long enough to nod, though your attention drifted right back almost immediately.

"My dad’s over there," you admitted, almost absently.

Your friend's head turned, following your line of sight. "The guys in the corner?"

You nodded.

"The curly haired one?"

"That’s his friend," you said. "Harry.”

"And...?"

"And..." You let out a small, breathless laugh, shaking your head more at yourself than anything else. "It's complicated."

Your friends exchanged the kind of knowing look that made you sink into yourself in shame.

"Oh," another friend grinned. "You like him. Your dad’s friend.”

You pulled your brows together as if it was the most insane thing you’d ever heard. “I do not! That's disgusting.”

"Oh my god,” another friend joins in now, squinting at you like he’s got you all figured out. “You’re actually crushing on your dads friend?”

“Guys,” you roll your eyes to the back of your head, “I’m not.”

“He’s hot, I get it,” another friend shrugs, and now the entire group is head turned towards the pair. As if it couldnt get obvious enough.

"He is, yeah,” and now the whole group is agreeing, nodding and folding their arms into eachother as they peer to the distance.

You smiled to yourself, unable to stop another glance from slipping across the room. The distance between you suddenly felt much shorter than it had a minute ago, and before you could even decide whether walking over was a good idea, your feet already felt halfway committed. The alcohol buzzing softly through your veins wasn't helping your judgment in the slightest.

If anything, it was whispering that maybe jumping his bones was a totally normal greeting.

The crowd parted just enough to let you through, and by the time you reached their table, your dad was already looking up. Recognition spread across his face immediately, followed by an easy grin that made the knot in your stomach loosen.

"Well, this is a surprise," he said as he stood to greet you.

You laughed, the sound coming easier than you'd expected. "Hi."

He pulled you into a quick hug, warm and familiar, and you returned it without a second thought.

"What are you doing here?" you asked as you stepped back, your hands still loosely wrapped around your drink.

"What am I doing here?" he scoffed. "What are you doing here?"

"I was here first."

"Were you?"

"I'm choosing to believe I was."

“I’ll choose to believe you too.”

You gestured vaguely over your shoulder with the hand holding your glass. "I'm here with some friends. They convinced me to come out for a few drinks after dinner." Your eyes flicked briefly across the room, a group with an exaggerated way to pretend not to stare. "They're over there."

He followed your gaze before nodding. "Nice. We just ended up here after grabbing something to eat. Didn't really have a plan beyond that."

"I feel like those are always the best nights."

"For me, yes. For your mom trying to catch a grasp on when I’ll be home, no."

The conversation carried on effortlessly, bouncing between questions about work, family, and all things that were usually discussed when you’d catch up with your dad. It was easy, almost enough to make you forget why your heart had been racing ever since you spotted their table.

Almost.

Because the entire time you were talking, there was another presence sitting only a few inches away that seemed to occupy far more of your attention than it should have.

You hadn't looked at Harry once. Not intentionally, anyway. You didn't need to. You could feel him watching you.

It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling, exactly. If anything, it was worse than that. It was consuming you in a way that had you hyperaware of every smile that slipped onto your face, every laugh that came a little louder than intended, every absentminded gesture you made with your hands while you spoke.

You suddenly became conscious of the way you were standing, of the warmth in your cheeks that couldn't entirely be blamed on the drinks, of the fact that you'd probably been talking a little faster than usual ever since you'd walked over.

Eventually your curiosity got the better of you.

Your eyes drifted toward him almost against your own will. He was already looking back. Its not like he was pretending not to.

He sat comfortably in his chair, one arm resting along the back, drink balanced loosely between his fingers. His posture was so relaxed it bordered on lazy, as if he didn't have a single reason in the world to feel self conscious.

There was a small smile resting at the corner of his mouth—not a grin, not even something really obvious, just the faintest hint of amusement that softened his expression a bit. His eyes lingered on yours for a minute before slowly traveling back across your face, unhurried, almost thoughtful.

It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. If anything, he looked entertained.

Like he was quietly enjoying the sight of you, cheeks a little flushed, smiling a little too much, talking with the looseness of someone who'd had just enough to drink to stop overthinking every word. There was no judgment in his expression. No teasing, even. Just that sickening little smirk that made it seem as though he knew something you didn't.

And then you realized you still hadn't acknowledged him properly.

Turning toward him fully, you offered a shy smile. "Hi."

His expression barely changed, though the smile tugged just slightly wider.

"Hi."

His voice was low and even, calm in a way that immediately contrasted your own buzzing nerves.

"It's good to see you," he said.

"You too."

The words came out a touch quicker than you'd intended, and you found yourself smiling again because you didn't know what else to do with yourself. He, meanwhile, seemed perfectly content sitting in the silence that followed, his gaze never wavering long enough to make you think he'd lost interest.

"I didn't know you came here," you said, filling the quiet.

"Every now and then."

You nodded, taking a sip of your drink mostly to occupy yourself. "I've never seen you here before."

"I could say the same about you."

There it was again—that tiny smile. Not cocky. Not flirtatious enough for your dad to call him out on. Just quietly confident enough to show you that he was as steady as anyone could be. Like every word he spoke had already been considered before it left his mouth.

You laughed softly, more out of nervousness than anything else. "Guess we've just been missing each other."

"Seems that way."

The conversation flowed from there.

His answers were short, almost frustratingly so, but something about it felt so intriguing that you couldn't end it. He gave you his full attention every time you spoke, listening with an intensity that made you feel like the only conversation worth having in the room.

The contrast between the two of you couldn't have been more obvious. You stood there with your drink in hand, smiling almost every time you looked at him, the growing buzz in your system making every emotion just a little easier to wear on your face.

Harry remained impossibly composed, his expression changing only in the smallest ways. A corner of his mouth lifting, the slightest raise of an eyebrow, a quiet chuckle whenever you said something that amused him. Somehow that restraint made him infinitely harder to read, and infinitely more intimidating.

It was infuriating.

And, if you were being honest with yourself, exactly what made it so difficult to look away.

You didn't care how crazy it sounded to say you were addicted to the essence of him. To the way he held himself and the way he spoke and the way he did it with so much certainty. Part of you knew it was probably unrealistic.

The other part of you knew it was what you needed. You couldn't help but let yourself drift into thoughts you shouldn't. You were a strong woman, sure. Independent and sure of yourself and all the things.

But was it a crime to daydream of a big tall man to handle you the way you wanted in the bedroom? To take care of you and not let you think at all? Leave you dumb and thoughtless on the mattress while he made all the decisions for you?

It only got worse the more you spoke. You were sitting now, in between you and your dad and stuck on Harry and Harry only. You really weren't even sure if your dad was there anymore. You preferred it that way.

But the longer the conversation went, the sicker your thoughts got. You let your eyes fall a short few inches to where they shouldn't. His open chest. Littered in thick dark hairs that coated the ink that swirled through his skin. It was mouth watering. You actually felt smacked stupid the second your eyes made contact.

You thought about what it’d feel like to run your fingers across the skin. Letting your nails trail softly through the short hairs, drifting across the tanned space that had to be as smooth as silk. You even let your eyes fall further down his shirt, your brain creating an image as to what could be beneath the rest of the fabric. A solid set of abs, rock hard and defined and maybe even covered with more ink. If you were lucky.

“Still in there somewhere?”

Shit.

Your eyes drift back up to the source, his face, and suddenly you’ve never felt more frozen.

“Hm?”

The grin that followed was infuriatingly satisfied.

“Seems like you might've gotten lost for a bit.”

If there was any time in your life where you needed an escape to an alternate dimension, it would be now.

“No, no sorry. Sorry. I was listening.”

“Right.”

He just nodded. Slow. Like he was expecting nothing more than your denial. He didnt seem frustrated. If anything, your refusal to admit anything to him just made you even more interesting. You were sucking him into you without even trying at all.

“Hey,” a tap on your shoulder dragged you away from the conversation. “I hate to interrupt.”

So you turned, slightly surprised to find a boy on the receiving end. He looked about your age, drink in hand, dressed well enough that it was obvious he'd come out with the same intentions as everyone else. He smiled like he'd been debating whether to walk over for a while.

You also noticed the empty chair where your dad once sat. With no idea as to how long it’d been bare.

"I just..." He laughed to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've seen you from across the bar a couple times tonight, and I figured I'd regret not saying something."

You blinked.

"Oh."

"So..." He shrugged. "Can I get your number? Or at least buy you your next drink?"

It made you smile before you could think much of it. It was a nice gesture at the end of the day. Regardless of the fact that unfortunately for him, there was no charm that could get you as long as he was standing next to Harry.

"That's really nice," you said, genuinely flattered. "I just..."

For the first time since he'd walked over, your eyes instinctively drifted toward Harry. He hadn't moved.

He was still sitting back in his chair exactly as before, one hand wrapped loosely around his glass. His expression remained almost calm, but his attention had moved entirely to the conversation unfolding in front of him. Low green eyes moved between you and the stranger without hurry, his face giving away next to nothing.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he wasn't bothered in the slightest.

But there was something about the way his jaw had settled, the way his thumb slowly traced the rim of his glass, that suggested he was listening far more closely than he cared to admit.

You looked back at the stranger with an apologetic smile.

"I'm really flattered," you repeated. "I’m just not looking for anything right now."

He accepted it graciously enough, lifting his free hand in surrender.

"Can't blame me for trying."

You give him another sweet smile. "Not at all."

"I hope you have a good night."

"You too."

He disappeared back into the crowd almost as quickly as he'd arrived, leaving behind only a brief silence.

Harry was the first to break it.

He tilted his head the slightest bit. "So..." he said evenly, as though nothing particularly interesting had just happened. "You get that a lot?"

The question was casual. Too casual.

Now you knew his unbothered persona was a bunch of bullshit.

“I don't know,” you shrug. “Just as much as any other 24 year old at a bar I guess.”

“Hm,” he nods, shifting in his seat a pinch until his knee brushes against yours. “Which is?”

“Umm,” you look up to the ceiling, pretending to think innocently. “What’s it to you?”

His grin deepened at the question, squinting down on you like he was trying to think of the right words to say for the first time in his life.

“Just curious.”

So you dropped it. The conversation drifted elsewhere from there. Talk of life after graduation, the stress of job hunting while still trying to make rent. He told you about the struggle that comes along with divorce and the way his married friends thought less of him.

Before you knew it, you’d shared two drinks together and the bar was starting to empty. Including your friends. And pretty much every other person that was within a couple feet of you both.

“Hey, you’re still here? Is everything okay?” It was your dad. Planted right in between you and Harry with a look of pure concern for his daughter who had spent the entire night at the bar with his friend.

Could you blame him?

Harry's leg pushed away from yours quicker than anything you’ve ever seen from him. Panicked, almost. It honestly exposed his intentions with you in more ways than one.

“We were just chatting,” you shrug, “my friends left. Probably to another bar.”

“Oh,” your dad nods, “well it’s getting to that time. I'm gonna go home to your mom. If you want to spend the night at home tonight you’re more than welcome to come?”

Your head shook quickly. “That’s okay. I’ll uber back to my place.”

“I can drop you off.”

Your head snapped towards Harry like he just suggested something absolutely insane.

“Yeah? I’d prefer you over an uber for her,” you dad stepped in, shrugging as he looked between the both of you in quiet patience.

“Sure,” you nod, “sure, that’d be great. Thank you.”

That was that. Your dad left, the tab closed, and before you knew it you were on the way out of the bar, shoulder to shoulder with the same man you’d spent the entire night with.

As soon as the noise of the bar gave way to the cool night air, the silence hit you harder than you expected.

The door swung shut behind you, muffling the music into nothing more than a dull thump inside the building. A breeze brushed against your arms, carrying away some of the warmth that had settled into your skin over the course of the evening, but it did very little to quiet the thoughts ricocheting around your head.

You glanced sideways at Harry as the two of you started down the sidewalk toward the parking lot. His hands were tucked comfortably into the pockets of his pants, his pace calm, as if offering to take you home had been the simplest thing in the world.

He didn't seem awkward about it. He didn't seem nervous. If anything, he looked exactly the same as he had all evening. Composed and quietly self assured.

Meanwhile, your own brain had become more than impossible to manage.

Maybe this was just what he did. Maybe he would've offered anyone a ride if they'd had a few drinks. Maybe he felt pressure from your dad.

There were a hundred perfectly logical explanations for why you were walking beside him right now, and yet your mind refused to settle on any of them. Instead, it insisted on drifting toward the one explanation you knew better than to entertain.

The small possibility that maybe he wanted you alone as badly as you wanted him alone.

The thought appeared so suddenly you almost laughed at yourself.

Don't.

Seriously, don't.

You'd met him twice before tonight. Three times now, if this counted. Nothing had happened. Nothing had even come close to happening. There had been lingering eye contact and conversations that somehow ended up longer than they were supposed to be, but that was it. You couldn't start inventing feelings because a handsome man had offered to make sure you got home safely.

“You think a lot,” his voice cut through your brain before you could get too far.

“Hard not to,” you start, staring down at your strutting feet through your blurry vision.

He slowed by a black SUV, broad and sleek and rich. You knew it was his. You saw it in his driveway the first time you met him.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, pausing by the passenger side and waiting patiently for a response. You were faced towards him, back resting gently against the slick black exterior as your arms rested absently at your sides.

You thought about telling him. Letting him know how consumed you felt by his presence and the sick thoughts that barged through you against your will. You wondered if he’d feel the same way for you. If he also felt the heat that your brain may or may not be imagining.

But to be completely real, you knew you wouldn't. Not without a little push, anyway.

“Not totally sure,” you say instead, “Bit hard to explain. Complicated.”

Your eyes peered up at him in a silent obedience through the dark night, pupils wide and waiting to follow his lead without really thinking too hard. He was tall in front of you, hands still firm in his pockets and lids hung low as they looked down on you.

“I want you to tell me what you’re thinking.”

And shit, suddenly, you did too.

You're not sure what it was. Maybe the way he said it. The control.

Maybe they need to please him. You never wanted to disappoint someone, especially someone who’s been as generous to you as Harry has. Especially not someone who looks at you the way Harry does.

In reality it was the six drinks. But you’d realize that some time tomorrow.

“I just…” you let your eyes shut and your head fall towards the pavement beneath you, digging to the back of your brain to try to find the right words. Appropriate words. Mature words. Something that can actually encapsulate what’s been swirling through your head for weeks on end.

“C’mon,” his hand comes to press up underneath your chin, raising your gaze back to his. “Look at me. Wanna know what’s going on in there.”

And then his finger tip tapped twice against your forehead and a little smirk smacked itself back onto his face.

“It’s hard,” you say, smiling despite yourself at his little taps.

“You’re a big girl,” he cooed, “tell me.”

You stare back up at him with a thick smile at his words, flickering your eyes back and forth between his own like you couldn't decide which to land on.

You were close. Closer than you’d ever really been in the past. So close that you knew that once you started to speak he would get the vodka from your tongue and he’d catch the heat on your cheeks.

“I don't know…” you start, slow and careful. “It’s just…I just have a lot…on my mind.”

His smile deepens with an amused nod. “We’ve covered that.”

“Right,” you laugh, shaking your head and taking a quick breath as you reassess.

He spent the entire night with you. Only you. He picked you apart until you were forced to stop the conversation. He offered to drive you home. You're smart enough to know that he flirts with you every time he’s with you.

Oh, and if he’s not staring at your eyes he’s staring at your tits or your ass or anywhere in between.

So when you refocused this time, everything seemed a lot less scary than it did before.

“I’m gonna sound sort of totally crazy when I say this, so if I say something incredibly uncalled for or inappropriate I’ll just say that I’m drunk and blame it on that and we’ll never talk about it again, yeah?”

With a loose grin and a nod of his head, you took one last final breath and pressed harder back into his car behind you.

“I don't know how to explain this the right way, and I know it sounds completely delusional. I guess I just…lately…I don't know. You and me. I just feel like you’re…you intrigue me. The way you hold yourself. It’s like there's something about you that my mind just…clings too.”

He bites into the inside of his cheek as you take a brief pause, biting back his smile before it gets too wide and cuts you off before you finish.

He wanted you to say it all. To lay it all out on the table in front of him until you were vulnerable and small and waiting for him to pick you up.

“I think about you a lot. All the time. I know it’s ridiculously inappropriate and honestly just disturbing of me to even tell you this because, well, you’re my dads friend and I’m not stupid. I’m young. Very young. Too young for you. I just feel…I don't know, Harry.”

He nudged his head towards you in one quick nod, pushing you to continue as his lids lowered and his feet stepped closer.

“I’m curious. I can't get away from you. And I know I shouldn't but…for some reason that just makes me want it more and want you more and…I don't know. I think you’d take care of me. Not let me think. I just think it’d be fun to, like…touch you. Let you touch me. Touch eachother, feel eachother, I don't know, I’m rambling now it just sounds stupid but–”

His lips pressed into yours before you could continue to belittle it all. Soft, firm, cautious.

You didn't kiss him back at first. He didn't move at first either. You just stood there, frozen against the door of his car with your hands at your side and your heart thudding deep in your ribs.

But then you moved. You let your lips fall into the kiss in a slow rhythm of half sure and half wondering. He moved too. Letting himself taste you how he pleased and slip his tongue wherever his mind told it to go. Tasting you, feeling you out.

It went slow like this for a brief couple of moments. The nerves and the impending stress of both of your lives flipping upside down if anyone were to see you.

And then it switched into a raw animal magnetism that was nothing but fucking disgusting for outside of the local dive bar.

His hands were grasping at anything they could, from your hips and up towards your ribs and over the cusp of your breasts. He was nagging and tugging at every inch of you, breathing heavy into your open mouth as his tongue swiped along the insides of your cheeks.

“Fuck, y/n,” he breathed, “this isnt right.”

But he kept kissing you anyway. Harder, if anything.

It didn't stop you either. Your hands pawed at his open chest and pulled down on the silky material of his button up, practically moaning at the wealth of the fabric alone.

He was thick and buffed out in every aspect, biceps pressing tight against the fabric and abs hard underneath your dainty nails.

“I know,” you whispered back through his wet mouth, fisting at his shirt and stretching your neck back as he pressed closer into you.

Every nervous thought that followed you outside of the bar disappeared completely as his hands threaded up behind your scalp. His fingers twirled through your hair desperately, nagging at you in a way that almost seemed like a test of sorts. To see how you’d react. And so far, everything was going quite swimmingly for him.

Just as he’d imagined for weeks on end. Repeatedly. All the time. His tongue in your mouth and his hands grasping at any part of you he wanted, all while you stood there and took it all and more. Touching him wherever you pleased, unapologetically.

“We have to stop,” his breath slipped through to yours again.

You nodded through the mess of a kiss, “Ok, let’s stop.”

And you did. You pulled back and let your heads rest against each other, heavy breaths meshing into each other as his hands pulled out of your hair and your fingers released their grasp on his shirt.

Then there was this silence.

This heaviness that settled between you both as you stood there and regained composure. It was a weird feeling–hard to describe, really. You could tell you both felt it. The feeling of something unfinished. Unsatisfied.

Like your vibrator dying on you right before your climax. Truly sickening.

You just breathed. Unsteady. Together. Like somehow catching your breath together was enough of a replacement for anything else.

But then it wasn't.

“Fuck it,” his lips were back on yours just as heavy as they were before, parting you open and groaning into the warm taste of your tongue, sweet and tangy in a mix of you and vodka.

There was no more pretending. No more ignoring it. You were practically clipped undone at just the feeling of his lips as if you were back in junior high.

It’d be embarrassing if he wasn't acting the same way.

You couldn't help but let your thoughts drift as the kiss deepened back into what is was, hands wandering again and eyes clamping shut in a pit of need. You thought about if anything where to happen after this. You thought about what his face would like once he finally saw the tits he’d been gawking at for weeks now.

But the main thing was him. His hands. His fingers. His cock, which had been throbbing and aching against the zip of his pants since the moment you saw him tonight. He knew you noticed hours ago. He also knew that you noticed it never fixed itself.

And now it was bulging. Pressing up against the insides of your thighs messily as gentle murmurs fell through his lips in total bliss. Like rubbing up against the inside of your legs was enough for him to cum right there.

His palm came to grip softly around the outside of your neck, thumb pressing firm against your throat as the rest of his fingers wrapped gently around it.

And once the chill of his rings reached your skin and a soft sigh of pleasure echoed from your mouth to his, you both knew you were absolutely and totally fucked.

u guys..im excited. who’s fucking excited.

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