criollitaa

Pope notices you the very first night you move to the area. How could he not? You jog by the skate park when he's doing evening security and the breeze of your passage feels like an angel descending from heaven. Pope’s not like Craig; he doesn’t notice you because of the delicious jiggle of your ass in those bike shorts or the way your sweat-soaked cropped tee clings to your curves, the skate park being at the end of your route, near your apartment, your long run finishing.

No, he notices the way you’re singing along to your music.

Headphones in, chin up, enjoying the setting sun glowing over your skin. Singing. Loud enough for him to hear you across the street about to drop into the ramp for his final few runs before it gets dark. He vaguely recognizes the tune as some pop song that plays sometimes at the grocery, but it sounds so different coming from your mouth. You’re breathless and joyous. Even the tiny ball of fluff attached to you by a leash is caught up in your sun rays, looking so happy as she pants toward the finish line of home by your side.

You do the same thing the next night. And the next. Soon enough, he realizes this is your daily routine. Maybe you just moved to the area. Maybe you made some new summer resolution. Some days you run in ratty sweats and others in sleek legging sets, but you’re always vibrant when you go by.

He likes watching you. It’s his little indulgence between running the skate park and running his brothers. From the moment you turn onto the block a ways up the street until you cross the street into the neighborhood where he assumes you live, the houses obscuring his view, Pope keeps his eyes trained on you. When you’re close enough, his ears perk up to listen to that voice of yours lilting through whatever song you have on that evening. His usual schedule was watching the door as security after dark anyway, but you do your runs at sunset, so he starts just…going out a little early. Nothing wrong with that.

After a while, you notice him, too. The handsome-in-an-intense-way stranger who’s always there during your runs, another statue you run by like the handful of art installations in the park. You figure he’s a security guard, out by nothing but the virtue of his job, so you start waving at him. A tiny moment shared each night from across the street. You don’t pause your music or slow your pace, but you lift your eyes in his direction, give a gentle wave of your hand, wait for him to nod or give a flat smile or (rarely) even wave back, and continue on your way. And those moments are everything for Pope. Just a tiny instance of being seen as another person, uncomplicated, amid the chaos.

That harmless little ritual breaks into something else one muggy night in the heat of summer.

You’re running fast tonight. No singing. The dog is in your arms, not trying to keep up with you in those tiny legs. Pope notices the change right away and finds himself taking a few steps away from the door to get more information.

Then he notices the guy running just a step behind you. At first Pope figures he’s just another jogger out circling the park, but when he gets a bit closer he can hear the threats coming from his mouth. You must’ve rejected him or ignored him or whatever sets off guys like that earlier in your jog, maybe at the corner when you had to wait at the crosswalk. Now the guy’s chasing you, going between negging you and begging you. It’s not like he’s waving around a gun, but Pope feels the threat of his presence. He could corner you, pin you, follow you home.

Even if he doesn’t do any of that, even if he ‘just’ follows you like this, you don’t feel safe. That matters to Andrew.

He’s sprinting across the street before he can even process, the primal part of his brain taking over when he sees danger encroaching. Pope is faster than both of you, his form like Apollo tracking across the sky, and it’s a matter of seconds before he’s plowing into the guy who’s harassing you, knocking him into the sidewalk with so much force it’s a wonder the sound barrier doesn’t break.

You stop in your tracks as Pope wrestles him to the ground, pinning him and giving him one quick, sharp punch to the nose to get him to quit squirming. Pope holds his jaw and snarls, “What the fuck are you doing talking to her like that? Scaring the shit out of her?”

The guy wheezes as his eyes dart around. “Jesus fuck, man, what are you, her bodyguard?”

Pope squeezes his jaw hard enough to bruise as you watch from a distance, sizing up the situation. “Security at the skate park across the street. Don’t need you scaring people on my home turf.” Pope stands up, wrenches the guy to his feet by the center of his shirt, which rips, and shoves him in the opposite direction. He’s fighting to keep his composure because he doesn’t want to scare you, so he just taps his holstered gun and growls, “If I see you in this area again, it’s gonna be more than a punch. Got it?”

The guy touches the back of his hand to his nose, winces at the contact, and nods. He spits blood onto the sidewalk and mutters, “Not worth it anyway.”

Pope doesn’t let go of his shirt. He nods over in your direction and ‘suggests,’ “Now how about you apologize to her and get the fuck out of here?”

Sensing that Pope isn’t the kind of guy he should mess with, he glances briefly in your direction, mumbles “sorry” like a caught toddler, and skulks off in the opposite direction through the park.

Pope gives a sharp nod, a tense not-quite-smile, and turns on his heel to go back to the skate park, back to the regular routine of the night.

Your brows furrow. Before he can get more than a couple steps away, you reach out and grab him by the forearm. The feeling of your fingers jolts him like jumper cables. “Wait! Hold on, you can’t save me all heroically and then just walk off.”

“Oh, sorry.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns back to you. Unsure what to say to your expectant expression, he lies,” I would’ve done it for anyone.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” you reply with a cheeky little smirk that he stares at with longing, intense eyes. That look of his might bother another woman – it feels possessive, almost, like he wants to eat you – but you don’t mind. To you, it’s attentive and desirous, something worth stoking. Setting your nervous dog back on the sidewalk, you sheepishly ask him, “Would you mind walking me home? A pomeranian isn’t exactly a protection dog and I’m feeling kinda….”

As your voice drifts into unspoken nerves, Andrew’s world goes quiet for a second. He notices the way the sun lifts the color of your irises as you try to blink back the light. He notices how you worry your thumb with your first finger, picking at a hangnail, hesitant as you wait for his response. He notices your hairline, your earlobes, your peach fuzz. Every single thing there is to notice.

Nodding tightly, he replies in a gravelly voice, “Yeah. Yeah, of course. No problem.” He unhooks his walkie talkie from his belt and clicks it on, “Craig, watch the door for a few minutes.”

Another man’s voice, annoyed but accepting, comes through the grainy speaker. “What the fuck are you doing that you can’t?”

Pope rolls his eyes and cuts back, “Just do it.”

“Fine.”

Gesturing to the walkie before clipping it back in place, he says, “One of my asshole brothers. Helps me out sometimes.”

You start walking toward the end of the block and Pope follows you, slowing his naturally long stride to match yours. To keep away the silence, you ask, “How many brothers do you have?”

His hands slide into his dark jean pockets and he trains his eyes on your dog’s swishing fluffy tail, terrified to get caught staring at your side profile. “Ah, two who are still alive.”

“Oh.” God, your voice sounds too sympathetic for him to be worthy of. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

With a shrug, he murmurs, “It was a long time ago.”

You shrug, too, but there’s an openness to it. “Still.”

“Right.” He remembers that’s a normal thing to be upset about and awkwardly adds, “Thanks.”

You stop walking in front of a cute, tiny townhouse in a row of them, all pastels with flower boxes in the front window. Yours is pale yellow and he decides that suits you. For some reason, you seem reluctant to go inside as you announce, “This is my place.”

Pope gives the spot a long look. All he sees is the total lack of security, but he knows that wouldn’t be an appropriate thing to comment on, so he says simply, “It’s nice.”

You sigh, “It’s affordable.”

“That’s good, too,” he replies a bit too fast. Too eager. He wants to punch himself in the gut. Why doesn’t he know how to talk to you? It’s not like you’re anything…special. Dammit. You are, aren’t you? The way you nibble your lower lip waiting for him to speak. The way your dog looks up at you like you’re the center of the universe. The way you shift your weight from foot to foot to soothe yourself. You’re special. Of course you are. He swallows hard and puts his hand out in front of him, stiff but trying his best. “I’m, ah, I’m Andrew, by the way. Andrew Cody. Everyone calls me Pope around here, at the park and my family and everything, but you can call me Andrew, if you want.”

“Okay, I will.” You introduce yourself with a smile that almost makes him forget your name (and his own) right away, but he commits it to memory by mentally repeating it over and over. You pick up the dog again and tell him, “And this is Billie, my running buddy.”

Andrew tentatively offers the orange fluff his hand the way he’s seen people do on TV. She sniffs his fingers and then gives him one solitary lick that makes him tilt his head to the side. Is that a good thing? He admits quietly, “I don’t have much experience with dogs.”

You’re beaming at him as he carefully interacts with Billie, using the most tender touch you’ve ever seen from a man, especially one so obviously strong and imposing. You give his bicep a completely un-selfish squeeze and affirm, “Well, she definitely likes you. She usually growls at any man who comes near me.”

Andrew smirks and gives her a small, tentative scratch behind the ears that she leans into. “That’s a good girl.”

Your mouth waters a bit when he says it. He’s really, really handsome. More handsome than you expected when he started running toward you like a guardian angel. You swallow hard, playing with your keys as you stall in the doorway, and offer up, “It’s good to finally meet you – for real, I mean. More than a wave. It’s nice knowing a friendly face in my neighborhood.”

A friendly face. Pope’s not sure he’s ever been called that. It makes him smile. Actually smile. He looks down at the sidewalk and shakes his head and, Jesus, even his teeth are painfully cute between those dimples and that cupid’s bow. You really, really debate inviting him in for a drink or something, but you know that’s not a good idea. He has to get back to work and you have to, well, not get yourself entangled with a handsome, gun-carrying stranger so soon after moving to a new town. You’re here to focus on yourself, not throw yourself at the first man who sprints to your defense like a sexy comic book hero with arms you’d love to bite down on and-

“Goodnight, Andrew,” you say abruptly, cutting off the drawn-out silence of you both staring at the other. “Thanks again for stepping in. Most people wouldn’t do that.”

He shrugs modestly. “I’m not most people.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

Usually that kind of comment would send Pope’s head spinning – what had he done wrong in the conversation to come off as abnormal? – but when it tumbles from your lips he doesn’t mind it. “Well, ah, I’ll see you around, I hope.”

With a warm smile, you assure him, “You will.”

And, starting the next night, you always jog on Andrew’s side of the street instead of across. It makes Pope’s heart clench in his chest and it takes him another few nights to understand why: He made you feel safe. That’s all he’s ever wanted – for someone to trust him to keep them safe instead of thinking he’s too crazy, too intense, too much and not enough at once.

Another couple weeks pass and sometimes you even trade small talk. Even the quick ‘hi, how are you?’ exchanges are enough to send Andrew’s mind into candy-coated daydreams like he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Cresting past 35, he can barely remember his last hookup, much less his last girlfriend, much less the last girl he actually liked and didn’t just acquiesce to.

Pope’s on his fourth day of getting his confidence up to ask for your number when fate decides to push the two of you together again.

The douchey red sportscar’s windows are tinted way too dark and its music is way too loud as it screeches down the street, racing with a similarly douchey Jeep. Street racing’s a huge issue in Oceanside and it’s particularly annoying to Pope because most of the culture is his brothers’ fault. His sense of danger perks up immediately. When he sees you stop in the crosswalk, tangled up in Billie’s leash with your headphones still blaring music in your ears, completely unaware of any external threats, he curses under his breath. If you don’t hear those cars’ fart cannons, you definitely won’t hear him shouting at you to get out of their way.

He sighs and gets moving. Just how often is he gonna have to sprint into the street for you?

As he does it, though, he realizes he’d be happy to throw himself in front of a car for you every night if it means he’ll get more of those precious moments where you say his name or touch his arm.

He’s fucked.

Pope manages to sweep you fully off your feet and get you to the curb with maybe half a second to spare. The force of his impact knocks you both to the ground, but he knows how to bowl someone over, so you’re on top of him instead of the other way around, saved from the scrapes he’s taken to the elbows to stop you from slamming to the concrete.

You swear, loud and disoriented, as you watch the sportscars whiz down the street without a care in the world.

Andrew gives you a cocky kind of smile and chuckles, “You shouldn’t stop in the middle of the street like that, sweetheart. People are fucking crazy around here. Are you okay?”

“You’re asking that like you didn’t break my fall with your body,” you scoff as you check him over, noticing his scraped-up palms.

“Humor me.”

“I’m fine, but- but my-” At the realization, you scramble up to your feet, unsteady on them, and tears brim at your waterline. You start to walk away from Andrew, hastening into the nearby park, calling out, “Billie! Where are you, baby girl?! Come here!”

“Shit.” Andrew scans in a circle around himself and catches the orange puff running toward the skate park. With a huff, he starts jogging after the dog, calling over his shoulder, “I see her!”

With a relieved breath, you follow him, a pace behind, through the parking lot and into his world. The moment you’re inside the propped-open heavy metal door and into the huge main room with a deep sloping bowl and various ramps, pipes, and rails artistically arranged around it, it feels like you’ve stepped into an alternate dimension. The place isn’t at all what you’d expected – maybe too many years of playing Tony Hawk video games – and it makes you wonder more and more about Andrew. First of all, the place is occupied mainly by kids, mostly teens but some as young as eight or nine. It’s dinner time on a school night, but they’re all congregating here, laughing and skating on boards or skates, eating handheld foods from a small built-in snack stand off in one corner. Some of them are even doing homework or reading. The only adults seem to be helping them out with learning tricks or checking in on them.

As Andrew walks through with a purpose, he’s given lots of smiles and greetings that he returns with awkward nods and tight-lipped smiles. He walks straight up to a super tall, long-haired guy and slaps him on the back to get his attention. “You see a dog run through here?”

“Uh, yeah,” he answers, eyes going right past Andrew and toward you in your curve-hugging shorts-length bodysuit. “Ran right through and into your office. Figured that was kind of a you problem. Who’s the chick?”

“She lives in the neighborhood; it’s her dog,” Andrew says simply, looking over his shoulder at you and nodding towards the office, its door propped open by a fan doing its best to circulate the teen-boy-scented air. “C’mon, she’s probably hiding under my desk or something.”

He’s right about that. Billie’s curled up beneath a desk so meticulously organized it could be an office supply store display, her ears back from nerves.

“There you are,” Andrew mutters, reaching under the desk. When Billie doesn’t growl or bark, he scoops the ball of fluff into his arms, which look especially buff as he turns to you with the tiny dog perched safely against his broad chest, calming down at his presence. He eases her into your grateful embrace and chuckles, “She just wanted to skate at my park like all the other cool kids around here.”

You cut him a sideways glance in between giving Billie a million kisses. “Your park?”

“Yeah,” he replies. You think he’s not going to say anything else, that maybe he’s giving you a cue to leave, but then he swallows and furrows his brow and tells you, “I, ah, I work with my family, too, but this is sort of my day job now. Started with just one ramp. Bought the lot after a while. Took my time putting up the walls and everything, but, y’know, it worked out.”

You give him what you hope is a flirtatious smile even though that isn’t your strong suit. “How much does it cost to get in? Maybe you can teach me to skate or something.”

That idea? Having his hands on your waist while you get balanced, seeing your proud smile when you get it, looking at him like he’s teaching you something important? It’s like his brain itches and he needs to scratch it.

So he gives you a bashful almost-smile and replies, “For you? No charge. Come by any time.”

“You saved my life; I should at least pay to get into your business.”

He shakes his head and insists, “You don’t have to pay me back for anything. I wasn’t gonna stand there and watch a pretty girl get flattened.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You would’ve watched an ugly girl get flattened?”

“Shit, that’s not what I-”

You touch his freckled forearm gently. “I’m teasing you, Andrew.”

He takes a deep breath. “I’m not good at that.”

“Then I’ll stop.”

His voice cracks. “Please don’t stop.”

“Then I won’t.”

After one of those soda bubble pauses, not wanting to let you go yet, Pope stammers out, “Would you, ah, would you want a tour or anything? I’ll show you around the place if you want.”

You almost whine under your breath as you tell him, “I have to get Billie home for dinner and-”

“No worries,” he quickly adds, “I wasn’t trying to-”

“But I can come by tomorrow without her, maybe even wear some real clothes,” you interrupt lightly, needing to stop him before he tries to back off of the offer. “What time’ll you be here tomorrow?”

Andrew straightens up and tries not to smile too much. His mind reels imagining what you wear besides all your running clothes. It’s not like he knows anything about that stuff, but it feels like unlocking a new layer of you. Willing himself not to blush as you look at him expectantly, he clears his throat and says, “I have some work with my nephew in the morning, but I’ll be here maybe three or so. Unless that doesn’t work for you; I can move things around so I-”

“I’ll come by at four,” you assure him, all sweet and innocent. Like you aren’t reorienting his entire brain. Then you step onto your toes, kiss him on the cheek, and tell him gently, “Goodnight, Andrew.”

The whole time you and your dog walk out of the place, Andrew watches you, his first few fingers touching the place where your soft lips graced his evening scruff. Even when Craig punches him hard on the arm and cracks some joke about your presence, Andrew doesn’t feel anything but the ghost of your kiss.

Craig’s just lit up his third or fourth joint of the day at the skate park when Pope pushes through the door with a bug up his ass. He’s got that serious, intimidating stance like he’s just noticed he has muscles for the first time. Craig knows that stance – whatever he says, he means business. The first thing Pope does once he’s inside is point right at Craig, snap his fingers, and demand, “Put that shit out. I don’t want it stinking like smoke in here.”

Craig raises his hands innocently, stubs the joint on the concrete floor, and sticks the remainder of it behind his ear. “Since when?”

Pope grunts back, “We’ve got kids in here all day.”

Craig scoffs, “You split joints with me when I was twelve.”

“Okay, whatever, I just-”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Craig stands up, already laughing through a shit-eating grin. “Is this about that girl who was here yesterday? She coming by to suck you off in your office for saving her puppy?”

Pope shakes his head, pretending his cheeks aren’t turning red, and mutters, “Shut the fuck up.”

Craig’s eyes widen. “Oh, fuck, she is coming here, isn’t she?”

“Just for a tour.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

Pope just retreats into his office, pretending to be busy while he waits for you to arrive. He can’t actually concentrate on any of the work he should be getting done when he’s thinking about how much he wants to memorize the shape of you in the skate park so that he can keep looking at you even after you’re gone.

The park is buzzing when you show up, like it usually is in the couple of hours after school lets out. The moment you’re inside, all eyes are on you. It’s not that there aren’t girls in the space, but they’re all in ripped jeans and tees and helmets, blending in with the boys. So when you swish into the hard-rock-blasting, graffiti-covered, skinned-knee space wearing a floral babydoll sundress that does nothing to conceal your ample thighs, the ties on the sheer ribbon straps looking like an invitation, you steal attention.

You walk right up to Andrew’s brother, who’s an absolute giant in a white tank top, tap him on his buff shoulder, and ask, “Is your brother around? He should be expecting me.”

Craig’s eyes rake over you, slow and disbelieving. “Yeah, he’s in his office. He’s been acting weird – even for him – so he’s definitely waiting for you.”

Heat crawls into your cheeks. “Yeah?”

“Go easy on him,” Craig says with half a smile, eyes trained forward on the ramps, a mix of serious and joking. “Poor guy hasn’t been with anyone but his right hand in a decade.”

You snort out a laugh and stifle it with the back of your hand. “Thanks, Craig. I’ll see you around.”

“You’d better.”

You walk up to Andrew’s office door, closed today, and knock gently. “Hi, it’s me.”

When the door opens, you can’t help but smile. You’ve only ever seen Andrew in black tees, but today he’s in a cream linen short-sleeve button-down tucked into a pair of jeans. He looks much softer, more approachable, the edges of him smoothed out. Touchable.

For Andrew, seeing you in something so damn cute and feminine and sweet turns his knees to spaghetti. It’s been a long time since a girl caught his attention and the lovely, unfamiliar feeling that twists around his throat when he tries to speak is downright addictive. He gives you a nervous smile, shuffling from foot to foot as he tries not to get hard from seeing a goddamn sundress. “You came.”

“Of course I did.”

Once his desire to squish you in his arms has faded out, Andrew nods back toward the huge main room and says, “C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

“It’s all teenagers in here,” you say under your breath, like it’s some secret. “They come here right after school?”

“Yeah,” Andrew explains, trying and failing to make it sound unimportant, “I set up this youth program thing when we opened for real. They’re mostly system kids or have deadbeat parents. Half of them spent time in juvie. They get in for free and can eat whatever they want, stay whenever they need to, as long as they show me every semester they’re staying in school.”

“Wow, Andrew, that’s…” Your voice trails off as you see the chaos in a new light, seeing it through Andrew’s eyes and Andrew through fresh ones.

Like he needs to fill your reverent quiet, he goes on, “I was a foster kid for a long time. Didn’t do great in the system. If I’d had a place like this where I could’ve stayed out of trouble, I probably would’ve turned out better.”

You give him a warm smile that feels like a blanket in the winter. “Seems like you turned out fine from where I’m standing.”

“Took me a hell of a long time to get here, though.” He gives you a sideways glance and you can tell before he’s even opened his mouth that he’s testing you. “I’ve got a record. Served some time at Folsom. And I wasn’t some dumb kid on a weed charge; I knew what I was doing when I held up the bank. Knew it was wrong.”

As he leads you around the different ramps and rails, you press him, beyond curious, “So why’d you do it?”

He shrugs and tries to sum it up in understandable terms, “Money’s money no matter where it comes from, I guess.” Then he shoves his hands into his pockets and, looking particularly boyish, like he’s expecting you to run off, asks, “Does that freak you out?”

“No, it doesn’t,” you reply as you study his stiffness and his vulnerability alike. “I’m not an angel either, Andrew.”

“Yeah?” He gives you a charming smirk. “You sure look like one to me.”

Despite the heat rising in your cheeks, you don’t take the bait of the compliment, instead pushing back, “Looks can be deceiving.”

He bites. His eyes scan up and down your body, not objectifying but like an X-ray, trying to see beneath the sweet pastel surface. “How deceiving?”

You pause for a long time, debating. You don’t talk much about your life before moving to Oceanside at 21 and that’s for very good reasons. You’ve got one of those histories that tanks job interviews and scares off dates. But Andrew seems different. Like he’s not going to shy away from you just because of the dualities you hold. So you shrug your shoulders and admit it.

“The only reason I don’t have a record is because a judge took pity on me and had my time in juvie expunged.” You meet his eyes seriously. “I knew what I was doing, too. I hurt someone. Bad.” You swallow, shake your head, and tell him pointedly, “I always make sure I know what I’m getting into. So don’t go around underestimating me.”

His next smile comes with a laugh so lovely you could listen to it forever. “Yes, ma’am, understood.”

“Good.” You nudge him with your hip and press, “Now show me around all the backrooms so I can psychoanalyze you.”

He gives a not-entirely-teasing smirk and replies, “As long as you don’t ditch me because of what you find.”

There’s a lot of truth in your joke, though, as much as in his. You’re much less interested in the skate park as in Andrew’s words as he takes you through it. The thing that strikes you most is how pride simmers out of him when he talks about the place, the most animated you’ve seen him with eye contact that seeks reassurance and small laughs that feel sweet and intimate.

As he leads you around, he introduces you to some of the teens who are clearly interested to see Pope walking around with an actual real-life human woman. You’re surprised that they’re all incredibly respectful and polite; Andrew must set a certain standard for them. Once you’re through the main space, he takes you through a swinging door into a sort of kitchenette with one side as a cut-out counter that overlooks the center space.

Andrew gestures around and explains, “We just opened the food thing a couple months ago. One of the kids told me he started stealing extra food at school because his parents were strung out and never got groceries and I just-” He flexes his fingers at his side and lets out a sharp breath. “Yeah. It’s not much, but it’s something. My brother – not Craig; he’s fucking useless, the other one, Deran – he’s got a bar/restaurant with his boyfriend on the shore and they donate food every night that we stock in the fridge for the next day. I wanna bring in appliances, hire a cook or something, maybe even a free pantry, because right now it’s a stupid system that means I’m driving to and from the bar all the time and-” He cuts himself off and gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I, ah, I spend all my time thinking about this place. It comes out all at once sometimes.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you’re quick to reply. “I like hearing your thoughts.”

Something glitters in his hazel eyes. “You do?”

You nod, lower your voice, and tell him, “I think you’re kind of amazing, Andrew. Everything you’ve built here just shows how much you care.”

He’s too stunned to come up with a response to your plain and simple honesty, blotchy blush creeping up his neck.

“I’m a pretty good cook,” you add quickly, shy, cute, hesitant. “I don’t know if you take volunteers, but I could come by sometimes if you end up putting in a stove or something.”

If it means you’ll be here, Andrew will go buy one tonight. He doesn’t say that because he doesn’t want to freak you out, but it’s the truth. He just likes having you around, seeing your softness contrasting with his world, hearing your gentle laugh and lilting voice. Swallowing down his desire to be way too fucking eager, he just says, “That would be great. You’ll have to give me your number so I can keep you updated on the stove situation.”

“Very slick, Mr. Cody.” You take your phone from your pocket, unlock it, and hand it to him. “I was having trouble coming up with an excuse to ask for yours, so I’m glad you did first.”

He makes a happy little sound under his breath as he inputs his number and sends himself a text. “You wouldn’t need an excuse; I’d give you my social security number if you asked nicely. Or not nicely.”

Giggling a bit, you nudge him and reply, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

And he wants your laugh tattooed in his ears.

Finally, Andrew shows you his office, where you were briefly last night when Billie ran off. This time, you actually take a minute to observe the details. Unlike the youthful chaos in the main space, the office is a tidy sanctuary with soundproofed walls and blinds that close the space off. You can tell Andrew’s someone who needs a place to escape from the noise. Like you.

On the wall above his desk, there’s a framed full-page newspaper profile with a half-page photo spread of the skate park being built. Andrew and his brothers with shovels and concrete. Andrew shirtless (mouthwatering) as he puts up walls. Then there’s Andrew in the air on his board, the sun silhouetting him before the building was put in around the bowl and ramps. The last picture is a group of middle schoolers all holding up boards toward the camera, Andrew off to the side with a half smile.

A Real 180: Ex-Con’s DIY Skate Park Carves Kids’ Futures

Andrew reminisces as he watches you read the article, “Not the best headline – it’s from some community college paper – but it was the first time I got recognized for something good.”

You wrinkle your brows at the article and observe, “You don’t have a sign out front with the name on it. Why’s it called that – Lena’s?”

Andrew’s expression tightens and he takes a long, deep breath. “I mentioned I had a brother who died, right?”

Beyond curious, you nod.

“Well, he had a daughter. Lena. My niece. I took care of her a while after he died, but she- they-” Shaking his head, he gets choked up for a second. You can tell he doesn’t talk about this often. “I couldn’t take care of her, so she ended up in the system. Like I was. She got adopted by some nice family, though, so that’s good. I guess. Anyway, I, ah, I wanted to- to not forget her. What all happened to her that she couldn’t control. My therapist liked the idea.”

And that’s that. You officially have a big fat crush on him. The tenderness in his voice, the honesty on his tongue, and, yeah, the bulge of his muscles and masculine edges of his features and pretty auburn curls. With an admiring lilt to your tone, you muse, “So this place is, like, you.”

With a laugh, he agrees, “Yeah, I guess it is. Built the ramps, dug out the bowl, poured the concrete and everything myself over one summer. Had to boss my brothers around some, but most of it was me after our mom died.”

Your eyes flicker to him as you try to read his far-away expression. “Were you two close?”

“It’s complicated. Really fucking complicated,” Andrew mumbles back. “Building out the park was kind of my way of grieving, I guess.” He chuckles almost fondly, “Back-breaking labor gives me lots of good time to think.”

Meaning it in so many ways, you tell him, “You must be pretty strong, stud.”

You say it with your eyes positively objectifying his arms, so he preens a little, standing up straighter and maybe flexing a tiny bit. He smirks and stares down at his shoes, mumbling, “If you’re gonna be dumb, you gotta be strong.”

For a second, you purse your lips. You can tell he believes it and you aren’t sure if you know him well enough to argue, but you can’t resist. You hate hearing him talk down about himself, even if it’s part of a backhanded compliment. “You’re definitely not dumb if you can run your own business. You’re observant and handsome and strong and I’m sure there’s more than elevator music behind those hazels.”

“Handsome, huh?”

“Very.”

Then, as his cheeks flare neon pink, you reach out and touch his cheek. His eyes snap upward. For a second, you’re scared you fucked up by breaking the touch barrier, but then he sighs into your hand, practically nuzzling your palm for a second.

After a second, Andrew shakes his head and sighs, “Don’t go stroking my ego; I didn’t even make it to high school.”

After nibbling your lip a second, you decide to say fuck it and tease, “Is that supposed to make me want to ask you out less?” You didn’t think it was possible, but even more blush blooms on his features, down his neck and collarbones now, so you quickly add, “If you wanted to, of course, no, um, no obligation or whatever. I mean, if anything, I owe you for having my back out there on the mean streets and-”

“Do you like the beach?”

You grin and try not to smile too stupidly. “Of course I do.”

“There’s a spot I go to over by my house,” he says, clearly an offering. “It’s nice and private and- Shit, not like I’m trying to get you alone by my house or- I just meant-”

“That sounds nice,” you cut him off, reaching out to squeeze his arm so he’ll stop second guessing himself. “I could put together a picnic. Unless that’s, like, really lame and silly and-”

“Perfect. It’s perfect.” He takes the hand that’s lingering on his arm and winds it with his own fingers. “I’d really like that. A lot. How about Saturday evening? I can get my nephew to watch the place for the night shift; he owes me after some shit he pulled this morning.”

Pope knows he’s done for as soon as you step out of your small car in a sheer coverup over a white swimsuit with a plunging neckline and high-cut sides that show off your hips. He’s leaning against his front porch, holding a picnic blanket, waiting for you to pull up for the last eighty-one minutes because he couldn’t sit still, and he’s just thankful that his dark sunglasses disguise the way his eyes devour every inch of you.

You’re definitely too lovely to be walking toward him. Him in his white tee and five-inch inseam swim shorts that Adrian had made him buy after seeing him wearing too-long ratty trunks he’d had since he was fifteen, feeling exposed by the amount of his thigh showing. Him with his slightly sideways smile and slightly overgrown curls and slightly nervous feet, weight shifting side to side during your approach.

When you give him a huge smile and an enthusiastic wave, he nearly passes out.

Needing something to do with all the energy buzzing around his body, he jogs down the steps and up the driveway to meet you (partially because he wants to make it abundantly clear that he’s not trying to get you inside his house [even if he would really, really like to have you inside his house]). You’ve got one of those soft-sided gingham coolers slung over your shoulder and the very first thing Andrew does is take the weight from you for himself. He’d never let you carry something when his arms are open and available.

“Hi, Andrew.” With your sweet voice curling in his ear drums, you drape your arms around him and kiss his cheek warm and slow. “I’m so happy to see you.”

On the verge of catatonic shock from the tenderness of your Chapstick lips on his skin, Andrew’s stiff arms go to your back, so fucking careful not to grab your waist or land too close to your ass. With his voice earnest and low, he murmurs against your ear, “Me too.”

The way his voice rumbles against your neck makes your toes curl in your sandals. You pull away reluctantly and, with one hand still lingering on his chest, say, “Alright, show me your secret beach spot so I can ask you to put on my sunscreen as an excuse to feel me up.”

Gulp.

Before he can overthink it, Andrew takes your hand in his and leads you down the side of his house and into the sand. Glancing up at the ultra-modern house built effortlessly into the shoreline, you squeeze his hand and say, “You really live this close to the water? You spoiled brat.”

He lets out a low laugh at that. A real one. He’s never been teased by a girl and it settles comfortably over him. You don’t see him as too harsh or too intense; you can be light and joking with him. That’s…nice. Yeah, nice. With a shrug, he half-explains, “I like to go for jogs on the beach in the morning.”

You scoff and cut him a glance. “Which, of course, justifies buying a five-million-dollar house.”

He mumbles, “It was only three and a half.”

You stop in your tracks. “Where the fuck did you get three and a half million dollars?”

“Ah, my mom left me a lot of money when she died.”

You gesture to the floor-to-ceiling windows on the back half of the house that look straight out onto the sea. “This kind of money?”

“This isn’t the half of it. You should see my nephew’s place,” he says like it isn’t insane. “I mostly picked it because I can walk to the skatepark from here. I’d be happy in a shoebox.”

“Like my house.”

He vomits out, “Well, y’know, you can stay at mine whenever you want if you don’t like it there.”

You don’t give him a second to doubt his own words, taking one last look at the house and replying cheekily, “Be careful or I’ll take you up on that.”

“Then I’m gonna have to be reckless as hell,” he says, talking directly to his feet. But there’s a cute smirk toying with his lips, one that turns into a smile as he squeezes your hand and tilts his chin toward a small outcropping peninsula, more like an islet connected by a shoal. It’s half rocky, the algae-covered stones cropping up far enough to cast dappled shade over the white sand on the other side. “There’s my spot.”

You follow him dutifully down the shore, kick off your sandals when the sand gets wet, and walk through about an inch of water up the shoal to the small islet. Andrew walks you up to a cozy spot where the rocks are jutting out so there’s total privacy from the handful of people milling around the shoreline. He spreads out the green plaid picnic blanket, so old-worn and soft it’s like fur beneath your fingers, and weighs it down on the corners with nearby stones before setting your cooler down at its center.

Without drawing any attention to it, you strip off your cover-up and grab the tube of sunscreen from one of the cooler’s outer pockets. Before he’s even turned around from adjusting the blanket just so, you tap him on the shoulder and extend the sunscreen.

And, exactly as you’d hoped, his eyes are all over your body. Frankly, it looks like he’s a computer rebooting, blinking rapidly as blush creeps up his neck. After a minute, with his eyes locked on how the swimsuit’s high cut shows off the indent where your hips and thighs and stomach merge. It’s the most delicious few inches of skin he’s even seen. Realizing that he’s staring and that you’re definitely catching him, he mutters, “I like your bathing suit.”

With a cheeky smile, you take a step forward, close enough that he could so easily touch you if he managed the confidence to. Swaying a bit with your hands behind your back, you ask him, “Sure it’s the suit you like?”

He takes the sunscreen from you, gives you a devious smirk, and says, “I like that it’s protecting your skin from the sun. Arms out.”

You raise your eyebrows and comply. “Yes, sir.”

“Careful.”

Andrew isn’t sexy about applying your sunscreen like you’d expected. Not when he has an important task to do. Instead, with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes, he thoroughly lathers your skin, moving around your bathing suit to get underneath the hems without any agenda or eagerness, even when he’s palming your ass or the sides of your breasts beneath your armpits. It’s serious to him. The fragility of your soft skin compared the brutality of the sun’s afternoon rays.

As he swipes the sunscreen gingerly around your face, Andrew murmurs, “Stop smiling or you’ll get burn wrinkles.”

“Stop being cute and I’ll stop smiling.”

Under his breath, he mutters, struggling to sound offended when he’s so smitten, “I’m not cute.”

“Then I’m not smiling.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re already getting a sunburn,” you reply as he finishes off by doing your ears and the back of your neck, totally thorough with your safety. You know he’s not burning, just blushing, but you don’t want to make fun of him too much for it. You snatch the bottle from his hands, click the cap off, and order, “Your turn. Shirt off.”

His eyebrows fly up. “You don’t need to-”

“I want to, Andrew,” you assure with total confidence in your voice. “I promise I don’t bite.”

As he takes his shirt off and tosses it onto the picnic blanket, he replies, “That’s a shame.”

Openly ogling his chest because it’s a date and you can, you laugh gently, “Maybe if you ask me really, really nicely I could give you a nibble.”

“I can be very nice when I want to.”

“I’ve only seen you be nice.”

“You saw me punch someone’s face in.”

“Yeah, but you were doing that to defend me.” After squirting sunscreen into your palm, you press your hands carefully to the top of his chest and say, “That might not be everyone’s version of nice, but it was really sexy, so there’s probably some overlap there.”

He hums absently, brain now completely occupied with the feeling of your hands on his skin. You notice the immediate effect – the way his shoulders drop in comfort and his eyelashes flutter – and it kindles something in the base of your gut. He’s touch-starved and you can feel it in every muscle tensing and relaxing beneath your fingers. So you slow down. You work the knots in his bulky traps and drag the pressure down his back, which is firm and strong and freckled and so, so nice beneath your thumbs. When you press into the small of his back with your thumbs, slipping just under his shorts to the dimples at the top of his ass and rubbing in slow deep circles, he hangs his head and groans down low, “Jesus Christ.”

You don’t respond, deciding to just enjoy yourself. Moving around to his front, you spread sunscreen over his pecs and down his abs. His abs. You give them some extra attention because, y’know, how terrible would it be for him to get a sunburn on them? The whole time, you find yourself singing under your breath, pretty unabashedly feeling up his obliques and sides because the V of his hips is just so offensively delicious.

When he hears your soft voice complimenting the moment, Andrew smiles and tells you, “That’s what made me notice you in the first place. Your singing.”

You laugh and scoff, “Do I sing that loud?”

He nods and chuckles, but it’s affectionate. He’s definitely not making fun of you or judging you. “I can always hear you across the street. The way it starts all soft at the far end of the block and then gets louder when you pass by and then soft again. I look forward to it all day.”

Your hands still on his sides. He opens his eyes at the sudden stop, tilting his head to the side and examining you with careful hazel eyes. Biting your lower lip, you press, “Really?”

“Are you kidding?” Andrew laughs in disbelief, his confidence growing when he realizes you need to see it firsthand. He tugs you close by the waist, stealing your breath a moment, and says, “Every time you run by, I feel so…I don’t know. I’m not good with words and the feelings stuff. But I feel alive, I think is the right word, and that’s- that’s a new thing for me. Completely new. You have this light, I guess, that I’m drawn to. Like a moth. Or a plant. Or something.”

You lean forward, hug him close, and nuzzle into his neck. “That’s actually really beautiful, Andrew. You’re better with the feelings stuff than you think. It doesn’t matter how you say it; what matters is that you feel it.”

“I usually feel too much.”

“Not too much,” you reply sweetly. “Most men pretend they don’t feel anything at all.” You nod toward the picnic blanket and suggest, “If we’re gonna have lovey-dovey-deep-feelings-talk time, do you wanna sit down and eat?”

“That’s probably a good idea.” Andrew’s palms are clammy as he sits down first to give you the choice of where to sit, so scared to overstep or assume with you. With his legs out in front of him and his back against one of the large stones, he jokes, “Expressing a feeling burns a lot of calories for me.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll make sure you’re well fed so you can bear your soul to me.”

You plop down on his lap, weight back on his thighs, facing him, without a care in the world, and reach over to open the cooler. You pluck out a fat, ripe strawberry and press it to his lips, which part open on instinct. When his lips wrap around the fruit and he bites down, a bead of pink juice trails from the corner of his mouth. You catch it with your thumb and lick it off without thinking; a shiver goes down Andrew’s spine as he watches your tongue.

While you eat a strawberry for yourself, he breathes out slowly, “You’re way too pretty. It’s distracting.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you tease as you feed him a handful of grapes next, nabbing a few off the stem to eat. “I’m sure you get that all the time, though, with that handsome face of yours.”

Trying to hide his smile, he mutters, “Flatterer.”

“Truth teller,” you correct. “You’re cute; you should know about it.”

He doesn’t respond, but his cheeks flush a sweet shade of pink that reveals his thoughts. The two of you eat and joke and talk for a while as the sun climbs down toward the horizon over the mountains on the opposite side from the sea. As his walls come down, his soft smile comes out and he’s able to meet your eyes every time you laugh. The waning sun softens Andrew’s features, brightens the auburn in his curls to fiery orange, and turns his hazel eyes golden.

Once the cooler’s been zipped up and the sun’s throwing shades of lavender and pink over the water, you rest your hands at the back of Andrew’s neck and take a slow, serene breath. Being around him has become easy and simple since you met him, a calm but protective presence you can turn to. As you admire him during a content lull in the conversation, you brush your thumb over his cheek and say, barely above a whisper, intimate and for just him, “You really are beautiful, Andrew.”

Beautiful.

The word sings around Pope’s mind. He doesn’t care if other guys would find it emasculating; it’s everything to him. So he doesn’t joke, deflect, or deny. He just says through the blush, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Then you nibble your lower lip, flick your eyes up to his, and ask tentatively, “Could I kiss you?”

Andrew, very simply, can’t speak at the idea that you want to kiss him. So he nods eagerly, eyes widening and pupils dilating, and stares at you. His focus goes to your lips, a silent invitation, and he tries to will himself to close the gap first. But he can’t. He’s frozen in pure desire.

He manages to nod.

That’s enough for you.

Trying not to be too tentative, you wind your fingers in his curls and lean so your lips press to his. It’s gentle and delicate, like you, and Andrew’s melting into a puddle of adoration under you. He makes a low, almost groaning sound as he carefully places his hands on your waist. It’s greedy. It urges you forward. You break the kiss only long enough to smile and giggle quietly. When you scoot forward so he can feel your breasts pressing against his chest, Andrew takes the back seat and Pope comes out. He surges forward and wraps his arms around you, one on your lower back and the other on the back of your head, clutching you tight.

The small, certain show of dominance causes you to moan into his mouth, embarrassing and desperate. But when you instinctively start to pull back to apologize, Andrew shakes his head and tugs you in closer. Kisses you harder. Needs you more. He takes charge even further, tongue swiping the envelope of your lips, parting them, insisting against yours. You drag your hands down his arms, squeezing his biceps, letting yourself be positively hungry as you grab his muscles. And he matches you. Guides you backwards with so much care until you’re flat on your back against the soft blanket, Andrew pinning you down in a way that doesn’t make you feel trapped but protected. Like nothing could get to you while he’s got you there.

Breathless and squirmy, you search his face to find pupils blown wide and lips trembling with lust. So you feel nothing but confidence as you suggest, “Would you want to, um, show me your place?” When he gets that cute kind-of-confused look, you raise your eyebrows and press, “Your bedroom, maybe?”

“Oh. Oh.” His cock twitches and he backs off of you reluctantly, extending his hand to help you to your feet. You press a soft kiss on his lips and collect your things again, which, again, Andrew insists on carrying for you. As he leads you up the shoal and to the side door of his house, he nervously tells you, “Just so you know, I wasn’t expecting for us to- I didn’t want to assume that- It’s, ah, it’s kind of messy.”

Once he’s invited you through the door, where you leave your sandals in the mud room you walk into from the side door, you gaze around the pristine, modern space in wonder. “This is your version of messy? Good thing we aren’t back at mine.”

“I can be kind of a neat freak,” he admits solemnly. In his tone, you can hear a lifetime of internalized judgment.

So you give his bicep another squeeze and say, “Hopefully you’ll rub off on me, then. I could use some pointers.”

He pulls you toward him and, completely serious, says, “I’ll clean your whole place on my knees with a toothbrush if you kiss me again.”

You’re giggling as you lean in. “Is that a promise?”

Grabbing you by the waist, he presses his lips to your again, just as good as the first, and groans, “Absolutely.”

In between fevered kisses, “Better invest in a cute French maid outfit because I’m not gonna stop kissing you any time soon.”

He smiles and it tastes so good against yours. “Is that a promise?”

“Show me your bedroom and you can find out.”

Andrew’s dizzy from the honesty of your desire, so he takes your hand and leads you through his minimally decorated, neat home and up the stairs into a massive lofted suite. It’s a total bachelor pad, the whole top floor gutted into a huge bedroom with a sprawling bathroom including an in-floor jacuzzi tub and a walk-in shower the size of your bedroom with built-in benches and shelves. It’s definitely the sanctuary of a single man who values his alone time.

Andrew stiffens up a bit in his bedroom, feeling a bit too exposed all of a sudden, and asks bashfully, “Would it be alright if we showered before getting into my bed? I kind of have a thing about-”

“Of course it would be okay; I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” you tell him simply, not realizing how much it matters to him. Then you bite your lower lip and ask him with a slight sway in your step, “But could I use that insanely gorgeous tub of yours instead?”

Andrew’s tight lips turn to a smile at the thought of you naked and relaxed in his bathroom. “Yeah, absolutely. Let me show you how to use the jets.”

The tub is at the center of the bathroom suite, the shower offset behind a divider on one side and the sinks on the other with the toilet set off in its own large water closet behind a door. Andrew walks ahead of you and draws the bath, his simple domesticity lighting a fire inside of you. As he places a few different bath products on the edge of the tub for you to choose from, you easily strip out of your swimsuit, knowing that Andrew’s eyes will make you feel nothing but secure,

When he straightens up and sees the slopes and curves of your nude form, Andrew lets out a slow, long breath. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

Carefully stepping down into the hot water, you recline and gaze up at him. “And you have an excellent bathtub.”

He bends down and kisses your forehead. “Hopefully that’ll convince you to stick around.”

With the jets punching into your back just right, you hum, “You’re definitely racking up points like crazy here.”

He glitters at that. “Yeah?”

“Mmmhm,” you croon slowly as you melt into relaxation. “You’re sweet and handsome and kind. I have a feeling you like to spoil a girl rotten.”

Giving you a gentle spiderman-style kiss, he grins. “Damn straight.”

You kiss him back and then reluctantly push him upward. “Now go and have you shower so I can get you off.”

With a play shiver, he shakes his head and says, “Yes, ma’am.”

Disappointingly, you don’t get a good look at his naked body as he disappears behind the divider and into the steam of the shower. Damned delayed gratification. Your pussy is definitely aching for him already, keeping your mind activated. With the mild bergamot soap collection Andrew’s left by your side – an incredibly sexy choice for a buff, masculine guy – you wash the sea and sweat from your skin until you feel completely relaxed and smooth.

By the time you hear the shower turning off, you’re totally blissed out from the jets and the aromatherapy (and the way Andrew sometimes grunts as he scrubs himself down. You don’t even notice him stepping out, wrapping his hips in a towel, and standing over you with a content expression, imagining what it would be like to have this sight in front of him on a regular basis.

Sounding amused, Andrew asks in that gravely voice of his, “You wanna dry off and let me eat you out now or should I leave you alone with your new best friend a while?”

With a serene smile, eyes still closed, you reply, “Hmm?”

“Gotcha, I’ll head out, then,” he chuckles. “I’ve got some projects I should get working on, anyway, and-”

You flick some water at him as you slowly stand up, stretching your arms above your head in a way that drives Andrew clinically insane. He offers a hand to help you out and you take it, glowing under the way his eyes trace the droplets that cascade over your breasts and down your soft stomach.

Then he bends down and drags his tongue from your bellybutton, up your sternum, and over your neck, not stopping until his lips meet your softly gasping mouth. Every nerve in your body shocks to life as he kisses you urgently, snapping a towel off the nearby rack to hastily dry you off. The soft towel in his rough hands energizes all of your muscles. You’re still a little unsteady on your feet from the warm bath, so you grip onto him, arms around his neck, and he groans in response.

Unable to resist, Andrew guides you backwards, toward the countertop, and begins to feel you up in earnest, the way he would’ve on the beach if he weren’t scared of being too possessive too fast. The truth is that he’s already obsessed with you. He has been for longer than he’d ever admit to you, his brothers, or even his therapist. He wants to devour every part of you as often as he can, to bring you into his life, to build up all the good in you and let it wash over his darkness.

With you giggling and moaning in tandem, Andrew hoists you up onto the counter and kneels down in front of you. Before you have time to think, much less question, he’s spreading your legs and diving between them. Water drips down your shins and lands on the floor, but Andrew can’t bring himself to care with your tart juices coating his tongue. His name slips out of your mouth in a needy cry and his eyes roll back, closing with ecstasy.

Andrew’s greedy hands travel to your hips to hold you tight against his mouth as you grapple for balance on the counter, one hand gripping its edge and the other fisting in Andrew’s damp curls. He grunts at the sting on his scalp, nodding to encourage you to be even meaner with it. So you do. It’s not your usual style, but you grind down against his tongue, showing him exactly where he needs to use his tongue. When you manage to rasp out a whimpering, “right there,” Andrew nods happily and gets to work, lapping at your clit like it’s an oasis in the desert of his life. Like your body can baptize him.

You can’t rip your eyes from his rapturous expression as pleasure warms your belly. You’ve never seen a man looking so at peace between a woman’s legs. His thoughts turn into a gentle breeze and he focuses on your every little sound and twitch. You’re not loud, but you’re constant, sounds feminine and breathy and music. And the way you squirm under his hands, involuntarily twitching and bucking. He wonders absently how long it’s been since a man made you cum like this because you seem barely in control of yourself, tumbling headfirst into overwhelming pleasure.

With you on the verge of losing yourself down his chin, his cock is agonizingly hard. It truly borders on painful, red and angry and leaking. When your thighs start to tighten around Andrew’s head, your moans going even softer from the intensity, Andrew can’t resist giving himself some relief by pumping his cock with his right hand. The contact makes more groans vibrate against your pussy and, all of a sudden, you can’t take it for another second.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, thighs completely muffling Andrew’s hearing, but he keeps his hand tight on your hip, clutching you close so that you can’t wriggle away. Toes curling, chest heaving, and eyes pinching shut, your pussy begs to be filled as it clenches against itself. Andrew drinks in every bead of your arousal that drips down when you cum.

Andrew places soft, loving kisses on the sensitive insides of your thighs as you come down from the orgasm. When he straightens up, he’s got a self-satisfied grin on his lips. An orgasm is concrete, undeniable proof that he’s done good work. Then you lean forward and kiss him with an unfamiliar fervor, so adoring it steals his breath for a moment, and it’s cemented in his mind.

In between bruising, demanding kisses, you beg, “Want your cock. Want you to fuck me.”

“Wrap your legs around me, angel,” he murmurs, lips only a millimeter from yours. When you obey without question, he smiles, scoops you up below your ass, and carries you back into the bedroom. He spins you around sweetly and you’re able to get a proper look at his bed for the first time. It’s not the pristine linens and carefully arranged pillows that catch your attention.

You gawk, “Jesus, this bed is gigantic.”

Andrew flops you down onto it to make you laugh, shrugs, and replies modestly, “When in California, get a California king.” He opens up his bedside table, removes an unopened box of condoms, and fishes one out. You give him a cheeky look at the new box and he mutters, “Don’t make fun of me; I don’t get a lot of action.”

You give him a warm, affectionate smile. “Good; I want you all to myself.”

Andrew huffs out a chuckle as he rolls on the condom. He joins you on the bed and kisses you hard. before murmuring,  “You have me.” Then, poising the head of his cock at your soaked entrance, chest blotchy red and eyes black and breaths heavy and lips shiny and swollen, Andrew asks gently, “Are you sure?”

You bite your lower lip and nod. “Completely and totally.”

But his eyes still search your face for any signs of doubt, any proof that he isn’t good enough for this, any reason to stop and save you from him. So he holds your cheek and whispers, “Swear?”

“Please.” With your hands on his hips to encourage him forward, you assure him, “I’ve never been more certain I want someone to fuck me.” You pull his head down by his curls and kiss him. “Just let go, honey. I want you.”

So, after a shaky nod, he sinks inside of you in one slow, deep thrust. It’s the first time he’s been grateful for a condom slightly dulling the sensation because your cunt is gripping him so perfectly he would’ve cum seconds after slipping inside of you. He still shudders and grips his headboard so tight it nearly splinters when he bottoms out and you give him a breathless moan. At least that thin barrier lets him savor you. It’s not really about getting his dick wet for Pope, anyway. He’s not like Craig or Baz. For him it’s the way your breath catches in your throat, the way your nails dig into his strong ass, the way you lean up to get him to kiss you if he stops looking at you for even a second.

The whole time he’s inside of you, Andrew holds you close. One hand on the back of your head, the other on your waist to steady you against his hard thrusts. Soon enough, it’s not close enough, and he’s got you on his lap, trying to make sure you have as much control as you want, cradling your back with his large hands, pressing your chests together as you whine into his neck. He can only bear to move one of his hands when you plead, “Touch me, Andy.”

Pope shivers. He can’t remember the last time someone called him that. The last time he felt so wretchedly and perfectly seen. His hand slides from between your shoulder blades to your neck, briefly stopping to feel your pulse beneath his thumb, down the soft swell of your stomach, and finally between your legs. He never stops touching you the whole way. 

Hovering his thumb right above your clit, the lack of contact driving you crazy, Andrew murmurs, “You called me Andy.”

You bite your lip and start to ask, “Is that not-”

Then his thumb lands on your clit, knowing and thunderous, and your question dies in your throat, replaced by a hard moan. He kisses you hard and admits a little too earnestly, “I liked it.”

With your greedy walls pulsing around him, you swear against his lips, “I’ll call you anything you want if you always fuck me like this.”

The only word he can growl is, “Always.”

That word turns your brain to happy mush. Everything gets more intense at the idea that you’ve got Andrew for as long as you want. This isn’t a one-and-done thing for either of you. Andrew bucks his hips up into you with animalistic force. Your tits bounce in his face and he catches one of your nipples in his mouth. Your toes curl into your mattress and your hips falter, stuttering on either side of him.

Andrew doesn’t even give you a second to collect yourself. He wraps his arms around you and flips you onto your back, sinking his cock deeper as your legs get pushed back, nearly to your head. His thumb goes to your clit, precise and firm, and you start to whimper and gasp more than moan, overwhelmed by how good it feels to be with him. Yes, him, specifically, because of the way his body conforms to yours, every inch of him responding to every inch of you. When he feels your second orgasm tightening up around his cock, he has to bite down to stave off his own. He barely even registers that he’s biting down on your neck, sucking hard and digging in. It makes pleasure spark up your spine as you let out a harsh cry.

When your walls grip down on him like a vise, Andrew’s body hurtles over the edge, vibrant and intense and overwhelming after holding himself back for your pleasure. The whole time, he’s grunting praise in your ear. So beautiful. Fucking perfect. Can’t believe I get to have you.

The two of you stay tangled up together long after he goes soft. He only briefly moves to tie off the condom and lob it into the nearby trash. He’s pretty much laying on top of you and, honestly, it’s really nice. Like a weighted blanket you can time your breaths and heartbeats with. A weighted blanket that litters gentle kisses over your face and chest and shoulders and tells you how lovely you are over and over.

You separate naturally, neither of you really initiating it. Then, as you stretch your arms above your head and prepare to stand the rest of the way up, Andrew asks tentatively, “Would you want to stay over? You can borrow some of my clothes.”

Your grin spreads wide and easy; Andrew doesn’t really strike you as the kind of man who offers to share his living space lightly. So you stand, drape your arms around him once more, and reply, “I’d love that. I gave Billie dinner and her evening run before I left, so you just have to have me home before breakfast.”

Kissing up your neck, he murmurs, “If you want, I could join you. Make you some real breakfast and go on your morning run with the two of you.”

“Yeah?” Your smile lights up into Megawattage territory. “You’d do that?”

Andrew shrugs like it’s not a huge deal to either of you. “If it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition. Wouldn’t wanna cramp your style.”

“Can I still sing?”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Would you sing along?”

He kisses you and laughs, “Don’t push your luck, angel.”

You peck the tip of his nose and bat your eyelashes teasingly. “I always do.”

Andrew just shakes his head and goes to his closet to grab pajamas for you both. Once you’re cozy in one of his 800 soft, worn black tees (you forego panties), he finds a brand new toothbrush for you in his bathroom, not that it’s hard since he’s one of those people who actually replaces his toothbrush every three months. While you brush and wash your face, Andrew’s eyes rove along your body, cataloguing the myriad of small marks he’s left on you. Most are small and forgettable, but he’s left a few possessive, intense hickeys over your neck and breasts. But you just keep smiling at him every time you catch his eyes in the mirror. You’re not upset with him. In fact, you love looking like you belong to him already.

While Andrew goes through the house to shut off the lights and lock the doors, you make yourself comfortable in his massive bed and absently scroll on your phone. When he comes back up the stairs, he lingers to watch you for a moment. He definitely likes the look of you in his bed.

After a minute of wrestling with it, debating if he’s just too crazy for his own good, Andrew asks softly, “Would you mind sleeping on the other side?”

You shake your head, scoot across the bed toward the wall, and reply, “Didn’t mean to steal your spot. 50/50 chance.”

“It’s not that,” he replies. He sits next to you and sighs, sounding embarrassed, “Not gonna be able to sleep unless I’m between you and the door. Just in case. I know that’s stupid, but-”

“It’s not stupid,” you’re quick to interrupt. The truth is that it makes you feel so safe you could explode with adoration, but that might be a little much to say on your first night together. So instead you tell him, “I’ll sleep better knowing you’re watching out for me.”

Andrew kisses your temple, unable to quite voice how much your easy acceptance means to him. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You kiss him for another minute, just slow and lazy, until you’re both relaxed and sleepy. He can’t stop himself from shaking his head and smiling in between. Even when he’s turned the lights off and closed his eyes, Andrew’s mind is soft and light. Hell, he might actually sleep more than a few hours.

As you slowly drift toward unconsciousness, you turn onto your side and instinctively rest your head on Andrew’s shoulder. When he moves his arm, you tuck onto his chest, your eyelashes brushing his bare skin and your breath prickling his nerves. Then you sling a leg over his hip, too, and he brings his hand to rest on the curve just above your ass, arm settling like it was made to be there with you.

This is all new for Andrew. He’s never had a woman curl into him like this, nestling into his chest and treating him like a body pillow. Showing him trust at her absolute most vulnerable. He breathes in the scent of his own shampoo on your hair. With slightly trembling hands – the weight of your trust is heavy – he cradles you, one arm around your lower back and his dominant hand on the back of your head. When you coo gently and press a kiss to his bare chest, Andrew’s heart pounds like he’s run a mile.

You’re his.

And he’s not letting go.

The first night you were on nights, when you were talking with Dana as she was getting ready to leave for the night and she pulled over this handsome, old attending, you knew right away what he plan was. “Abbot, this is my niece, your new nurse prac for nights.” She said warmly as she gestured to you. You could feel your cheeks begin to flush as you smiled nervously. “She is a sweetheart, sharp as a tack. You are very lucky to have her.” 

Jack gave you a warm smile and a little nod. “I’m sure we are, though no one can replace you Dana.” He chuckled as he leaned against the counter of the nurse’s station. He was older than you, maybe ten years or so. Very handsome, in shape, and worst of all you could already tell he was dangerously charming. 

“Oh I am not trying to replace my Aunt, but she did help train me when I was still a nurse.” You start softly, wringing your hands nervously. “I just got my nurse prac license last year, was working over at Children’s ED part-time, but I needed a full-time position so Dana helped me get back in at PTMC.” You explain. In the back of your mind, you knew you were rambling out of nerves but that didn’t seem to faze Jack who was listening intently. 

He smiled, “Good, it will be good to have someone with some good Peds experience. We don’t get a ton of Peds cases, but I will admit we were lacking a little in that department.” The smile he gave you as he spoke cut deep. It was such a disarming smile that you knew was going to get you into trouble. 

You let out a low nervous laugh. “Yeah, I can definitely help in that department. Though I left peds because seeing all those kids close to my son’s age going through some horrible things just wrecked me.” You ramble. 

Jack just smiled and leaned forward. “You have a kid? How old?” 

“He just turned five last month, Ian. He starts kindergarten next week.” You can feel the blush on your cheeks get brighter. 

“Yeah, that’s great. You and his dad must be so proud.” 

At the mention of ‘his dad’, you stiffen, and Dana leans forward, “We do not speak of that piece of shit. The only good thing he has ever done is Ian.” Dana rubs your arm and looks up at Jack. “It was a bad situation, and we are so blessed this girl right here got out in one piece.” 

Jack obviously didn’t need to hear more. He just nodded as he started to apologize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” 

You laugh nervously, “How could you? We just met.” You reach down and pick up your cup of Iced Coffee. “Um, I should go get ready for my shift.” In that moment, all you wanted to do was disappear and not be acknowledged the rest of the night. 

Dana rubbed your arm one more time before she smiled over at you. “Have a good shift, kiddo. I will see you in the morning.” She whispered before you started to walk off. 

As you were walking away, you heard Jack ask sharply. “Why didn’t you warn me about the kid’s dad being a sore subject?” You tried to angle yourself behind a pillar to keep eavesdropping unnoticed. 

“I told you she had just gotten out of a bad situation. I thought you were smart enough to put two and two together.” Dana snapped softly. Jack shrugged and looked genuinely confused. “He beat her half to death a little over a year ago, got off on probation because his dad is a cop. It’s a messy situation, but if he ever shows up here, you do not let him get near her. Understood?” 

“Understood,” Jack said quickly as you watched him stand up and rest his hand on the counter. “I would have understood it before if you had just said something, Dana. I pulled strings for you to get her on the night shift as a favor to you. The least you could have done is warn me.” 

“Well, now you know,” Dana said as she brought her hand to the bridge of her nose. “She is smart, a hard worker, and just needs a fresh start without that asshole’s shadow following her everyplace she goes.” 

“I will do my best to give it to her,” Jack said firmly. “I kinda feel honored you trust me enough to have her work with me,” he added sheepishly. 

“I knew if she was on days, Robby would have made her cry the first day if he were in one of his moods, and I would have been forced to kill him.” Your Aunt said flatly. “I practically raised her. My sister was not always the most stable of women. She has gotten better but she is practically my kid. So treat her as such.” 

“Got it,” Jack said, throwing his hands up. “Princess treatment.” 

Dana took a step forward towards Jack and held her finger out. “Not princess treatment. Just treat her with respect, kindness, don’t make her fucking cry on her first day.” 

“Deal.” He said, quickly taking a step back. “Now I gotta go see patients, and you need to get home.” 

After what was a rocky start to your first night, things started to flow a little easier. You were given a warm welcome by the others on the night shift. Dr. Ellis made a point to team up with you and help you get acclimated to how things went. Something you were grateful for. When the action started to slow down around the predawn hours, you sat down at one of the work stations, working on your charting, when Jack walked over. You glanced up from your screen as he leaned on the counter. “Got a minute?” He asked softly. 

“Yeah, sure.” You said as you stopped typing and smiled up at him. 

“I just wanted to apologize for earlier, if I upset you or anything.” He started with a warm smile. “You are doing a great job, working well with the rest of the team. I’m really happy to have you here.” 

“We’re good, no worries, and thank you. It means a lot.” You smile as you look down at your hands, trying to hide the fact that you knew you were starting to blush again. 

“Awesome, good talk,” he said a little awkwardly as he gave you two thumbs up and started to back away. You watched him as he shook his head and muttered ‘What the fuck was that’ to himself as he walked away. 

++++++

Over the next month, you settled into the night shift. You actually grew to enjoy it.

Jack was a great attending, and you two had this awkward flirting back and forth on occasion, which you tried not to think much about, but couldn’t help to think too much about every time he smiled in your direction or leaned in to ask you to go check on a patient. On Thursdays, Shen would grab you an Iced Coffee from Dunkin's, and on Fridays, you would grab him one. You were iced coffee buddies, which amused you a lot. Ellis was easily your favorite on the night shift. You two worked together most often and were developing a solid friendship even outside of work. So much so she had managed to talk you into going out with her that weekend when you both had off on a Saturday night. When you mentioned it to Dana she told you to bring Ian into work, and she would be happy to babysit him for the weekend so you could go have a fun girls' night out.

So that Friday, extra coffee for Shen in hand as usual, your son followed beside you as you walked in. His little Bluey backpack all packed for his weekend with Auntie Dana on. You were too focused on making sure Ian didn’t run off to notice that Jack was walking up behind you. 

“Is that my new med student?” Jack teased as he settled beside you, his backpack slung over his shoulder. 

You glance to your side and smile. “No.” You laugh softly. “Say hello to Dr.Abbot, Ian.” 

Ian looked up at Jack and gave him a little smile, his missing front tooth making it all the more adorable. “Hi.” He said softly. “You work with my mommy?” 

“Hey little man,” Jack said with a warm smile as he nodded. “I do work with your mom, she is pretty cool.” Ian shrugged at Jack’s assertion that you were cool. “Promise she really is.” Jack then turned back to you. In a hushed tone, asked, “Is he okay? Sick?” 

“No, no.” You laugh nervously. “Dana is taking him for the weekend because Ellis wants to take me out to some bar tomorrow night, and my mom is out of town on this spiritual retreat or something. I don’t know, I think it’s just an excuse for her to go up to her friend's cabin in upstate New York and eat a ridiculous amount of pot gummies.” 

Jack stifles a laugh as he looks down for a moment. “The more I hear about your mom, the more I am convinced you are actually Dana’s kid.” he paused as he looked back up at you with a crooked grin that made your heart skip a beat. “Are you even sure they are biologically related?” 

“Oh they are, my mom is just the wildly irresponsible older sister who got pregnant with me at 19.” You chuckled softly. “Wait till I tell you about my mom’s latest get rich quick scheme.” 

He chuckled again as you neared the nurse's desk. “Oh, I gotta hear this.” 

“She thinks she is gonna be a social media influencer, at 63. Has somehow gotten like 12 thousand followers on TikTok. Our living room is filled with all these insane samples from the TikTok shop she keeps getting sent.” Jack tries to hold back as he laughs to himself. “Do you need a rotary slicer? Air purifier? An automatic litter box for the cat we don’t have?” 

“Jesus.” He muttered as he set his bag down under the desk. “Has she actually made any money, though?” 

“Like 20 bucks, thinks she is always just one video away from going viral.” As you and Jack smile at each other, Ian goes racing towards Dana, who is watching you both intently. 

“Oh, there is my favorite nephew.” She says warmly as she wraps her arms around him tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You two look like you are getting on well,” Dana said with a self-satisfied smirk, watching as you and Jack stood next to each other, both with a slightly confused look on your faces. 

“Why wouldn’t we?” You ask with a shrug. “Jack is great.” 

“The feeling is mutual,” Jack said, turning to you as he rested his hand on the counter for a moment. “I gotta go do handoffs with Robby.” He paused and leaned down for a moment to talk to Ian. “Good meeting you, little dude.” He said with a smile. “Have fun with your Aunt Dana this weekend.” 

“Thanks,” Ian said with a little smile before he turned back to Dana. “Do we get to have pizza and will Uncle Benji let me watch Captain America with me?” 

“Of course, baby. Whatever you want.” Dana said warmly. “So you and Abbot…” she started with a playful smirk. 

“Are friends.” You finish sounding way more defensive than you wanted to. 

“You two would make a cute couple, I am just saying,” Dana said as she looked down at Ian for a moment. Her gaze returned to you as she smiled an all to familiar smile that told you this was all part of her plan. “He is a good man, lost his wife a few years ago. Was in the Army like your dad was, a real solid guy.” You shift uncomfortably as you are about to deflect her statements. “He likes you.” 

“How do you know that?” You ask, a little shocked. 

Dana nodded to where Jack stood talking to Ellis and smiled. “I bet any money he is trying to find out which bar you and Ellis are going to tomorrow. I looked at his schedule. He’s off.” 

You let out a frustrated huff. “Stop it.” You whisper. “It was cute when you tried to set me up when I was in high school, but I am not in high school anymore.” You couldn’t deny you had a little thing developing for Jack. He was kind, attentive, and your flirty little back and forth came naturally. However, in your mind, it was nothing more than playful work banter. You wished it were more, but you had no expectations of anything developing between you and Jack. 

“I know potential when I see it, kiddo,” Dana said flatly. “You and Jack have it in spades.” She grabbed her purse and stood up, taking Ian’s hand. “Tell mommy to give the handsome doctor a chance.” 

“Don’t you dare use my son against me.” You grumbled as you walked around the desk and kissed your son on the cheek. “Be good for Aunt Dana and Uncle Benji, okay?” He nods as you stand back up. “And drop this stuff with Jack, it’s probably never going to happen, and you are reading too much into nothing.” 

You watched Dana walk off with your son, as you started to get ready for your shift, but your eyes fell on Jack, who was still talking with Ellis. Maybe Dana wasn’t reading too much into things? Maybe Jack did like you? 

Shaking your head, you push the thought from your mind and get ready for that night’s shift. 

+++++++

The next night. You met Ellis at the little dive bar near the hospital that you agreed on. You were dressed fairly casually. Your ‘good’ jeans that fit you like a glove and a cute top with the neckline that was just low enough to possibly get you a free drink or two. As you walked in, you spotted Ellis at the bar on her phone texting someone, a drink already in her hand. “Hey,” you greet as you walk towards her. 

“Girl, you look good.” She said with a warm smile as she set her phone on the bar and turned to give you a quick side hug. “So.” She started slowly. “Don’t be mad because I know in theory this was going to be a little girls’ night, but a few people from work might stop by.” 

You purse your lips as you cross your arms in front of your chest. Fuck, maybe Dana was right. You muse as you take a sharp breath in. “Who?” You ask slowly. 

“Shen said he might swing by but I doubt it, Santos and her little farmboy roommate mentioned they may come by after their shift.” She looks away as she reaches for her drink and mutters into it. “Abbot is probably coming.” 

“Jack!” You say sharply. “I swear, Parker…” Ellis was the one person at work who knew that your flirtation with Jack wasn’t fully just playful work banter. That you actually liked Jack. 

Ellis set her drink down on the bar and leaned in. “He asked me where we were going, and said you mentioned we were going out.” She started defending herself. “So I told him, sue me. I think you two would be great together. You both just need to get your heads out of your asses and see that all that ‘playful’ flirting you do isn’t playful. You both obviously like each other. Everyone sees it. The way you look at him with those little puppy dog eyes. The way he watches every single time you walk out of a room. It’s getting ridiculous.” 

You laugh nervously as you move to set your purse on the bar trying to look back over your interactions with Jack over the last few weeks. He was attentive with you, complementary. The playful, flirtatious banter happened naturally. “Oh shit.” You muttered as you realized slowly that maybe the feelings were mutual. “He really watches me when I walk out of a room?”

Ellis laughed softly to herself. “Oh his eyes are glued to your ass.” she said, highly amused that you hadn’t noticed it. “I thought he was going to have a stroke when you had to change into street clothes last week to go meet with Ian’s teacher.” She glances down at what you are wearing. “You were wearing those jeans. They do wonders for your figure, just saying. 10 out of 10 choice, no notes.” 

The color starts to drain from your face as you sit down on bar stool, “I need a drink,” you mutter as you hold your hand up waiting for the bartender. When he comes over you order a vodka and lemonade to give you some liquid courage as you process all the information you were just given. 

You and Ellis start to settle in at the bar, talking about anything else besides Jack Abbot as you sip on your drink. Soon, you are joined by Santos and Whitaker from the day shift, still in their scrubs after a long shift. They regale you with a story of the hectic trauma that came in around lunch that day. You were listening to the story intently, watching as Whitaker explained how things went from bad to worse. You didn’t notice that Jack had just walked in. He was wearing just a t-shirt and jeans, looking more casual than you had ever seen him. 

He slowly made his way over to the bar where the four of you were gathered, “You started without me?” He greeted you with a smile as he took a seat on the barstool next to you. You looked over and gave him a warm smile. “Hey.” He greeted softly as the bartender started to make their way over. 

“Hey.” You whisper softly as you take a drink of your mostly empty drink. “Fancy seeing you here.” You smile softly as you look down at your hands but as you do, you catch Jack’s eyes, lowering to the small amount of cleavage that was peaking out of your shirt. It was just a quick glance, but it made your cheeks flush a little. 

Before things got too awkward, the bartender walked over. “What can I get ya?” He asked Jack. 

“I’ll have a Rolling Rock,” he paused and noticed your mostly empty drink. “You want another? My treat.” He asked, leaning closer to you. You give him a little nod, thinking, ‘what the hell’. “And one of whatever she had.” 

“One Rolling Rock and Vodka and Lemonaid coming up.” He said before walking off to get your drinks. 

“Thanks, you really didn’t have to.” You say with a coy smile. 

Jack shrugs, “It’s no big deal.” He cracks the totally disarming, crooked smile of his and you feel your heart flutter a little. As the bartender brings your drinks over you shift slightly so your thigh brushes against his. It doesn’t go unnoticed. Jack’s eyes are on your hands resting on the bar. He moves his hand a little closer so his pinky brushes against yours for a moment as he takes the first drink of his beer. 

You two begin talking softly among yourselves, while Ellis is still engaged with Santos and Whitiker, talking shop. You and Jack are all but ignoring that they are even there. “I am really glad to have you working with us, you bring such good energy to the night shift.” 

“Do I?” You whisper with a little laugh as you chew on your straw from your drink. “Even when I tripped in that Trauma the other day, and you had to catch me before I landed face-first into that poor woman’s chest wound.” You could almost still feel Jack’s arm around your waist from when he caught you, pulling you back against him as he whispered ‘I got you’ in your ear. It had sent shivers down your spine in the moment. Even just the flash of the memory that played in your mind sent another down your spine again. 

“Eh, it wasn’t that big of a deal. The room was crowded. It was a hectic trauma.” He leaned a little closer, his hand brushing yours again. “I didn’t mind having to grab you to save you from getting some horrible nickname, like ‘Crash’.” He smiled at you. 

You nudged your hand closer to his as you turned a little closer to him. “Oh, really?” You muse softly. 

He shifts on the barstool a little awkwardly as he finally rests his hand over yours, fully turns to you. “I like you.” He admits as his thumb strokes the top of your hand. “I thought when Dana first told me about you, showed me your picture, that she was full of shit when she said that I would like you. She has been trying to play matchmaker with me for the last six months. Each time she missed the mark.” He admitted, and in the back of your mind, you realized exactly why Dana had suggested you come back to PTMC and work nights. It wasn’t for the best schedule for Ian. It was for Jack. “But the more I have gotten to know, I don’t think she missed the mark this time.” 

“Of course, Dana was trying to play matchmaker.” You mused, and both you and Jack laughed. “But I like too. I see the way you are with patients, how you handle these stressful situations we deal with every single day. It’s hard not to.” His fingers curled around yours as you spoke, his eyes locked on yours as you spoke. 

He leaned in and whispered, “Do you wanna go get dinner?” 

“Yeah.” you answer back, his eyes watching your lips intently as you speak. 

You and Jack were lost in the moment, not even paying attention to the three sets of eyes locked on you as you had this exchange. Ellis leaned over and whispered to Santos. “About fucking time.” With a smirk. 

It was fairly easy to slip out of the bar without much fuss. Ellis hugged you as she whispered, “Have fun, I would say be good, but I am begging you not to be, for your sake, because you deserve to be a little naughty. Also, I don’t want the details. There are parts of Jack Abbot I never want to know about.” She said with a laugh before you turned back to Jack, who held your purse up for you. 

You slipped it over your shoulder as you took his hand, interlacing your fingers with his as you rested your cheek against his bicep. “What do you want to eat?” He asked softly as he pushed the door open. 

“I would kill for a cheeseburger, some cheese fries, like a big chocolate milkshake.” You smiled up at him as he opened his car door for you. 

“That actually sounds really good.” He thinks for a moment. “I know this little dinner that’s about 15 minutes from here. The SWAT guys I work with go there all the time.” 

“Sounds great.” You say as he helps you into the passenger seat. 

Your dinner was just what you had envisioned, greasy perfection to sop up the alcohol you had at the bar. The little bit of a buzz you had was all but gone by the time you returned to Jack’s car. Jack was funny, sweet, as flirty as ever, and you couldn’t have asked for a better ‘first date’ experience with him. You really got a clear picture of why Dana was trying to set you two up. The conversation came easily, even when the subject was a little more personal. 

You leaned against the passenger door you looked up at him. You couldn’t believe that you and Jack Abbot had just technically gone out on your first date. His hand rested on your waist as he looked down at you. “I really want to kiss you.” He whispered. You didn’t give him a chance to continue asking you. Your hands gripped his t-shirt and pulled him down to you as you leaned up and pressed your lips to his. His other hand snaked around the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss, and it felt electric. His body pressed you into the door before he pulled back slightly. “You want me to take you home?” 

“No,” you whisper thoughtlessly. “Take me back to your place.” 

+++++++

Over the next two months, your relationship with Jack only continued to grow. You tried to match your days off the best you could. When they did line up, you would often spend them together. At first, you were worried about involving Jack in Ian’s life, but Jack had a good point. If it were a casual thing, he didn’t have to have a relationship with your son, but if it was serious, it was something that was going to have to happen, and he made it very clear he didn’t want just a casual relationship. So you started bringing Ian around a little more, first it was a park, then the Children’s museum, and slowly Ian bonded with Jack. He was good with your son, made him laugh. Didn’t mind playing rough with him. It made your heart flutter each time that Ian asked, “Are we going to see Jack?” because this was starting to become something real. 

Work also flowed well. You and Jack started developing shorthand in traumas. He trusted your judgment calls when you pushed back against the residents. You two were becoming a solid team both at work and outside of work. 

It was a rainy, early summer night when that bond was put to the test. It was still early in your shift, a little after 9, when Jack walked over. His hand rested on your hip as he leaned as he stood behind you. “Peds trauma in bound, I am gonna need you on this one.” 

You take in a sharp breath as you nod, “Alright, what do we know?” 

“Five, male, fell or jumped off the top bunk. Open fracture to the arm. That was all the EMTs said over the radio.” He explained as he stepped to the side to look at you as you nodded. “I know it’s gonna be rough for you, same age as Ian, but you are the one with the most peds experience.” 

“Yeah, and my mom just got him bunk beds, which you know I am not happy about for this exact reason.” You mutter, taking a deep breath as you bring your hands to your face. “This is my personal nightmare as a mother.” 

“I know, babe.” He whispered as he reached out and pulled your hands away from your face. “But you are strong, you can handle it, and remember it’s not Ian. He is safe at home with your mom. Probably watching some superhero movie, like he always wants to watch. Not to mention, I gave him the big ‘don’t jump off the top bunk’ lecture three days ago.” You nod along, trying to focus on the fact that the likelihood that it was Ian was slim to none. “Go check on your patients and then meet me in Trauma 2.” 

“Okay.” You whisper as you take a step away and go do what Jack asked you. 

The air in the ED shifted when the EMT’s came rushing in. Ellis and Jack were the ones to meet them at the door. They both stopped dead in their tracks when they saw who was on the stretcher. “Oh shit,” Ellis muttered softly.

Ian. 

He was screaming, tears running down his cheeks, as your mom tried her best to calm him but was failing. On pure instinct, Jack rushed over, “Hey, little man.” He said softly as he helped the EMTs push the stretcher. “What happened?” Jack asked your mother sharply, his own anger over the situation slipping through. 

“I want mommy,” Ian screamed 

“I know buddy, we are gonna go get mommy in a minute, but I gotta talk to grandma first.” Jack whispered as he smoothed down Ian’s wild hair, trying to not only calm your son but also to calm himself as he waited for your mother to answer. 

It took her longer than it should have for her to finally answer, “I thought he was asleep, then I heard a crash, and he was screaming,” your mom muttered, still in shock on some level. 

Jack glared at her, “You stoned?” He asked sharply, but your mom remained silent, which told Jack everything he needed to know. He turned to Ian and leaned down, running his hand over his head. “You remember your mommy’s friend Parker, right? She came out with us to the park a couple weeks ago.” He asked softly and Ian nodded through the tears. “She is gonna get you some pain meds, and we are gonna get some pictures of your arm and head. I will be right back. I am gonna go get your mom.” 

As he turned away from Ian, your mom reached out and grabbed Jack’s arm, stopping him. “I fucked up, Jack.” She whispered. “She wasn’t answering her phone. I knew he was going to need a parent to sign consent, and I didn’t know what hospital they were taking him to.” She was rambling, but Jack put the pieces together fast. 

His jaw clenched as he leaned in. “You called fucking Josh?” He said lowly. “You called him?” 

“He is on his way,” she whispered. 

Jack was livid. He didn’t know all the details. You wanted to spare him those, but he did know enough to know the last thing that he wanted was to have a run-in with your ex-husband Josh, in the middle of the ED. He opened his mouth to snap at your mother, but stopped himself as he held up a finger as he took breath. “She is gonna be pissed at you. You know that, right?” He asked in a low, gruff tone. “I am pissed at you.” 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do.” she stammered, her eyes darting back to Ian as Ellis was getting an IV in him to give him some pain meds.

“You could have called the main line. She could have been paged. Next time, use the last brain cell you have.” He snapped as he threw his hands up and stormed out of the room to find you. 

You were already making your way towards Trauma 2, knowing they were going to need you for the peds case, when you saw Jack standing outside of the trauma bay with his head in his hands, obviously trying to collect himself. You started racing towards him when he noticed you and caught you around the waist, spinning you so your back was facing the trauma bay. “Babe, I am gonna need you to just stay calm as I tell you this..” 

“Jack, that makes me not want to be calm.” You state as panic starts to rise in your chest. “Jack…” 

“It’s Ian, Ian is the trauma case…” He said his voice was shaking a little, but enough for you to notice, as you start to try to pull away from him to run to your son. He stops you. “Baby, listen… listen to me. Ellis is in there, she is giving him pain meds, we are already fast tracking him to X-ray and CT.” He tried to explain as you continued to try to pull away from him. “There is more.” You were barely holding it together as he pulled you into a tight hug before he whispered. “Your mom called Josh.” As soon as he said that, you broke. Tears rolling down your cheeks as you buried your face into his shoulder. All the years of hell with Josh started flashing in your mind as the panic began to consume every cell of your body. He held you tightly as you sobbed into his scrub top. He didn’t try to tell you it was going to be okay because he couldn’t promise you it would. He did the one thing he could, hold you.

“I want my baby.” You whisper, trying to pull yourself back together and failing as you lift your head. 

Jack drops his arms from around you, but you don’t move. He reaches up and wipes the tears from your cheeks. “Ian is gonna be fine, probably will need surgery, follow-ups with ortho, but he is okay.” You nod slowly. “Are you going to be able to handle Josh?” You don’t move. Not a shake or nod of your head. Your eyes go blank thinking about seeing him again. “I will be right there, he tries anything. He’s done.” 

“Jack, I need to see my baby.” Your voice is calmer, but you are still obviously rattled. 

“Alright, come on.” He whispered as he took your hand and started to walk you into the trauma bay, where Ellis and Shen were doing their best to keep Ian calm, while your mother stood in the corner just trying to stay out of the way. You couldn’t even look at your mother. You were so angry with her at that moment. All your focus was on Ian. Ellis was sitting on a stool by Ian’s head, talking to him softly as you and Jack walked in. He didn’t let go of your hand till you were at the side of the bed, and then he just stood one step back. “Told you I was getting mom.” He smiled softly at Ian. 

Ellis shifted to look at you. “Full disclosure, to make him promise to stop screaming while the pain meds kicked in. I may have promised him to take him to Kennywood. We can work out the details later. He drives a hard bargain for a five year old. He should be a lawyer when he grows.” You almost cracked a smile at that. It made perfect sense. Ian had been begging you to take him to the amusement park since he saw a commercial a few weeks ago. You and Jack had talked about it, but hadn’t made plans yet. 

Taking a deep breath, you lean down and kiss the top of Ian’s head. “You being brave?” You asked softly, and he nodded. He is a little out of it because of the meds, but he doesn’t seem like he is in pain from his heart rate. “So what happened?” 

“I wanted to be like Superman.” He admitted in a low voice, knowing he was going to be in trouble. “I watched the Superman movie with Grandma before bed, and I thought that if I tied my blanket around my neck and jumped off my bed, I could fly.” Solid kindergarten logic, by all standards. 

Jack leaned in, hearing the explanation, “What did I tell you about jumping off the top bunk, buddy?” His tone was soft, he wasn’t angry. He was more mystified that Ian thought it would work. 

“To not to if I didn’t want to come visit you and mommy at work.” Ian smirked as he looked up at Jack who was shaking his head. “But, I wanted to see you and mommy. I also wanted to fly like Superman.” 

“We were gonna go to the Zoo tomorrow, now you are gonna have to stay the night here because I am pretty sure from the bone sticking out of your arm, you are gonna need surgery and a cast.” Jack leaned forward and rested his hand on Ian’s good arm. “Now we don’t get to go to the Zoo.” 

“But Parker is gonna take me to Kennywood,” Ian said as if he had just won the biggest victory of his life. 

“Fair point,” Jack said with a laugh. “But you are forgetting about the part where you scared your mother half to death.” 

Ian shrugged as he lifted his good arm and tucked it behind his head. “Mommy is fine.” 

“I was not fine when I found out you got hurt.” You quickly, but gently correcting him. “I was crying.” 

“I’ll live, and I get a cast. When Brayden had a cast, everyone at school thought he was so cool. Now I get to be cool.” Ian quips as he closes his eyes with his one arm tucked behind his head. 

Shen is standing on the other side of the bed, cleaning Ian’s wound where the bone is sticking out, and looks up at you. “Are we positive he is not Abbot’s kid?” He said with a little laugh, trying to lighten the mood. 

You and Jack both give almost identical looks of pure disbelief at the same time. “My wife was still alive, and I did not know her when she got pregnant with him,” Jack muttered.

Shen just shrugged, “Minor details.” 

You roll your eyes and start shaking your head as you turn into Jack, who just wrapped an arm around your shoulder so you could hide the fact that you were trying not to laugh. “Remember when that woman at the burger place thought he was ‘your spitting image’ the other night at dinner,” you whispered to Jack as you peeked up at him. He had a stupid grin on his face. 

“Fuck, maybe Shen is right. He is my kid.” Jack whispered back. 

The sweet moment was interrupted when Mateo peeked his head into the trauma bay. “So, not to alarm anyone, but there is this guy out in the waiting room claiming to be Ian’s dad. He is getting really loud, demanding to come back and see him.”  

You let out a ragged sigh as you take a step away from Jack and towards the door. “Bring him back, Mateo. I’ll deal with him, make sure security is around. Josh can be a bit unpredictable at times, depending on his mood.” 

Your mom finally steps forward. “I can deal with..” 

“No mom, you should go home. You have obviously done more than enough.” You snap coldly as you start to move towards the door, following Mateo out. 

Ellis looks up at Jack and gives him a sharp look. “We really are going to let her go deal with her ex-husband, who broke four of her ribs and gave her a concussion. Who is still on probation for it if I remember correctly? I thought they had a PFA?” 

“It expired last month. They wouldn’t renew it.” Jack muttered as he glanced at Ellis out of the corner of his eye. “He wouldn’t be stupid enough to try anything in the middle of the ED.” 

“Are you sure?” Ellis asked pointedly. Jack shook his head. “Then maybe follow her, make sure he doesn’t, and if he does, I don’t know, call one of those SWAT buddies of yours.” 

“That’s the plan,” Jack whispered as he started to move towards the door. “Stay with Ian, radiology should be ready for him soon.” 

“Of course, I am not leaving my little buddy,” Ellis said as her attention turned back to Ian, who had fallen asleep. 

As Jack walked out of the trauma bay, he had a sinking feeling that things had the potential to get really explosive, really fast. 

++++++

You stood near the nurses' desk, wringing your hands, anticipating that whatever was about to happen was going to be as far from pleasant as possible. You had flashes of the very last confrontation you had with your ex. It was during the divorce proceedings that you were awarded full custody of Ian, and he was only allowed supervised visits. He screamed at the judge like a raving madman. Blaming the female judge, she only sided with you because she was a woman.  If it were a male judge, he would have let him see his son. Or at least that was Josh’s logic as he screamed at the judge that day and was almost held in contempt. He didn’t even want to see Ian, he never went to the visitations and only continued to break Ian’s heart. 

As you stood with your eyes closed, trying to force yourself out of your own memories, you heard him before you saw him. Josh’s voice carried. It could fill even the biggest of spaces, particularly when he was angry, which is was. “Bro, just show me, my kid. Where is his mother? Doesn’t she work here?” his voice made your stomach turn, and a panic rose in your chest. You crossed your arms in front of your chest, instinctively trying to comfort yourself as you took a step away from the nurse's desk. You finally forced your eyes open and saw him stomping towards the trauma bay where Ian was. 

You move quickly, but smoothly, towards him. “Joshua,” you say, simply trying to keep your voice as calm as possible. “Ian is resting, we are waiting to take him for some X-rays, and then we will know more, but it’s very likely he is going to have to have surgery to set the bone properly.” Mateo stayed back, but was close enough to watch as Josh took a step towards you. You flinched for just a second before taking a deep breath. “He really is going to be fine.” 

“What the fuck happened?” Josh snapped as he leaned down, trying to get in your face. You take a step back, but he presses. “I knew you living with your bitch of a mother was a horrible idea. She never watched him closely enough. She didn’t give a shit about you, and she certainly doesn’t give a shit about my son.” 

“Our son.” You correct sharply. “The one you haven’t seen in eight months, haven’t even called to talk to in six.” Your voice shakes as you try to calm yourself. “And don’t you dare speak about my mother like. She isn’t perfect, but she does love Ian.” You take another deep breath as you hold your arms tighter around your chest. “He was just being a reckless little boy, he jumped off the top of the bunk beds in his room because he thought he could be Superman. Broke his arm.” 

“Because she wasn’t paying close enough attention to him. Because you insist on working fucking nights and leave him with her all night when she is doing god knows what.” You let out a ragged breath as he speaks, watching as he moves closer. “You shouldn’t be working nights and leaving him with people who can’t be trusted.” 

“Don’t talk to me about leaving him with people who can’t be trusted, you used to leave him with your bother who is a fucking junkie, shooting up god knows what when Ian was napping three feet from him.” You clench your jaw as you suck in a sharp breath. “What would you rather have me do? Not work? Not be able to pay my bills. I already live at home with my mother because of my student loans, the debt that you saddled me with when we were married, and, not to mention the complete lack of child support you pay. I am left with next to fucking nothing.”

“I am between jobs.” He tried to defend himself. 

“You have been between jobs for three fucking years, Josh.” As you let out another ragged breath, you turn your head and see Jack leaning against the wall, watching the whole thing play out from a distance. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, and there was a look in his eyes that you had never seen before. It was something beyond upset. His jaw was set tight, and he looked as if it was taking every single ounce of control he had to keep from running over and just knocking Josh’s front teeth in. He was waiting for a moment, the moment Josh went too far, and you were silently praying that it wasn’t going to happen. 

Josh shifted as he leaned forward, getting close to you as he whispered menacingly, “I want to see my son.” 

“No.” You respond sharply. “It’s just going to upset him more. He hasn’t seen you in months.” 

“Your mom called me because she couldn’t get through to you.” He snarled. “Because I am still legally his father.” 

“Trust me, I wish that was not the case.” You snap. “I am at work, my phone is on silent. She should have just called the main line, and they would have paged me, but we both know my mother is not the sharpest tool in the shed. So she called you, which is something she should have never done.” 

“I am here, I want to see him.” He said, inching closer to you. “Stop being a fucking bitch and let me see my son.” He snapped as he grabbed your arm roughly, squeezing it so tightly you knew he was going to leave a bruise, trying to intimidate you. 

That was the line. 

Jack didn’t run over. He didn’t shout. He walked with purpose over to where you two stood and simply stood behind you. “You can get your hand off her.” He said in a low, menacing tone. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Josh snapped, his fingers digging deeper into your arm as you tried to pull away. 

Jack reached over and pulled his hand off your arm and moved between you and Josh. “Who the fuck am I?” He asked with the look in his eyes, getting more menacing as he shook his head. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” His voice was low. He wasn’t shouting, but it was the tone that made your breath catch in your throat as you gripped the back of his shirt. 

“Jack,” you whispered. You just wanted this to be over, you wanted to run back into the room with Ian and stay far away from all this. 

“You fucking him?” Josh asked as he craned his neck to try to look you in the eyes, but you were now fully hiding behind Jack, as there were more eyes on the three of you. Mateo was on the phone, you suspect, calling security. Shen was standing in the doorway of the trauma bay, putting himself between any way Josh had of getting to Ian.

“Of course you are fucking him.” Josh laughed as he shook his head. “You know she has daddy issues for fucking days cuz her old man ate his gun when she was a kid,” Josh said with a grin on his face as he looked Jack in the eyes. Josh knew talking about your father would upset you, and it did. You let out a little whimper against Jack’s back as you hold onto him tighter, trying anything you could to steady yourself. “Her dad was in the fucking Army or some shit and came back all fucked up in the head. Couldn’t hack it, blew his fucking brain out. Her mom found him, hence why she is the shit show she is.” You wanted to scream, but all you did was silently sob against Jack’s back. 

“I fucking know, man.” Jack finally yelled. All eyes were now on the three of you watching this mess play out. Jack didn’t care, he was furious, he wanted to make this guy feel what he was making you feel. “I know because we’re together, and she told me in tears. I know because I was in the Army, like her dad. I know how dark shit can get.” He snapped. Josh had pushed too far. “I know all about you, man. I know you are fucking tool, an idiot who got lucky that she even gave you the goddamn time of day when she was in high school and you were a grown ass man preying on a traumatized teenage girl. You should have been in jail 20 years ago when you were 25 and fucking a 16-year-old.”

Josh stood silent. It was the first time that someone had ever said this to him because Jack was the first person outside of your family you had ever told about the worst parts of your Josh’s relationship to. You barely peeked out from behind Jack as he spoke and saw Josh’s shoulders slump, his jaw clench because someone was standing up for you, not because someone was standing up to him. 

 Jack leaned in, and in a lower, even more menacing tone, he continued. “Then you got your claws into her, convinced her to marry you when she was 19. She put herself through nursing school so she could support your lazy ass, who wanted to sit around all day on your Xbox, smoke weed, and drink beers. Then you got her pregnant the first time she tried to leave. Fucking clever shit. Have a baby, make her stay.” He paused for a second and looked Josh dead in the eyes. “The irony that was probably the best thing you ever did because Ian is a great kid, I love that kid like he is my own. But he is a great kid because of her, not you.” 

For half a breath, you almost relaxed as you felt Jack’s hand reach back and briefly touch your arm, reminding you he was right there. 

“When she finally tried to leave with the baby, you beat her black and blue, you choked and slammed her head into the fucking wall. I saw the police reports.” You didn’t know this but this also didn’t surprise you. Jack had friends on the force from working as the SWAT team’s medic. So it was likely he had one of his friends pull the file so he could find out everything you hadn’t told him. “But, you had your crooked as fuck cop dad cover for you. You should be sitting in jail, everyone knows that, but you got lucky once. Never again.” You stayed behind Jack, your hands still clutching his shirt as you buried your face in his back with your eyes squeezed shut, terrified that things were going to get even worse. But it didn’t, because Jack wasn’t going to let it. 

“Now, why don’t you get the fuck out of my ED and leave her and Ian the fuck alone. Or the next time you show your ugly face anywhere near either of them, I am gonna call my buddies down at the PD, and they will haul your ass off to jail because people well above your daddy’s pay grade own me favors.” There was menace in the way Jack spoke, a tone you had never heard before, and if it had been directed at you would have crumbled. However, it was enough to rattle Josh. The first time you had ever seen that man truly rattled.

“The fuck you think..” Josh started, dumbfounded. 

“OUT!” Jack shouted. Standing his ground. “Now..” He growled 

Josh slowly started to back away as he saw all the eyes on him in the ED and the two security guards approaching. “I’m going…” he muttered. His eyes were darting around the ED where everyone was standing frozen, watching him. All of them having just heard every single word Jack had just said.

“Let’s go.” The security guard said, gesturing back towards the waiting room. “Don’t make me ask you again.” With that, the two security guards started ushering Josh away. 

As soon as Josh was out of sight, Jack let out a long, heavy breath. His whole demeanor shifty. Jack turned around and wrapped his arms around, “Hey, hey..” He whispered as you were shaking in his arms. “I told you, he is never gonna fuck with you again.” He whispered as your hands grabbed at his back, trying to find something to anchor you because you felt like your legs were going to give out. “Come on, let’s go sit down,” he whispered, trying to usher you towards one of the desk chairs where he got you settled. 

Shen walked up behind Jack and whispered. “You are pretty fucking scary there, boss.” 

“He was lucky I was at work if he pulled that shit outside the ED. I would have beat the shit out of him.” Jack muttered before turning all this attention back to you. 

“I’m DoorDashing you some Dunkins before they close,” Shen said with a warm smile down at you, pulling his phone out and starting to walk away, leaving you with Jack. 

“You good?” Jack asked, caressing your cheek before he reached over and pushed up the sleeve of your scrub top to see the bruises starting to form from how roughly Josh had grabbed your upper arm. 

“No.” You whispered. 

“I’m gonna call Robby to come back in cover for me since he is off tomorrow, and he fucking owes me. I am gonna sign out, gonna sign you out. Our focus is gonna be Ian. Period, end of story. Okay?” He asked softly, and you nodded slowly. “You are gonna stay here, I’m gonna get Mateo to come sit with you, and I will be right back.” You nodded, not really even listening, but all you knew was that you were beyond thankful that Jack was there. 

Sure enough, Mateo came over and sat next to you. He didn’t say a word, only sat next to you, rubbing your arm, trying to help you calm as you were still shaking. Jack was gone, maybe five minutes before he came back over and knelt down in front of you. “Alright, Robby is coming back. Ellis is up with Ian getting his X-ray, and he will be right back, and we are gonna move him into peds, and that's where we’re gonna go.” He whispered as he reached up and rested his hand on the back of your neck. “Take a deep breath.” 

You take in a deep breath as you look at him, it starts to dawn on you. You were in love with Jack. He was the first person in years who made you feel safe. He cared about Ian more than Josh ever had. You reached out and gripped his arms. “Jack.” You whispered, and he nodded, looking you in your eyes. “I think… no, I know, I am in love with you.” You whispered, still half in a daze and wrapped in your own thoughts. 

“Sir, do you need any help?”

You asked the man that had been standing by the counter for the last ten minutes. It wasn't unusual for people to take their time deciding what to get between all the pastries and sweet treats you offered at the bakery, and usually you let them figure it out by themselves, unless they asked for recommendations, but the man’s stiff posture and his intense gaze were earning him strange looks from the other customers. He didn't seem to notice, but you figured you'd lend him a hand anyway.

The man looked up, scanning you with his eyes. You were wearing a normal pair of jeans and a white t-shirt that were covered by the pink and white striped apron you used.

“I can give you some recommendations if you'd like.” You added when you didn't get an answer.

Finally, he nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Okay. What are you feeling like today?” You asked, a bright smile on your lips. “Do you like chocolate? Really sweet stuff? Something fresh maybe?”

“Something sweet.”

You bent a little to look through the lower shelf. “Our cinnamon rolls are pretty popular and so are our chocolate chip cookies. People really like our brownies, or the white chocolate and raspberry cookies, there's also-"

“What would you pick?”

You glanced back up at his question, his eyes never seemed to have left you. Had it been any other client you would've felt uncomfortable, but this man–whatever his name was– was cute. Even if his haircut was a little bit funky and he didn't look like the type of man who would frequent places like these.

“The cinnamon roll definitely.”

“I'll take one of those.”

You clasped your hands together before dropping them to your sides again. “Would you like anything to drink? You like ice coffee?”

He shook his head lightly. “I’ve never tried it. I just drink regular coffee.”

“Well, if you're still taking recommendations from me, I love our iced hazelnut latte. It's just a latte with a hazelnut syrup.”

He considered it in his head for a few seconds. It didn't sound bad, but nothing did after three years of eating prison food. “Okay. Add that too.”

“Great!” You said cheerfully. “Do you want everything to go or to eat here?”

He finally tore his eyes off you, even if it was for a brief second, looking toward the table by the window, from where you could see the beach before directing his gaze to you again. “Here.”

“Great. Just go sit and I'll bring everything to you in a second.”

Pope sat stiffly in the chair, his hands folded in front of him at the table. 

He had enough self awareness to know that he would probably look like a creep if he kept staring at you, but he couldn't help himself. You were a beautiful woman, if he had met you before he went to prison he was sure he would’ve spent those three years thinking about you, instead of making up a fake life with Cath so he could cope with everything around him.

It didn’t take longer than ten minutes for you to approach his table, balancing a tray in your hand. As you stood next to him he caught a whiff of your scent, some sweet vanilla.

You set the glass in front of him, a plate with the cinnamon roll, the icing melting over the warm dough, and lastly a fork. “Here you go, sir.”

“Andrew. You can call me Andrew.”

You held the tray by your side now, shifting your weight to one leg. “Well, Andrew,” You said sweetly, “You have to tell me what you thought of the food later, okay?”

“I will.”

You lingered just for a second,lips parting like you were about to say something until the bell on top of the door chimed as new customers walked in so you settled for a quick smile before turning to get back behind the counter.

Pope ate slowly, savoring each bite of the warm and gooey cinnamon roll and each sip of the sweet coffee. 

He still preferred his black coffee but this was good as a treat, the slightly nutty flavor paired with the cinnamon was comforting.

He hadn't eaten anything this good and that he actually enjoyed in years. The prison food was always bland and straight up disgusting on some days. 

Sometimes his family would bring in sweets or a cake for his birthday. But they always brought the stuff they liked, they never bothered to take his preferences into account.

He watched you patiently talk to customer after customer, watched the way you effortlessly moved across the shop, whipping counters and bringing back pastries from the back whenever you ran low.

You were kind, warm. He didn't get that treatment often and when he did there was usually an ulterior motive behind it.

You walked back to his table once things calmed down and you didn't have anyone waiting to be helped.

Your eyes drifted to the empty plate and glass. “So?” you asked, your fingers grabbing the back of the chair in front of him. “How was everything? Did you completely hate it?”

“No.” He answered simply.

You huffed out a laugh, raising your eyebrows. “That's all you got to say? No?”

“It was good.” He added.

You smiled, shaking your head lightly. “Man of few words I see.” 

“Are you working tomorrow?” He blurted out after a moment of quiet.

The question caught you off guard at first but ultimately you nodded. “I'm here everyday. I own the place.”

“You own it.” He repeated quietly.

You nodded. “I opened it a year ago. I've loved baking since I was a teenager so this was a dream come true for me.”

“It's a nice place. I like to see the beach.”

You smiled, looking out the window for a second towards the ocean that seemed to stretch infinitely.  “I’m glad you enjoyed it then.”

After that day Andrew was there every day the shop opened. 

He was always the first to arrive.

When you teased him about it he would always say that he liked to get an early start of things. 

What you didn't know was that he had learned at what time exactly you got to the bakery. You were always there as early as 4:30 AM so you could get everything you sold ready. 

He hated that, especially because you had to park your car a few blocks away from the bakery since it was the only place you could park without getting a ticket. Anything could happen to you in those four blocks you had to walk. Anyone could step out from the shadows and grab you, hurt you.

What annoyed him the most was how careless you were. You didn't check your surroundings, didn't look over your shoulder and you walked too slow.

Andrew didn't think of it as stalking, he was just making sure you were safe.

He always followed you quietly, hiding behind the trees of the street across from yours. He was far enough that you wouldn't notice, but still close enough that he could easily get to you if someone tried something. Once you got inside he just waited fo a few hours until you flipped the sign from closed to open to walk through the doors. 

He had a regular order by now. Every day he had an iced cold brew with a chocolate chip cookie, sometimes switching the cookie for a cinnamon roll.

“Your usual?” You called out to him as soon as he put one foot inside the store.

He shook his head and walked over to the counter. “I'll get my usual coffee and a slice of your triple chocolate cake.”

“Cake, huh? Can't believe you're switching up on me.” You teased, your hands grabbing the edge of the counter. “Is it a special occasion?"

“It's my birthday.” There was a brief silence, his eyes stayed on yours in that intense, heavy way you were starting to get used to. “Thirty nine.”

“Oh,” your face softened, surprise echoing in your voice. “Happy birthday, Andrew.”

“Thank you.”

“You don't seem too excited about it though.” You commented, noticing the frown on his face and the way he was dragging his feet when he walked in.

He let out a quiet breath through his nose, his shoulders dropping slightly. “My twin sister… she passed and no one will talk about her… and my brothers they're gonna spend the whole day dragging me to do the shit they want to do.”

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. “I'm really sorry, Andrew.” Slowly you reached your hand over the counter, giving him time to pull away  if he wanted to. He didn't so you placed your hand on top of his and gave it a squeeze.

Andrew’s eyes flickered to your joined hands before you let go. Your hands were warm, soft. You probably never had to use them to cause anyone harm, not in the way his had. 

“Go sit, I'll bring you your stuff in a minute.” You offered him a small smile before straightening up again. 

You poured his coffee into a glass the same way you did every morning, you made the slice of cake was generous before putting it into a plate.

You had grown fond of him in these past few weeks. He was a little odd, too quiet and with an obvious staring problem but you started to view it as part of his charm. 

Your heart ached for him, no one deserved to spend a birthday where their wishes weren't taken into account, especially if the day was already charged with the loss of someone as important as a sibling.

You disappeared into the back for a few seconds, you were sure you had a birthday candle laying around and after rummaging through some of your drawers you found it. 

You placed it on top of the cake and lit it up before carefully walking over to his table. Like you did every day, you placed his coffee down first, then the fork and then finally the cake.

“Make a wish.”

Andrew looked up at you, surprise echoing across his features, the corner of his lips tugged upwards in a small smile that made your heart twist in the best way.

He looked down at the candle, pausing for a second as if he was actually thinking about a wish he wanted to make, then his lips puckered as he blew it out.

A few threads of smoke curled into the air between you.

“Thank you.” 

You shrugged lightly. “It's nothing really. Is there anything else I could do?”

“Sit with me.” He said, it wasn't demanding, if anything he sounded uncertain, like he was scared you might say no.

Out of habit you glanced at the counter, making sure there were no customers waiting before nodding. “Just let go get my drink. I had just finished making myself something when you walked in.”

You came back quickly, holding a glass with a vibrant green drink. You sat across from Andrew, making sure you could see the door in case anyone walked in.

“You're drinking a spinach smoothie?” He asked, his nose scrunching slightly in disgust.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Those are gross. This is a matcha latte. It's just a green tea powder with oat milk.”

“Looks like grass.” 

“Some people say it tastes like it too, but I like it.” You swirled your straw around your drink before holding the cup up to him. “Wanna try it?”

Pope hesitated for a second but then nodded. You expected him to take the cup, but instead he just brought the straw to his lips while you held it.

Your eyes dropped to his lips for a brief second until he pulled away with a disgusted expression.

“Yeah, it definitely tastes like grass too.” He quickly grabbed his coffee and sipped it to drown out the other drinks' flavor.

You laughed softly, putting the cup down on the table. “It's an acquired taste.”

Pope's fork dove into the cake, picking up a piece that he brought to his mouth.

“So what do you like to do when your brothers aren't dragging around?”

“I like skating, I always go to the skate park that's close to the beach.”

“That 's cool. I'm super uncoordinated, I'm pretty sure I would bang my head against the concrete if I tried to even put a foot on a skate.”

“Good thing helmets exist then.” He quipped lightly. “I like going to the beach too, sometimes I surf and sometimes I like to just sit and watch the ocean… What about you?”

“I love the beach too.” you chirped, tilting your head to the side. “I always go on my day off now that it's hot. I love swimming, I can pretty much spend hours in the water.”

You hesitated for a second, nervously tapping your fingers against the plastic cup. “Maybe we could go together one day. We can have some sort of picnic, swim a little...”

“I'd like that.” He replied. “We could go to the one that's by the cliffside up North, there's hardly anyone ever there.”

“Already trying to get me alone, Andrew?”

“Yeah.”

You huffed out a laugh, your face warning at his word. “Can't wait then.”

When you got to the beach on Sunday Andrew was already there, sitting on the sand with his legs close to his chest, his arms resting over his knees.

He was right, the beach was quiet here. There were no kids running around kicking balls, or idiots playing shitty music. 

You approached him quietly from behind, your footsteps soft against the sand. You placed your hands on his shoulders, making him flinch slightly.

“Hi, Andrew.” 

Andrew looked up, his eyes flickering up and down your body. You were wearing a short white dress that flowed with the light breeze, at the bakery you were always wearing pants so it was his first time seeing so much of your skin. He had to force himself to look away and actually look at your face.

“Hi.”

You rummaged through the knitted white beach bag to grab the towel you had brought so you could sit. “Help me put this down.”

Andrew shifted to his knees, grabbing the other side of the towel and spreading it out over the sand. He smoothed it over with his hands before placing the back pack he brought over one of the corners. You did the same with your bag.

You sat next to each other, only leaving a small gap between your bodies. 

You looked out at the ocean, breathing in the salt air. “You were right. This spot is great.”

“I told you.”

You leaned back on your hands, turning your head to look at him. “Do you come here often?”

His eyes met yours instantly. “I haven't a while”

“Why not?”

“I spent three years away. I couldn't exactly come here.”

Your head tilted to the side, your curiosity peaking. “Away where?”

His shoulders tensed just a little, “Prison.”

You went still beside him before letting out a laugh. “Yeah, right. You can just tell me it's none of my business I understand.”

Andrew didn't say anything, but a part of him was glad you didn't believe him. He hadn't thought about what he was saying when he answered, it was better if you didn't know the kind of man he could be. He didn't want to risk scaring you.

He wanted–no, needed–to have one good thing in his life. 

“We should go for a swim.” He suggested, wanting to steer away from the subject. “It 's hot.”

You nodded, reaching for your bag to pull out sunscreen. “Sure. Just give me a second.”

You squirted some of it on your arms, rubbing it into your skin before standing up to take off your dress, revealing a light pink bikini, the strings were tied low on your hips and the top held your breasts perfectly.

Andrew watched almost in awe as you rubbed sunscreen all over your stomach, legs and chest. He barely registered when you talked to him.

“Can you do my back?” You asked, handing him the bottle. 

Andrew's fingers brushed yours as he grabbed it. 

“Turn around.” He said quietly, his voice just a notch rougher.

You did, moving your head to the side to leave your back exposed to him. He poured a small amount into his hand before finally making contact with your skin. His hands moved slowly as he spread the sunscreen across your shoulders, your upper and lower back.

He could feel his heart rate picking up as you turned around again. 

“You should put some too. I have a friend who's a ginger too and she gets the worst sun burns.”

Andrew took off his shirt, placing it under his bag pack so it wouldn't fly away and now it was your turn to get flustered. Of course you had noticed he was strong but you hadn't expected him to have a body that looked like what you would see on a fitness magazine.

He looked at you, clearly noticing the staring and the way you swallowed hard. 

He handed the bottle back to you. “Can you do it?”

You started with his face, caressing his cheek with your thumbs as you rubbed the lotion into his skin. You moved your hands down his neck, shoulders, and when you reached his arms and wrapped your hand around his bicep he flexed.

You scoffed, squeezing the hard muscle. “Show off.” You mumbled under your breath as you continued with the task at hand.

You and Andrew spent a good chunk of the afternoon in the water, splashing water to each other, ducking under the waves and racing each other to see who could swim faster. Andrew always let you win.

It was the most fun you had had in a while. You loved coming to the beach alone, Andrew's presence just made it better. He looked so at ease, like the weight he usually carried on his shoulders had been lifted.

When a wave knocked you over and made you crash against his body you heard it–his laugh slipping through his lips.

He steadied you with gentle hands, your hands reaching to grab his arms instinctively as your side hit his chest. 

You scoffed at him, playfully poking his chest. “Don't laugh at me!”

“Your hair is all over your face.” He commented with a boyish grin on his face, he used the hand he didn't have on your waist to tuck the pieces of hair that stuck to your forehead behind your ear. 

You looped your arms behind his neck, pulling him in until your chest was pressed against his. “Is this okay?”

He settled both of his hands on the curve of your back, preventing you from being swept away by the waves. “It 's okay.”

Your fingers brushed against the back of his neck. “I really like you, Andrew.”

“You do?” He asked softly. He felt a warm sensation pooling in his chest, once he hadn't felt since Cath. 

Sometimes he wondered if you would prefer one of his brothers if you ever got to meet them, but a part of him knew you wouldn't. You were too smart for that, too good.

You wouldn't put up with Craig who would spend more time snorting coke than being with you. You wouldn't put up with Baz’s and his horrible temper.

Sure, Andrew also had an awful temper sometimes but it would never be directed towards you. He would treat you right, wouldn't yell, wouldn't slam doors or cheat on you the way Baz does to Cath.

When he noticed the way your eyes darted to his lips he moved one of his hands to the back of your head, using it to pull you in and close the short distance between your lips.

Your eyes shot open in surprise, but when he started moving his lips against yours, you smiled into the kiss before finally kissing him back.

Your hands tangled on the short curls of the back of his head, making him smirk against your mouth.

Andrew kissed you slowly, relishing on the salty taste of your mouth from all the times you had ducked underwater.

You were the one to break the kiss, making Andrew chase your lips to give you one last peck before he rested his forehead against yours.

“I gotta take you on a real date.” He spoke, his breathing heavy.

You giggled. “This isn't a real date?”

“I can do better than a picnic at the beach.” 

“Well, I wouldn't trade this for anything.” You leaned in slightly, kissing the corner of his mouth. “But I won't say no to you taking me out.”

"Good." He answered, already pulling you to kiss you again.