Dressing Room ⢠Beau Maxwell
Pairing: Beau Maxwell x friend!reader
Summary: Youâve been crushing on Beau for a little while now, but itâs been impossible to tell if the feeling is mutual. After some liquid courage and a chaotic night at drunk Shakespeare, youâre tired of guessing.
Warnings: 18+, Mentions of alcohol, dry humping, slight dirty talk, kissing, heavy touching, not full smut
The cool October air settled over campus, crisp enough to sting your cheeks as you stepped out of the theater with the guys. Behind you, the doors swung open and shut every few seconds, releasing bursts of drunken applause, butchered Shakespeare, and laughter loud enough to echo across the quad.
Drunk Shakespeare had somehow managed to be exactly what everyone promisedâa train wreck in the best possible way.
Dean snorted beside you, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket as another actor inside dramatically bellowed something that sounded vaguely like To be or not to be before immediately forgetting the next line.
âI swear,â Dean laughed, shaking his head, âif Romeo slurs through that balcony scene one more time, Iâm going in there myself.â
Garrett rolled his eyes. âYouâd somehow make it worse.â
âDamn right I would.â
The group laughed, and without thinking, your eyes drifted toward Beau.
He stood a few feet away beneath one of the old brick archways outside the theater, hands tucked into the pocket of his Briar football hoodie, his head tipped back as he laughed at something Tucker said. The warm glow from the streetlamps softened the sharp angles of his face, catching the slight curl in his dark hair that never seemed to stay in place after practice.
He looked unfairly good doing absolutely nothing.
Youâd been hanging around the hockey house for a few weeks now. Long enough that you no longer felt like a complete outsider. Long enough to know Garrettâs sarcastic comments always hid genuine concern, Dean flirted with anything that breathed, Tucker somehow made everyone feel welcome, and Logan could fall asleep almost anywhere.
Beau had become your favorite part of every day before youâd even realized it. Even though he didnât live with the guys, he was always at the house.
It was little things. The way heâd automatically save you the seat beside him. How heâd text you random pictures throughout the day just because they reminded him of a conversation youâd had. The lingering glances across crowded rooms. The easy smiles that always seemed reserved just a little more for you.
Maybe you were imagining it. Maybe that was simply the kind of person Beau Maxwell was.
But every now and then heâd look at you in a way that made your stomach twist, and youâd spend the rest of the night wondering if youâd imagined that too.
Deanâs phone buzzed loudly in the middle of another joke. His brows furrowed slightly, but you didnât miss the smirk that crossed his face briefly.
Garrett glanced over. âEverything okay?â
âYeah.â Dean rubbed the back of his neck. âI gotta take this. Iâll be back.â Without another word, he wandered toward the edge of the parking lot, already answering the call.
One by one, the conversation dissolved until it was just you and Beau standing together near the side entrance of the theater.
Neither of you rushed to fill the silence. It wasnât awkward anymore. Somewhere between late-night food runs, football games, study sessions, and countless nights at the hockey house or his fraternity, silence with Beau had becomeâŚeasy. Comfortable. The kind that didnât demand conversation.
You leaned against the brick wall beside him, folding your arms against the cool breeze. âSoâŚâ Beau said after a second.
Before either of you could say anything else, one of the backstage doors burst open. A tidal wave of noise exploded into the alley. Someone screamed dramatically. Another actor shouted in what was probably supposed to be an English accent. A prop sword clanged against concrete. Someone yelled, âWhereâs my crown?â Then came roaring laughter.
Beau winced. âJesus.â
The door slammed shut again, but the muffled chaos continued through the walls. He glanced toward the building before looking back at you. âThere are dressing rooms back here.â
âTheyâre usually empty during the show.â He nodded toward a narrow side hallway. âCome on. Itâll be quieter until Dean gets back.â
You hesitated for all of half a second before smiling. âOkay.â
He held the heavy backstage door open for you. The noise from the theater immediately dulled into a distant rumble as the two of you stepped inside. The hallway was dim, lit only by a handful of aging sconces mounted along faded brick walls.
Old production posters covered nearly every inch of spaceâshows dating back years, their corners curling with age. Costume racks crowded one corner. A fake suit of armor leaned against the wall. Someone had abandoned a plastic skull on top of an old trunk.
Beau walked ahead like heâd been backstage a hundred times before. âI came here freshman year,â he explained over his shoulder. âDean somehow convinced an actress to let us hide back here after the show.â
âThat sounds like Dean.â
He stopped outside one of the dressing rooms and pushed the door open. Inside, it was surprisingly cozy. A worn couch sat against one wall beneath a row of framed playbills.
Across from it stretched a long vanity lined with oversized mirrors surrounded by glowing bulbs. Half-used makeup palettes littered the countertop beside curling irons and bobby pins. A rack of elaborate costumes occupied the far corner, feathers and velvet peeking from protective garment bags.
It smelled faintly of old wood, hairspray, makeup powderâŚand theater. Beau dropped onto the couch with a relieved sigh. âOh, thank God.â
You laughed quietly before sitting beside him, leaving enough room between you to feel appropriate. Not awkwardly far. Not close enough to mean anything. JustâŚSafe.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Outside the room, muffled applause echoed somewhere beyond the walls. Beau leaned his head back against the couch cushions.âI needed five minutes away from those lunatics.â
âTheyâre entertaining.â
You smiled. âI think thatâs the point.â
He chuckled before turning toward you. âSoâŚâ
You already knew what was coming. Football. It always came back to football eventually. âYou watched the game Saturday, right?â
You nodded. âI caught most of it.â
That was all the invitation he needed. Immediately he sat forward, elbows resting on his knees as he launched into a detailed breakdown of every play that had gone wrong. âNo, seriously, third quarter shouldâve changed everything.â
His hands came alive as he talked, tracing imaginary routes through the air. âWe called a slant because they kept showing Cover Two before dropping into zone. Easy read.â
You nodded despite understanding maybe ten percent of what he was saying.
âBut then our left tackle completely missed his assignment.â Beau shook his head. âI step into the pocket expecting another second, and suddenly Iâve got two linebackers in my face.â He demonstrated with both hands. âIâm scrambling left, trying to extend the play, but the receivers never adjusted.â
You smiled softly. He was completely invested. Eyes bright. Hands moving constantly. Talking faster the more excited he became. ââŚif weâd checked into the screen instead of forcing the throw over the middle, weâd have picked up the first down. InsteadâŚâ He sighed dramatically. âSack. Fumble. Momentum gone.â
You murmured something sympathetic. Truthfully, you had stopped following football several minutes ago. Your attention had wandered somewhere far more dangerous.
To the way his hoodie stretched across his shoulders every time he gestured. To the roughness in his voice after yelling all afternoon at practice. To the soft brown eyes that somehow managed to look warm even when he was frustrated. To the faint scent of cedar and clean soap drifting between you every time he shifted on the couch.
He looked so comfortable. So completely himself. You wondered, not for the first time, if he had any idea what he did to you. Whether he noticed how your eyes found him first whenever you walked into a room. Whether he realized your favorite nights of the week were the ones everyone ended up at the hockey house because it meant youâd inevitably spend a few hours sitting beside him.
Whether the lingering touchesâŚthe smilesâŚthe constant excuses to be near each other meant as much to him as they did to you. Or if you were building castles out of coincidences.
ââŚand then Coach wants to blame the audibles,â Beau continued, shaking his head with a laugh. âLike, okay, sure, maybe I shouldâve changed the protection call, but with that crowd noiseââ
His words faded. Not because heâd stopped talking. Because your heart had started beating so loudly you couldnât hear anything else.
You were tired of wondering. Tired of analyzing every glance. Every accidental touch. Every smile. You wantedâneededâto know.
Before your brain had the chance to catch up with what your heart was doing, you reached out. Your fingers brushed gently against the side of his face. His sentence broke off instantly. Brown eyes blinked in surprise as his head turned toward you.
For one suspended heartbeat, neither of you moved. He simply looked at you. Questioning. Searching your face. Your pulse thundered in your ears. Then, before fear could convince you to pull away, you closed the distance between you and pressed your lips softly against his.
The kiss is soft at first, tentative on your end but charged with all the pent-up wanting you've been holding back. His mouth is warm, surprisingly yielding for someone caught off guard.
For a heartbeat, everything freezesâthe football rant, the distant theater noise, the world outside this little room. Then you feel him respond, a quiet exhale against your lips as one of his hands comes up to rest lightly on your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer. It's not rushed or overwhelming; it's real, the kind of kiss that says everything you've been too afraid to voice.
When you finally pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your heart is hammering, cheeks flushed. Beau's staring at you, that easy confidence momentarily replaced by something softer, more intenseâsurprise mixed with a spark of understanding, maybe even relief. The air between you feels electric now, the couch suddenly much smaller, the quiet room holding its breath for whatever comes next.
You feel the shift in him immediatelyâthe way his hand tightens just slightly on your waist, not pulling away, not hesitating. His lips move against yours with growing certainty, deepening the kiss as surprise gives way to something warmer, hungrier. It's like a dam breaking after weeks of careful restraint, all that unspoken tension rushing forward in the quiet of this little room.
Beau's other hand comes up to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing gently along your cheekbone as he angles his head and kisses you more fully. His mouth is soft yet firm, tasting faintly of whatever he'd been sipping earlierâsomething sweet and sharp. You sigh into it, your fingers sliding from his cheek into his hair, threading through the thick strands at the nape of his neck. He makes a low sound in the back of his throat, appreciative and surprised all at once, and it sends a shiver down your spine.
The kiss builds slowly, exploratively. He nips at your lower lip, soothing it immediately with his tongue, and you open to him without thinking. The slide of his tongue against yours is electric, unhurried but thorough, like he's savoring every second of this unexpected turn. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the solid strength of his quarterback frame so close now. His hoodie is soft under your free hand as you rest it on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart picking up speed to match yours.
You lose track of time in the rhythm of itâpulling back for a breath only for him to chase your mouth again, capturing your lips in a series of kisses that grow hotter, more insistent. One of his hands trails down your side, settling at your hip with a gentle squeeze that makes your breath hitch. There's no rush, no pressure beyond the mutual exploration, just the intoxicating push and pull of learning each other's responses. When his teeth graze your bottom lip again, you press closer, your body instinctively leaning into him on the couch.
The distant hum of the theater fades completely. All that exists is the warmth of his mouth, the faint scrape of stubble against your skin, the way he smells even stronger up closeâclean soap, cedar, and something uniquely him that makes your head spin. Your thoughts scatter: *Finally. This is real. He wants this too.* The uncertainty that had been gnawing at you dissolves with every kiss, replaced by a heady rush of want.
Eventually, the angle on the couch isn't enough. You need moreâmore contact, more of him.
Without breaking the kiss, you shift, swinging one leg over his lap in a smooth motion. Beau lets out a quiet, surprised exhale against your mouth as you settle astride him, your knees bracketing his hips on the worn cushions. The new position brings you flush against him, your hands bracing on his shoulders for balance. He's solid beneath you, all athletic muscle and warmth, his hands automatically sliding to your waist to steady you.
"Fuck," he murmurs against your lips, the word half-lost in another deep kiss. His grip tightens, not guiding but holding, like he can't quite believe this is happening either.
Straddling him like this changes everything. You're eye-level now, or close enough, his face tilted up to meet yours. The kisses don't stopâthey intensify. You rock forward slightly as his tongue teases yours again, slower this time, more deliberate. One of his hands drifts up your back, slipping under the hem of your shirt just enough to press warm fingers against your skin, sending sparks everywhere he touches. You thread both hands into his hair now, tugging lightly, and he groans softly into the kiss, the sound vibrating through you.
You make out like that for what feels like forever but can't be more than minutesâslow, deep kisses that turn languid and exploratory, then hungry again in waves. His mouth trails briefly to the corner of your lips, your jaw, then back to capture yours fully. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours, the subtle flex of his thighs beneath you, the way his body responds to every little shift you make. There's no rush to go further; it's just thisâthe heat building between you, the taste of him, the quiet sounds of shared breath and soft sighs filling the room.
Beau pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes half-lidded and dark, his breathing uneven. His hands stay on your hips, thumbs brushing small circles over the fabric of your clothes. "Been wanting to do that for a while," he admits, voice low and rough, before leaning in to kiss you again, slower this time, like he's sealing the words with action.
You smile into the kiss, heart soaring, the world outside this couch and this moment feeling impossibly far away.
You stay straddling him, lost in the slow, heated rhythm of his mouth against yours. The kisses have grown deeper, more consuming, your bodies pressed close on the old couch in the quiet back room. Beau's hands roam your back and sides with increasing confidence, warm and sure, while yours stay tangled in his hair or gripping his shoulders. Every slide of his tongue, every gentle nip, sends sparks racing through you.
Then you feel itâthe unmistakable shift beneath you as he hardens, his growing erection pressing up against the heat between your thighs through the layers of denim and fabric. The realization hits you like a spark to dry tinder, a rush of heat flooding your body. He's reacting to you, to this, just as intensely as you are. A small, involuntary sound escapes your throat, half-moan, half-whimper, and you rock your hips forward experimentally, grinding down against that firm pressure.
Beau groans into your mouth, the sound low and ragged, his fingers digging into your hips as he instinctively lifts up to meet you. "Shit," he breathes against your lips, but he doesn't stop kissing you. If anything, the contact seems to fuel him, his tongue stroking deeper, more urgently, as you start to move.
You set a slow, deliberate pace, rolling your hips in a languid grind that drags your core right along the thick ridge of his cock. The friction is delicious even through your clothesâteasing, not quite enough, but so intensely hot it makes your toes curl. Each downward rock presses you harder against him, feeling him throb and swell further beneath you. Beau matches your rhythm perfectly, his strong hands guiding your hips without forcing, helping you rock against him in these long, unhurried strokes.
The making out never stops. Your mouths stay fused, lips sliding wetly, tongues tangling in time with the movement of your bodies. When you grind down particularly firmly, he sucks on your bottom lip, then soothes it with his tongue. You tilt your head, changing the angle, and he chases you eagerly, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, holding you close. The room fills with the soft, intimate soundsâwet kisses, shared breaths, the quiet creak of the couch cushions, and the occasional low groan from deep in his chest.
It's slow and torturously good. You can feel every inch of him through his jeans, hard and hot and insistent against your clothed pussy as you roll your hips in smooth, sensual circles. The pressure builds with each grind, the seam of your pants rubbing perfectly against your clit on every forward motion. Heat pools low in your belly, spreading outward until your skin feels flushed and oversensitive. Beau's thighs are tense beneath you, powerful quarterback legs flexing as he bucks up gently to meet your grinding, creating that perfect counter-pressure that makes stars flicker behind your closed eyes.
You pull back just enough to catch your breath, foreheads touching, lips brushing with every shared exhale. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with want, cheeks faintly flushed. "You feel so fucking good," he murmurs, voice husky, before capturing your mouth again in a deep, consuming kiss. His hands slide down to grip your ass, kneading the flesh as he encourages your movements, pulling you tighter against his throbbing length with each roll of your hips.
The dry humping intensifies gradually, still slow but gaining a steady, hypnotic rhythm. You rock harder now, grinding down in long drags that have you both gasping into each other's mouths. The friction is addictiveâthe way his hardness rubs right where you need it, the heat building between you until it feels like you're both burning up. Sweat beads lightly at the small of your back, and you can feel the warmth of his body radiating through his hoodie. One of your hands slips down to his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart, the way his muscles tense and release with every thrust of his hips up into you.
Beau breaks the kiss to trail his mouth along your jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot just below your ear before soothing it with his tongue. "Don't stop," he whispers hotly against your skin, then finds your lips again, kissing you like he's starving for it. Your hips keep moving in that delicious, unhurried grindâpressing, circling, draggingâbuilding the tension higher and higher. Every shift sends sparks of pleasure shooting through you, the slow burn of dry humping turning the air thick and heavy with want.
You're both fully lost in it now, bodies moving together in perfect sync on the couch. The distant sounds of the theater might as well not exist. There's only this: the wet slide of tongues, the steady, heated grind of your hips against his rock-hard cock, the way he groans your nameâlow and wreckedâinto your mouth when you roll particularly firmly against him. It's hot, intimate, and achingly slow, drawing out every sensation until you're trembling in his lap, chasing that building edge together.
You keep rolling your hips in that slow, torturous rhythm, grinding down against the hard length of him through your clothes. The friction is addictive, every drag of your clothed pussy along his throbbing erection sending waves of heat pulsing through your core. Beau's hands are firm on your ass, guiding you, squeezing with each downward motion as your mouths move together in deep, messy kisses. His groans vibrate against your tongue, low and needy, and you can feel how hard he isâfully erect now, straining against his jeans, pressing right up into the heat between your thighs.
His hands start to wander higher, sliding up your sides under the hem of your top. Youâre thin, always have been, but your chest has always been fuller, a contrast that draws attention whether you want it to or not. Beau seems particularly captivated now. One of his large hands cups the underside of your breast through your bra and top, squeezing gently at first, then with more intent as he feels the weight and softness of you. A shiver runs through you at the touch, and you arch into his palm, pressing your tit more firmly against him.
âGod, youâre perfect,â he murmurs hotly against your mouth, breaking the kiss just long enough to look down between you. His other hand joins the first, both of them palming and kneading your tits with growing hunger. He squeezes them together, thumbs brushing over your hardening nipples through the layers of fabric, and the sensation makes you grind down harder on his lap, a soft whimper escaping you.
You donât stop him when his fingers find the bottom of your top. Instead, you lift your arms slightly, letting him tug the fabric upward. He pulls it over your head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside, then reaches behind you to unhook your bra with surprisingly deft fingers for someone so worked up. The straps slide down your shoulders, and you let him pull everything down until the bunched fabric rests around your waist, leaving your upper body bare to him. Your larger breasts spill free, nipples already tight and sensitive from the attention and the cool air of the room.
Beauâs eyes darken with obvious desire as he takes you in. âFuck,â he breathes, voice rough. One hand returns immediately to your chest, cupping the full weight of one tit while his thumb circles the stiff peak. He leans in, capturing your mouth again in a deep kiss as he plays with youâsqueezing, rolling your nipple between his fingers, tugging lightly until youâre moaning into him and grinding faster against his cock.
Then his mouth trails lower. He kisses along your jaw, down your neck, nipping at your collarbone before finally reaching your chest. You arch your back, offering yourself to him, one hand threading into his hair to guide him. Beau doesnât hesitate. He latches onto one nipple, sucking it into the wet heat of his mouth with a groan that vibrates straight through you. His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud, flicking and teasing before he sucks harder, hollowing his cheeks. At the same time, his other hand continues to knead and pluck at your free breast, pinching the nipple just enough to send sparks shooting down to where youâre still grinding against him.
The dual sensation is overwhelming in the best way. You rock your hips in long, slow drags along his hard length, feeling every thick inch of him pressing up against your aching pussy through your pants. The wet sounds of his mouth on your tits mix with the quiet creaks of the couch and your shared heavy breathing. He switches sides, lavishing the same attention on your other nippleâsucking, licking, gently biting before soothing with broad strokes of his tongue. His free hand never stops exploring, squeezing the soft, heavy flesh of your breasts, molding them in his palms, pressing them together so he can alternate between them more easily.
All the while, the dry humping continues, slow and relentless. You roll your hips in deep, sensual circles, dragging your core along his erection with increasing pressure. Each grind makes your tits bounce slightly in his hands and against his mouth, which only seems to spur him on. Beau groans around your nipple, the vibration making you tremble, and he bucks up to meet you, his cock twitching and throbbing beneath you. The friction against your clit is building that sweet, aching tension higher and higher, your panties growing slick beneath your clothes.
Youâre both lost in itâhis face buried in your chest, sucking and playing with your tits like he canât get enough, while your bodies move together in that heated, clothed rhythm. Your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging in slightly through his hoodie as pleasure coils tighter in your belly. Beau pulls back from your breast with a wet pop, lips shiny, eyes glazed with lust as he looks up at you. He captures your mouth in another searing kiss, one hand still massaging your tit, thumb flicking over the sensitive, spit-slick nipple, while the other grips your hip to help you grind down harder against him.
The pace stays deliciously slow, every roll of your hips deliberate, every suck and squeeze of his hands and mouth drawing it out. Heat radiates between you, the room feeling smaller and hotter with every passing minute. You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge just from thisâthe combination of his mouth on your tits, his hard cock rubbing right where you need it, and the intoxicating way he touches you like heâs been dying to for weeks. Beau seems just as affected, his breaths coming in ragged pants between kisses and licks, his hips jerking up to chase the friction youâre giving him.
You keep grinding down against him in those slow, deliberate rolls, your bare tits bouncing softly with every movement as Beau lavishes them with attention. His mouth is hot and insistent on one nipple, sucking deeply while his hand kneads the other, rolling the stiff peak between his fingers. The wet sounds of his tongue and lips fill the small room, mixing with your soft moans and the rhythmic creak of the couch. The friction between your clothed pussy and his rock-hard cock is driving you both higher, the heat building unbearably slow and intense.
Beau pulls back from your chest with a gasp, lips shiny and swollen, eyes dark with lust as he looks up at you. His hands stay on your tits, squeezing them together, thumbs brushing over your sensitive, spit-slick nipples. âFuck me,â he rasps, voice low and wrecked, his hips bucking up to meet your grinding. âYouâre gonna make me cum in my pants like this if you keep going.â
The words send a fresh wave of arousal through you. You lean down to kiss him deeply, tongues tangling as you roll your hips harder, pressing your soaked core right along his throbbing length. His cock twitches beneath you, straining desperately against his jeans, and you can feel how close he isâthe way his thighs tense, his breaths coming faster against your mouth. He groans into the kiss, one hand sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him as the other continues to play with your breast, pinching your nipple in time with your movements.
Youâre both right there on the edge, lost in the hot, slow dry humping and the intoxicating feel of his hands and mouth on your body. His hips jerk up more urgently now, chasing the friction, and you can tell heâs only seconds awayâ
âBeau? Y/N? You guys back here?â
Deanâs voice echoes from down the hallway, casual but getting closer, accompanied by the sound of footsteps. The words cut through the haze like a bucket of cold water.
You both freeze for a split second, eyes wide. Then chaos. Beau curses under his breath, his hands reluctantly leaving your chest as you scramble off his lap. Your heart pounds wildly as you stand on shaky legs, the sudden loss of contact leaving you aching and flushed. Beau adjusts himself quickly in his jeans, grimacing at the very obvious tent straining against the front of his pants.
You fumble with your bra, hooking it back into place with trembling fingers, the cups still damp from his mouth. Your nipples are hypersensitive, brushing against the fabric and sending little aftershocks through you. You snatch your top from the floor, yanking it over your head and tugging it down around your waist, smoothing it hastily. Your hair is a mess, your lips swollen, cheeks burningâbut thereâs no time.
Beau gives you a quick, heated lookâequal parts frustration and promiseâbefore the two of you step out into the hallway together. Dean is standing there, arms crossed, a faintly amused expression on his face as he takes in your flushed appearances.
âYou two good?â Dean asks, his gaze flicking between you and Beau, lingering a beat too long on his friend.
You force a smile, trying to sound casual despite the way your body is still humming. âYeah. Just needed a quieter place to talk. It was getting too loud out there.â
Dean nods slowly, that smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth again, but he doesnât call you on it. You shift on your feet, the adrenaline and leftover arousal making you restless. âWell, Iâm gonna head home. Goodnight, guys.â
You give them both a small wave, avoiding Beauâs eyes for fear of what you might do if you linger, and start walking down the hallway toward the exit. Your steps are quick, heart still racing as the cool night air hits you outside. Behind you, you hear the low murmur of voices as Beau and Dean are left completely alone in the hallway.
Once youâre out of earshot, Dean turns to Beau with a full-on grin, shaking his head. âSeriously, dude?â he says, voice laced with disbelief and amusement. His eyes drop pointedly to the very obvious bulge still tenting the front of Beauâs jeans. âNice tent.â
Beau rolls his eyes trying to shove past him but Dean keeps going. âNo seriously, I leave you alone for five minutes and youâre back there feeling her up like itâs the locker room after a win.â
Beau lets out a frustrated laugh, running a hand over his face and shifting uncomfortably. âShut up, man. It just... happened.â
Dean chuckles, clapping him on the shoulder as they start walking. âYeah, sure. âJust talking.â Looked real conversational with you about two seconds from busting in your pants. You gonna tell her youâve been into her this whole time, or are we pretending this didnât happen tomorrow?â
The conversation fades as they head out, the night air carrying the weight of everything left unfinished between you and Beau.
