jayde!!

Start of the spring semester - your apartment - early morning

"Alright, you're going to be fine, I'm going to be fine, we're all going to be fine" You say to Seb who stares at you with those wide curious eyes and gummy smile.

"You realize he's been to the daycare before and you have had college classes before as well right?" Dean gives you a weirded out look.

You narrow your eyes at him "What are you even doing here anyways?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I am not a deadbeat"

"Literally no one believes you're a deadbeat" You tell him picking up your tote and triple double checking for the 20th time this morning if you have everything.

"Okay, either way I wanted to drive you for your first day of school" He rolls his eyes taking the baby into his arms, Seb immediately becoming distracted by the chain under his shirt.

"You do realize I've had college classes before right?" You throw his words back at him making him scoff.

"Let's go" He turns to the door and then whispers loudly to your son "Your mom is not good at firsts, I should know, I've been there for a few of them"

"For fuck's sake Dean, I was not a virgin the first time we slept together!"

"I didn't say anything about that, get your head out of the gutter, I meant your first time skating, and your first time in New york, oh and get this… Your first time giving birth!" He makes jazz hands that get him a roll of the eyes and a push as you walk ahead of him through the door, he just laughs and makes sure the door is locked behind him.

Malone's - Later the same day

"I think I might just find myself a sugar daddy" You sigh stacking napkins, you're in the middle of a shift complaining to your co-workers and new friends, Hannah and Allie "I forgot how much I disliked school"

"You're halfway there" Allie shrugs "Your baby daddy is rich isn't he?"

"Filthy" Hannah adds nodding.

"Yeah but he's also… Dean" You say.

"Okay" Hannah drags on the word "And what's that supposed to mean exactly?"

"Well… we share a kid so anything else would only complicate things" You tell them.

"Okay but what if it doesn't?" Allie perks up "Like what if you two fall madly in love and it all works out and you end up being the perfect little family? You should always give love a chance"

"Or, we find out we don't work out as a couple and maybe we realize it too late and then we have a nasty split that leaves Seb in the middle of a custody battle" You shrug "It's too big of a chance to take, plus Dean Di Laurentis? Not a settling down kind of guy"

"But-" Hannah doesn't let Allie keep arguing.

"Listen, Allie is a romantic, she's going to keep arguing for you to give it a chance, so I'm going to play devil's advocate" Allie frowns "And say, if you think it is not a good idea then don't force anything, but if you choose to give it a chance, we'll back you up"

You're surprised and moved by her words, you have not known the two for that long but the best friends have basically adopted you in the short time you've been around "Thank you guys" You say "But Hannah, I'm not sure that's how devil's advocate works"

"Whatever" She shakes her head "You still got my point"

Hockey House - Wednesday night

The house is filled with chatter when you walk in, the guys have probably the entire hockey team plus a good amount of football players plus girlfriends in here.

"Hey! You're here" Logan greets you as you're setting your things on the table by the door.

"Yeah, something smells good" You say walking towards the smell curious on what Tuck's preparing for the group they've assembled tonight.

"Oh! Thank god you're here!" Beau exclaims, there's a crowd of around 10 guys in the kitchen, your son in a football's player you can't remember the name of arms throws himself your way the second he spots you, thankfully the football player has good reflexes and grips him tighter before safely passing him over.

"I am! What's all this?" You eye the kitchen counter while Seb slaps you with a wet 'kiss' that's more of a blubbering smack with his whole face "Oh thank you"

"Last night I couldn't sleep so I called my mom and she gave he all the baby pureed food recipes I ate as a baby and then I also got some more from a mom website so I thought we could run a taste test with Seb and find out what he likes" Tucker explains with an excited glint in his eyes "But we wanted to wait for you"

"Okay" You nod "And the party you have going on here?" You look at the full house.

"Oh, some of the guys on the team heard about it and were curious"

"And then Dean mentioned it and I might have invited my teammates" Beau adds.

"Cool" You resign yourself, at least you knew people would show up for your son if ever needed.

Some time later Dean has Seb in his lap while you sit infront with a spoon and the bowls, so far you've discovered he loves peaches, bananas and carrot and hates squash and apples.

"That looks like diarrhea" Beau grimaces at the bowl Tucker hands you next.

"It's literally just pumpkin" The curly haired chef narrows his eyes at the quarterback "And if your shit looks like that I think you should get checked up"

"Can we not talk about shit while feeding the baby?" Garrett complains.

You ignore them and give Seb a taste of the puree, he doesn't even give it a chance, as soon as it touches his pursed lips he slips his tongue out letting whatever little food had gone in out and squirming when you try to give him some more.

"See" Beau points "Diarrhea"

"I'm actually curious about the taste" Nick, a football player says and you hand him the bowl with a disgusted look, you've tried not to make faces so Seb tries all the new flavors unbiased but he's already decided he doesn't like this one and the smell is quite frankly, nauseating. You all pause and look at Nick as he takes a big spoonful into his mouth, the regret is instant and he runs to the sink to spit out and rinse his omouth making you all laugh, Sebastian joining in.

"Okay this is the last one" Tucker hands you the bowl, this one's bright green and when you look up you can already see Beau making a face at it "It's broccoli"

"All right, open up Seb" Dean grimaces behind as your son tries reluctantly, surprising you all when he opens up his mouth for more, giving you a satisfied hum as he savors it, you offer him more half expecting him to throw it out but he eats it and claps his hands "Oh he likes broccoli"

"There's no way" Beau shakes his head "Give me some" He takes the bowl and spoons some up bringing it to his mouth, Seb screams then making grabby hands at the bowl clearly angry at Beau for taking his food "Yeah, no, all yours kid" The quarterback grimaces handing the food back to you as everyone laughs.

Hockey house - Thursday afternoon

Garret has been awkward around the baby ever since he was born, being an only child and not having any younger cousins he had never been around kids that small before. Today he's the only one in the house, Logan out with Jules, Dean on a quick trip to New York for a family emergency and Tucker probably still on campus. His plans? To melt into the couch while watching as many of the Jurassic park movies he can get through until he falls asleep.

His plans, however, get interrupted only a few minutes into the first movie when you burst in through the front door with the baby bag in one arm and the baby in the other.

"Tuck!" You call out.

"He's not here yet" Garrett lets you know from his spot on the couch.

"Shit" You curse contemplating your options before walking his way "Okay, I'm so late, Tuck agreed to watch him over and-" Your phone buzzes, Tucker letting you know he's late and will be there in 15 minutes "Oh, he'll be here in 15 minutes but I can't wait so can you just-"

Garrett almost jumps when you plop the baby on his chest "Uh-"

"Tell Tuck I said thanks and I'll Dean will be here in a few hours! Thanks G, bye!" You don't let him get any words out before you're gone.

The brunette blinks at the baby who stares back at him with a gummy smile devouring his own fist, drool spilling down into Garrett's chest. "Okay… um… no, yeah, we're okay" He sits up slowly making sure to keep Sebastian as safe as possible "Do you uh… you like Jurassic Park?" The baby makes a noise and slaps him on the chest "No… okay sure, no dinosaurs how about um… what the fuck do babies like?" He whispers to himself "Oh i meant frick, shit, no, I'm sorry, don't tell your mom"

He pulls out his phone and texts a 'hurry your ass home' to Tucker who replies with a thumbs up and nothing more.

For the next ten minutes Garrett awkwardly sits on the couch with the baby in his lap, his duck plushie clutched in the hand he's not chewing on as he stares curiously at the man holding him and every time the baby so much as shifts Garrett holds his breath, eventually Sebastian grows tired rubbing his eyes and settling into his uncle's chest, droopy eyes closing and soft snores escaping.

"Great, now stay like that until Tuck gets home and we'll be fine bud" He whispered settling back into the cushions and pressing play on the movie again.

Just a few minutes later, under the heat of the baby on his chest, Garrett falls asleep too.

It's not until hours later that he wakes, Sebastian now turned the other way around, eyes wide on the screen that's now playing cartoons but still on his lap and Dean, Tucker and Logan sit around him with plates of food with their attention also on the tv.

"Welcome back to the land of the living G" Dean greets him shoveling a forkfull of steak into his mouth.

"How long have you guys been home?" Garrett asks all confused "And why didn't you take your kid?"

"I tried" The blonde shrugs "But every time I got close to getting him off of you he'd cry so I just let him do his thing"

"Okay well, take him" Garrett motions to the baby that's now looking up at him with a smile, completely unaware of the awkwardness coming from the man holding him.

"Fine, look for yourself " Dean puts his plate down, by now Logan and Tucker are watching intently "Hey bud, come with daddy" The baby's smile disappears the moment his dad puts his hands under his armpits to get him up and instead he complains with a screech and flailing of his arms "See? Seb, son, we need to change your diaper at least before you leak all over uncle G"

Garrett grimaces at the sentence "Get him off please"

"I'm trying!" Dean argues picking Sebastian off finally, the baby wailing immeidately "Yeah, yeah, I'm such a bad dad for not letting you stay with Garrett even though your diaper is full and you can get a rash" He rolls his eyes "So dramatic, you get this from your mom"

Your apartment - Saturday afternoon

"So this one then?" You're on a facetime call with Allie and Hannah while trying on different outfits.

"Yeah, that one makes your boobs look fricking amazing" Hannah says, Allie agrees.

"Okay great, and then do we think hair up or down?" You're getting ready for a date, your first one since before having Sebastian, a date with a guy from the Tennis club "Wait, I think Dean's here"

Lo and behold, when you open your apartment door Dean stands there with a bright smile and a paper bag he lifts proudly "Uncle Tuck sent some snacks for Seb"

"God bless uncle Tuck" You say letting him in "Thank you so much for agreeing to babysit him tonight"

"I'm his dad" Dean deadpans "It's not babysitting, just taking care of my kid while his mom has a deserved fun night out, so you going out with friends? Hitting Malone's, someone's apartment, what is it?"

"See, most guys don't see it that way, especially on a Saturday night when they could be out partying" You point out "And neither, I'm going on a date"

Dean chokes on nothing "A date?"

You shrug "Yeah" And walk back to your room to finish getting ready and say goodbye to Hannah and Allie. Dean's already texting Beau about it.

"So… do I get to meet the date?" He asks trying to act nonchalant and failing.

"Well, I'm meeting him at the movie theater so no" You tell him putting on your shoes "But if it all goes well maybe next time"

"He's not even picking you up?" The blonde asks in disbelief "Who is this guy?"

"Goodbye Dean!" You ignore his questions and walk out the door.

The movie theater - Just a bit later

"Dude, I've always wanted to do espionage" Beau whispers loudly to Dean, both guys looking obvious as hell as they stand in the movie theater lobby dressed in black and with sunglasses even though they are inside, Seb sporting his very own little pair strapped into his dad's chest too.

"Lowkey, me too" Dean admits "Probably not for this but hey, we have to make sure she's not dating a complete douche"

"Look! There she is" Beau points at you, the two wait until you're walking into the room and follow a minute later, somehow managing to make it to their seats, three rows behind you without you noticing "Are you sure you won't just think whatever guy she dates is a douche anyways?"

"No" The blonde frowns "Only the ones who deserve the title" Beau hums unconvinced.

The movie, as it turns out, is an action one that has Beau hooked, but Dean can't stop looking at you and your date, noting every move he makes and scoffing at them. Then, something in the screen explodes loudly, Beau gasps, Seb wails in fear, that's when you turn around and notice them, Beau looks scared, Dean is trying to calm the baby down and you sigh offering your date an apology and telling him you have to go before walking up to Dean, taking Seb and walking out of the movie.

Dean immediately follows behind but you don't turn, too busy trying to calm your baby down until he stops you by your elbow, finally you look at him with anger "What?" You snap.

"I'm sorry" Is all he can say.

"Oh yeah?" You chuckle and that's when he understands how badly he fucked up "For what exactly? For bringing our seven month old baby into a loud action movie and scaring him to death or for ruining a perfectly fine date for me?"

"Everything"

"No Dean, I don't think you understand" You sigh, Seb's cries have calmed now and he tucks his little head into the crook of your neck as you continue to rock softly "That" You point to the movie room where you left your date "Is probably the only guy in all campus that's not repulsed by me being a mom and you've ruined it for me"

Dean's heart breaks a little at your words "No one is repulsed by you"

"You don't get it" You are about to cry out of frustration "You are Dean Di Laurentis, girls bow at your feet, you can have your pick every single night, you get to keep your perfect body. I don't have that Dean, guys won't even give me a second look, I can't just date around or sleep with someone because they all know I am Dean Di Laurentis' baby mama" He hates the way his name comes out of your mouth like it's venom "And if they do, they see someone with stretch marks, and loose skin and-" You choke on your words "You'll never get it Dean, how can you?" He says your name and you don't let him say anything more "Can you just drive us home?"

Now, Beau did notice you two leave earlier, but he didn't think you'd forget about him, I mean, surely you didn't just abandon him at the movie theater right? Well, now that the movie is over and he's done two laps around the parking lot with no luck finding Dean's BMW he realizes he's been left behind.

"Damn blind idiots" He mutters pulling his phone out to order an Uber "God how I hope they get their heads out of their asses and realize they love each other so they stop doing this shit"

Hockey house - Thursday afternoon.

"Yo, whoever flushed the blue package baby wipes when they clearly say do not flush next time you're the one's unclogging the toilet" Logan wipes his sweat covered forehead with his forearm and points at his two teammates sitting in the living room "And where the hell is Dean?"

"Seb emergency" Garrett answers without looking up from his textbook "Apparently he lost his ducky and wouldn't stop crying"

"I will never get over you saying the word ducky" Tucker snickers.

"Dude, you've been singing the itsy bitsy spider for days" Garrett shoots back.

"She's a ver determined spider" The curly haired guy almost looks offended at the quip.

"I'll take the itsy bitsy spider over baby shark any day" Logan's putting his toolbox away in the cabinet under the sink when he notices the bright yellow plush he's all too familiar with "Hey I found ducky!" He lifts it up with a triumphant smile.

The baby's cries are loud against his ear when he calls Dean "Fuck you want?" The clearly stressed dad answers the phone, in the background Logan can hear you yelling at him for swearing in front of the baby.

"Now, that's no way to talk to your savior" Logan frowns.

"I stopped going to church when I was 12" Dean snaps back "But maybe I need to take this kid in for an exorcism"

"Stop talking about our son like that!" You complain, probably taking the crying baby out of his arms because Logan notices the cries are more distant now.

"Anyways, I found ducky" Logan says.

"I fucking love you" The blonde sounds so relieved, already moving to get his car keys "Seriously, this weekend, drinks on me and you get first dibs"

When you, Dean and Seb show up at the house a little while later you look like you've been in combat for weeks. Both your hair desheveled, your clothes crumpled and faces flushed and if it wasn't for the milk stain on your shirt and the crying child in Dean's arms, your friends would be sure that you had been fooling around in Dean's car before walking in.

"Hey bud" Logan regards the squirming kid belting his little heart out "Look what your favorite uncle found for you"

"You're not the favorite shithead" Garrett says from the couch.

"Neither are you" Tucker adds.

Sebastian stops crying when he notices the yellow duck plushie in Logan's hands, instead of loud wails he just hiccups with big wet blue eyes as he's handed the stuffed animal.

"I would so get mad at you for cursing in front of him but I'm too tired for that" You tell Garrett already on your way upstairs to Dean's room, probably for a well deserved nap.

"Here" Dean plops the now calm child into Tuckers lap ignoring the laptop he was working on "You're the least likely to let him die" And walks away "He's due for a feeding in like an hour"

"So when do you think mom and dad will realize they're soulmates?" Logan asks the sleepy baby over the couch.

Malone's - Saturday morning.

"You know, you could always just bring him in with you" Della offers, you're going over your new job as a waitress.

"That won't be necessary" You tell her "He's going to the campus daycare and Dean's looking after him when he's free, but thank you so much"

"Of course hon, just know the option is there if you ever need it. As long as you do your job I have no problem with the little dude joining you" She sends a smile your way and walks away leaving you at the counter with your breakfast.

"Here you go, sorry for the wait" Hannah, who you've learned you're going to be sharing many shifts with places a glass of orange juice in front of you.

"Thanks" You say back.

The bell on top of the door dings and you hear the rowdy hockey players that have become your baby's family and therefore your family walk in.

"Hey mama" Dean plops down next to you, Seb strapped into that ridiculously expensive baby carrier he insisted on buying "What are you doing here so early?" He steals your glass of juice and drinks it whole in one big gulp, you give him an annoyed look.

"I was coordinating everything with Della" He looks confused "The job? As a waitress? I told you about it last night when I dropped Seb off?"

"I was half dead by the time you dropped by" He admits "I woke up at 4 am for the roadie and didn't get to nap at all in the bus, sorry" He then waves Hannah over "Can I get the big daddy breakfast with extra sausages and another orange juice please? Oh and a coffee, one cream two sugars"

"You got it" Hannah mumbles.

Dean turns back to you at the same time as he grabs Seb's hands that are outstretching towards the napkins in front of you "Anyways, why the hell are you getting a job?"

"Because I have things to pay?" You deadpan "I also have a meeting with the financial advisor in 40 minutes, the school agreed to let me hold onto my scholarship but even then, the rest of the money is still a little too much and I don't want to drain all my savings like that so… job" You motion to the place.

"Thanks" He tells Hannah when she places the three big plates, orange juice and coffee cup in front of him "Why didn't you tell me you needed money?"

"Because I don't need money from you" You shrug "Don't worry, Seb's getting all he needs, this is just for my stuff"

"You know I've gotchu whatever you need" He says, your mom reflexes save his breakfast from Sebastian's curious hands smashing into it.

"Thanks but I'm good" He doesn't like this, but he knows he's not going to win the argument so he just hums already planning how he's going to increment the money he sends you for Sebastian in a way that you won't instantly notice "Hand him over so you can eat before he faceplants into the eggs"

Your apartment - Monday night

"So I was thinking" Dean starts, he's on the floor doing tummy time with Sebastian.

"Oh no"

"Shut up" He shakes his head "I was thinking, if we make it to the frozen four this year, this little guy will be old enough to come see daddy play"

You make a face "I don't know"

"Oh come on, we can get him those huge earmuffs and get the puck bunnies to bodyguard" See, the thing about the puck bunnies is you shouldn't like them, but you can't help it. Sure, they are known for sleeping with the hockey players, but if you really think about it, they have a type and a limited dating pool in the school but they really don't harm anyone and they are nice once you get to know you. Oh and they love your kid because he is Dean's kid so really, you have no problem with them.

"How about this" You sit next to him with a yogurt cup that will most likely be stolen from your hands in just a few seconds "If you make it to the finals and the trip is not too long we'll make it"

"Great, going to order the ear muffs now" You know he's being truthful because he's already pulling up Amazon on his phone, the season is barely halfway through.

The Hockey House - Tuesday afternoon

"Dean if you don't pick your shit up I will throw it away" Tucker's yelling up the stairs when you walk into the house with Seb in your arms "Oh hey guys!"

"Hey Tuck" You give him a tired smile, at only six months old, Seb's decided that sleep is no longer something he's interested in.

"You look like you're about two seconds from collapsing" He frowns taking both the baby and baby bag from you.

"Feel like it too, he's decided he's allergic to sleeping more than 20 minutes at a time" You drop onto the couch with a sigh.

"I can watch him for a bit if you wanna nap" You throw up a thumbs up, your eyes already closed "Okay bud, today you're learning how to make a peach cobbler"

A while later you wake up to find Tuck cleaning the kitchen whit the baby strapped into his chest while humming a country song you don't recognize, the surprising thing? Seb's totally asleep, mouth open, little snores, drooling all over Tucker's chest asleep.

"Holy shit" You whisper making your way to the kitchen "You are magical Tuck"

"Huh?" He looks confused, then notices your gaze on the baby "Oh! He's been asleep for a while, I was explaining how to pick the perfect peaches to him and he just conked out" He shrugs as if it's nothing.

"John Tucker I think I might be in love with you" Of course that's the moment your baby's father decides to walk into the room, furrowed brows in annoyance at your words because although you two are not together he's not sure how he feels about you saying those words to one of his best friends.

"What the fuc-" He doesn't get to finish his sentence though because you practically throw yourself into him to cover his mouth, he catches you by your waist pressing you flush against him, frown still present in his face.

"Shut up" You whisper shout at him "I've been trying to get him to sleep for forever and he wouldn't settle now look at him"

Econ 201 - Wednesday morning

"Dude I have a problem" Dean's sitting next to his new friend, Beau, in class.

"You have a lot of those" Beau keeps taking notes of the board "It's the reason you're a hockey player"

"This is serious" Dean insists.

"What level of serious?"

"Camille tried sexting me last night and I didn't text back" Beau's pen basically drops from his hand and suddenly he's not into class at all becuase his buddy needs serious help if this problem is stopping him from sexting Camille freaking Green back.

"You have my undivided attention" The brunette says, his whole body turned to the blonde.

When your name comes out of Dean's mouth Beau gasps, yes, this is very clearly a serious problem if you're involved.

"Yesterday she told Tuck she was in love with him" Beau's eyes go impossibly wide at Dean's words "And it's been bugging me ever since"

"No bro like that's totally valid" Beau nods "If my baby mama said she was in love with my best friend I would go crazy too. So what happened next?"

"She told me to shut up because the baby was sleeping" Dean continues with his story "And then the other guys got home and we had dinner and then she left so we didn't get to talk but-"

"Gentlemen" The professor called, the class eerily quiet around them, all their classmates staring at the two "Anything to share with the class?"

Malone's - Wednesday night

"So" Garret plops down next to Tucker in the booth, throwing his arm around him "How's it feel to be a step dad?"

"Fuck you talking 'bout?" Tucker asks confused.

"It's all everyone on campus is talking about, John Tucker, the dad that stepped up" Logan says teasingly sitting on the other side of the booth, Tucker's still confused.

"Word on the street is that you'r dating Dean's baby mama" Garrett finally explains making the curly haired guy choke on his water.

"Where the hell is that coming from?" He asks "Wait, is that why everyone's been giving me weird looks?"

Dean arrives then with Beau by his side, the quarterback dapping him up before joining his own teammates leaving Dean to find his roommates.

"Why do you two look like you've pulled the prank of the year?" He asks Logan and Garrett who can't help but to cackle.

"Hey Tuck, I can give you a baby of your own if you want" A girl walking by winks at the Texan who gives his friends a mortified look.

Dean gives the table a questioning look "Apparently someone's been saying Tuck's dating your baby mama and has become" Garret starts, Logan joins with a big smile and at the same time they both say "The dad that stepped up"

"Wait… what?"

"Dean!" You barrell towards their table "What the hell did you do?"

"I didn't do anything" The blonde raises his hands.

"Then why is the whole campus thinking I'm in love with Tuck?" That's when it dawns on Dean.

“Put that out,” Ross barked, waving a hand in front of his nose. “You’re not even supposed to smoke in here!”

“Ugh!” Phoebe fanned the air dramatically. “Chandler, come on. You’re gonna get cancer, and then we’ll all feel like jerks for yelling at your urn.”

Chandler rolled his eyes and took a drag. “Wow. Judgment and a guilt trip. You guys should start a band.”

“Oh my god,” Monica groaned again, waving toward the window. “Go outside!”

“Hey, this is so unfair!” Chandler protested, gesturing with the cigarette like it was on his side.

“Oh yeah?” you said, finally lowering your zine with a look. “What’s unfair--lung privileges?”

“No! I have one flaw, and suddenly I’m public enemy number one? Meanwhile, Joey cracks his knuckles every five seconds like he’s trying to summon Captain Planet--”

“Hey!” Joey protested again.

“--and Ross,” Chandler went on, “acts like he’s narrating a PBS documentary every time he talks.”

Ross sat up straighter. “I articulate. It’s called having a command of the English language.”

“And Monica,” Chandler added with a flourish, “has that weird little snort when she laughs. Like a piglet getting tickled.”

“I do not snort,” Monica said indignantly.

"You totally do,” you muttered into your mug.

“Oh, and you,” Chandler turned to you, finger pointed. “With your whole ‘I’m better than everyone because I know the exact day every Bowie album dropped’ superiority thing. And that weird food ritual where you never finish your plate. You eat 85% of a sandwich and then abandon it like it said something offensive.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t have to explain my sandwich habits to a man who smokes indoors."

“God forbid someone smoke a single cigarette around Miss Precision Sandwich Eater of 1994.”

“Say that again when you’re hacking up a lung in your thirties,” you shot back. “We’ll see who wins then.”

there's a pause.

“…So, does the knuckle cracking actually bother everybody?” Joey asked, eyebrows raised.

Ross looked slightly guilty. “Well… I could live without it.”

“Okay but is it, like, ‘quirky habit’ annoying,” Joey pressed, “or like… Phoebe chewing her hair annoying?”

Phoebe blinked, mid-chew, and immediately pulled her hair out of her mouth.

“Don’t listen to him, Pheebs,” Ross said gently. “I think it’s endearing.”

Joey turned to him, mockingly sincere. “Ohhh, you do, do you?”

Monica snorted--actually snorted--and immediately covered her mouth, eyes wide.

Chandler just grinned. “There it is.”

“There’s nothing wrong with enunciating,” Ross said stiffly, crossing his arms.

“Indeed there isn't.” Rachel imitated Ross from behind the couch, then glanced at the espresso machine. “I should really get back to work.”

“Yeah,” Phoebe muttered, “before someone accidentally gets what they actually ordered.”

“Oh-ho-HO. The hair comes out and the gloves go on,” Rachel snapped.

The entire room descended into chaotic, overlapping bickering.

You got pulled into it-- snarking and sparring like it was second nature. You accused Monica of weaponizing passive aggression. Joey said you were just bitter because you were always cold. Ross tried to quote Latin. Phoebe said she liked your 80% sandwich thing. Rachel asked what a Bowie was, earning herself a death glare from you.

And somewhere in all that noise, Chandler was gone.

You scanned the room, eyebrows pinching. The door was still swinging slightly on its hinge.

That bastard.

You sighed, stood up, and slung your cardigan tighter around your shoulders as you made for the door.

“Where are you going?” Rachel asked, coffee mug in hand.

You didn’t look back. “To go kill the Marlboro Man.”

And just like that, you disappeared after him, zine abandoned, door shut behind you.

You caught him halfway down the sidewalk, leaned casually against the window, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth like he was trying out for a 1940s heist film.

“Smooth escape,” you said, approaching him.

He glanced at you sideways, amused. “Thank you. That was my own version of smoke and mirrors.”

“Clever.” You folded your arms. “So what’s it gonna take to get you to quit?”

He puffed once. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve already had five guilt trips, three lectures, and a surprise intervention this week. None of it worked.”

You shrugged. “Alright. What if I sweeten the deal?”

Chandler raised a brow. “I’m listening.”

“If you go a full week without smoking…” You tapped your chin. “I’ll buy you that vintage Batman comic you’ve been hunting for. The one with the misprint cover.”

His eyes lit up slightly-- then narrowed. “Tempting. But not tempting enough.”

You nodded slowly. “Fine. I’ll throw in those black licorice things you like that taste like regret and despair.”

Chandler took another drag. “Closer.”

You stepped in, lowering your voice just enough that only he could hear it. “If you can go one week without a cigarette, Chandler… I’ll show you my boobs.”

He froze.

The cigarette fell from his fingers and hit the sidewalk with a tiny hiss.

“…A week, you said?”

You smirked. "I'll even provide the nicotine patches."

He looked genuinely conflicted for a second-- then sighed dramatically and stomped out the cigarette.

“Fine. For the sake of my lungs… and your very generous offer-- I accept.”

You beamed. “See? Bribery works better than judgment.”

Chandler shook his head with a crooked smile. “God, you’re dangerous.”

You leaned in, already walking backward toward the coffeehouse. “Only when properly motivated.”

He watched you go, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets, trying not to look too smug-- or too flustered.

March 24th, 1994

Chandler looked like a man on the edge.

He sat on the couch with a cup of coffee (his fifth), hunched over and twitchy, leg bouncing like a nervous rabbit. You were sitting on the floor in front of him, sipping iced tea and pretending not to notice how he’d muttered “kill me” under his breath at least twice in the past ten minutes.

Joey leaned back in the chair beside the couch, squinting at Chandler with cautious admiration. “Dude… not to jinx it, but… this is, what, day four?”

“Day four and seventeen hours,” Chandler said, rubbing his face. “Not that I’m counting. But also I definitely am.”

Monica walked over with two fresh mugs. “I’m honestly impressed. I didn’t think you’d last this long.”

Phoebe nodded. “Yeah! You’re usually all talk and zero follow-through. It’s very inspiring.”

“I hate all of you,” Chandler muttered. “And I hate this coffee. And I hate the air. And my lungs feel too clean.”

You patted his thigh like he was a feral cat. “You’re doing great, champ.”

Rachel came over from the kitchen with a knowing smirk. “Okay, but seriously--what’s the real reason you’re actually doing this? You didn’t even quit when Monica threatened to replace your cereal with celery.”

Chandler hesitated.

You looked down and busied yourself with a cracker from the coffee table.

Phoebe narrowed her eyes. “Wait… wait a minute. You’ve never made it four days unless something’s in it for you.”

Joey gasped. “Oh my god. Are you getting paid?”

Monica stared. “Did you bet on your own lung health?”

Chandler opened his mouth. Then closed it.

And then Ross-- who had just emerged from the bathroom with a face like he’d walked into something he shouldn’t-- sat down on the arm of the couch.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Oh!” Phoebe beamed. “We’re figuring out why Chandler quit smoking.”

Ross raised a brow. “Wait. Still? You’re on day four, right?”

“Four days and seventeen hours,” Chandler corrected.

Ross tilted his head. “Why? Did someone die?”

Phoebe leaned toward you suspiciously. “You did something, didn’t you?”

You raised your brows, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joey pointed back and forth between the two of you. “Wait a minute. This is just like that one time--remember when he stuck to that diet for a whole month because that girl from work promised him a peek at her--”

“Boobs,” Chandler blurted. Then winced.

The room went silent.

“What?!” Ross was scandalized.

You took a slow, measured sip of your drink.

“…So,” Monica said slowly. “Let me get this straight.”

“Please don’t get it straight,” Chandler muttered.

“You promised to quit smoking,” Phoebe said.

“And she said if you made it a week…” Joey’s voice trailed off as he nodded in admiration. “That’s… actually genius.”

Rachel’s eyes widened. “Wait, is this, like, a scheduled thing? Are we counting down to Boob Day?”

“Oh my God,” you groaned. “Can we please stop talking about my tits?”

Ross looked like someone had just set his coffee on fire. “Yes, thank you! I didn’t even know this was on the table!”

Phoebe, unbothered, turned to you. “But wait, so--was it, like, part of a larger strategy? Did you offer anything else first?”

You nodded, dry. “I tried candy and comics. Nothing worked.”

Joey nodded solemnly. “Boobs. Nature’s nicotine patch.”

“Can I please die now?” Chandler muttered.

Rachel leaned over the arm of the couch, grinning. “So if he makes it to seven days…”

“He gets the view,” Joey filled in.

“You don’t have to narrate it,” you deadpanned.

Phoebe tilted her head thoughtfully. “But technically, she’s still in charge of the reward. That’s so powerful.”

“I mean,” Monica said, licking her spoon, “you could just change your mind. Or make it conditional. Like, no boobs unless he also gets a haircut.”

You made a face. “Okay, first of all, I would never make him get a haircut.”

Everyone turned toward you at once.

You immediately added, “Not because I like it or anything. I just--he’d look weird with, like, short hair. His whole thing would fall apart.”

Chandler grinned. “My whole thing?”

You shrugged, sipping your tea, ears turning pink. “Yeah. Like, your sarcasm wouldn’t hit the same if your hair was too neat. You’d lose your edge.”

Phoebe tilted her head. “So you do like his hair.”

“No,” you said quickly. “I respect it. Like a… cultural artifact.”

Joey pointed at Chandler. “Your hair is a museum piece.”

Rachel cackled.

Chandler looked mildly stunned but definitely pleased, while you resolutely avoided his eye.

Ross, still trying to catch up, gestured vaguely in the air. “But--so what if he doesn’t make it? Do you just… revoke the boobs? Or is there some kind of punishment clause?”

You gave him a flat look. “Ross. There were never any boobs. That’s the whole incentive.”

Monica laughed so hard she nearly spilled her yogurt.

Chandler slumped into the couch cushions like a man accepting his fate. “This was supposed to be a quiet, dignified week of personal growth.”

You mockingly patted his thigh. “Aw. Poor baby. You’re just trying to better yourself and everyone’s obsessed with your hypothetical sex prize.”

Chandler looked at you with pained affection. “You’re evil.”

“I’m effective,” you corrected.

Monica clapped her hands once. “Okay, now I need to see if he actually makes it to day seven.”

Phoebe nodded solemnly. “For the sake of nipples everywhere.”

March 27th, 1994

Chandler was sprawled on the couch like he’d just survived a hostage situation.

He looked pale. Grumpy. Deeply betrayed by the world. He was also seven days cigarette-free.

You were curled next to him, one leg tucked under you, gently running your fingers through his hair--part comfort, part victory lap. His eyes were closed, head tilted toward your touch like a cat soaking up sun.

“You know,” you said, voice light, “you’re shockingly tolerable when you’re detoxing. I expected more weeping.”

“I did weep,” he mumbled. “In the frozen food aisle. Over a bag of peas. Maybe some eggos”

You snorted.

Monica entered from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. “It’s almost time!”

Phoebe and Joey followed, each holding a cookie in one hand and buzzing with anticipation. Rachel leaned against the counter, arms crossed and smirking.

“I still can’t believe you made it seven days,” Rachel said.

“Neither can I,” Chandler groaned. “Everything smells better. Food tastes better. I feel emotions now. It’s terrible.”

Monica set the mugs down. “Timer’s got thirty seconds left.”

Ross glanced at his watch, nodding. “Ah, the final countdown. This is better than any sports game.”

“I swear,” Chandler said, eyes still closed, “if someone lights a match and I inhale by accident, I will throw myself out the window.”

You smiled down at him. “Oh, come on. You’ve been a delight. Moody. Cranky. Deeply dramatic. But a delight.”

Phoebe held up a cookie like a microphone. “So, are you ready for your prize?”

Joey leaned in with a grin. “Do you have a speech prepared?”

Chandler sighed. “I didn’t think I’d make it this far. I’d like to thank spite, coffee, and her boobs for getting me through it.”

Ross chuckled softly. “Her… boobs? Not exactly the typical quitting incentive, but hey, whatever works.”

The timer dinged.

A beat of silence. Then the group exploded into applause.

“Seven days!” Rachel whooped. “No cheating, no sneaking?”

Monica narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t just, like, sneak one in the hallway, right?”

Chandler raised a hand like he was swearing into court. “I swear on Joey’s cholesterol levels.”

Joey nodded solemnly. “That’s sacred.”

You gave Chandler’s hair a final ruffle, then stood up with a satisfied stretch. “Well then. A deal’s a deal.”

Chandler bolted upright. “Wait. Now?”

Rachel’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god, are we actually doing this?”

“I mean,” Phoebe said brightly, “we were here for the buildup.”

Monica raised a hand. “Nope. No way. You two take that weird sexual tension to your room like civilized roommates.”

You turned to Chandler with a grin and wiggled your eyebrows. “Shall we?”

He scrambled up from the couch like he was being offered backstage passes and a winning lottery ticket.

Rachel covered her eyes. “This is too weird. I live here now. I need walls.”

Joey called after you, “Make it count, man!”

Phoebe added, “Don’t blink!”

Monica just groaned. “Please don’t scar me emotionally.”

You pulled Chandler toward your bedroom by the wrist, looking completely smug. “Come on, Bing. Let’s get this over with.”

“Romantic,” he muttered.

“Oh, you’re gonna cry. Guaranteed.”

“I already did. Over the peas, remember?”

You disappeared into your room with him stumbling after you, clearly overwhelmed but absolutely not protesting.

You shut the door behind the two of you and turned slowly to find Chandler standing in the middle of your room like he’d just wandered into a holy site. Hands in his pockets. Jaw slack. Trying very hard not to stare at your chest but clearly already halfway to heaven.

“You okay?” you asked, eyebrow raised.

“I’m great,” he said quickly. “I’m fine. I’ve never been better. I’m just--uh--trying to process that I’m in your room for boob-related reasons and it’s not a hallucination brought on by nicotine withdrawal.”

You took a slow step toward him. “Still want the reward?”

He nodded so fast it looked like whiplash. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything. And I’ve wanted things. Pizza. Sleep. Parental approval. But mostly pizza."

You circled him, slow and deliberate, fingers trailing up his sleeve. “You sure you’re ready?”

“Born ready,” he said, then added quickly, “unless this is a trick. Is this a trick? Are you gonna hit me with a water balloon or something?”

You laughed softly and stopped in front of him. “No trick.”

Then, with complete calm, you reached behind your back.

His eyes widened.

You unhooked your bra under your shirt, sliding the straps slowly from your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor with a light, traitorous thump.

Chandler made a sound that could only be described as a prayer.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here, right? You’re trying to kill me. This is a slow, beautiful murder.”

You shrugged one shoulder, innocent. “I thought I’d give you a preview. You’ve earned a little anticipation.”

“I will write songs about this moment,” he said, eyes locked on you like you were a mirage.

Then, finally, you gripped the hem of your shirt.

Lifted it. Slowly.

His breath caught audibly in his throat.

You held it just long enough to drive him insane, then raised it fully--bare, lit softly by the lamplight behind you.

Chandler didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Then--finally--he exhaled, a stunned, reverent whisper:

“…Thank you.”

You laughed--not at him, but softly, surprised, like his sincerity had caught you off guard.

“Wow,” you said, tugging your shirt down as you reached for your bra. “That was unexpectedly polite.”

He didn’t move. Just stood there, dazed. Giddy. Slightly ruined.

You passed him, casually patting his chest like a congratulatory coach. “You did good, Bing.”

“I’m in love,” he said automatically, then winced. “With the moment! The moment. Not you. That’d be weird. Haha.”

You paused in the doorway and glanced back at him, smug.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said sweetly. “You’ve got about three more weeks of clean lungs before I flash you again.”

He pointed at you helplessly. “You’re evil.”

"Proud of you, Bing. Still a menace, but now a smoke-free menace." You said, walking out, leaving him completely shell-shocked in the middle of your room, muttering under his breath:

“…Best. Bet. Ever.”

----

"Okay, you know what, (Y/N)," Chandler begins slightly aggressive. "I don't need your negative comments, alright? Now who's with me? I say this year, no dates, we make a pact. Just the seven of us. Dinner." He tries his hardest to make it sound appealing.

The rest of the group mumbles in agreement, not truly that interested in his idea. Chandler scoffs, "You know, I was hoping for a little more enthusiasm." He looks at them slightly offended.

Everyone sarcastically begins cheering louder to please his ego. He smiles gratefully and (Y/N) can't help but shake her head in amusement as she takes a sip of her coffee. She doesn't think this pact will last more than a day. Maybe less.

Especially with how things seem to be going for Phoebe and the guy she called out while singing onstage. She smirks and leans back to look up at Chandler, "Still think this whole no date pact thing is gonna work?"

"Oh shut up." He grumbles.

"Hey, that guys going home with more than a note." Joey chimes in, clearly impressed with Phoebe.

(Y/N) snorts out a laugh and sends Chandler a sarcastic thumbs up. The man simply rolls his eyes and goes to sit on the other side of the couch, farthest away from (Y/N).

             »»————-　⚜　————-««

     About two hours later, (Y/N), Rachel, Monica, Ross, Chandler, and Phoebe all sit in Monica's apartment decorating the tree to make it look more festive for the party. (Y/N) and Chandler begin to detangle the golden tinsel as Rachel looks back at Phoebe.

"Pheebs, I can't believe he hasn't kissed you yet. I mean God, by my sixth date with Paolo, I mean he had already named both my breasts!" Rachel laughs lightly until she realizes what she just said. She pauses, "Ooh. Did I just share too much?"

Ross scrunches his eyebrows, "Just a smidge."

"David's like, y'know, Scientist Guy. He's very methodical." Phoebe explains.

"Well, I think it's romantic." (Y/N) smiles.

Monica nods in agreement as Phoebe begins to light up with excitement, "Me too! Oh! Did you ever see An Officer and a Gentleman?"

"Yeah."

"Well, he's kinda like the guy I went to see that with. Except, except he-he's smarter, and gentler, and sweeter... I just- I just wanna be with him all the time. Day and night, and night and day... and special occasions..." She begins to trail off, giving a not so discreet side eye to Chandler.

The man throws his hands up, "Wait a minute, wait a minute, I see where this is going, you're gonna ask him to New Year's, aren't you? You're gonna break the pact. She's gonna break the pact." He announces, looking around at everyone.

Phoebe gasps, "No, no, no, no, no, no." She says getting on her knees on top of the couch. She looks at all of her friends and then gives in. "Yeah, could I just?"

They all collectively gasp, everyone besides seemingly Chandler. (Y/N) looks at him accusatorially as he nods his head to the side, "Yeah, 'cause I already asked Janice."

(Y/N) furrows her eyebrows, not expecting Janice the be the one he ended up asking. While she does feel an extreme sense of bragging coming on for her calling that the no date pact wasn't going to work, this new revelation almost made bragging not worth it.

"What?!" Monica asks, has agape.

"C'mon, this was a pact! This was your pact!" Ross says incredulously.

Chandler shrugs, "I snapped, okay? I couldn't handle the pressure and I snapped."

"Yeah, but Janice?" (Y/N) raises an eyebrow. "That was like the worst breakup in history!"

"I'm not saying it was a good idea, I'm saying I snapped!" Chandler defends.

"Clearly." (Y/N) mutters irritatedly.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Chandler asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Nothing." She replies quietly.

Suddenly the door flies open to reveal an elf Joey with shoes that jingle as he walks. Everyone stares at the man, mouth wide. (Y/N) gasps and begins to cackle as Chandler smirks.

"Hi. Hi, sorry I'm late."

"Too many jokes... must mock Joey!" Chandler exclaims happily.

"Nice shoes, huh? " Joey asks as he wiggles his foot, making the bells jingle once more.

(Y/N) can't believe what she's watching, "You're killing me." She continues laughing.

Rachel looks in between (Y/N) and Chandler, "It's like having two of you." She says to Chandler.

Marcel, Ross's monkey jumps over into the kitchen and knocks over multiple kitchen appliances. Monica looks at her brother exasperatedly, "Ross! He's playing with my spatulas again!"

"Okay, look, he's not gonna hurt them, right?" Ross counters, defending his monkey.

"Do you always have to bring him here?"

"I didn't wanna leave him alone. Alright? We- we had our first fight this morning. I think it has to do with my working late. I said some things that I didn't mean, and he- he threw some feces..." Ross explains upset, making (Y/N) have to hold in her laughter again. She loves the chaos her friends  emanate.

"Y'know, if you're gonna work late, I could look in on him for you." Chandler offers.

(Y/N) scoffs, "Chandler taking care of something. Never thought I'd live to see the day." She smirks playfully.

"You're on one today, you know that?" He quips back.

(Y/N) shrugs happily, satisfied to know she successfully got under Chandler's skin.

            »»————-　⚜　————-««

     "So tell me something. What does the phrase 'no date pact' mean to you?" Ross asks harshly to Monica, who just revealed she got a date for the party.

"I'm sorry, okay. It's just that Chandler has somebody, and Phoebe has somebody- I thought I'd ask Fun Bobby." Monica explains gently to her brother as she takes a seat on the couch.

"Fun Bobby? Your ex-boyfriend Fun Bobby?" Chandler tilts his head.

"Yeah." She confirms.

(Y/N) looks at Chandler, "You know more than one Fun Bobby?"

"I happen to know a Fun Bob." Chandler justifies.

Rachel comes up from behind them all with a mug of coffee for Joey, "Okay, here we go..."

"Ooh ooh ooh ooh, there's no room for milk!" He complains.

Rachel glances at Joey and then at his coffee. She leans down and takes a large sip from the top. "There. Now there is." She shrugs.

"Okay, so on our no-date evening, three of you now have dates." Ross looks in between all of them, still upset about it.

"Uh, four." Joey adds.

"Four." Ross deflates.

"Five." Rachel chimes in.

"Five." Ross hides his head in his hands.

"Six." (Y/N) raises her hand. Taking a sip from Chandler's cup.

"Hey!" Chandler exclaims.

Truthfully, Chandler didn't mind (Y/N) taking a sip of his coffee. He found it slightly endearing. He actually really enjoyed her company due to the fact that both of them happen to be extremely sarcastic.

The brunette man furrows his eyebrows, just now processing what (Y/N) revealed. He pauses, "Wait, you have a date?" He asks her.

"Yes Mr. Bing." (Y/N) responds sarcastically. "Try to hide your shock please." She rolls her eyes.

"I-I didn't meant it like that. I was just interested in hearing you had a date considering two weeks ago you said you didn't plan on dating for awhile." He says, sipping his coffee awkwardly.

(Y/N) tilts her head, "Since when do you pay this close attention to what I say?"

Chandler shrugs, "I don't know..." He mumbles.

"I just can't believe everyone has a date but me." Ross leans back in his chair, crossing his arms to pout.

"Sorry. Paolo's catching an earlier flight."

"Yeah, and I met this really hot single mom at the store. What's an elf to do?" Joey shrugs.

"Yeah, and I met a cute guy at the grocery store when I was shopping for stuff to make my cheesecake." (Y/N) tells him sympathetically.

Ross looks up, "Is it your Oreo one?"

"Yes Ross." (Y/N) smiles.

"You're forgiven." He nods. "But the rest of you are not."

"Oh, c'mon. We'll have, we'll have a big party, and no-one'll know who's with who." Rachel tries to comfort him.

"Yeah, well I'll know. Hey, y'know, this is so not what I needed right now." Ross shakes his head.

"What's the matter?" Monica looks at him concerned.

"Oh, it's-it's Marcel. He's angry with me again. I have no idea why. He keeps shutting me out, y'know? He's walking around all the time dragging his hands..."

"That's so weird, I had such a blast with him the other night." Chandler says, moving his arm behind (Y/N), lightly touching her back. She furrows her eyebrows, but doesn't say anything.

"Really?" Ross looks at him, hurt evident on his face.

"Yeah, we played, we watched TV.. that juggling thing is amazing."

"What juggling thing?" Ross asks as his body begins to sag sadly.

"With the balled-up socks?" Chandler tells him. "I figured you taught him that."

"No." Ross frowns.

Chandler goes to continue once more, but (Y/N) puts her hand on his, "Just stop. You're making it worse." She whispers.

"Noted." He nods, keeping his mouth shut. He leans down to whisper since Phoebe's boyfriends friend walked in. "You know, you never told me what the name of your date was."

"You didn't ask." (Y/N) responds.

"Well, now I'm asking." He looks down at her, his eyes never leaving her figure.

"Well, if you're really that curious, his name is Wren." She whispers back to him.

He looks at her with a scrunched up face, "What the hell kind of a name is Wren?"

"A model name apparently." She responds smugly, taking his coffee from his hands, sipping it once more.

"He's a model?" Chandler looks at her, suddenly losing all confidence.

"Yeah. I figured he could give Joey some good contacts too. So, it's a win-win." She smiles, not noticing Chandler's change in demeanor.

"Yeah." He says grouchily. "Win-win."

            »»————-　⚜　————-««

     (Y/N) walks into Monica's apartment, she smiles at all of her friends as the part is in full swing. She watches as everyone begins to mingle and she makes her way over to the snack table. She places her Oreo cheesecake on the table and grabs her own plate, getting some of Rachel's artichoke dip in the process.

Before she could escape, Chandler and his date Janice come up to the table and the latter gets a big scoop of the same dip (Y/N) just got. "I love this artichoke thing!" She says boisterously and does her signature Janice laugh, making (Y/N)'s eyes go wide.

"(Y/N), you remember Janice." Chandler gives her a fake smile, clearly already annoyed with his date.

"Vividly." She replies with an even faker smile. "How are you?"

"Oh, I am fantastic! Now, you know what's totally amazing? It's just like we have been back together for...like what...like 10 minutes. And-"

"Is that all?" Chandler interrupts, making (Y/N) smirk.

"it's just like we were never apart.   Y'know I mean. Of course, we were... but forgive and forget. Well...forget." She laughs once more when a knock sounds at the door.

(Y/N) nods, and her eyes follow after Monica, begging to be saved. "Well Janice, lovely seeing you again, but Monica needs help... opening the door. So, catch you guys later." She rushes out and follows after her raven-haired friend.

Chandler watches as (Y/N) walks away, his eyes slowly looking over her body. He didn't really notice until now, but she looked absolutely stunning. The dress she was wearing fit her body perfectly. It hugged her in all the right places.

"Oh honey," Janice starts. "You've got a little drool on your chin." She laughs, wiping it off for him.

(Y/N) approaches Monica and a very disheveled Rachel.  She gasps at the sigh of her friend and the bruises that decorate her face. "Oh my gosh! Rachel, honey.. are you okay? Where-where's Paolo?" She asks as her and Monica pull her inside the apartment.

"Rome. Jerk missed his flight." She scoffs angrily.

"And then... your face is bloated?" Phoebe looks at her concerned.

"No. Okay. I was at the airport, getting into a cab, when this woman- this blonde planet with a pocketbook- starts yelling at me. Something about how it was her cab first. And then the next thing I know she just starts- starts pulling me out by my hair! So I'm blowing my attack whistle thingy and three more cabs show up, and as I'm going to get into a cab she tackles me. And I hit my head on the curb and cut my lip on my whistle." She stops and looks around, noticing everyone staring at her. "Oh, everybody having fun at the party?" She leans over to (Y/N) and Monica, "Are people eating my dip?"

(Y/N) and Monica nod as the (h/c) haired girl shows her the plate she has in her hand. Rachel smiles gratefully as Phoebe grabs Rachel's hand and escorts her into her room. (Y/N) huffs and goes over to sit next to Ross and Chandler who both seem to be sulking in the corner.

"What are you boys doing?" She asks with a glass of wine in her hand, sitting right next to Chandler.

"Hiding from Janice." Chandler whispers, peeking around the corner. "I haven't had a moment to breathe since I've been here."

"What did you expect?" (Y/N) chuckles. "It's Janice."

"Yeah." He huffs out, leaning his head against (Y/N)'s arm. She places her hand on his head, playing with his hair mindlessly. Chandler's eyes close as he enjoys the sensation of (Y/N)'s hands in his hair.

The two sit like that for a moment, just enjoying each others company. (Y/N) looks up from Chandler and notices Ross staring longingly at his monkey who seems to be ignoring him.

"You doing okay Ross?" She asks genuinely.

Ross sighs, "Look at him. I'm not saying he has to spend the whole evening with me, but at least check in." He pouts.

Before (Y/N) could respond a loud voice rings out, causing her and true two men to jump. "There you are! Haaah, you got away from me!" She says to Chandler, waking him from his almost peaceful slumber. Janice practically sits on his lap, making him look at her grumpily.

"But you found me!" He imitates her.

Janice looks over at (Y/N) and hands her a camera, "Here, (Y/N) , take our picture." (Y/N) reluctantly takes the camera and begins to snap photos. "Smile! You're on Janice Camera!"

"Kill me. Kill me now." Chandler looks at (Y/N) with pleading eyes.

The woman smiles and sends him a playful wink as she snaps another photo of the couple. "Keep smiling Chandler, you're on Janice camera." She says mockingly.

Another knock sounds through the house and Monica goes to look through the peephole. She smiles excitedly, "Hey everybody! It's Fun Bobby!"

Everyone cheers loudly as Monica opens the door. She goes to greet him cheerily but quickly notes the depressed look on his face. "Hey, sorry I'm late. But my, uh, grandfather, he- died about two hours ago. But I-I-I couldn't get a flight out 'til tomorrow, so here I am!"

Fun Bobby goes towards the couch and begins to talk about his grandfathers funeral. Janice grabs (Y/N)'a attention once more, forcing her to take more photos of her and Chandler.

(Y/N) dejectedly turns back around and comes face to face with Janice kissing Chandler. (Y/N) clenches her jaw jealously as she aggressively snaps a photo of the two kissing. Chandler notices (Y/N)'s posture become much more tense. He pulls away and sends (Y/N) a curious look.

"Oh, I'm gonna blow this one up, and I'm gonna write Reunited in glitter." Janice exclaims happily as she continues to try and maul Chandler's face.

(Y/N) scoffs under her breath and shakes her head. She goes to turn around but Chandler's voice stops her. "Alright, Janice, that's it! Janice... Janice... Hey, Janice, when I invited you to this party I didn't necessarily think that it meant that we-" He gestures between the two of them.

"Oh no. Oh no." The woman puts her hand up, tears forming in her eyes.

"I'm sorry you misunderstood..." Chandler trails off.

(Y/N) can't help but feel happy at the scene unfolding in front of her. She really did hate seeing Chandler with Janice. Or any female for that matter. Little did she know was that Chandler felt the exact same.

"Oh my God. You listen to me, Chandler, you listen to me. One of these times is just gonna be your last chance with me." Janice exclaims as she storms off.

(Y/N), not able to help herself, snaps a photo of Chandler being left on the spot. The man rolls his eyes, "Oh, will you give me the thing." He snatches the camera from her hands making her giggle at his irritation.

"So grouchy." (Y/N) teases as she begins to walk back over to the snack table, Chandler in tow.

"I know this sounds terrible," He starts. "But I am so happy she left." He breathes out relieved.

"You and me both." (Y/N) laughs. "I'm sorry, but her laugh drives me insane."

"You're not the only one." He answers with wide eyes.

"Hey, but at least she's gone now." (Y/N) smiles optimistically.

"And so is my chances of getting a kiss at midnight." He huffs, leaning back in his chair.

(Y/N) shakes her head at him, "Is that really all you're worried about?"

"Yeah, aren't you?" He queries. "Speaking of, I haven't seen your model man date." He tells her mockingly. "Did someone lie about having a date?"

(Y/N) rolls her eyes, and shows him a photo of the man, making his eyes widen at how beautiful he is. "That's not natural." Chandler shakes his head.

"But no, I didn't lie about having a date." (Y/N) stares at him. "He just bailed last minute. Said he took a job in LA at the Marc Jacobs show tomorrow morning so he had to fly out."

"Well, he's a jerk." Chandler states matter of factly. "Leaving you high and dry like that."

(Y/N) shrugs, "I'm not to broken up about it. Plus, I'm right where I wanna be." She smiles softly, squeezing Chandler's hand.

The man's heart leaps in his chest as the beautiful woman in front of him stares at him with her piercing (e/c) eyes. "Really? Sitting here, no date, with me." Chandler raises an eyebrow. "That's where you wanna be?"

"Why wouldn't I want to be here?" (Y/N) tilts her head. "I'd rather be here with you than anyone else."

(Y/N) glances over at the TV, "There's twenty seconds til midnight." She reveals.

"And the moment of joy is upon us." He smiles sarcastically.

(Y/N) listens as the group of people begin to count down. Ross, Monica, Rachel, Joey, and Phoebe seem to have formed their own little group in the other corner of the house. Everyone besides them seem to gather in their own little couples as they begin to count down.

3...

(Y/N) looks over at Chandler and stands up. The man looks at her with a confused look on his face. "What are you doing?"

"Get up." She commands.

2...

"What why?" He looks around rapidly, not understanding what's going on.

"Just get up." She repeats. "Trust me." She extends her hand out for him to take.

"Why do I have a feeling this isn't going to end well?" He asks warily.

"You tell me if it ends badly."

1...

"I don't understand-" Chandler furrows his eyebrows but is swiftly cut off by (Y/N) grabbing him by the collar and pulling him closer to her.

Happy New Year

(Y/N) smashes her lips onto Chandler's. The man sits in shock for a moment before settling into the kiss. He reciprocates her passion and continues kissing her happily. He grabs her waist and pulls her even closer than she was before. He digs his fingers into her side, causing her to gasp. He slips his tongue into her mouth smoothly and she sighs happily. Her hands shoot up into his hair, her thumbs rubbing the back of his head.

"Chandler's kissing (Y/N)!" Ross exclaims. "(Y/N)'s kissing Chandler!" He points over to the couple like a child catching his parents putting presents under the tree.

(Y/N) and Chandler reluctantly pull apart and both of them look over to their group of friends who are staring at them with blank faces. Chandler wraps his arm around (Y/N)'a waist.

"Well, Happy New Year everyone." He clears his throat. "But I think (Y/N) and I are gonna head back to her apartment."

(Y/N) nods rapidly, "Bye guys." She waves as the two frantically escape Monica's apartment, desperate to undress each other.

The group watches after them and Joey sighs, "It's about damn time." He exclaims.

Everyone nods and mumbles in agreement as they go back to the party. The tension between them has been palpable for awhile. It was truly only a matter of time.

Garrett smiles, catching his girl by the waist next, kissing her deep enough to have the cheering room break into whistles and catcalls.

“Get a room,” Beau calls. Garrett points at him, smiling like Beau just suggested something that was already decided—and it was.

“What the fuck, bro? We won. The fuck are you goin’?” Logan shouts, but Garrett and his girlfriend are already halfway up the steps. “You gotta stay—”

“Can’t,” Garrett answers simply.

“The hell you mean can’t?” Logan scoffs, but Graham’s as good as gone, leaving Logan staring after him in disbelief. “Unbelievable—Dean!” Logan points across the living room, calling him instead. “You’re up.”

Dean glances up from the lip of his beer—uninterested in anything happening around him but you.

“What?”

“Pong,” Logan yells.

Dean opens his mouth to turn him down, but then he looks across the room, right at you, and you don’t notice. And Dean Di Laurentis can have none of that.

You’re too busy laughing at something one of your friends says, drink balanced in your hand. Dean exhales slowly through his nose. “Yeah,” he says before taking another sip of his beer. “I’m down.”

“Let’s fucking go,” Logan smiles.

Dean stands up, stepping toward the table. You’re still deep in conversation when he reaches for one of the pong balls floating in a cup, flicking off the water before he rolls it between his big fingers.

You still haven’t looked over.

He glances away, catching himself staring before he remembers he’s supposed to be pretending he doesn’t do that. He swallows hard, jaw tightening; his entire demeanor shifting in a moment when he looks back.

“Ah, fuck no,” he breathes out a bitter sigh, bouncing the pong ball against the table.

“What?” Logan asks, following his gaze when Dean doesn’t answer. The look on Dean’s face says enough as Hunter Davenport makes his way directly toward you.

The one person on his team Dean has absolutely no fucking patience for. Hate is an understatement. And if Hunter had two working eyes and two brain cells left to rub together, he would’ve noticed Dean’s attention hadn’t left you once all night.

Within seconds the entire group is finding reasons to step away and give you two some space.

“Traitors,” he mumbles.

Dean pinches the pong ball between his fingers, spinning it against the edge of the table as he tries to look unbothered.

Hunter says something and your smile widens. He leans down closer, and Dean straightens immediately. “Need another team over here,” Dean calls out.

It has the intended effect for exactly half a second. Hunter glances toward the table. So do you.

Then he says something else and your attention goes right back to him. “Fucking prick,” Dean mutters under his breath.

“What are you on about?” Logan asks, elbowing him with a laugh, but Dean ignores him.

You laugh again and Dean’s face goes sour instantly.

“He’s not fuckin’ funny,” he huffs, and Logan looks back at him wide-eyed.

“Are you okay?” He laughs.

“Perfect, why?”

“I mean, I have so many questions,” he teases him, “but we can start with why the fuck are you losin’ your shit?”

“Am not,” Dean laughs like it’s beneath him, lifting his drink to drain the rest.

Logan claps a hand on his back, chuckling breathily. “Totally normal reaction, bud. My bad.”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbles as a few underclasses from the hockey team step up to the table. He waves them away, desperate to get you across from him somehow—shit. Dean reaches out fast, grabbing your friend's arm as she walks past.

“You trying to play? Get a friend,” he gestures in your direction just as Hunter’s hand rests on your lower back.

“I think she wants to play with Hunter,” your friend says, tapping Dean on the chest with a look that says she’s figured him out completely.

Davenport nods over to the pong table with a smile, already two steps ahead.

“Good thing you’re not bothered by this, huh?” Logan mumbles against the rim of his drink, watching as the two of you walk closer.

“You tryin’ to play, pretty?” Dean asks with his gaze set on you.

“That okay, boys?” Hunter asks with a smile, cutting in with a response.

“For her, of course. For you, fuck off,” Dean smiles, pointing at Beau instead, waving him over lazily. “You don’t gotta play with him, sweetheart.” The words leave his lips like the punchline to a joke.

“Don’t worry about him,” Hunter bites, his hand settling at your waist, guiding you the rest of the way. “He’s just worried I’m gonna dust his ass.”

Dean just lets out a short laugh as he reaches for a pong ball. He dips it into the cup of water beside him without even looking up.

“Keep talkin’,” he says.

A little smile curls on your lips as you grab the cups in front of you, making a little triangle, avoiding Dean’s gaze for now.

You can’t even remember the last party where some girl wasn’t practically hanging off his arm or finding an excuse to talk to him. Usually he’s the one smiling politely while somebody works way too hard for his attention.

When your eyes lift, Dean's already there, waiting for you. You bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. His blue eyes fall down your body for the moment as Hunter's hand wraps around your waist, talking strategy, but honestly the contact is more than enough to get in Dean’s head.

Dean sinks a shot, and you answer with one of your own. “Let’s go, princess,” Hunter laughs, bumping his shoulder into yours.

“You good?” Logan asks, his eyes sliding over to Dean.

“M’fine,” Dean answers too fast.

“Well, man who’s fine, everyone’s waitin’ for you to shoot—”

“Fuck off,” Dean mutters, wetting the ball before he shoots, sending the little ball ricocheting into the crowd.

“M’gonna need you to lock the fuck in,” Logan scolds, turning his chest to Dean, the two of them locked up in a staring contest for a few seconds.

Dean sucks his teeth and forces himself to focus again. It lasts all of five seconds. The second his eyes find you across the table, Hunter’s arm is draped lazily across your shoulders while he points at one of the remaining cups with his free hand, getting your opinion on which shot he should take.

You study the cups for a second before lifting a hand and pointing toward the one on the far side of the table, making your choice with a small shrug.

Hunter nods like you’ve just handed him the answer key.

Water sloshes as Hunter sinks it just seconds later. Before the crowd can even react, his arm is around your waist, hauling you clean off your feet in celebration.

Dean rolls his eyes so hard Logan catches it from beside him.

Logan plants both hands on the edge of the table and lets out a slow breath. At this point he’s not sure whether he’s playing against you and Hunter or dragging Dean across the finish line.

Hunter leans down again, saying something you can’t quite hear over the music, you turn into him a little more because of it, your hand landing against his arm as he grins down at you.

Across the table, Dean watches the whole thing and Logan follows his line of sight. “Handle your shit later,” he warns, and Dean doesn’t answer.

You laugh again and ZIP—the ball leaves Dean’s hand a second later.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Hunter laughs, jerking back when the ball catches him in the shoulder.

Logan slowly turns toward Dean, equal parts baffled and disgusted. He waits a beat, clearly expecting Dean to explain whatever the hell that was.

“He threw that at me,” Hunter says, rubbing his shoulder.

“I missed,” Dean answers, arms crossing over his broad chest while Logan continues staring at him, waiting for an explanation. “Hand slipped.”

“You threw a ninety-mile-an-hour fastball at his fuckin’ chest.” Logan stares at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Shoulder,” Dean corrects him. “I was goin’ for his forehead.”

“Disappointed in you,” he scolds.

“Just—Just throw the ball, alright?” Dean blurts, gesturing toward the four scattered cups at the other end of the table and the nearly hopeless situation.

Logan lofts the ball and it swirls around the rim of the cup. You think fast, dipping down and blowing hard. The ball pops back out before it can drop.

“Goddamn,” Hunter praises, looking down at you before snatching the ball off the table. He dunks it into the water cup and lifts it toward your mouth.

You laugh but lean forward anyway, blowing the excess water from the ball.

“Atta girl.”

Hunter snaps the last few drops off with a flick of his wrist, tongue poked out in concentration as he lines up the shot—and splash!

The crowd explodes and Hunter’s arms wrap around your waist, turning into you as the cups are cleared off the table.

People crowd around the table again, drinks sloshing as somebody sinks a cup and a fresh round of yelling breaks out around the game.

Hunter stays planted beside you anyway. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, and hands it to you. “Here. Your number?” He hums, and you look up at him. “Before we get caught up in another win.”

Your nose scrunches, giving him a little smile, nodding and punching in the numbers against your better judgment.

Dean’s staring from across the room as the stupid smirk spreads across Hunter’s face.

And suddenly his phone feels very heavy in his pocket.

“Dean,” Logan warns the second Dean pulls his phone from his pocket. “Leave that woman alone.”

“I’m texting—”

“No shit.” Logan snorts. “You’re also jealous. And you’re making an ass out of yourself.”

“I’m not making an ass out of myself,” Dean mumbles, thumbing through your text conversation from last night.

“You tried to hit him in the head with a pong ball.”

“Yeah, and I missed.”

“That’s somehow worse,” Logan whispers, rubbing his back. “You should have seen the way she was looking at you, alright? They’ll lose. Then, you can talk to her. Just put… the phone… away—”

“I’m working over here,” Dean snaps, jerking the phone away as Logan tries to manually disarm his device before he pulls the trigger and says something he’ll regret. “You don’t get her like I do, okay?”

“Fine,” Logan throws his hands up in surrender. “No more throwin’ shit at people.”

“No promises,” Dean mumbles, thumbs tapping against the screen as a little smile tilts on his lips.

Across the room, your phone buzzes against the table beside your drink. You don’t notice, too busy teasing Hunter about a shot he should’ve made.

Whoosh. The text tone sounds and Logan hangs his head, laughing at Dean. “Tell me what you say, at least?”

Dean shrugs, giving Logan a side-eye. “Nah, you don’t believe in me. You don’t get to see greatness.”

“You fucked it up, didn’t you?” Logan asks, cracking open another beer.

“Shut up,” Dean scoffs, sitting up a little straighter when he sees you unlock your phone.

The first text makes you smile. By the second one, you’re laughing. The third one has your eyes lifting to his, the dimple in his cheek popping as he secures even the smallest win.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎?

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚝.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝙰 𝚋𝚎𝚝?

You ask him the question, and the three dots barely have time to appear before another message pops onto the screen.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚑.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙰 𝚋𝚎𝚝.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙸𝚏 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚗 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚞𝚙𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚎. 𝙽𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍.

You stare at the message, thinking of what to say next. Hunter leans in again, whispering strategy. You smile and nod, half-turned toward him as you type back.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚝.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚂𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙴𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝙷𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚞𝚙𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚜.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙸 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝 💕

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚐𝚘.

“Your turn, princess,” Hunter drawls, passing you the pong ball. You slide your phone in your pocket for the moment and Dean blows out an impatient sigh.

Logan pouts sympathetically, squeezing Dean’s shoulder for support.

“Told you so—”

“Fuck you,” he scoffs, shoving him away with a laugh. “It’s fine—I’m… I didn’t fuck it up. She smiled. Did she not?”

“She did,” Logan chuckles.

“She laughed, am I correct?” Dean states his case.

“Yes, I believe she did.”

“She wants me. Period.” His phone buzzes, and he fumbles it, glancing away from you just long enough for you to have sent something back.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚗?

“Oh shit,” Dean breathes. Logan leans over his shoulder before he can protest, reading through the thread.

“Damn,” he says, surprised by Dean’s game after all that pageantry earlier, curious where he was gonna take this next.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚗, 𝙸’𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙸’𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝙷𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚝𝚜.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍…

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙸’𝚖 𝚓𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠.

You look up from your phone as that text comes through, and he’s still watching—still holding your gaze from across the room. And for the first time all night, he looks completely serious.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗?

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍’𝚟𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖.

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝚆𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝?

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢????

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝚂𝚑𝚞𝚝 𝚞𝚙 😂

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝙼𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙸𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?

. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗: 𝙺𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗’ 𝚋𝚞𝚗.

Across the room, Hunter Davenport has your number. He just won a game with you and spent the last hour glued to your side, but suddenly Dean doesn’t seem nearly as bothered by it. Every time your phone lights up, you’re smiling down at the screen, and Dean’s grin gets a little harder to hide.

You sink the final cup to win the round and catch his eye from across the room. The corner of your mouth lifts and that’s apparently all the encouragement Dean needs because he’s already crossing the room.

“Fuck, she wants me,” Dean laughs, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Pleasantly surprised by you tonight, Di Laurentis,” Logan tells him.

Dean looks over at him with a grin, rolling the arm he’d nearly separated trying to take Davenport’s out with a pong ball earlier.

You roll your eyes and bite down on your lip to hide your smile, but it doesn’t work.

A pair of freshmen are already hovering around the pong table by the time Dean gets there, the same ones he waved off before you and Hunter stepped up.

“We can wait,” Logan calls after him.

“No we can’t.”

Dean keeps walking.

He claps one of them on the back, then the other, smiling the entire time as he grabs fistfuls of their shirts and physically steers them out of the way.

“Appreciate it, boys.”

The freshmen laugh as they stumble aside.

“Captain of the year, everybody,” Logan announces, throwing an arm toward Dean. “Some real morale-building leadership.”

Dean doesn’t even bother acknowledging him.

Hunter grabs the balls out of the cups, lazily bouncing them to the guys. “Better luck this time, boys,” Hunter says, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

Dean watches his arm settle there for a second, jaw tightening, before taking the ball from Logan.

“Shoot.”

Logan aims and sinks the first cup, and without missing a beat the second one disappears too. Both balls get tossed back, and Dean tries his best to keep the celebrations in check for a moment, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek as he watches you lift your cup and take a drink.

After that, every cup came with commentary. Every shot came with a smirk. By the third shot Dean landed in a row, it was looking like a clean sweep.

“That’s tough,” Dean mutters, looking at the state of affairs. You and Hunter didn’t even get a chance to shoot yet.

“We are on a heater, buddy,” Logan smiles. “Six cups back to back. Are you kidding?”

“Sounds like a lot when you say it out loud,” Dean chuckles, winking at you from across the table.

“Just shoot the fucking ball,” Hunter says.

“You know, if I was a betting man, I should have bet… I don’t know. Something,” Dean mumbles, and you fight to keep a straight face.

Logan throws the ball and it hits the rim of the cup, hopping into the other.

By then people were crowding around the table three rows deep, drinks lifted overhead as everyone tried to get a look. Dean rolls the final ball between his fingers and looked across the table at you.

“Not sinking this shit until I get an answer from you, bun,” he chuckles as he lines up the shot. “C’mon, sweetheart, don’t break my fuckin’ heart, huh?”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Hunter snaps from across the table, and Dean blows out a raspberry like Hunter is the last person to know.

Dean lets out a breath through his nose. “That sounds a whole lot of none of your fuckin’ business, Davenport.”

Dean’s eyes slide over to you and he gives you the most pathetic pout you’ve ever seen. “Don’t make me beg, baby. Not here. I’m not above it.”

“Deal,” you chuckle, and with that word he throws the ball, sending it clean into the final cup. And, just like Hunter, Dean doesn’t even wait for the cups to get pulled or the crowd to lose their minds before he’s already stepping out from behind the table, walking toward you.

You barely have time to laugh before his hands find your hips, lifting you off your feet.

His arm tightens beneath your legs as he heads for the stairs without even pretending to care what anybody else thinks.

“You are such an ass,” you laugh, trying unsuccessfully to hide your smile.

“What the fuck?” Hunter calls over the party as he takes the first step.

“What?”

“You can’t just leave.”

“—We absolutely can.”

“Congrats, Di Laurentis. You’ve been waiting all night for this.”

“No shit,” Dean answers honestly. “That’s all you got, Davenport? Cryin’ about her leaving and a half-ass congrats? Waste more time, please—”

“Fuck you.”

“Huh?”

“FUCK YOU!”

“What was that now?” Dean asks, amusement stretching across his lips as he holds a hand to his ear, taking another step up. “You’re gonna need to be a little louder than that, Hunter. Say it with your chest.”

“I’ll be down here, sweetheart.”

The corner of your mouth curls as you bite back a smile.

“You are so fucked, bun,” Dean laughs.

“Me?” You giggle.

“Absolutely you. I—”

“I’ll call you. How does that sound?” Hunter shouts, almost out of earshot, and that stops Dean mid-sentence.

“And I’ll block you,” he calls back. “Everybody wins—”

“Enough,” you breathe, grabbing his face in your hands and turning his attention back to you as he takes the last few steps.

Dean’s grip tightens beneath your thighs. His gaze drops to yours.

“Now,” he says, voice lowering as he leans closer, “where were we?”

Fast forward to now, your junior year of college has come and you were currently still seeing your boyfriend. It had been over a year at this point but Beau didn’t seem to mind as long as he got to be with you. He would rather be with you in secret than not be in your life at all.

It wasn’t like you were a secret to everyone, after all, you had met each others parents/guardians (and extended family) and made it clear that you were serious about each other. Dean also knew because Beau couldn’t really keep anything from him even if he tried. The two men knew each other too well.

“Are we still on for girls night?” You had curiously asked Friday morning knowing that the three of you had always planned a night of movies, dinner, and drinks. Especially since Hannah only drank in privacy.

Hannah sighed, “I can’t tonight. I have practice for the showcase and then I have a tutoring session with Garrett.” She gave you an apologetic smile. “Rain check?”

You nodded, “sure. No problem.” You assured giving her a reassuring smile before moving your gaze to a guilty looking Allie. “Let me guess? You’ve got a date with Sean?”

Allie gave a soft smile, “I’m staying at his tonight.” She replied softly. “But I can cancel if you still wanted to have our girls night…”

You shook your head, “No, don’t cancel your plans for me.” You assured. “We have a girls night once a week. I’ll find something to do.”

Allie gave you a knowing look as a smirk grew on her face, “you’ll be here alone… so maybe you should find someone to do.” She suggested.

Hannah let out a little laugh but nodded her head anyways in agreement, “it’s been what? Freshman year since you’ve hooked up with someone?”

You didn’t say anything, but ‘If you two only knew’ was repeating in your head. It hadn’t been freshman year (obviously) but Beau just happened to wonder in your life not to long after your last hook-up. “I’m happy right now.” You admitted honestly to your girls. “I really don’t need to hook-up with anyone.”

Allie huffed, “everyone needs to have good sex once in a while.” She spoke confidently, “it’s only natural.”

“Aren’t you friends with one of Garrett’s groupies?” Hannah spoke up and you slightly nodded. “They’re all good looking so why not him?”

You cringed internally at the thought of screwing Beau’s best friend. You loved Dean but not in any type of romantic or sexual manner. He was someone you could trust and lean on for anything, and a part of you would forever thank Beau for introducing you to that part of Dean.

You shook your head at Hannah’s suggestion once you broke out of your thoughts, “Never going to happen.”

Allie’s face looked like she was lost in a thought for a moment before she looked from you to Hannah and back again, “who was that dude in your ethics class?” She asked trying to think.

“The one who hangs out with Garrett and the hockey team?” Hannah asked, slinging her back over her shoulder. “If you’re talking about him it’s probably—I think Garrett said his name is Beau.”

Allie turned back to you, “how about him?” She asked. “You two are insufferable.” You muttered before grabbing your bag and heading towards the door so you could get to class.

🫧

Half of your school day was over and you had yet to see your friends or Beau for most of the day. Which it was a given because you had a few different classes and everyone had their own lives outside of the friend group. You were currently grabbing lunch since you had a decent break between classes.

“Hey beautiful.” A soft voice whispered close to your ear before you noticed your boyfriend walk around the table and sit across from you.

A smile grew on your face causing you to bite your lip to keep it from stretching into a grin. “Hey,” you replied softly. “How’s your day been so far?” You asked knowing some of his schedule.

He shrugged acting nonchalant; “as boring as usual.” He muttered before mentioning something that had happened in conditioning earlier. “You wanna swing by the house before your girls night?”

You huffed a laugh, “about that… there’s no girls night anymore.” You replied. “Allie is staying with Sean and Hannah is tutoring Garrett.”

Beau’s eyebrows shot up, “they bailed?”

You shrugged, “we have them often so it’s not like it’s too important.” You assured while giving him a smile. “That also means that I have the dorm to myself…. So I was thinking that you could swing by for a bit? Hannah won’t be back until late and it gives us time to hang in my space.”

He smiled, “sounds like a plan, baby.” He agreed leaning back in his chair.

You hesitated for a moment before meeting his gaze again, “you don’t have to be in a rush either.”

That grabbed his full undivided attention (not like you didn’t have it anyway) as a look of shock seemed to cross his eyes. “Are you saying you don’t care to finally be semi-public?” A teasing tone could be heard in his voice making you roll your eyes.

“It’s long over due, isn’t it?” You asked softly.

Beau’s eyes softened as they looked over you, “what changed your mind?”

You shrugged and thought about it for a moment, “you know I love you, right?”

“Yeah, and you know that I love you.” He assured softly but also watching you carefully.

“Maybe they’ll understand more than I think.” You mutter as you feel him grab your hand easily from across the table. “and it would be nice if they quit trying to suggest people for me to hook-up with.”

His eyebrows furrowed, “who are they suggesting?”

You pursed your lips, “well the last one they mentioned was you.”

“Can’t argue with that.” He teased causing a scoff and an eye roll to come from you.

“Yeah and the other one was Dean.” You huffed. “But I’m pretty sure she was hinting at me being with anyone in the hockey house.”

“Dean? Really?” He asked and you nodded thinking back to what Hannah had told you.

Before you could say anything a mop of blonde hair plopped himself down beside your boyfriend, “what about me?” He asked flashing his dimpled smile.

You shook your head not wanting to mention what Hannah had said, but apparently Beau didn’t mind. “Her roommate mentioned her hooking up with you.” Your boyfriend muttered.

Dean’s eyes glistened with a teasing in them, “As much as I would love too. I think bro-code out weighs that.” His reply earned a glare from Beau causing him to joking put his hands up in surrender. “Let me guess, Wellsy thinks your lonely?”

You sighed, “something like that.” You muttered; “my roommates think everyone needs good sex at least once a week.”

Dean nodded, “they aren’t wrong.” He agreed with Allie which wasn’t surprising to you.

You rolled your eyes before throwing a fry off your to-go basket at the blonde’s face. “I have plenty of that.” You assured not missing the smirk that grew on Beau’s face.

Dean snorted, “I don’t doubt it.” The teasing tone was still very prominent in his voice. “You got Beau Maxwell to be in a committed relationship…. You deserve a cookie.” He joked.

Beau rolled his eyes, “seriously dude?”

Dean sent the couple a smirk, “what? You know how many girls want to be in her place right now?” He then turned his attention solely on Beau, “you know how many men want to be in your place right now?” He added.

“I know I’m lucky she chose me.” Beau replied his eyes narrowed at his best friend.

“Damn straight.” Dean replied with a teasing smirk.

You let out a breath, “on that note… I’m leaving.” You muttered and stood up from your seat. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“I love you.” Beau called softly after you.

Dean snorted, “you’re so pussy whipped.”

🫧🫧 You sat at the kitchen table three cases of markers laying on the table. Some would say coloring was for children, but it was a stress reliever for you when you wanted something that was simple. Snacks were also lying along the table as well as drinks and your own custom cocktail. Beau was to be over after football practice was concluded.

Allie🌺 Did you find someone? You: I’m not hooking up with anyone. I’m a relationship girlie now. You know that. Allie🌺 Hooking up might be the start of something more 🤷‍♀️

You sighed laying your phone down. You loved Allie and you knew your friends wanted you happy, but sometimes they need to leave things alone. It’s partly your fault as well, since they don’t know you and Beau are together.

A knock on the door tore you out of your thoughts. You laid your marker down and went to open the door to see Beau looking as attractive as ever. His hair was still wet from his shower in the locker room.

“Hey, baby.” Beau greeted once you opened the door. He walked forward and placed a kiss on your forehead before walking into your dorm.

You smiled softly at the man you were in love with, “hey.” You greeted back while shutting your dorm door.

Beau stopped when he noticed the coloring book, markers, snacks, and drinks laid out on the kitchen table. “Doing a coloring date, are we?” He asked teasingly.

You huffed a laugh, “No. I was just stressed about midterms and I wanted something to calm my nerves.” You explained before going over and starting to clean up the markers.

Beau was right behind you, stopping you from cleaning up the markers. Without saying a word, he sat down in the chair beside your pulled out one and picked a page from your pile. “If my girl’s stressed, then I’m here to help her forget about it.” He spoke softly taking the markers out of your hand.

You felt a blush creep up if the heat radiating from your face was any indication. “You don’t have to color.” You assured as your boyfriend took the lid off a green marker and started coloring a tree that was on his page. “Beau, really it’s fine. You always make everything better anyways…”

Beau huffed playfully moving his gaze to you, “shut up and sit down with me.” He demanded yet his tone was still as soft as it had been.

You smiled to yourself with your heart full of love before sitting down beside him. You were back in your original spot and coloring the page. You two sat quietly, with Beau stealing drinks of your cocktail you had made every once in awhile.

You loved Beau. You truly did because what type of man would willingly sit and color with you. Letting you know that he only cared about being in your presence. Your heart was so full just thinking of him and all the ways that he proved to you that he loved you. Ways that were silent and caring, and not loud or overly sexual.

These are the days that you would remember and reminisce on when you two were old and gray. You smiled thinking about that, even though you and Beau hadn’t exactly mentioned getting married you both knew that you were in each other’s futures.

“What’s got you all smiley?” Beau spoke after a while of silence. Your eyes met his gaze, both of your eyes were filled with love.

You shook your head, “you’re literally perfect.” You mumbled feeling shy suddenly. You dropped your gaze back to your page.

Beau shook his head, “I’m not perfect.” He promised. “I’m far from it, honestly, but you on the other hand? Definitely perfect.” He replied with a cheeky grin on his face.

“I’m serious.” You defended your compliment. “I’d marry you right now if you’d ask because you’re so…” you trailed trying to find the right word to describe him.

Beau looked away for a moment before moving his eyes back over to you. You finally raised your gaze back up to meet his, “you’d marry me?”

Your brows furrowed, “Yes! Is that shocking or something?”

Beau bit his own lip for a moment to stop a grin from forming, “I’m holding you to that.”

You grinned, “is that your way of saying we’re going to get married?” You asked playfully.

Beau nodded, “oh, totally.” He promised and his voice held seriousness. “We’ll get married and have at least two babies… I mean, only if you want children.” He assured

“You sound so sure of yourself.”

“Baby, I’ve had my life planned out with you since I saw you crying in the library freshmen year.” Beau mumbled as he went back to coloring his page. You knew he was using it as a distraction for dropping his truth-bomb on you.

Your eyebrows creased again, “freshman year? But that’s….” You trailed.

“The first time we met and you told me that your first college crush broke your heart.” Beau whispered letting you know that he remembered.

You looked at your boyfriend shocked, “Beau Maxwell, are you telling me that you were pining after me all of freshmen year?”

“Why are you so shocked?” His voice raised slightly but not in anger. It sounded like disbelief.

“Maybe because that’s a truth bomb I wasn’t expecting?” You explained with your hands waving around frantically seeing as you were shocked. “You’re Beau Maxwell.” You elaborated.

“So?”

“So—how can you say so? You’re the quarterback of the football team.” You explained more in depth. “You have had girls falling at your feet since high school and you just tell me that you were harboring a crush for almost a year prior to us sleeping together.”

Beau pursed his lips while nodding, “We’re together now… so why does it matter?”

You huffed, “what would you have done if us having sex didn’t turn into anything?”

His eyebrows furrowed at that because he honestly didn’t know. He had just been lucky and the plan him and Dean had come up with worked. Which now that he thought back may not have been the best idea.

“I don’t know but it did work so I’m not thinking about it.” He shrugged and turned his full attention back to the picture in front of him.

🫧🫧🫧

It was now 9pm and Hannah was still tutoring Garrett and you hadn’t heard from Allie in a moment. You and Beau had finished coloring and you had picked up the pages and markers while Beau helped clean up the snacks and drinks.

You two had moved to the couch as a movie played on your laptop that sat on the coffee table. You weren’t really paying attention to what was happening on your laptop. Your mind kept going over the conversation you two had talked about earlier.

It was definitely more of a glimpse of the future than what either of you had previously admitted. It didn’t scare you or anything, but you just wondered if there was anything that could change his though process. You honestly didn’t think that there was, because like you had stated earlier, he was the perfect boyfriend.

“I’m so in love with you.” You spoke softly as you broke the silence that had settled over your cuddling figures as the movie played. You moved your head to where you could look up at him and see him.

He wore a soft smile on his face, “where’d that come from?”

You shrugged slightly, “I just—I’m lucky to have you.” You settled for that even though it wasn’t exactly what you wanted to say.

His hand softly came up and rested on your jaw and neck, “I’m in love with you too.” He replied softly and leaned his head down just a bit to capture your lips with his.

The kiss had been soft and full of love, something that you were use to Beau doing. It didn’t take long for things to heat up, especially not with how the two of you were talking and feeling.

You blamed your hormones for not being able to hear your phone buzz on the kitchen table. And twenty minutes after your phone went off, You blamed yourself for not hearing the door unlock or open at first either.

“So I know we bailed on girls night, but I was thinking—OH MY GOD!” Hannah screamed before quickly turning around.

You shoved Beau away with more force than you meant too and quickly stood up to find your shirt that said man how thrown across the room. You huffed and rolled your eyes knowing that Hannah was a bit dramatic because neither of you were naked. You both were just shirtless and making out, so it wasn’t like she had walked in on anything.

“You can turn around now.” You sighed as you handed Beau his shirt.

Hannah slowly turned around and faced the two of you before giving an awkward smile, “so you took Allie’s advice on…” she trailed as her eyes flickered to Beau and then back to you.

You gave her a small smile, “not exactly.” You replied before Beau pulled you into him. Hannah’s eyes kept flickering back and forth between the two of you. “We’ve been dating for over a year…”

A flicker of hurt passed through Hannah’s eyes, “and you didn’t trust me enough to tell me?”

You shook your head quickly, “no. It’s not like that. I trust you and Allie completely.” You assured as you finally relaxed against your boyfriend.

“Then why not tell us?”

You shrugged, “it never felt like a good time.” You mumbled knowing that wasn’t an excuse. “Allie and Sean kept breaking up and I didn’t want to flaunt my relationship in front of her, and then you were worried and busy with the showcase and your scholarship list that I didn’t want to seem like I only cared about my relationship.” You explained hoping that she understood where you were coming from.

Hannah was silent for a moment before she finally nodded. “Okay, I understand why you hid it.” She accepted. “But don’t put your happiness in the closet all because you’re worried about us.”

You gave her a smile and nodded, “okay. No more secrets.” You promised and grinned when you felt Beau kiss the top of your head.

Hannah smiled back, “now I’m going to my room and I’ll put my headphones on as loud as the go and close the door.” She assured and shot you a wink as she walked off to her room.

You smiled turning back towards Beau and pulled him towards your room.

“That went better than you thought?” He asked causing you to nod in response. “Way better.” 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

You hated the idea of getting out of bed. Beau had finally spent the night without worrying about sneaking out the next morning. Which means you woke up in his embrace for the first time in weeks. It was something that always made your mornings feel complete and it made your heart swell with love.

You could’ve stayed in bed for hours, but you were hungry from not having a full dinner last night. So, reluctantly you got out of Beau’s embrace and found some clothes to slip on before making your way to the small kitchen. You started the coffee maker before pulling out some (protein) pancake mix and getting the add-ins.

“Are those pancakes?” Allie’s voice interrupted your thoughts. You turned and watched her walk out of her room and towards you before hopping up on the counter.

“It is.” You nodded and turned back to the pan on the stove. “I thought you were at Sean’s?”

Allie sighed, “we got into a fight late last night—or early this morning—it doesn’t matter. I just came straight home.” She muttered placing her head in her hands. “I didn’t want to wake anyone up.”

You turned and gave her an apologetic smile, “we’re always available for you.” You promised causing her to send you a small smile.

The kitchen settled into a comfortable quietness for a bit before Hannah came out of her room. She joined you two with a smile on her face which dropped as soon as she noticed Allie’s face. You listened to the two girls quietly as you finished making breakfast. You had listened to Allie’s story about Sean, which always was the same, but you couldn’t convince her she deserved better. She had to figure that out for herself.

You had cooked a few sides to go with the pancakes while Allie had went on-and-on about Sean and Hannah had put her input in every once in a while. You didn’t know what to say, mainly because you had a great boyfriend. Someone who truly loved you and you never had to guess or wonder if he did.

Once breakfast was done you told the girls and the three of you made plates and sat at the kitchen table together.

“We seriously need a girls trip away from this place.” Allie groaned taking a sip of her drink.

You nodded, “I’m down.” To which Hannah agreed too.

You three were talking and making plans to take a trip together eventually, until Allie went quiet mid sentence causing you to look her way. Her fork was frozen mid-way to her mouth and her eyes wide. You followed her line of sight to see her staring at Beau casually padding out of your room and into the small kitchen and living area.

“Morning baby,” he greeted softly as he walked over and gave you a kiss on the head. “Ladies.” He nodded in recognition.

You smiled, “morning. There’s breakfast I fixed a few minutes ago.” You offered

He sent you a thankful smile and gave you a soft “thank you, babe.” before going to fix himself some food as well. You turned your attention back towards Allie who had closed her mouth now but was still looking at you.

“You’re both whining,” Tucker chimes in, his steady southern drawl a stark contrast to Garrett’s rapid-fire complaining. “Just put your heads down and skate.”

Dean grins, walking backward for a few steps so he can face his teammates. “Tuck’s right. It’s all about pacing, boys. Stamina. You can’t blow all your energy in the first period. You have to finesse it. Read the ice. Just like with a woman.”

Beau, walking beside Dean, rolls his eyes and shoves Dean’s shoulder. “Jesus, Di Laurentis. Does everything come back to your sex life?”

“When it’s as spectacular as mine?” Dean winks. “Yeah. It does.”

He isn’t trying to be an arrogant prick. It’s just the truth. Dean loves women. He loves the way they look, the way they smell, the way they sound when he’s doing things right. He grew up surrounded by affection — two powerhouse attorney parents who actually love each other, a sprawling maternal family with a business empire, and a childhood free of the usual rich-kid neuroses. He knows how lucky he is. And he believes in sharing the wealth. Specifically, by ensuring that any woman lucky enough to end up in his bed leaves it thoroughly, exhaustingly satisfied.

“Who was it this weekend?” Logan asks, kicking a stray pebble across the pavement. “Wait, don’t tell me. The blonde from the Gamma Gamma party?”

“Her name is Tori,” Dean says easily. “And she’s a delight. Highly recommend her taste in music. Terrible taste in breakfast food, though. Who orders egg whites and no bacon? It’s a crime against mornings.”

“You bought her breakfast?” Beau asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I always buy them breakfast.” Dean turns back around, matching his stride to the rest of the guys. “It’s called manners, Beau. You should try it sometime. Instead of just throwing a football at people.”

“I’m a quarterback,” Beau says defensively. “Throwing a football is literally my job description.”

“Yeah, well, my job description is making sure everyone leaves happy.”

They turn the corner near the student union. The quad is packed with bodies hurrying between afternoon classes, a sea of Briar U hoodies and overpriced coffee cups.

Up ahead, leaning against the low brick wall near the fountain, are two guys wearing Briar football jackets.

Beau groans under his breath. “Oh, great. It’s McMahon.”

“Who?” Tucker asks.

“Wide receiver,” Beau mutters. “Hands made of stone, ego the size of Rhode Island. Don’t look at him, or he’ll start complaining to me about his target share.”

Dean has no interest in football politics, so he keeps his eyes straight ahead. They’re about to walk past the two guys when McMahon’s voice carries over the noise of the quad. It’s loud. Too loud. The kind of loud a guy uses when he wants everyone around him to know he’s talking.

“I had to dump her, man,” McMahon is saying to his buddy, a sneer clear in his voice. “Total waste of my time.”

“Yeah?” The other guy asks.

“Oh, absolutely. I’m telling you, she’s a frigid bitch.”

Dean slows his steps. Next to him, Garrett stiffens.

McMahon laughs, a harsh, grating sound. “I put in the work, you know? But nothing. Swear to God, she just laid there. Something must genuinely be wrong with her. She can never cum.”

Dean stops walking completely.

Beau takes two more steps before realizing Dean isn’t beside him. He turns around. “Dean. Come on. Don’t.”

“Did you hear what he just said?” Dean asks, his voice dropping low. All the playful ease from a moment ago evaporates.

“I heard it,” Logan says, his expression tightening. “The guy’s a class-A douchebag. Let’s keep moving.”

“He just announced to half the quad that he couldn’t get a girl off,” Dean says, staring at the back of McMahon’s head. “And he blamed her.”

“Dean,” Tucker says, stepping into Dean’s line of sight. “Not our circus. Not our monkeys.”

“It is an insult to womankind,” Dean says. He isn’t joking. His chest actually feels tight with genuine indignation. “A crime. A travesty.”

“It’s a wide receiver with a fragile ego,” Beau says, grabbing Dean’s elbow. “Leave it alone.”

Dean shrugs off Beau’s hand. He isn’t going to start a brawl in the middle of the quad, he has no interest in getting suspended for the next five games. But the sheer audacity of it is ringing in his ears.

Something must genuinely be wrong with her.

No. Dean shakes his head. No, there is nothing wrong with you. He doesn’t even know who you are. He doesn’t know your face, or your laugh, or the way you look when you’re a mess in the sheets. But he knows, with absolute, unwavering certainty, that McMahon is an idiot.

“There’s no such thing as a frigid woman,” Dean says, his voice carrying just enough that McMahon’s conversation pauses. “Just lazy, incompetent guys who don’t know where the clit is.”

Silence drops over their immediate vicinity.

Garrett scrubs a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

McMahon turns around, his face flushing dull red. He spots Beau first, then his eyes slide to Dean. “You got something to say, Di Laurentis?”

Dean slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans, rocking back on his heels. He gives McMahon a lazy, condescending smile. “Just offering some unsolicited biological facts, McMahon. Sounds like you need a tutor. Maybe a diagram.”

McMahon steps away from the brick wall, puffing his chest out. “Are you calling me incompetent?”

“I think you just called yourself incompetent, man,” Dean says smoothly. “Loudly. In public. I’m just agreeing with you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” McMahon snaps. “You don’t know her.”

“I don’t need to know her,” Dean counters, his tone perfectly even. “I know anatomy. I know effort. If a girl doesn’t get off, it’s because you didn’t pay attention. You rushed it. You fumbled the play. Isn’t that what you guys call it? Fumbling?”

Beau winces. “Dean.”

McMahon takes a step forward, his fists clenching. “You think you’re so fucking funny.”

“I think I’m highly effective,” Dean corrects him. “And I think you should keep your bedroom failures to yourself instead of dragging a girl’s name through the mud because your fragile masculinity can’t handle the fact that you suck in bed.”

For a second, it looks like McMahon is going to swing. Dean shifts his weight, perfectly ready to slip the punch and drop the guy. He’s not a fighter by nature, but he’s a hockey player. It comes with the territory.

But Tucker steps in, his frame easily blocking McMahon’s path. “I think that’s about enough conversation for one afternoon,” Tucker says calmly. His tone is polite, but his eyes are flat.

McMahon glares at Tucker, then at Dean. He points a finger. “Watch your mouth, Di Laurentis.”

“Watch your form, McMahon,” Dean shoots back. “Maybe use two fingers next time. Or, God forbid, your tongue.”

Logan chokes on a laugh, quickly disguising it as a cough.

McMahon spits on the ground, turns, and shoves his way through the crowd, his buddy trailing awkwardly behind him.

Dean watches them go, his jaw tight.

“Well,” Garrett says after a moment. “That was diplomatic.”

“I hate guys like that,” Dean mutters, running a hand through his hair. “I really, genuinely hate them.”

“We know,” Beau sighs, clapping Dean on the back. “You’re the caped crusader of the female orgasm. We’re all very proud to know you. Can we go get food now? I’m starving.”

They resume their walk toward the dining hall, the tension slowly bleeding out of the group as Garrett and Logan pick up their argument about practice drills right where they left off.

But Dean is quiet. He tunes out the banter, his mind replaying McMahon’s harsh, dismissive words.

It’s just sloppy. It’s pathetic. Dean loves women too much to stand the thought of one being treated like a chore, or worse, a lost cause. Sex isn’t a race. It isn’t just about friction. It’s about connection, observation, communication. It’s about worshipping a body until it unravels for you.

He doesn’t know who you are. He doesn’t know what you’re doing right now. Maybe you’re sitting in a lecture, feeling insecure because some meathead wide receiver told you you were broken. Maybe you’re in your dorm room, crying over a guy who couldn’t even be bothered to figure out what you like.

Dean looks up at the crisp blue sky, mentally sending a prayer up to the universe.

“Dear Universe, please watch over this woman’s sadly neglected clitoris,” he thinks solemnly. “May it one day find someone who actually knows what they’re doing. Amen.”

He kicks a stray leaf on the sidewalk. It is a damn tragedy, that’s what it is. A tragedy that needs rectifying.

“Hey, Beau,” Dean says suddenly, interrupting whatever Tucker was saying.

Beau glances over. “Yeah?”

“Who did McMahon just break up with?”

Beau frowns, his steps slowing. “What? Why?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I don’t know, man. He dates around. I try not to keep track of his personal life. Why?” Beau squints at him. “Wait. No. Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

“I’m not thinking anything,” Dean lies smoothly.

“You are. You have that look on your face.” Logan points a finger at him. “The ‘Dean is about to do something stupid’ look.”

“I resent that,” Dean says. “I don’t do stupid things.”

“You bought a jet ski on eBay at three in the morning last week,” Garrett points out.

“It was a steal, G. An absolute steal. You don’t understand economics.” Dean waves a hand dismissively. “Seriously, Beau. Does anyone know who she is?”

“Why do you care?” Tucker asks, amused.

“Because it’s an injustice,” Dean states flatly. “It is a cosmic wrong that needs to be righted. She’s probably out there right now, thinking she’s the problem, when the reality is she was just subjected to the sloppy, fumbling hands of a guy who treats sex like a two-minute drill.”

Beau groans, burying his face in his hands. “You’re not going to track this girl down, Dean.”

“I am absolutely going to track her down.”

“And do what?” Logan asks, laughing in disbelief.

Dean looks at his friends, entirely serious. “And give her the orgasm she’s been so cruelly denied. It’s my civic duty.”

“You’re insane,” Garrett says, though he’s grinning. “You are actually insane.”

“I’m a humanitarian,” Dean corrects him. “I’m giving back to the community.”

“You don’t even know her name,” Tucker says softly.

“I’ll find it out,” Dean promises. He glances back toward the direction McMahon disappeared.

He doesn’t know you yet. He doesn’t know if you’re blonde, brunette, tall, short, quiet, or loud. But he knows one thing for sure.

He is going to find you. He is going to ruin you for every other man on the planet. And he is going to make damn sure you never, ever think there is something wrong with you again.

***

The stale smell of pepperoni pizza and the frantic clicking of Xbox controllers fill the living room of the off-campus hockey house.

“Pass it, pass it, pass it,” Logan chants, mashing the buttons on his controller as he leans so far forward on the couch he’s practically sitting on the coffee table.

“I am passing it, you pylon,” Dean snaps back, his eyes glued to the television screen. “If you would get into position instead of skating around like a lost toddler-”

“I’m open!”

“You’re surrounded by both defensemen!”

“Shoot the damn puck!” Garrett yells from the armchair, throwing a piece of popcorn at Logan’s head. “You guys are an embarrassment to the sport. It’s a video game. It requires a fraction of the athletic ability we actually possess, and you’re still blowing it.”

“Shut up, Graham,” Dean and Logan say in unison.

On the screen, the buzzer blares. Game over. Logan groans and tosses his controller onto the cushions, dragging a hand down his face.

Dean exhales, leaning back and stretching his arms over his head. His shoulders pop. Normally, he’d be demanding a rematch, relentlessly trash-talking Logan until the guy agreed to play another round just to shut him up. But today, Dean isn’t feeling it. His head isn’t in the game. It hasn’t been in the game since they left the quad three hours ago.

He keeps replaying the conversation in his head. Or rather, the broadcast. That loudmouth wide receiver, McMahon, announcing to half the student body that the girl he was dating couldn’t get off.

It pisses Dean off. It genuinely, deeply aggravates him.

“You’re quiet,” Garrett notes, watching Dean from the armchair. “You won. Usually, you do a victory lap around the coffee table.”

“I’m conserving my energy,” Dean says, picking up his phone to check his notifications. Nothing interesting. Just a text from a girl in his sociology seminar and an email from his dad about spring break.

“He’s still thinking about his crusade,” Logan says, snagging a cold slice of pizza from the box on the table. “The caped crusader of the clitoris.”

“It’s not a crusade,” Dean says defensively. “It’s a matter of principle.”

“You don’t even know her,” Garrett points out, amused. “For all you know, McMahon was telling the truth.”

Dean glares at him. “Garrett. Look at me. Do I look like a man who accepts defeat in the bedroom?”

“You look like a man who spends too much time on his hair,” Garrett deadpans.

“My hair is flawless, and that is entirely besides the point,” Dean shoots back. “The point is, there is a fundamental lack of effort plaguing the male population of this campus. It’s an epidemic. Guys like McMahon treat sex like a race to the finish line, and then they have the audacity to blame the woman when she doesn’t cross it with them. It’s pathetic.”

Logan chews his pizza thoughtfully. “I mean, you’re not wrong. But you can’t save them all, man.”

“I don’t need to save them all,” Dean says, his voice dropping a fraction. “I just need to save this one.”

The front door swings open before Logan can reply, slamming against the wall with a loud thud.

Beau trudges into the house, looking like he just survived a minor war. He’s still wearing his gray Briar football sweatpants and a tight compression shirt that clings to his exhausted frame. He drops his massive gym bag onto the hardwood floor, kicks off his slides, and groans loudly.

“Practice?” Garrett asks sympathetically.

“Practice,” Beau confirms, shuffling into the living room and collapsing onto the empty space on the couch next to Dean. He smells faintly of artificial turf, sweat, and the sharp tang of Deep Relief muscle rub. “Coach made us run the stadium stairs. Twice. Because someone — who shall remain nameless, but his initials rhyme with DickMahon — kept dropping his routes during seven-on-sevens.”

Dean’s ears perk up. He turns to look at his best friend, his previous lethargy vanishing instantly. “McMahon?”

Beau closes his eyes and tips his head back against the couch cushions. “Don’t.”

“You were in the locker room with him,” Dean presses, shifting his body so he’s fully facing Beau. “Did you ask around?”

Beau keeps his eyes squeezed shut. “Dean, I am tired. My calves are screaming. I want a shower, a beer, and for you to stop looking at me with that deranged glint in your eye.”

“Tell me you found something out,” Dean says, ignoring every word Beau just said. “Tell me you didn’t spend two hours in a locker room full of gossiping linebackers and come back empty-handed.”

Beau sighs, a long, dramatic sound that ruffles his blonde hair. He slowly opens one eye, looking at Dean with a mixture of exhaustion and profound regret. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

Dean’s heart actually kicks up a notch. He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Good news. Always start with the good news.”

Beau sits up a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. The good news is, I know who she is. I asked Howard, the backup tight end, because he knows everybody’s business. He told me who McMahon just dumped.”

“Who?” Dean demands.

“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N,” Beau says.

Dean processes the name. It suits you. It sounds smart, put-together. “And?”

“And,” Beau continues, “she’s not just some random girl. She’s a junior. Pre-law, I think. And she’s the president of the Delta Zeta sorority.”

Logan whistles low. “Delta Zeta? Those girls don’t mess around. That’s the house with the insane GPA requirement and the terrifying philanthropy events.”

Dean smiles, a slow, genuine curve of his lips. He likes this. He really likes this. A sorority president. That means you are organized. Driven. You probably walk around campus with a planner perfectly color-coded to match your outfits. You take charge, you handle responsibility, and you probably don’t take shit from anyone. Which makes it even more infuriating that a guy like McMahon made you feel inadequate.

“Y/N,” Dean says your name out loud, testing the syllables on his tongue. He likes the way it sounds. He likes the way it feels. “Okay. That’s excellent news. What’s the bad news?”

Beau hesitates. He looks away from Dean, glancing at Garrett and Logan, who are suddenly very invested in the conversation. Beau scrubs a hand over his jaw, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“Spit it out, Beau,” Dean says, the smile fading from his face.

“The bad news,” Beau says slowly, “is that McMahon wasn’t the first guy to complain about her.”

The living room goes dead silent. The only sound is the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

Dean stares at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m just telling you what I heard,” Beau says defensively, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “Howard started talking, and then a couple of the other guys chimed in. Apparently, she dated a guy on the lacrosse team last year. And before that, some dude from Kappa Sig.”

“And?” Dean prompts, his jaw tightening.

“And the grapevine says the same thing,” Beau mutters, looking at the floor. “Nobody has ever been able to make her cum. The lacrosse guy said she was completely unresponsive. The Kappa Sig guy said he tried for an hour and gave up. It’s … it’s a known thing, Dean. The guys in the locker room were joking that she’s cursed.”

Dean feels a cold, sharp spike of anger lodge itself right beneath his ribs.

He imagines you, standing in front of a mirror, wondering what’s wrong with you. He imagines the quiet humiliation of lying in bed while a guy sighs in frustration, rolls over, and goes to sleep. He imagines you carrying around a reputation you didn’t ask for, created by guys who are too incompetent to do their damn jobs.

It makes him want to punch a hole through the drywall.

“They were joking about it,” Dean repeats, his voice dangerously soft.

“Locker rooms are toxic,” Garrett says quietly from the armchair. “You know how it is, Dean. Guys talk. They exaggerate to protect their own egos.”

“It’s not an exaggeration if three different guys are saying the exact same thing,” Beau points out gently. He looks back at Dean, his expression softening into an apology. “Look, man. I know you’re on this crusade to prove McMahon wrong, but … maybe he isn’t. Maybe it’s not a lack of effort.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “What are you implying?”

Beau shifts uncomfortably. “I’m just saying … biology is weird. Some people have weird wiring. Maybe she really does have some sort of issue. You know? Like, a medical reason why she can’t get off. It happens.”

“No,” Dean says immediately.

“Dean, be reasonable,” Beau tries. “If multiple guys-”

“I don’t give a damn if the entire starting lineup of the New England Patriots tried and failed,” Dean snaps, pushing himself off the couch. He paces across the living room, running a hand aggressively through his hair. “I am shutting that theory down right now.”

“You can’t just shut down biology,” Logan argues reasonably.

“Watch me,” Dean shoots back. He turns to face his friends, pointing an accusatory finger at Beau. “Do you know what the common denominator is here? It’s not her. It’s the guys.”

“A lacrosse player, a frat bro, and a wide receiver,” Garrett lists, counting them off on his fingers.

“Exactly!” Dean throws his hands in the air. “The holy trinity of selfish lovers! What do they all have in common? Ego. They care more about their own performance than her pleasure. They probably pounded away for five minutes like jackrabbits, didn’t bother with foreplay, and then got offended when she didn’t magically explode.”

Beau sighs. “Dean-”

“I’m serious, Beau,” Dean interrupts, his voice hard. The anger is settling into something sharper, something far more resolute. “Do not sit there and tell me she’s broken. Do not tell me she has a physiological issue just because three frat-star idiots couldn’t find the clit with a flashlight and a map.”

The conviction in his voice fills the room. He isn’t laughing. He isn’t playing around. He means every single word.

“Women’s bodies aren’t slot machines,” Dean says, pacing back toward the television. “You don’t just put a coin in, pull a lever, and wait for the jackpot. It takes attention. It takes communication. You have to learn the body you’re touching. You have to figure out what she likes, what she hates, what she needs before she even knows she needs it.”

He stops pacing, planting his hands on his hips as he stares down his three friends.

“If she hasn’t come,” Dean states, absolute certainty ringing in his tone, “it is because nobody has bothered to learn her properly. Nobody has put in the work.”

Garrett raises an eyebrow. “And you think you’re the guy to put in the work?”

“I know I am,” Dean says without a second of hesitation.

“Dude.” Logan lets out a breath, shaking his head. “You’re talking about taking on a campus legend. If she really is, uh, un-finishable-”

“Stop calling her that,” Dean snaps. “She’s not a challenge on a bucket list. She is a girl who deserves to feel good.”

Beau looks at him for a long, quiet moment. He knows Dean better than anyone in the room. Beau knows when Dean is messing around, and he knows when Dean is dead serious.

Right now, Dean is dead serious.

“Okay,” Beau says softly, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay. I hear you. But let’s look at this logically. What exactly is your plan here?”

Dean drops back onto the couch, resting his elbows on his knees. “My plan is simple. I’m going to find her. I’m going to get to know her. And then I’m going to help her.”

“Help her,” Beau repeats flatly.

“Yes. I am going to give her the release she has been denied. I am going to do what apparently no other incompetent man on this campus has managed to do.” Dean’s eyes gleam with a fierce, protective determination. “I am going to break the curse.”

Logan lets out a sudden, bark-like laugh. “You’re out of your mind.”

“I am a visionary,” Dean corrects him.

Beau rubs his temples, looking like he’s developing a severe migraine. “Dean, think about this for two seconds. You can’t just walk up to a girl — a sorority president, no less — and offer to give her an orgasm.”

“Why not?” Dean asks innocently.

“Because it’s insane!” Beau yells, finally losing his cool. “Because she doesn’t know you! You can’t just stroll up to her in the dining hall, tap her on the shoulder, and say, ‘Hey, I heard your ex-boyfriend has the sexual prowess of a wet sponge, let me fix that for you!’”

“Well, obviously I wouldn’t use those exact words,” Dean says, offended. “I have tact, Beau. I have charm. I know how to talk to women.”

“You’re going to get pepper-sprayed,” Garrett predicts, sounding entirely too cheerful about the prospect. “I’ll give you twenty bucks right now if you get it on video.”

“I am not going to get pepper-sprayed,” Dean says firmly. “I am going to be a gentleman.”

“A gentleman doesn’t solicit orgasms to strangers,” Tucker’s voice drawls from the doorway. He’s leaning against the frame, holding a massive protein shake in one hand, having apparently walked in through the kitchen halfway through the conversation.

“A true gentleman recognizes a woman in need and steps up to the plate,” Dean counters smoothly. “I’m going to do it. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Dean, please,” Beau begs, sounding genuinely distressed. “She’s a prominent figure on campus. If you go up to her and say something crazy, she’s going to ruin your reputation.”

“My reputation?” Dean laughs. It’s a bright, easy sound. “Beau, my reputation is already that of a shameless flirt who sleeps around. What’s she going to do? Tell people I offered to make her feel good? Oh, the horror.”

“She’s going to think you’re a creep,” Beau insists.

“She won’t,” Dean says confidently. “Because I’m not going to be creepy about it. I’m going to be honest. Completely, brutally honest. Women appreciate honesty.”

Garrett snorts. “Yeah, let me know how that honesty works out for you when she slaps you across the face.”

Dean ignores them. He tunes out Garrett’s laughter, Logan’s skepticism, and Beau’s frantic attempts to reason with him. His mind is already racing, piecing together a strategy.

He knows you are the president of Delta Zeta. That means you are busy. It means you are likely stressed, overworked, and constantly dealing with other people’s drama. You probably drink too much coffee, don’t get enough sleep, and carry the weight of your entire house on your shoulders.

And on top of all that, you have the baggage of guys like McMahon making you feel inadequate.

Dean feels that fierce, protective urge flare up again. It isn’t just about his ego anymore. It isn’t just about proving a point to the locker room. It’s about you. It’s about the fact that nobody has looked at you and decided you were worth the time it takes to figure out what you need.

He stands up again, suddenly too energized to sit still. “When does Delta Zeta usually hold their chapter meetings?”

Beau groans, throwing himself face-first into a couch pillow. “I’m not telling you.”

“Fridays,” Logan provides helpfully. “Usually around seven. I know because I hooked up with a DZ last semester, and she always made me leave by six-thirty so she could get ready.”

“Friday,” Dean repeats. Today is Wednesday. That gives him two days to figure out an approach. Two days to find you, study you, and plan his move.

“You’re really going through with this?” Beau asks, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“I am,” Dean says. He walks toward the hallway leading to his bedroom, pausing at the threshold to look back at his friends. “I’m going to find her. I’m going to look her in the eyes, and I’m going to offer my services.”

“Services,” Garrett echoes, shaking his head. “You make it sound like you’re an independent contractor.”

“I’m a specialist,” Dean corrects him with a wink. “And Y/N Y/L/N is about to become my top priority.”

He turns and walks down the hall, already mentally mapping out the campus to figure out where a pre-law sorority president is most likely to spend her Friday afternoon. The library? The student union? A coffee shop?

He’ll check them all. He doesn’t care how long it takes.

Because Dean loves a challenge. But more than that, he loves making things right. And making sure you finally understand that there is absolutely nothing wrong with you?

That is going to be the best thing he’s ever done.

***

Dean does not usually require props.

In fact, he prides himself on his natural abilities. He has spent years perfecting his technique, learning the exact amount of pressure, the perfect rhythm, the right things to whisper in the dark. He is a craftsman, and his hands and mouth are his chosen tools.

But as he stands in his bedroom on Friday afternoon, staring into the bottom drawer of his nightstand, he decides to make an exception.

Because you aren’t just a regular Friday night hookup. You are a mission. You are the final boss of Briar University’s dating pool, a girl who has allegedly stumped every self-serving idiot on this campus. And while Dean is completely, undeniably confident in his own mouth, he also believes in being prepared. A good lawyer — like his mother always says — never walks into a courtroom without covering all his bases.

So, he grabs a sleek, black duffel bag from his closet.

He tosses in a small, discreet bullet vibrator. Then a curved silicone toy that he knows for a fact works absolute miracles. He adds a bottle of premium, water-based lubricant, just to be safe. He zips the bag up, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Garrett asks, looking up from the kitchen island as Dean walks out of his room. Garrett is eating cereal straight out of the box.

“I have an appointment,” Dean says, checking his reflection in the hallway mirror. He runs a hand through his hair, making sure it falls with just the right amount of effortless messiness. He’s wearing a fitted black long-sleeve henley that highlights his shoulders, and his favorite jeans. He looks good. Approachable. Trustworthy.

“An appointment,” Garrett repeats flatly. His eyes drop to the black duffel bag. “Are you going to the gym, or are you actually going through with this psychotic plan to accost McMahon’s ex-girlfriend?”

“Her name is Y/N,” Dean corrects him. “And I am not accosting anyone. I am offering a philanthropic service. I’m giving back to the community.”

“You’re going to get arrested,” Garrett says, tossing a piece of Cap’n Crunch at him.

Dean catches it mid-air and eats it. “Have a little faith, Graham. I’ll be back in a few hours. Victorious.”

He walks out the door before Garrett can say anything else.

The Delta Zeta house is a massive, sprawling brick mansion situated at the end of Sorority Row. It has white columns, a perfectly manicured lawn, and an intimidating aura of organized femininity. Dean walks up the pristine paved walkway, his heart doing a strange, unfamiliar flutter against his ribs.

He isn’t nervous. Dean Di Laurentis doesn’t get nervous around women. But he is acutely aware that he is operating without a net here. He doesn’t have an introduction. He doesn’t have a mutual friend paving the way. All he has is his charm, a bag of toys, and a burning desire to prove McMahon wrong.

He steps onto the porch and presses the doorbell. It chimes, a soft, melodic sound that echoes through the heavy oak door.

Dean takes a breath. He squares his shoulders. He prepares his opening line. He’s going to be suave. He’s going to introduce himself, ask if you have a minute to talk privately, and then gently, delicately broach the subject.

The lock clicks. The door swings open.

And Dean completely forgets how to speak.

You are standing there, holding a clipboard in one hand and a half-empty mug of coffee in the other. You are wearing a pair of faded gray sweatpants and an oversized Briar University sweatshirt that is slipping off one shoulder. Your hair is pulled up into a messy bun that looks like it’s barely surviving, held together by a single, desperate claw clip. You look exhausted, irritated, and absolutely, devastatingly beautiful.

He wasn’t expecting this. He expected a perfectly polished sorority president in a twinset and pearls. But you look real. You look like a girl who has been managing fifty different crises since six in the morning.

You blink at him, your eyes trailing from the toes of his boots, up his jeans, to his face. “Can I help you?”

Your voice is slightly raspy, like you’ve been talking all day. It sends a sudden, sharp jolt straight to Dean’s groin.

“Uh,” Dean says. The suave opening line evaporates from his brain. The delicate approach vanishes. He stares into your eyes, overwhelmed by the sudden, intense urge to drag you upstairs, lay you down, and spend the next six hours worshipping every single inch of you.

“Hello?” You prompt, arching a single, perfect eyebrow. “I’m in the middle of a budget crisis with my treasurer, so if you’re looking for one of the sisters, you need to tell me who, or I’m shutting this door.”

Dean’s brain short-circuits entirely. “I’m here to make you come.”

Silence.

Thick, heavy, suffocating silence drops over the porch.

You freeze. The hand holding the coffee mug tightens so hard your knuckles turn white. You stare at him, your eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated shock.

Dean realizes what he just said a fraction of a second too late. “Wait. No. I mean-”

The slap echoes across the porch like a gunshot. Your palm connects with Dean’s cheek with stunning, terrifying precision. It stings instantly, a hot flare of pain that snaps his head to the side.

Before he can even register the hit, you step back.

“Get the hell off my porch, you absolute creep!” You snap, and then you slam the heavy oak door directly in his face. The deadbolt clicks into place with a resounding finality.

Dean stands there, staring at the brass knocker. He slowly reaches up, pressing two fingers to his stinging cheek.

“Well,” he mutters to himself. “That could have gone better.”

He doesn’t leave. He can’t leave. If he leaves now, he’s just the lunatic who showed up and harassed you. He drops the duffel bag onto the porch mat, takes a deep breath, and knocks on the door. Firmly.

“Go away!” Your voice filters through the wood, muffled but furious. “Or I’m calling campus security!”

“Please!” Dean calls out, leaning closer to the door. “Just give me one minute! I swear to God, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“You literally said you were here to make me come!” You yell back.

“I know!” Dean winces. “I know I said it! My brain stopped working! I panicked! But I’m not a creep, I promise!”

The lock turns. The door cracks open just an inch, held securely in place by a heavy brass chain. Your eyes appear in the gap, glaring at him with a mixture of anger and deep suspicion.

“You have exactly ten seconds to explain yourself before I pepper-spray you,” you say sharply. “And yes, I have it in my hand.”

Dean immediately holds his hands up in surrender, stepping back so you can see he isn’t trying to force his way in. “Okay. Okay, fair. Listen to me. My name is Dean Di Laurentis-”

“I know who you are,” you interrupt, your voice dripping with disdain. “You play hockey. You’re Beau Maxwell’s best friend. And you have a reputation for sleeping with half the female population of this school.”

“Okay, half is an exaggeration,” Dean says defensively. “A third, maybe. But that’s exactly why I’m here! Listen, I’m a feminist. I love women. I genuinely, deeply respect women and their right to absolute satisfaction.”

You stare at him through the crack. “Are you on drugs?”

“No! Look, I overheard McMahon talking on the quad yesterday.”

The shift in your demeanor is instantaneous. The fiery anger in your eyes extinguishes, replaced by a sudden, protective wall of pure ice. Your jaw clenches, and Dean can practically see you putting your armor on.

“Oh,” you say softly. The word is hollow. “I see. You heard what he said.”

“I heard it,” Dean confirms, his voice dropping, softening. “And I heard what the other guys in the locker room have been saying, too. The lacrosse guy. The Kappa Sig guy.”

You close your eyes for a brief second. When you open them, the ice is thicker. “And you came here to what? Mock me? Place a bet with your friends to see if you can be the one to break the curse?”

“No!” Dean is genuinely horrified. “No, God, absolutely not. I came here because it pisses me off. It pisses me off that these lazy, incompetent assholes don’t know what they’re doing, and they’re making you feel like you’re the problem.”

You don’t say anything. You just watch him through the narrow gap in the door.

“I came here to right a wrong,” Dean pleads, leaning in slightly. “To redeem my gender. I brought toys, just in case, to cover all the bases! I can even give you references, if you want. Seriously. Call Leah from Beta. Call Kayla from the dance team. Call-”

“Stop naming girls you’ve slept with,” you hiss, glancing nervously past him.

Dean looks over his shoulder. A group of freshmen girls are walking down the sidewalk, staring openly at him standing on the Delta Zeta porch, talking to the door.

You let out a frustrated groan. “You are causing a scene. Di Laurentis, I swear to God, if you make this a spectacle …”

“I’ll stand here all day,” Dean threatens lightly, giving you a small, charming smile. “I’ll shout my references to the quad. I’ll sing them. I have a terrible singing voice, Y/N. It will be tragic for everyone involved.”

You glare at him, a muscle ticking in your jaw. Then, with a harsh sigh, you shut the door.

For a second, Dean thinks he’s lost. But then he hears the rattle of the chain sliding out of the lock. The door swings open wide enough for him to enter.

“Get in,” you snap. “Before someone takes a picture.”

Dean quickly grabs his duffel bag and slips past you into the foyer.

The inside of the house is beautiful — hardwood floors, a sweeping staircase, the faint smell of vanilla and expensive perfume. But Dean doesn’t look at any of it. He turns to look at you.

You shut the door behind him and lean against it, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. Without the door between you, Dean can see the exhaustion lining your eyes. You look incredibly guarded, like a cornered animal waiting for the strike.

“Okay,” you say, your voice flat. “You’re inside. You got your little heroic speech out of the way. Now let’s get one thing straight.”

“I’m listening,” Dean says, matching your serious tone. He drops the bag onto the floor.

“You think this is about them,” you say, gesturing vaguely toward the door, indicating the male population at large. “You think McMahon and the others are just selfish lovers who didn’t try hard enough. You think you can waltz in here with your magical hockey-player hands and fix the lazy mistakes of frat boys.”

“I do, actually,” Dean says without hesitation. “I know I can.”

You let out a harsh, humorless laugh. It lacks any real joy. “Your ego is astounding. Truly. But you’re wrong, Dean. It’s not them.”

Dean frowns, taking a half-step toward you. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s me,” you say bluntly. You look him dead in the eyes, refusing to flinch, refusing to look away. “I have never come. Ever.”

Dean stops. “I know. The rumor-”

“No,” you cut him off, your voice slicing through the air. “Not just with guys. Never. Not with men. Not with women. Not with a vibrator. Not with my own hand in the privacy of my own bedroom.”

Dean stares at you. The cocky comeback dies in his throat. He literally doesn’t know what to say.

“It’s a dead end,” you continue, your voice terrifyingly calm. “I have tried everything. I have read the articles, I have bought the expensive toys, I have tried relaxing, I have tried not overthinking it. It doesn’t work. The wires don’t connect. I physically cannot achieve orgasm.”

Dean’s heart aches. It’s a strange, sudden pang right in the center of his chest. Because he can hear the resignation in your voice. He can hear the years of frustration, of quiet, lonely disappointment, all packed into those few clinical sentences.

“Y/N,” he starts softly.

“Don’t,” you say, holding a hand up. “Do not give me pity. I am perfectly fine with it. I have made my peace with my body. I still enjoy sex. I still like the intimacy. It’s the guys who can’t handle it. They take it as a personal insult to their masculinity. They throw tantrums, they call me frigid, and they whine about it to their friends in the locker room.”

You drop your hand, your posture stiffening.

“So, thank you for the valiant attempt to save me,” you say, your tone dripping in sarcasm. “But I don’t need your help. I don’t need a savior. And I certainly don’t need another guy treating my body like a puzzle he has to solve just to stroke his own ego. You can take your bag of toys and leave.”

You reach behind you, grabbing the doorknob.

“Wait,” Dean says, moving faster than he ever has on the ice. He closes the distance between you, stepping just close enough that you pause, but far enough away that he isn’t crowding you.

He looks down at you. You are breathing a little heavy, your eyes defiant, daring him to push.

This changes things. Beau was right. It wasn’t just lazy guys. It’s a deep-rooted wall. But the thing about Dean Di Laurentis is that he doesn’t back down from walls. He scales them. He dismantles them brick by brick.

“I’m not leaving,” Dean says quietly.

You frown, your grip on the doorknob tightening. “I just told you-”

“I heard what you told me,” Dean says, his voice steady, entirely stripped of the usual playful banter. “You think you’re broken. You think it’s impossible. And you’re sick of guys making it about them instead of about you.”

You swallow hard, your eyes flickering with something that looks dangerously like vulnerability. “Yes.”

“I am not them,” Dean says. He holds your gaze, pouring every ounce of sincerity he possesses into the look. “I don’t care about my ego. My ego is perfectly intact. I care about the fact that you have convinced yourself you aren’t allowed to feel the best feeling in the world.”

“It’s not that I’m not allowed-”

“It’s a mental block,” Dean interrupts gently. “Or a physical one. Or a combination of both. But it’s not permanent. Nothing is permanent.”

“You don’t know that,” you whisper, looking away. “You don’t know my body.”

“Then let me learn it,” Dean says.

You snap your eyes back to him, shocked.

“Give me one chance,” Dean pleads. He isn’t cocky anymore. He is practically begging. “One chance, Y/N. No expectations. No pressure. If nothing happens, I will walk away. I will never bother you again. I won’t throw a tantrum, I won’t blame you, and I sure as hell won’t talk about it to a locker room full of idiots.”

You stare at him, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You look genuinely torn, the exhaustion and the fear battling against the tiny, microscopic sliver of hope he just offered you.

But then the wall goes back up.

“No,” you say firmly. You shake your head, stepping away from the door and pointing toward it. “No. I am not doing this again. I am not getting my hopes up just to lie there and feel broken while you get frustrated. Out. Now.”

Dean’s mind races. He’s losing you. He can see the door closing on this entire crusade, and he refuses to let you push him away just because you’re scared.

He needs leverage. What does he know about you?

Sorority president. Pre-law. Busy. Philanthropy.

“What if we make a wager?” Dean blurts out.

You stop. “What?”

“A wager,” Dean repeats, the idea taking shape in his mind as he speaks. “A bet. To make it worth your while. If I try, and I fail — which I won’t, but let’s pretend for a second that I do — I will give you something you want.”

You look at him like he’s lost his mind. “There is nothing you have that I want, Di Laurentis.”

“Delta Zeta is hosting the Splash & Dash charity car wash next Saturday, right?” Dean asks, pointing a finger at you. “To raise money for the women’s shelter downtown?”

You blink, clearly thrown off by his knowledge of your sorority’s philanthropic schedule. “How do you know that?”

“I pay attention to things,” Dean says smoothly. “Now, traditionally, your sisters wash the cars in bikinis. It brings in decent money. The frat guys show up, they pay twenty bucks, they ogle your sisters. It’s a solid business model.”

“Where are you going with this?” You demand, your patience wearing thin.

Dean grins. The slow, devastating, million-dollar grin that has gotten him out of trouble more times than he can count.

“If I fail to give you an orgasm,” Dean says slowly, letting the words hang in the air, “I will personally guarantee that the entire Briar University hockey starting lineup will participate in your car wash.”

You stare at him.

“And,” Dean adds, leaning in just a fraction, “we will do it shirtless.”

Your mouth parts slightly. You don’t say anything, but Dean can practically see the gears turning in your head.

The Briar hockey team is campus royalty. They are the most popular, most sought-after guys at the university. Garrett, Logan, Tucker, himself — they draw crowds just by walking into the dining hall.

“Shirtless,” you repeat, your voice skeptical.

“Shirtless,” Dean confirms. “Washing cars in the blazing sun. flexing. Sweating. We will advertise it. We will bring in hundreds of girls. Sorority girls, townies, professors — they’ll all show up. You will triple your fundraising goal in two hours.”

You look at him, the logic warring with your defense mechanisms. “Garrett Graham would never agree to that.”

“I am very persuasive,” Dean promises. “I will make them do it. If I lose.”

“And if you win?” You ask, narrowing your eyes. “What’s in it for you?”

Dean looks at you. He looks at the dark circles under your eyes, the messy bun, the oversized sweatshirt that hides a body he is dying to uncover. He thinks about McMahon’s cruel words on the quad, and the quiet resignation in your voice when you told him you’ve never come.

“If I win,” Dean says, his voice dropping to a low, husky register, “then I get the satisfaction of knowing I made you feel as good as you deserve to feel. That’s it. That’s the prize.”

You search his face, looking for the catch. Looking for the punchline, or the arrogant smirk. But there is nothing there except absolute, unwavering sincerity.

The silence stretches out. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticks steadily.

Finally, you let out a long, slow breath. The tension bleeds out of your shoulders. You look down at the floor, then back up at him.

“Shirtless,” you say softly.

“Pants are non-negotiable sadly,” Dean says solemnly. “Tucker is very modest.”

The tiniest, most microscopic hint of a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. It’s barely there, but Dean catches it, and it feels like he just won the Stanley Cup.

“One chance,” you say, your voice turning serious again. “You get one chance, Dean. When it doesn’t work, we stop. You leave. And you deliver your team on Saturday.”

“Deal,” Dean says instantly. He holds his hand out.

You look at his hand. You hesitate for a second, then reach out and shake it. Your hand is small, your skin soft, but your grip is firm.

“When?” You ask.

“Tomorrow night,” Dean says, unwilling to wait any longer than absolutely necessary. “Eight o’clock. My place.”

You drop his hand, pulling your sweatshirt tighter around yourself. “Fine. Tomorrow night.”

Dean picks up his duffel bag from the floor. He gives you one last look, memorizing the way you look standing in the foyer, the challenge clear in your eyes.

“Get some sleep, Y/N,” Dean says, stepping out the door onto the porch. “You’re going to need your energy tomorrow.”

He doesn’t wait for your response. He turns and walks down the paved path, his heart hammering a victorious rhythm against his ribs.

He got his foot in the door. He got the chance.

Now, he just has to do the impossible.

***

The house is completely, suspiciously silent when you knock on the front door at exactly eight o’clock on Saturday night.

Dean opens the door before you can even lower your hand. He’s wearing gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips and a plain white t-shirt. His hair is slightly damp, curled at the ends, and the faint, clean scent of his body wash drifts out into the cool evening air.

He looks entirely too calm. You, on the other hand, feel like you might throw up.

“You’re right on time,” Dean says, a slow, easy smile spreading across his face. He steps back, opening the door wider. “Come on in.”

You step into the foyer, clutching the strap of your purse like a lifeline. You’re wearing jeans and a simple black sweater, a deliberate choice to make this feel casual, even though your heart is currently hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.

“Where are your roommates?” You ask, your voice sounding a little too tight, a little too loud in the empty house.

“I bribed them to leave,” Dean says easily, shutting and locking the front door. “Logan and Tucker went to a movie. Garrett took his girlfriend out to dinner. The house is ours until at least midnight. I wanted zero distractions.”

He turns to look at you, and his smile softens. He can clearly see how rigid your shoulders are, how tightly you’re holding onto your bag.

“Hey,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Relax. I’m not leading you to the gallows.”

“I know,” you say defensively. “I’m relaxed.”

“You look like you’re about to take the LSAT,” Dean counters. He reaches out, his large, warm hands gently curling over your shoulders. He rubs his thumbs in slow, soothing circles against your collarbones. “Look at me, Y/N.”

You lift your gaze from the center of his chest, meeting his eyes. They’re a warm, bright green, and completely devoid of the cocky arrogance you usually associate with him.

“Forget the bet,” Dean says quietly. “Forget the car wash, forget McMahon, forget the locker room. Tonight is just about you. And if you want to leave right now, or in ten minutes, or in an hour, you just say the word and I’ll walk you to the door. No questions asked. No pressure. Okay?”

You swallow hard, the tight knot of anxiety in your chest loosening just a fraction. “Okay.”

“Good.” Dean drops his hands, gesturing down the hallway. “My room is this way.”

Dean’s bedroom is surprisingly immaculate. You expected a stereotypical frat-boy disaster zone, but the bed is made with dark gray sheets, the floor is clear, and the only mess is a small stack of textbooks on his desk. The bedside lamp is on, casting a warm, dim glow over the room.

On the nightstand rests the black duffel bag from yesterday.

You stare at it, your stomach doing a complicated flip.

Dean catches your look. He tosses your purse onto his desk chair and turns to face you. “The bag is just backup. Honestly, I don’t think we’ll need it.”

“Your confidence is terrifying,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest.

“It’s not confidence. It’s just a fact.” Dean steps right into your personal space. He doesn’t ask permission to touch you this time, he simply lifts his hands and frames your face. His palms are slightly rough from handling a hockey stick, but his touch is incredibly gentle. “You think too much. I can practically hear the gears turning in your head.”

“I can’t help it,” you whisper, closing your eyes briefly as his thumbs brush over your cheekbones. “I’m waiting for the part where this doesn’t work, and you get annoyed, and I have to pretend I’m sorry.”

“That part isn’t coming.” Dean’s voice is a low, raspy murmur right against your mouth. “Open your eyes.”

You do. He is staring at your lips.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Dean says, the warning a courtesy. “And you aren’t going to think about anything except how it feels.”

He closes the distance before you can argue. His mouth covers yours, warm and firm and demanding. You’ve been kissed a lot, but this is different. It isn’t rushed. He doesn’t shove his tongue down your throat or grope you aggressively. He simply takes his time, parting your lips, tasting you like he has all the time in the world.

A small, involuntary sigh escapes your throat, and Dean swallows it. His hands slide from your face, down your neck, tracing the line of your shoulders before sliding under the hem of your sweater. His warm palms flatten against the bare skin of your waist.

The shock of skin-on-skin contact makes you gasp, and Dean takes advantage, his tongue sliding against yours. He tastes like mint and something inherently dark and male.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Just feel.”

He walks you backward, his hands pulling you flush against his chest, until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. Dean breaks the kiss just long enough to pull your sweater up and over your head, tossing it blindly over his shoulder.

You reach for the hem of his t-shirt, suddenly desperate to feel his bare skin, but Dean catches your wrists.

“Uh-uh,” he says, a teasing lilt in his voice. “My clothes stay on for now. You don’t get to focus on me. Tonight is a one-way street.”

“Dean,” you protest, but he just smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

He unhooks your bra with terrifying efficiency, letting it drop to the floor. The cool air hits your bare breasts, making your nipples pebble instantly. Dean tracks the movement, his eyes darkening as they drag down your torso.

He pushes you gently down onto the edge of the bed. You’re sitting there in just your jeans, feeling exposed and hyper-aware of his gaze. But there is no judgment in his eyes, no impatient rush to get to the main event. He just looks at you like you are the most incredible thing he has ever seen.

Dean drops to his knees on the hardwood floor between your legs.

He reaches out, his hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you an inch closer to the edge. “You’re beautiful,” he says softly, pressing an open-mouthed kiss directly in the center of your chest.

You shiver, your hands instinctively tangling in the thick hair at the nape of his neck.

Dean unbuttons your jeans. He slides the zipper down, his knuckles brushing intentionally over the sensitive skin of your lower stomach. You suck in a sharp breath. He pulls the denim down your legs, taking your plain cotton underwear with them, until you are completely bare, sitting on the edge of his bed while he kneels between your thighs.

“Dean,” you whisper, your voice shaking slightly as the familiar, suffocating wave of performance anxiety begins to creep in. What if he realizes it’s hopeless? What if nothing happens?

“Stop,” Dean says instantly. He looks up at you, his eyes blazing. He knows exactly what you’re doing. “Stop thinking. Stop putting pressure on yourself. If you don’t cum tonight, you don’t cum. I don’t care. I’m perfectly happy just staying down here and tasting you for the next three hours regardless.”

The blunt, dirty honesty of his words sends a jolt of liquid heat straight between your legs.

Dean doesn’t give you time to overthink it again. He shifts closer, wrapping his strong hands around the backs of your thighs, and gently parts your legs wider.

He lowers his head.

The first touch of his tongue is a shock to your system. It’s a slow, broad, open-mouthed slide right up your center. You jerk instinctively, your hands gripping his shoulders.

“Easy,” Dean murmurs, his breath hot against your dripping core. “I’ve got you.”

He goes back in, and this time, there is no hesitation. Dean Di Laurentis is a master at this, and he proves it in seconds. He doesn’t dive right for the clit, pounding away like every other guy has. He takes his time. He kisses the soft skin of your inner thighs. He traces the delicate folds with the tip of his tongue, teasing, mapping out your body, figuring out exactly what makes your breath hitch and your muscles tighten.

“You taste so fucking sweet,” Dean groans, the vibration of his voice buzzing directly against your most sensitive flesh.

He finds the swollen bundle of nerves and swirls his tongue around it, light and teasing. You let out a soft, stuttering gasp, your head dropping back.

It feels good. It feels amazing. But the mental block is a heavy, leaden thing sitting in the back of your mind. You hit the plateau — the place you always hit, where the pleasure builds and builds but never actually crests. You feel yourself tensing, bracing for the inevitable disappointment.

Dean feels it. He stops immediately.

“Look at me,” he orders. His voice isn’t gentle anymore; it’s low, rough, and demanding.

You force your eyes open, looking down. Dean is kneeling between your legs, his lips wet and shining with your arousal, his green eyes locked onto yours. The sight is so intensely intimate, so totally raw, that it makes your chest ache.

“Tell me what you’re feeling right now,” Dean demands, his hands tightening on your thighs, his thumbs pressing firmly into your skin.

“I … I can’t,” you stutter, shaking your head. “Dean, it’s not going to-”

“I didn’t ask what’s not going to happen,” he interrupts sharply. “I asked what you’re feeling right now. Describe it to me.”

“It feels good,” you whisper, tears of frustration stinging the corners of your eyes. “But I’m stuck. I’m stuck.”

“You’re not stuck.” Dean leans in, kissing the inside of your thigh, his breath hot. “You’re in your head. So get out of it. Focus on my mouth. Focus on my fingers.”

He slides two thick fingers directly inside you. You gasp, your hips bucking up off the mattress as he stretches you open. You are incredibly wet, slick with your own arousal, and Dean uses it to his advantage. He curls his fingers upward, hitting a deep, heavy spot inside you with a firm, relentless rhythm.

“Tell me what that feels like,” Dean says, his eyes never leaving yours.

“It’s full,” you choke out, your fingers digging painfully into his shoulders. “It’s deep.”

“Good.” Dean lowers his head again. He replaces his mouth over your clit, but this time, he isn’t teasing. He sucks the sensitive nub directly into his mouth, applying a firm, steady suction while his tongue flickers against it relentlessly.

The combination of his fingers sliding deep inside you and his mouth pulling fiercely at your clit is a sensory overload.

“Dean,” you sob, the sound entirely involuntary.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He keeps his eyes open, staring right up at you as his tongue lashes against you and his fingers pump in a rapid, demanding rhythm.

The pressure is building. It’s a hot, coiled spring in the center of your body, winding tighter and tighter. You try to pull away, terrified of failing again, terrified of hitting the wall, but Dean’s hands are like iron on your thighs. He holds you perfectly still, refusing to let you escape the pleasure.

“Come on,” Dean growls, pulling his mouth away for a fraction of a second. “Let go, Y/N. Give it to me. Let go.”

He goes back to sucking, harder this time, dragging his teeth lightly against the hood.

The sensation splinters through your entire body. The wall in your mind — the mental block that has haunted you for years — suddenly shatters under the sheer, overwhelming force of what he’s doing to you. You can’t think. You can’t analyze. You can only feel.

The coiled spring snaps.

A choked scream rips out of your throat as the climax hits you like a freight train. It explodes, radiating from your core out to your fingertips in violent, uncontrollable waves of pleasure. Your hips jerk up, grinding frantically against Dean’s mouth as your inner muscles clamp down brutally around his fingers.

Dean swallows your scream, his mouth sealed tightly against you, taking every single drop of your release. He doesn’t stop, even when you’re thrashing, even when you’re begging him to because it’s too sensitive. He forces you to ride out every single wave, his fingers continuing to pulse inside you until you are completely spent.

When he finally pulls his hand out and lifts his head, you collapse backward onto the mattress.

You are panting, staring blindly at the ceiling. Your entire body is trembling. Tears — actual, physical tears of sheer disbelief and overwhelming relief — are sliding down your temples into your hairline.

Dean stands up. He looks down at you, his chest heaving under his white t-shirt, his hair thoroughly wrecked from your hands. He reaches over, wiping the moisture from his chin with the back of his hand.

He doesn’t look cocky. He doesn’t look like he just won a bet. He just looks satisfied.

He climbs onto the bed, hovering over you, and gently wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

“You see?” Dean whispers, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your slightly swollen lips. “You aren’t broken, Y/N. You just needed someone to actually pay attention.”

You let out a shaky, hysterical laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Dean.”

“I know,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you tight. He strokes your bare back, letting you ride out the aftershocks. “I know.”

You lie there for what feels like hours, just breathing him in. You feel light. You feel like a massive, suffocating weight has just been lifted off your chest. It wasn’t you. It was never you. You just needed a guy who cared more about your pleasure than his own ego.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his neck.

Dean pulls back slightly, looking down at you. His green eyes are dark, glittering with something dangerous. The tender, comforting moment shifts instantly, replaced by a heavy, palpable heat.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Dean says, a wicked, devastating smile curving his lips. “We have the house until midnight, Y/N. And I am far from finished.”

Your eyes widen. “Dean, I don’t think I can—I’m so sensitive-”

“I know,” he says smoothly. He reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing the black duffel bag and unzipping it. He pulls out the small, sleek bullet vibrator. “But you’re about to learn that the second time is always easier than the first. The wall is gone now. Now, we’re just playing.”

He turns it on. The low, electric hum fills the quiet room.

You swallow hard, your core clenching in anticipation.

Dean pushes you onto your back, his knees bracketing your hips. He finally grabs the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head, tossing it onto the floor. His chest is broad, defined, covered in a light dusting of hair that trails down beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. You stare at the prominent V-lines pointing downward, suddenly incredibly desperate to see the rest of him.

But Dean isn’t rushing the main event. He reaches down, parting your folds with two fingers, and presses the buzzing toy directly against your swollen clit.

You arch completely off the bed, a loud, unabashed moan tearing from your lips.

It is instantaneous. Without the mental block holding you back, your body reacts with terrifying speed. Dean grins, watching your face as he manipulates the toy, circling the most sensitive nerves. He leans down, capturing your mouth in a deep, filthy kiss, his tongue mimicking the frantic circles of his hand.

You reach down, frantically grabbing at the waistband of his sweatpants, desperate to touch him, but Dean swats your hands away.

“Not yet,” he pants against your mouth. “Focus.”

It takes less than three minutes. The second orgasm crashes through you with even more ferocity than the first. You scream his name into his mouth, your nails digging crescent moons into his shoulders as your body bows off the mattress, shaking violently.

Dean pulls the toy away, tossing it onto the nightstand, and finally reaches for his own waistband.

He strips out of his sweatpants and boxers in one fluid motion. He is heavily, beautifully aroused, his thick erection jutting out, hot and ready. He grabs a condom from the nightstand drawer, ripping the foil open with his teeth, and rolls it on with quick, efficient movements.

You are still trembling from the second climax, your eyes hazy and completely blown out.

Dean settles himself between your legs, his hands gripping your hips to anchor you. He lines himself up with your wet, slick opening.

“Look at me,” he demands softly.

You meet his eyes.

“You’re perfect,” Dean whispers.

And then he pushes his hips forward, burying himself deep inside you in one long, smooth thrust.

You gasp loudly, the feeling of him filling you completely sending fresh sparks of pleasure racing through your overloaded system. Dean lets out a harsh groan, his head dropping back as he gives himself a second to adjust to the tight, wet heat of your body.

He begins to move. He doesn’t pound into you; he makes love to you. He pulls almost all the way out before driving deep again, grinding his hips firmly against yours so that the base of his shaft perfectly rubs against your clit with every single thrust.

It is a steady, relentless rhythm. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together to pull him even deeper.

“Dean,” you pant, your head tossing back against the pillows. “Please.”

“I’m right here,” he answers, his voice strained. He reaches a hand down, slipping his thumb perfectly between your bodies to press firmly against your clit while he continues to thrust inside you.

The sensory overload is absolute. The deep, heavy stretching inside and the sharp, electric friction on the outside. You are unraveling, falling completely apart underneath him.

“Let it go again, baby,” Dean encourages, his thrusts getting faster, harder, completely losing his earlier restraint. “Come for me. Give it to me.”

You shatter for the third time. The orgasm rips through you so forcefully that your vision actually whites out for a second. You clamp down around his cock with brutal strength, crying out as the pleasure sweeps through you in violent, pulsing waves.

Your tight, milking climax is enough to send Dean right over the edge with you. He lets out a guttural shout, his hips driving into you one final, desperate time as he comes hard, his body rigid and shaking above yours.

He collapses heavily onto your chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his chest heaving as he fights to catch his breath.

You lie there, your arms wrapped tightly around his broad back, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his. The room is completely silent except for the sound of your combined, ragged breathing.

A full five minutes pass before Dean finally lifts his head. He props himself up on his elbows, looking down at you. His hair is a wild, sweaty mess, his eyes heavy with post-coital satisfaction.

He smiles. It’s a soft, genuine smile that makes your chest squeeze.

“So,” Dean rasps, tracing the line of your jaw with his finger. “I guess this means the hockey team is keeping their shirts on next weekend.”

You let out a weak, breathless laugh. “You’re a menace, Di Laurentis.”

“I’m a man of my word,” he corrects you, rolling off you and pulling you flush against his side. He drags the gray sheet up over your naked bodies, tucking you securely under his arm. “Though Logan is going to be incredibly disappointed. He’s been doing extra crunches all week just in case.”

You smile against his bare chest, tracing a lazy circle over his heart.

The bet is over. He proved his point. He did what no other guy could do, and he won.

But as Dean presses a lingering kiss to the top of your head, his arm tightening possessively around your waist, you get the overwhelming feeling that this is no longer just a mission for him.

And as you close your eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart, you realize it’s definitely not just a bet for you, either.

***

The Delta Zeta front lawn looks like a chaotic, high-budget commercial for spring break.

The bass from the massive portable speakers is vibrating through the soles of your white sneakers, blasting a remix of a top-forty pop song that you’ve heard at least six times since nine o’clock this morning. Soapy water floods the driveway, running in iridescent little rivers toward the street drain. Everywhere you look, girls in bright bikinis and cut-off denim shorts are scrubbing windshields, spraying each other with the hose, and flagging down passing cars with neon pink cardboard signs.

“Y/N!” Jess, your vice president, jogs over to the cash box table where you’re currently organizing a stack of slightly damp twenty-dollar bills. She’s out of breath, her blonde hair plastered to her forehead. “We’re out of microfiber towels. And I think Brittany just accidentally sprayed a physics professor in the face.”

You sigh, dropping a twenty into the lockbox. “Check the garage for the backup towels. And tell Brittany to aim lower. Has the line of cars slowed down?”

“A little,” Jess admits, wiping her brow. “It’s barely noon, though. The frat guys won’t drag themselves out of bed for at least another hour.”

You look out at the street. She’s right. The morning rush of faculty and early-risers has died down, leaving an empty spot in the driveway. If you want to hit your fundraising goal for the women’s shelter, you need a second wave. A big one.

“We need a draw,” you mutter, tying your hair back up into a higher ponytail. “Something to get the foot traffic to stop.”

“I think your draw just arrived,” Jess says, her voice suddenly dropping an entire octave. She points toward the sidewalk.

You follow her gaze, and your breath catches in your throat.

Walking down Sorority Row, looking like a slow-motion shot from a movie, are four massive guys. Garrett looks annoyed, Logan is already grinning and waving at a group of sophomores, and Tucker is casually spinning a key ring around his finger.

And leading the pack is Dean.

He’s wearing a pair of faded board shorts, flip-flops, and a gray Briar Hockey t-shirt. Sunglasses hide his eyes, but the moment he spots you standing by the cash table, a slow, devastating smirk spreads across his face.

A collective gasp ripples through the sorority girls on the lawn. Two freshmen actually drop their hose. The hockey team doesn’t just show up to random philanthropy events unless there’s a camera crew involved.

You cross your arms over your bikini top, fighting the massive smile threatening to break across your face as Dean stops right in front of your table.

“Good morning, Madam President,” Dean says smoothly. He pulls his sunglasses down, resting them on the collar of his shirt. His green eyes travel down the length of your body, lingering on the exposed skin of your stomach before snapping back up to your face. The heat in his gaze is entirely inappropriate for a Saturday morning charity event.

“Di Laurentis,” you say, keeping your voice even despite the butterflies staging a full-scale riot in your stomach. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re here to wash cars,” Logan chimes in from behind Dean, dropping his bucket onto the grass. “Obviously. Show me to the nearest CR-V.”

“You don’t have to be here,” you say, looking back at Dean. You lower your voice so only he can hear. “You won the bet, Dean. You proved your point. Vigorously. Multiple times.”

Just the memory of last Saturday night sends a flush of heat up your neck. You haven’t seen him all week — midterms, chapter meetings, and his away games kept you completely separated. But you certainly haven’t forgotten. You haven’t been able to think about anything else.

“I know I won the bet,” Dean says, stepping a fraction closer. “And it was the most satisfying victory of my athletic career. But the guys and I took a vote. We decided we want to participate anyway.”

“Oh, really?” You raise an eyebrow. “Just out of the goodness of your hearts?”

“Not exactly,” Garrett grumbles, crossing his muscular arms. “Dean wouldn’t shut up about it. He threatened to hide my skates if I didn’t show up. Put me to work, Y/N, before I change my mind and go back to bed.”

You laugh, motioning toward the empty driveway. “Grab a hose, Graham. The sponges are in the buckets.”

Garrett, Logan, and Tucker disperse, immediately swarmed by a giggling flock of Delta Zetas who are suddenly very eager to demonstrate proper soap application techniques.

Dean doesn’t move. He stays right in front of your table, leaning his hip against the edge.

“The team’s participation comes with a new condition,” Dean says softly, his eyes locking onto yours.

“A condition?” You tilt your head. “I didn’t agree to any conditions.”

“You’re going to want to agree to this one,” Dean promises, that wicked smirk returning. “We wash cars today. We bring in the crowds. And in exchange, you agree to go on a real date with me tonight.”

Your heart does a stupid, happy little flip. “A date.”

“A real date,” Dean confirms. “No bets. No ulterior motives. Just you, me, a disgustingly expensive Italian restaurant downtown, and absolutely zero talk about hockey or sorority budgets.”

You bite your lower lip, trying to maintain a facade of careful consideration. “I don’t know, Dean. I’m pretty busy.”

“I am offering you free labor, Y/N. Look at them.” He gestures behind him.

You look. Garrett, Logan, and Tucker have already pulled their t-shirts over their heads, tossing them onto the grass. The reaction is instantaneous. Cars that were driving past suddenly hit their brakes. A group of girls walking on the opposite side of the street literally change direction and sprint toward your lawn.

“Well,” you say, trying to suppress your laughter. “If it’s for the good of the charity.”

“Exactly. You’re a humanitarian.” Dean reaches out, tracing a single finger over the back of your hand where it rests on the cash box. The light touch sends a jolt of electricity straight up your arm. “So. It’s a yes?”

“It’s a yes,” you agree.

“Perfect.” Dean takes a step back. “Now, where do you want me?”

“You’re a professional,” you tease. “I’m sure you can find a spot. Just make sure you follow the dress code.”

Dean’s grin widens. Without breaking eye contact, he grabs the hem of his gray t-shirt and pulls it smoothly over his head.

You actually forget how to breathe for a second. You saw him naked a week ago, but seeing him out here in the broad daylight is a completely different experience. His chest is broad, sculpted from years of brutal on-ice conditioning, the muscles in his stomach flexing as he tosses the shirt onto your table. The sunlight catches on the light dusting of hair trailing down his stomach, disappearing into the low waistband of his board shorts.

“How’s the dress code looking?” He asks innocently.

“Acceptable,” you manage to choke out.

“Glad to hear it.” Dean winks at you, grabs his bucket, and jogs over to join his teammates.

The next two hours are absolute pandemonium.

Word spreads across campus faster than a wildfire. The Briar hockey team is shirtless at the Delta Zeta house. The line of cars waiting to get washed stretches entirely down the block. Frat boys show up just to see what the commotion is about. Groups of girls from other sororities line the sidewalk, pulling out their phones to record videos of Garrett spraying Logan with the hose, or Tucker politely scrubbing the roof of a minivan for a local soccer mom.

And Dean.

Dean is putting on a show.

You sit on the hood of a dry, parked Jeep Cherokee near the edge of the lawn, taking your state-mandated break. Jess handed you a plastic cup of spiked pink lemonade ten minutes ago, and you are happily sipping it while watching the chaos unfold.

Dean is currently washing a sleek black Audi. He is entirely soaked. Water runs down the planes of his chest, catching the afternoon sun and making his skin glisten. Suds cling to his arms and the waistband of his shorts. He’s laughing at something Logan just said, his head thrown back, running a soapy sponge over the hood of the car with long, effortless strokes.

He looks unfairly sexy. It’s actually offensive to the general public.

Every few minutes, he glances over his shoulder, catching your eye through the crowd. He always gives you a quick smirk or a subtle wink, making sure you know exactly who he’s showing off for.

“I’m going to ask you a question,” Jess says, hopping up onto the hood of the Jeep next to you. She takes a sip of her own lemonade. “And as your sister, I demand absolute honesty.”

“Shoot,” you say, not taking your eyes off Dean.

“Did you sleep with Dean Di Laurentis?”

You choke on your lemonade, coughing as the sour liquid burns the back of your throat. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play coy with me,” Jess says, bumping her shoulder against yours. “He has been staring at you like you’re his last meal on death row for two hours. And you keep looking at him like you want to drag him into the bushes.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, feeling your face burn. “We’re … hanging out. It’s new.”

Jess lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Good for you. He’s gorgeous. A menace to society, but gorgeous.”

“He’s actually really sweet,” you defend him quietly.

“I’m sure he is.” Jess smirks, hopping off the car. “I’m going to go make sure Logan hasn’t flooded the neighbor’s flower bed. Enjoy the view.”

You smile into your cup. The view is indeed spectacular.

You watch Dean finish rinsing the Audi. He wipes his forehead with the back of his forearm, looking genuinely exhausted but incredibly happy. He tosses his sponge into the bucket, says something to Tucker, and then starts walking toward you.

Your heart does that stupid flip again.

He reaches the Jeep and stops right between your dangling legs, resting his wet, soapy hands on the metal on either side of your thighs. He is breathing hard, radiating heat. The smell of coconut-scented soap, clean sweat, and Dean completely overwhelms your senses.

“You’re working hard,” you note, reaching out to brush a stray, wet curl off his forehead.

Dean leans into your touch instantly. “I’m earning my keep. The lockbox looks full.”

“We broke our fundraising record an hour ago,” you smile. “The shelter is going to be thrilled. Thank you, Dean. Seriously.”

“I told you I’d deliver.” Dean steps closer, until his bare, wet chest is practically brushing against your knees. “Though I expect to be heavily compensated tonight. We’re talking appetizers, an entrée, and at least two desserts.”

“I think I can manage that.”

“Good.” Dean tilts his chin up, his eyes dropping to your lips. “Can I kiss you? I know we’re in public, but you look incredible in that bikini and I have zero self-control.”

You laugh, tangling your fingers into his damp hair at the nape of his neck. “Yes, you can kiss me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Dean leans up, capturing your mouth in a deep, wet, entirely distracting kiss. He tastes like lemonade and sunshine. You pull him closer with your knees, letting your eyes flutter shut as he hums in approval against your lips.

“Well, well, well. Isn’t this a touching scene.”

The loud, grating voice slices through the bubble of your perfect moment like a rusty knife.

You freeze. Dean pulls back, his body stiffening instantly.

You look over Dean’s shoulder. Standing on the sidewalk, holding a red solo cup and flanked by two of his giant, meathead friends, is McMahon. 

He looks you up and down, his lip curling into a condescending sneer. Then he looks at Dean.

“Slumming it, Di Laurentis?” McMahon asks loudly, making sure the people around them can hear. “I heard you were desperate for a date, but I didn’t think you’d settle for my sloppy seconds.”

A dead, heavy silence drops over your immediate vicinity. The music is still playing, the water is still running, but everyone within earshot has stopped what they’re doing. Even Garrett and Logan have dropped their hoses, their heads snapping toward the sidewalk.

Your stomach plummets. You instinctively pull your legs back, suddenly feeling entirely too exposed in your bikini, the old, familiar shame threatening to choke you.

But Dean doesn’t step back. He doesn’t let you pull away.

He stands exactly where he is, keeping his hands planted on the Jeep, shielding your body with his own massive frame. Slowly, he turns his head to look at McMahon.

All the playful, charming energy evaporates from Dean’s demeanor. His jaw tightens, the muscles in his back cording with tension. He looks terrifying. He looks like a guy who spends three hours a day slamming people into glass walls for a living.

“What did you just say?” Dean asks. His voice is eerily quiet. It doesn’t boom. It doesn’t yell. It just carries.

McMahon puffs his chest out, trying to look intimidating, but you can see the slight hesitation in his eyes. He clearly wasn’t expecting Dean to look quite so murderous. “I’m just saying, man. You could do better. I already warned you she’s a dead end in bed.”

Garrett takes a step forward, his hands balling into fists, but Dean throws a hand up, stopping his friend in his tracks.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles, Graham,” Dean says, never taking his eyes off McMahon.

Dean turns fully around, facing the wide receiver. He crosses his arms over his bare chest. He doesn’t look angry anymore. He looks amused. And somehow, that’s so much worse.

“You know, McMahon,” Dean says smoothly, his voice carrying perfectly over the background noise. “I actually owe you a thank you.”

McMahon frowns, clearly thrown off script. “What?”

“I said thank you,” Dean repeats, a sharp, patronizing smile touching his lips. “Because if you weren’t such a loudmouth, incompetent idiot, I never would have found her.”

McMahon’s face flushes a dark, ugly red. “Watch your mouth, Di Laurentis.”

“No, you watch mine,” Dean steps off the grass and onto the concrete, closing the distance until he is standing a foot away from McMahon. He has a solid two inches of height on the football player, and he uses every bit of it, looking down his nose with absolute disdain.

“I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, man,” Dean says loudly, making sure the surrounding crowd can hear every single word. “I really did. I thought, ‘Hey, maybe he’s just new at this. Maybe he doesn’t know where the clit is.’ But then I spent some time with Y/N.”

You cover your mouth with your hand, your eyes widening as a few sorority girls in the background gasp.

“And let me tell you,” Dean continues, his tone conversational but his eyes lethal. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with her. In fact, she is perfectly, beautifully responsive. Explosive, actually.”

McMahon’s jaw drops. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t need to lie,” Dean laughs, a harsh, dismissive sound. “She came three times, McMahon. Three. In the span of an hour. And the only thing she needed was a guy who actually knows what the hell he’s doing.”

The silence on the lawn is absolute. A few frat guys in the back actually let out low whistles of impressed shock.

“So,” Dean concludes, leaning in so close that McMahon actually takes a half-step backward. “The fact that you couldn’t get her off? The fact that you blamed her in front of half the campus? That isn’t her failing, buddy. That is a pathetic testament to your own sexual inadequacy.”

McMahon opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He looks completely, utterly humiliated. His two buddies have actually taken a step away from him, clearly not wanting to be associated with the collateral damage.

Dean isn’t finished.

He drops the amusement. The lethal seriousness returns, dark and unyielding.

“If I ever hear you talk about her again,” Dean says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous gravel. “If I ever hear you say her name, or look at her, or breathe in her general direction … I will not use my words next time. I will put you on the ground. Are we clear?”

McMahon swallows hard. He looks around at the massive crowd staring at him, judging him, laughing at him. He looks back at Dean, the reality of the situation finally sinking in.

He doesn’t say a word. He just turns on his heel and stalks away down the sidewalk, his friends trailing awkwardly behind him.

The crowd immediately erupts into whispers and laughter. Someone starts a slow clap that ripples through the hockey team.

Dean completely ignores them. He turns his back on the crowd and walks straight back to you.

You are sitting on the hood of the Jeep, staring at him in absolute awe. The lingering anxiety that McMahon’s appearance had sparked is completely gone. In its place is a rush of pure, unadulterated affection.

No one has ever stood up for you like that. No one has ever publicly, unapologetically claimed you.

Dean stops between your knees again. He looks a little flushed, the tension slowly draining out of his shoulders. He looks up at you, suddenly looking a little unsure.

“Was that too much?” He asks quietly. “I know you don’t like a scene, but I couldn’t just let him-”

You cut him off by grabbing the sides of his face and kissing him.

It’s not a sweet kiss. It is desperate, hot, and entirely public. You pour every ounce of gratitude and desire you have into it, your tongue tangling with his. Dean lets out a rough sound of surprise before his arms wrap tightly around your waist, hauling you flush against his chest, lifting you slightly off the hood of the car.

The crowd around you actually cheers, but you barely hear them.

You pull back, resting your forehead against his. You are both breathing heavy, smiling like idiots.

“That was perfect,” you whisper.

“Yeah?” Dean’s green eyes shine with relief and happiness.

“Yeah. Though you just ruined that man’s reputation forever.”

“He ruined it himself. I just provided the facts.” Dean smirks, rubbing his thumb over your hip bone. “Besides. I told him the truth. You are explosive.”

You swat his shoulder, laughing as a blush covers your cheeks. “Shut up and go wash a car, Di Laurentis. You still have an hour on the clock.”

Dean groans dramatically, dropping his head onto your shoulder. “You are a cruel, demanding taskmaster. I’m being exploited for my body.”

“You love it,” you remind him.

“I do,” Dean admits softly, turning his head to press a lingering kiss to the bare skin of your neck. “I really, really do.”

He pulls back, giving you one last, breathtaking smile.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Dean promises. “Wear something that’s easy to take off.”

“Dean!”

He just laughs, a bright, booming sound that echoes over the noise of the car wash. He winks, turns around, and jogs back over to grab his sponge, immediately shoving Logan out of the way to take over a sports car.

You sit on the hood of the Jeep, watching him work.

You think about the girl you were a week ago — convinced you were broken, resigned to a life of quiet disappointment, carrying the weight of incompetent men on your shoulders.

And then you look at Dean. Arrogant, charming, relentless, and fiercely protective. The guy who saw a wall and decided to tear it down with his bare hands.

You take a sip of your lemonade, a soft, permanent smile etched onto your face.

Tears of relief came out of your eyes when you ran into her arms after your last recital. A summer went by of the boys playing hockey and you playing in the yard, watching with a frown wishing to be apart of that. Ellen came to you one day, sweat beading down your forehead in the heat but refusing to leave your brothers, Luke looking at you, with a flyer of a new cheer place opening in the town. She never imagined that’s what would be your thing, but it was. Cheer stuck with you throughout elementary school, even as you tried soccer with your best friend— you did that until the last year of middle school. Ultimately giving soccer up so you could focus on cheer in high school, and you were pretty damn good at it.

It was hard for the family though, hockey games between the three boys and practice’s with you that lasted hours, plus the games you performed at, then the big competitions. And it was really hard on you, when your brothers weren’t there in the stands, nor was your mom. It was usually your father when the family couldn’t be there, but his cheers were loud enough for them.

Your brother have always been protective, you knew that. In elementary school, Quinn and Jack both got in trouble for punching a boy at lunch because somebody yelled that he was your boyfriend.

“They punched him, mom! He was bleeding!” You cried in the back seat of the car, Quinn was sitting in the front with a glare as Luke sat between you and Jack with wide eyes after just witnessing you jump over to wack Jack in the head repeatedly.

Ellen sighed loudly from the driver seat, she looked in the mirror to see you— eyes blood shot red and a permanent frown on your face. She looked at Quinn quickly, his fist were still clenched in his lap as he looked out the window.

“Yeah, he deserves it.” Jack grumbled from his seat, Ellen was ready to pull over and yank you off of your brother but instead of throwing punches you yelled.. something that never really left the four of your guys mouth during arguments. The two Hughes parents had seen a lot of fights between the boys and you, arguing though… never happened often, just opting to use your fists, legs, and teeth sometimes.

A sob tore through your mouth, Luke was watching your carefully. A hand on your leg, trying to calm you down but nothing seemed to help.

“I hate you!”

Ellen gasped so loudly, she coughed. Quinn unclenched his fist in shock, Luke’s jaw dropped watching as you sucked in a deep shaky breath as your mom pulled into the driveway, you hiccuped through your sobs and yanked your leg away from Luke, he frowned. Jack’s lip parted and snapped his head towards the back of his mom’s seat.

She yelled your name, you sobbed louder trying to unbuckle yourself but couldn’t see through the tears, Luke noticed and put his hand between the two of you and pressed his finger down and unbuckled you. Not bothering to grab your book bag, you threw your door open and slid out with another sob and ran into the house.

That was the first time, more followed, especially when you grew older. Your mother worried when you grew into your beauty, how overprotective the boys came when you entered high school… then the first boyfriend— the break up was worse. You didn’t show up to school for a week.

They were all protective in their own ways, you loved them for it but sometimes truly hated it. Quinn was protective in a way with words, a threatening sentence towards somebody and they froze… wondering if it was true or he was giving out wordless threats. Jack was protective in a physical way, he always had been. Sometimes it scared you: the way he easily got himself into trouble for you.

Luke though was different, being your twin. He was a mix between the both of them but usually it was never with the other person— it was with you. While Quinn was glaring at the person and speaking lowly to them or Jack was throwing them against a wall or throwing punches, Luke was standing beside you, making sure you were okay, protecting your feelings.

So when hockey came around and more boys came into your life because of them, one night they all came into your room. Well, Jack and Quinn did— Luke was already lying on your bed, in his pajamas under your comforter as you sat at your desk trying to study. Key word, try. Luke barged into your room an hour before, freaking out about some girl from school.

The trying to study went out the window when the other two barged in and got comfortable by their brother, you tried to focus on the paper you had been staring at for the past ten minutes but their eyes were burning a hole into you.

“What?” You spat, slamming your pencil down and turning to look at them, Jack raised his eyebrows at you as Quinn shook his head. Luke was scrolling on his phone, you assumed he stopped being a pussy and was texting the girl.

Jack raised his shoulders, “Just wanted to come hang with our favorite sister, is that such a problem?”

“I’m your only sister… and you never wanna hang out with me.”

Quinn frowned for a second, Jack’s eyebrows raised at the sudden bluntness in your words. And Luke’s fingers paused on his screen, side eyeing you.

You stared at them, noticing their facial expressions. “Not like that! Just you guys are so busy with hockey—“

“You’re busy with cheer.” Jack cut you off, sitting up a bit. You saw the panic on his face, god, he was so dramatic sometimes.

“I know.” You gritted out, leaning back into your chair, “I’m just saying— it doesn’t matter—“

“Yes it does.” Quinn jumped in, you glanced at him. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

“Oh my god. Because I didn’t mean it like that! What do you want?” You sighed out, throwing your arms out in front of you. Quinn looked at his brothers quickly, you bit your inner lip watching as it seemed like they were communicating with their eyes— right in front of you.

You love them, so much. More than you could ever put into words but sometimes it felt like you were on the outside looking in, Luke always tried to include you but sometimes it was so hard. They spent so much time together, while you were out at practice for hours after they got home from theirs, them sitting on the back porch together. You were too tired to bother saying hi to them, going straight to the shower and then your bed. They had a different bond, as boys and brothers, and players— something you’d never be apart of.

They were your brothers but it was different.

Swallowing roughly as Jack nodded sharply to his older brother, you straightened in your seat. They all looked at you, eyes softening just a bit.

“We just wanted to say… you know, us joining teams and all soon— our hockey friends are… y’know…”

You furrowed your eyebrows, shaking your head with a shrug. “No, I don’t know. Use your words.”

Jack grabbed a pillow from behind him and chucked it at you, grunting quietly as you stopped it from smacking you in the head.

“You know… off limits.”

“Ew. I don’t want your hockey friends.”

That night, you and your brothers ended up in the kitchen arguing back and forth as your parents watched… attempting to soften it.

But you were right, you never batted an eye at them. Not when you walked in from practice and said hey to your brothers, nodding your head politely at their friends sitting in the living room, watching as you went into the kitchen where your mom stood in front of the stove cooking dinner, you grabbed a water and went up to your bathroom. Not when they attempted to flirt with you, ignoring your brother’s warnings to not do that.

Before you knew it, Quinn and Jack were in the NHL— something they’d always dreamed of. Quinn was in Vancouver, something that broke your heart.. him being so far away from home and his family. But nothing beat watching him score his friend goal of his NHL career, nor did it with watching Jack’s.

It was the year Luke got drafted, it was the year you parted away from your home, under the same roof as your twin brother and parents to leave to join California all stars. Of course, you came home for his draft! How could you not?

You could never miss the moment when the announcer said his name, Luke Hughes for the New Jersey Devils— the same one as Jack. How Jack practically leaped over you throwing himself around your brother with excitement, tears filled your eyes as you were squeezed between the three of them.

The four of you were all away from home and it was really hard sometimes, you guys were so close but couldn’t be more proud of each other. You texted the group chat every morning and night, especially when you knew you day would be busy, just to say something to them. It was harder with Luke, you and him had never been separated since your mom gave birth to the two of you, it took a long time where you or him didn’t burst into a tantrum when you were separated for more than a few hours… sleepovers rarely happened because by bed time you or him were running to your friends parents crying for each other.

Luke called every day, knowing your schedule after the first week of you and him being separated. You and him tried your best to talk as much as you did before but you weren’t used to him being so busy in the NHL and he wasn’t so used to you being miles away from him and different time zones. Plus, the training the two of you went through and barely had the energy to pick up your phone once you walked through your front door.

The first year was the hardest.

But eventually, you and your brothers were used to the difference. It didn’t make it any harder but it worked. They constantly bugged you about any boys, especially when one time some random boy answered your phone. Sitting in your living room. His face popped up on the group face time where your brothers stared at him in shock for a few moments.. questioning if they accidentally added somebody else but it was the siblings group chat.

It was a friend from cheer.

You honestly hadn’t truly dated somebody since high school, before the world only knew you as the Hughes sister. You attempted to go out on a date from somebody you met at the grocery store, seeing it as somewhat of a normal interaction. Not meeting them at an event or on social media. They didn’t recognize you as a Hughes or being related to the famous hockey brothers.

And then….

“I’m a huge fan of your brothers work.”

You were a bit dramatic about it, sighing loudly but nodded and apparently that gave him a signal to keep talking about them— he even asked if you could call them! The rest of the date until you cut him off as the waiter began approaching the table, quickly turning around when she heard the sharpness in your voice and stood up, walking away.

He yelled for the whole restaurant to hear about the check!

You rolled your eyes as you pulled open the doors with tears in your eyes, opting to call Luke but knew he would just run into Jack’s room so you kept your phone in your purse as you walked through the streets of California.

After that night, you declined anybody who asked to take you out. Just imagining yourself sitting in the middle of a restaurant of somebody asking something about them.

You never went on a date again after and never told your brothers. They pushed you that night when you never called after the date, you decline the first call as you laid in your bed, curled into yourself watching your comfort movie, tear stained cheeks. They immediately blew up your phone and told you to answer right now.

Sending a quick text and told them you were about to take a shower, which you did so you could look a little less crazy and the crying wasn’t noticeable. You made up some lie that all he did was talk about himself, your phone set on the counter of your bathroom as you lazily did your nighttime routine. And for some odd reason, they believed you when you lied to them. You never were a good liar and they always knew your twitch when you did lie, but apparently they couldn’t see when your face was in and out of the camera.

It was one night, your roommate who you cheered with wanted to go to a hockey game. She didn’t know anything about the game until she met you, sitting with you as you watched your brothers play and answered her questions or explained what was happening. She soon learned most of it and enjoyed for when she would hear your yell from the living room that the game was starting.

“There’s a game here! It’s like an hour away, we should go.”

That’s how you found yourself at a San Jose Sharks game, your brothers couldn’t believe you were going to be cheering another team on but you just rolled your eyes and told them the Canucks and Devils would always be the team you cheered for the most. It was a good game, your friend in her element as she could watch the game and actually understand… only a couple times did she lean over and ask you to explain something.

Then… you and her were at every Sharks game, as long as you were both free. She literally cancelled a date one night when she learned there was a game, you convinced her to just invite him and you would stay home.

“No way, girl. This is our thing.”

You ended up buying a third ticket the morning of the game and gave it to her, she kissed your cheek with a bright smile. You kind of regretted it when he arrived at the rink and the two were snuggled into each and you sat by yourself, arms crossed around your chest trying to warm yourself— usually, she was snuggled into your side, shivering about the coldness she was not used to. You guessed you’d just gotten used to her warmth.

After the game, you stood behind them as they talked, “I don’t wanna go home.” He smiled at her, intertwining their hands, you rolled your eyes as she said that for the hundredth time of the night.

Digging in your purse, you grabbed your car keys and chucked them at her back. She stopped and turned around sharply, squinting her eyes at you, looking down at your keys at her feet, she slowly picked them up with furrowed eyebrows.

“Take my car and go enjoy the rest of the night.” You smiled softly at her, her smile somehow grew larger.

The guy beside her furrowed his eyebrows, “What about you?”

“I’ll just call an uber.”

Which was the stupidest thing you could’ve offered, they left you quickly after that which was an hour ago. You were still sitting outside of the rink, of course no Ubers were available, they were all picking everybody else up from the arena. A pout formed on your lips when the first one cancelled, then when the second one did— tears formed in your eyes.

Sitting on the curb, curled into yourself as you leaned your chin against your knees watching as players drove out of the arena! You could’ve cried again but you didn’t, just watched as people walked by without blinking at you. You checked your friend’s location, you could tell she was still out with the boy so you kept the messages quiet.

You were watching as people cheered across the street, all dressed in Sharks gear. Smiling softly as somebody jumped onto another person’s back with a loud ‘whoop!’

Gravel crunched beside you, you snapped your head up and saw two boys staring down at you, they looked your age. You squinted your eyes at them as they blinked at you, like you were some animal that was standing in the middle of a road.

“Yes?” You questioned slowly, one of them straightened their back when you spoke.

“Are you okay?” The other asked, hands shoved into his pockets. Their hair was damp, they were dressed nice. You moved your head so the light wasn’t blocking their faces anymore and recognized them as two players on the Sharks.

Will Smith and Macklin Celebrini.

“Oh, yeah. I’m just waiting for the Ubers to start picking people up again.” You shrugged with a tight smile, Macklin nodded softly as Will ran his hand through his damp hair, the light shining on the side of his face, he looked like an angel… you clamped your parted lips shut as you stared at him.

Macklin stepped beside the other boy, “Do you need a ride? Ubers usually take a long time to start getting people after a game.”

You sighed and looked down at your phone, you were usually in bed by now and your phone was at ten percent.

“I don’t live around here and I can’t ask for you to drive an hour after playing a hockey game.” You said softly, looking up at them again. They both shrugged, Will jerked his head and offered his hand.

“We don’t mind, c’mon.” You looked at his outstretched hand carefully before taking it with your soft hands, he squeezed yours before pulling you up, you squeezed his back before slowly pulling away. Smiling as you looked between them as they watched you tug your jacket closer to you,

“Uh, you guys have a car right?” You asked after a few moments of you three standing there, Macklin’s eyebrows shot up before he nodded.

You thought that would be the first and last time you ever saw the two, besides at the games. But that night, when Will walked you to your door, you did your nighttime routine scrolling through his social media. Something you’d never done. And it was noticeable, when your finger accidentally double tapped a picture from too long ago. You screamed as your tooth brush stopped it’s movement in your mouth as you quickly took the like back and spit your toothpaste out, running int your roommates room, ignoring the guy sitting on her bean bag.

The next morning, as you scrolled through your notifications on your balcony, a smile graced your face. He followed you.

That was just the beginning, soon after a couple dms back and forth… Will seeked you out after the game with no Macklin by his side which surprised you.

“Wanna go get some celebratory food?” He asked softly, with that boyish grin that made your stomach flip. Your friend squealed from the other side of the car, you and Will laughed at her as she muttered an apology.

You leaned closer to him, tugging on the bottom of his jacket. “I’d love too… but I do have a friend that needs a ride home.”

“She can drive, I’ll take you home.” Will shot back with a smirk, you shook your head biting back a smile and called out your friends name who rounded the car with a wide smile, Will stepped back as you threw you keys at her.

“Have fun!” She sung with a giggle, watching as the two of you walked away, fingers brushing against each other before he flexed his hand and grabbed onto yours, she squealed again before shutting your door and driving off as Will lead you to his car.

It was sudden, the change between you and him. Before, you knew it was never about being just friends but there was also no rush to be anything more. It had been a few months since the first time you and Will went out, now he was coming over and spending the nights accidentally, the two of you falling asleep watching a movie or staying up late trying to finish putting together the legos you and him bought that day when he went shopping with you, sleep was written all over his face and you told him he could stay.

Macklin came over a lot, you and him became really close too. Your roommate got along with both of them, the four of you playing uno after dinner that you and Will made in your kitchen earlier. You soon realized how competitive Mack was, almost as competitive as your friend. You and Will would watch the two of the bicker about the cards they just put down, you just leaned into Will’s touch and waited for them to finish— sometimes you and him would have to intervene.

You met the rest of the team at a barbecue he invited you to, that was the night he took you to his home and kissed you.

You felt bad. Not telling your family about him but god you loved having him without anyone knowing, but now Mack and your friend knew… and the whole Sharks team. Now you just felt like the worst sister ever. But not even did your parents know, until your mom walked into your apartment with your dad shuffling in behind her tiredly, it was supposed to be a surprise, you had a cheer event coming up and they wanted to be there.

Your father jumped when your mother screamed, you jumped up in your bed hearing the yell.

Will stood shirtless, only in his pajama pants, in your kitchen in front of your stove as he attempted to make the two of you breakfast. You threw off the comforter, running out into the living to see your parents standing in the entryway in shock as Will stared back at the.

Your mom turned towards you when you gasped, standing in his t-shirt and your pajama shorts.

“Oh my God.” You heard your friend say, assuming she came out because of the murder like scream from your mom.

The breakfast was awkward. You ended up ordering from somewhere so Will didn’t have to make more food for everybody, he attempted to leave but your mother forced him to sit at the table. It was halfway through the silent eating, the only sound being your friend’s loud gulps of her drinking. You and her kept glancing at each other every few minutes, your dad was staring at Will as he sat beside you.

“So…”

Your mom broke the silence, “How’d you two meet?”

You and Will smiled softly, turning towards each other and that’s when your parents softened up. Especially, when your whole body softened up when you looked at the boy beside you, of course they already knew who he was before that day but after that morning, they knew him personally and loved him. They were happy it was him.

You made your parents promise not to tell your brothers, they understood but told you to tell them soon… You wanted to, but you didn’t even know how to bring it up anymore— you and Will had been together for a while. Neither of you had posted anything about each other, obsessed with having nobody having their eyes on you as a couple. Nobody had seen you guys together when you went out, luckily. But you knew your luck would run out soon.

Now the hockey season was over and the family immediately made the plans to go to the lake house.

You were standing in the kitchen beside your mom cutting up vegetables for dinner, music was playing softly throughout the house as the boys sat at the table playing a card game. You and your mom would laugh when one of them would groan loudly. It was a perfect day, everyone went out on the boat together, the five of you stayed out there almost all day.. eventually you took your parents back but you and your brothers went back out. Once you came back, your mom was starting to prep for dinner, you and your brothers took showers before joining your parents in the kitchen area.

It was perfect.

Until Luke opened his mouth, “Who’s pretty boy?“

You stopped your movements, everyone paused for a moment to look at him confused. Glancing over your shoulder, Luke’s hand was wrapped around your phone, bringing the phone closer to his face.

You slammed the knife down on the cutting board and darted towards him, snatching the phone from his hands. Now everybody was watching, cards down on the table and Ellen stepped to stand behind you.

“Y’know, Luke it was cute when we were 12 and you snooped through my shit but it’s not anymore.” You gritted out, gripping onto your phone by your side.

“Language!” Both your parents sighed out, eyes snapping between their twins, Luke’s jaw dropped at your words and the scowl on your face. Jack and Quinn looked between the two of you with caution, wondering what the hell was going on. They both just assumed it was some twin fight.

Luke looked over your shoulder, your mom shrugged. “Luke, you know it’s not nice to go through your sisters phone.” She said softly, putting her hand on your elbow and pulled you back, closer to her. She practically felt the anger coming off of you, Luke’s eyebrows furrowed.

“But who’s pretty boy? He said ‘I love you’!” Luke exclaimed, you felt both of your parents look at you with soft eyes.

This is not how you wanted your brothers to find out.

Jack shot up in his seat, bee lining for your phone in your hand. He reached over your body, not expecting a hand to his face and pushing him into the table. Ellen gasped from behind you, gritting out your name.

“No, mom. I’m tired of them thinking they have to know everything!” You cried out, she softly rubbed the back of your arm with a knowing look, the three brothers froze at your words.

Jack grunted as he fell back into his seat, “So there is something to know?” Quinn kicked him under the table when you rubbed your forehead in annoyance, he was always the one to soften to argument or fight between the four of you.. not always, mostly. Only when the four of you were older, when you were kids it was all of you throwing punches and legs.

“No.”

“Yes.”

You snapped your head to your mom, “Mom!”

She gave you a look.

“Oh my god.” You muttered and sat down as she ushered you towards the chair at the head of the able, across from your father and between Jack and Luke. She looked back at the kitchen before taking a spot beside her husband who reached out and grabbed her hand.

You put your phone under your thigh, ignoring the buzz against your leg. Your brothers stared at you, Luke had hurt in his eyes knowing there was something hidden between the two of you. You couldn’t even act like there ever had been, you kept plenty of secrets between your brothers— never Luke though.

Quinn waited patiently, watching you carefully as you picked at your nails. Jack wasn’t looking at you.

“I have a boyfriend…”

Chaos erupted around the table, you dropped your head into your hands with sigh as their voice overlapped with each other and your parents voiced trying to calm the boys down.

“Who is it?” Jack turned towards you, seemingly remembering what this was about. “Who’s pretty boy?” He mocked, lowering his voice and you wanted to smack him. You almost did but your mom said you name softly, she warned how no matter what or who.. this would be the outcome of keeping this from them. Now it was time to find out how they would react about who.

You bit your bottom lip, “Will Smith.”

“Will Smith?! Men and black Will Smith?!” Jack yelled, sitting up, almost out of his chair. You slowly looked at him with a confused face. “He’s like fifty! This is illegal! Oh my god!”

You kicked his leg, “Ow!”

“Will Smith? San Jose Sharks?” You spelt it out for him, gesturing with your hands, the room went silent. Deadly silent. You couldn’t even bother to look at any of them, the dramatics of them having betrayal written across their face. You stared at the scratch on the table from the first summer at the house.

Then chaos erupted around the table, Quinn and Jack snapped their heads towards each other— eyebrows flying up so fast you bit back a chuckle, Luke’s eyes were on you though.. eyebrows raised and parted lips.

“This is absurd!” Jack yelled turning towards you finally remembering who this was about. “Since when?” His voice softened a little, eyebrows pinched together like it was all coming to him, why his little brother was much quieter.

You swallowed glancing between all of them, “A while.”

It went oddly quiet. A quiet you’ve never been used to, not with them or your home in California. You and your roommate were loud together, and growing up it was always chaos. You heard Luke swallow roughly as he clenched his fist in front of him as he looked away from your face, Quinn just stared blankly at you.

Jack broke the silence with a scoff, “You know how hockey guys are?”

You laughed bitterly, “What? Just because you three hoe around doesn’t mean he does.”

Your parents yelled your name, you rolled your eyes as your brothers looked at you with shock.

“He’s nice to me and we love each other.” You fought even though they had pretty much been silent, “I’m sorry for not telling you but this is exactly why.”

“You know we’d support you about anything… even if it was a hockey player— you know that was just a joke.”

“Bullshit.”

Ellen gritted your name out, Jim giving up on correcting you a long time ago.

“Listen, when we told you that.. yes we were being for real but not actually! Not so for real that you can’t come to us for months.” Jack said, leaning forward with a brotherly look but also anger.

Luke stayed silent.

You swallowed, “Luke?”

“I don’t— I can’t believe you kept something from me for this long.”

The room went silent again, everyone’s eyes on Luke as he looked at you. You swallowed roughly, your throat tightening. “I’m sorry.”

There was nothing else you could say, your brothers said nothing either. What else could they say? The family separated, well more of you leaving the table to go to your room and call Will while your family still sat at the table, as soon as your door shut you heard the hushed voices of your brothers and your parents trying to calm them down.

It was another hour until you appeared from the stairs, your brothers gone onto the back porch while your parents continued the paused dinner. Ellen looked up from the stove at the sound of your soft footsteps, smiling softly she gestured for you to go outside.

Holding back an eye roll you walked towards the back door and opened it gaining the attention of your older brothers, stopping their conversation. You felt small under their gaze, hand still on the handle like you might run back into the house. Quinn noticed and scooted to the side on the small couch on the porch and jerked his head, you smiled softly and sat beside him, the oldest dropped his hand onto your shoulder and squeezed it.

“So,” Jack quickly said, smacking his hand onto his thigh and looked at you with a look you’ve seen one too many times. “When do we get to meet him?” He tapped his fingers against the table, they all looked towards you, waiting.

You messed with the strings of your devils hoodie, “I don’t know, didn’t really plan on seeing him until I went back to California.”

“You can invite him to the house, Sissy.”

It was a nickname they’d call you when you were younger, it kind of drifted when you grew up, it lingered with your parents but they’d call you anything but that— unless they were feeling nice.

“I don’t know… he probably has a bunch of plans.”

“Well, ask him anyway. Just for a weekend or something.”

Two weeks later, Will was flying into Michigan and you had never been more nervous as he texted you he landed, you were sitting in the pick up line, constantly messing with something in your car or looking at yourself in the mirror or camera on your phone. You were currently looking in your console, it was messy and you cringed but couldn’t think of that when a soft knock interrupted your thoughts.

You flinched, snapping your head up and Will stood at your window with a large smile on his face— you smiled widely back. He glanced down at the handle and your eyebrows raised as you blindly reached for the handle to unlock the door.

Will slid into the seat smoothly, tossing his duffel bag into the back seat while also leaning over the middle console to pull you closer and you melted into his touch, awkwardly pulling him into a hug but it fit. He kissed your hair, than your neck, and pulled away, hand on your neck and pressed his lips against yours.

You made a small noise of relief in the back of your throat, he smiled on your lips. “Missed you so much, baby.”

You kissed him one more time before you fell back into your seat and turned your car back on, he buckled into his seat and immediately reached for your hand, your intertwined hands rested on the console the whole ride— music playing from your phone connected to the Bluetooth.

Will and you caught up on the past two busy weeks, he was spending time with family and so were you, plus a lot of the boys friends were in town like usual— luckily only Trevor and Cole were around for the weekend Will would be. You could deal with them.

You’d known the two as much as you know you’re brothers, they treated you like a sister and they were just more brothers.

“You nervous?” You asked, pulling into the familiar area of your Michigan home, glancing towards him.

Will shook his head, only humming in response. “You’re squeezing my hand pretty hard.”

He immediately loosed his grip, you chuckled bringing your joined hands to your lips and kissed them softly, Will responded by rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand, you kept his hand rested against your lips, Will felt his shoulders relax even as you pulled into a neighborhood and he knew it was yours.

“I think I’m gonna pass out.”

You shook your head, suppressing a smile as you drove down your street seeing the large house your brothers bought together all those years ago.

“It’s gonna be fine, they’ll barely talk to us.”

Will shook his head, leaning back into his seat with tense muscles. “No, like seriously, why am I doing this?”

“Because you love me?”

“Yes, very much. But—“

You pulled into the driveway, “Listen, they seriously—“

“Baby, I’m not scared of them.”

You stopped, “Then… what is it?”

“No, I am terrified of them actually… but like I’ve— I’ve played against them and looked up to them— fuck, not like— I don’t want you to think I’m dating you for them— I swear…. Oh my god. Take me back to the airport— I—“ Will rambled, you covered your mouth trying to hide your smile and he thought you were crying.

“Oh my god— oh my god. Baby, I’m—“

A laugh cut through his panicking, he stopped. “Will, you have to chill or they will make fun of you and they’re sitting on the front porch, you assumed they’d been waiting since you left after they begged to come with.

He actually slid down into the seat, you laughed loudly. “I’m making fun of you. Will, get up.” You grabbed his shoulder, he groaned as he straightened. “C’mon, scaredy cat.”

“Don’t call me that.” He grunted as you both opened the door, he reached bag and pulled his bag from the backseat.

Your three brothers just sat on the porch, watching as you and Will walked up the steps, his hand intertwined with yours— they didn’t feel or sense the death grip he had on you. Smiling softly, you tugged him to your side as he attempted to stand behind you.

You knew it wasn’t because he was nervous, that’s where he always stood with you. Pressed against behind you and arms wrapped around you, sometimes around your waist but usually wrapped around your shoulders and your hands held onto his wrists, every few minutes pressing your lips to his forearms.

“Brothers.”

“Sister.”

You chuckled, “You guys all know each other…. So I don’t need to do introductions.”

They all said their hello’s, you squeezed Will’s hand three times and he quickly mimicked. “So, I’m gonna show him the room and then we’ll do dinner?”

“Okay, we’re grilling.” Jack said, tipping his beer to the two of you as you stepped back with a wide smile. The three of them couldn’t deny the way their chests warmed at the sight.

But Quinn paused as your hand went on the door handle and turned, “Wait…” And you did, hand frozen against the handle and both of you slowly looked at your oldest brother. “What’s his room?”

“Mine?” You stated but it sounded more like a question, all of their eyebrows shot up and their backs straightened.

“Your room?” Luke choked out.

You rolled your eyes and opened the door, “Ugh, yes! Its only for a weekend and he always sleeps in my bed back in California—“

“We don’t need to know that.” Quinn cut you off, eyes squeezed like he was trying to forget that. “Just… no foolishness.”

You laughed, “Yes, dad.”

After showing Will your room and laying down for a few minutes, body on top of his to calm him down, the two of you stepped out onto the back porch where all the boys were, and your parents sat on the couch together, listening to something Trevor was saying.

But they all stopped when you shut the sliding glass door, Will immediately grabbed onto your hand. “Hey.”

Trevor and Cole lit up at the sight of you, Cole reached out and pulled you onto the couch next to him, your hand yanked away from Will’s, he could’ve sworn his heart was about to stop as he made eye contact with all three of your brothers and you fell into a conversation with Cole.

“C’mon.” Jack clapped a hand against the younger boy’s shoulder, Will joined them by the grill, hands in his pockets awkwardly and shy. Will could admit he’d never been shy or this awkward before, not even when he met your pants— and that was awkward.

But after they talked for just a few minutes, Will’s hands were out of his pockets and his laughter was his usual one that you loved, a small smile gracing your face even though your back was faced towards him— Trevor and Cole needing your full attention like usual.

By the time dinner was finished, Will was back by your side at the table, his focus was on something Trevor was saying from across the table, hands thrown around in the air as all the boys pitched stuff into the conversation— something about hockey, that’s all you knew before you drew yourself out of the conversation, turning to your parents. But Will’s hand rested on your thigh, your hand on top of his, he occasionally squeezed.

Soon, your mom yawned and your dad took her to bed, leaving you and the boys, you leaned back into your seat and brought your leg up.

“So…”

Cole said, leaning forward to see you, you rested your head against your hand, just observing their conversation until he did that and now everyone was looking at you.

“What?”

“How’d you two meet?” He asked, a smirk on his face, the question gained a lot of commotion, Trevor giggled. Your brothers leaned back into their seats, eyes on the two of you.

“Uh—“

“Well—“

Will smiled, “Go ahead.”

And you simply told them, how he found you on the side of the street, curled into yourself like a homeless person. Trevor laughed as he imagined the sight, you kicked him from beneath the table, and how he found you after every game until one time he finally asked you out.

“Still can’t believe you kept it from us for so long.”

You swallowed, Will squeezed your thigh. “Yeah, well it was easier being so far away.”

Jack smiled, a breathy laugh leaving his lips.

“Well, we like you, Smith.”

Will chuckled, “Thanks.”

The weekend with Will went smooth, a day spent on the water, skin burnt and limbs tired as everyone walked back into the house. You and Will fell asleep on the couch together, his head pressed against your stomach and arm draped across your waist, Quinn found you two when he went to find y’all for dinner, he smiled softly before waking you up. The next day, it was calm, games played throughout the day, movie night before you brought Will up to your room as the boys went out on the lake for a late night swim. You were glad they left, you felt wrong doing anything with them in the house— too scared they would walk in.

But Will couldn’t leave without feeling himself inside of you.

The next day, you went on the lake for a short time and spent the day in the yard with your brothers and Will, they welcomed him the open arms… by the time he left— there were inside jokes between the boys and numbers exchanged.

The worst part wasn't that you were bullied.

It was that you'd gotten used to it.

Used to the whispers when you answered too many questions in class. Used to the boys snickering when you carried around novels thicker than their textbooks. Used to eating lunch in the library because it was easier than pretending empty seats didn't exist.

And somehow, despite all that, you'd still fallen for Will Smith.

At first, he was just another hockey player. Another popular guy who walked through the halls with his friends like they owned the place.

Then he'd started sitting beside you in chemistry.

Then borrowing your notes.

Then texting you random questions at midnight.

Then showing up at your locker.

Then smiling at you like you were the only person in the room.

And somewhere between study dates and late-night drives and stolen kisses behind the rink, you'd made the mistake of believing him.

Believing he actually saw you.

Believing you were more than some joke.

Prom night shattered that illusion.

The gym glittered with cheap decorations and fairy lights. Music echoed through the room while couples danced beneath the streamers.

You'd spent two hours getting ready.

Two hours trying to convince yourself you belonged there.

Will hadn't stopped staring at you all night.

"You look beautiful."

You rolled your eyes.

"You've said that six times."

"And I'll say it seven."

His hand found yours.

The familiar warmth should've comforted you.

Instead, something felt off.

Maybe it was the way his friends kept glancing over.

Maybe it was the way Ryan and Gabe kept looking guilty.

Maybe it was the knot in your stomach that refused to disappear.

You excused yourself to get a drink.

That was when you heard them.

A group of hockey players standing around one of the tables.

Laughing.

Talking.

Not realizing you were right behind them.

"Dude, best twenty bucks I've ever spent."

Your stomach dropped.

You knew that voice.

Ryan.

"What was it, anyway?" another guy asked.

"You don't know?" Connor laughed. "Beginning of the year. We dared Will to ask her out."

Silence.

"No way."

"Swear to God."

Your pulse thundered in your ears.

"No, seriously. Twenty bucks. We thought she'd say no."

Someone laughed.

Someone else muttered something about how insane it was.

And then came the sentence that made the entire room tilt.

"Crazy thing is he actually fell for her."

You couldn't hear anything after that.

The music blurred.

The lights blurred.

Your vision blurred.

All you could think was:

Twenty dollars.

Your relationship had started because someone thought you were worth twenty dollars.

You turned and walked away.

"Hey!"

Will's voice echoed behind you.

You ignored it.

"Y/N!"

His footsteps followed.

You pushed through the gym doors and into the empty hallway.

"Stop."

You spun around.

"What?"

Will froze.

Because he'd never seen you look at him like this.

Like he was a stranger.

"What happened?"

You laughed.

The sound was horrible.

Broken.

"How much was I worth?"

His face went white.

Immediately.

And that told you everything.

Everything.

"No."

"How much, Will?"

He didn't answer.

You nodded.

"Right."

"Y/N—"

"How much?"

His jaw clenched.

"...Twenty."

The number hit harder than you expected.

Because hearing it made it real.

You swallowed.

"Twenty dollars."

"It wasn't—"

"Twenty dollars."

"It was a stupid dare."

You stared at him.

The boy you'd loved for almost a year.

The boy who knew your favorite books.

The boy who kissed your forehead when you were stressed.

The boy who knew exactly how much you'd been hurt by people.

And he'd started all of this as a joke.

"You asked me out because your friends paid you."

"No."

"That's literally what happened."

"At first."

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

At first.

You laughed again.

A tear rolled down your cheek.

"Oh my God."

His face crumpled.

"No, no, that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"That was before I knew you."

His voice cracked.

"I didn't know you."

You looked away.

Because if you looked at him any longer, you'd cry.

"I was an idiot."

"Yeah."

"I know."

Silence.

Will took a shaky breath.

"After the first week I forgot about the dare."

You said nothing.

"After the second week I couldn't stop thinking about you."

Still nothing.

"After a month I was completely screwed."

His voice was quiet now.

Raw.

"Do you know how many times I tried to tell you?"

That made you look up.

His eyes were red.

"I wanted to tell you."

"Then why didn't you?"

Because that was the question.

Will looked miserable.

"Because I was terrified."

You scoffed.

"Of what?"

"Of losing you."

His answer came instantly.

"You would've hated me."

A bitter laugh escaped you.

"Well congratulations."

The words hit him like a slap.

You could see it.

The hurt.

The panic.

The realization.

Because for the first time since you'd met him, Will looked like he might actually cry.

"I love you."

The hallway went silent.

You froze.

His voice shook.

"I love you."

Another step.

"I know I don't deserve you."

Another.

"I know I screwed this up."

Another.

"But every single thing after that stupid dare was real."

Your heart broke a little.

You believed him.

That was what made it hurt so much.

You believed him.

And you still loved him.

Which was honestly the most infuriating part of all.

Will stopped a few feet away.

Close enough to reach you.

Not close enough to touch.

"You don't have to forgive me tonight."

You stared at the floor.

"You don't have to forgive me at all."

The crack in his voice nearly undid you.

"But don't think for one second that you were ever worth twenty dollars."

Slowly, you looked up.

His eyes met yours.

"You were the best thing that ever happened to me."

The tears you'd been fighting finally escaped.

And for the first time all night, neither of you knew what happened next.

You were academically gifted, but when it came to matters of the heart, you were as slow as a sloth in the cold. So slow in fact, that you decided that messing around and crushing on Dean Di Laurentis was going to not end as badly as it did. For you at least.

You watched from the other end of the living room as Dean grinded on a gorgeous girl adorning a bold green dress that told you she dressed as Jennifer Lopez. Your jaw clenched as your throat closed up. As the tears welled in your eyes, you turned away and rushed out of the house. You accidentally bumped into your friend’s shoulder, making her follow you after noticing the scene before that prompted such a reaction from you.

“Hey, hey, sweetie, it’s okay,” she said, pulling you into her arms as you began sobbing. 

“Why does this always happen to me?” you asked through the tears.

All your friend could say was “I’m sorry” as she caressed your head and led you to your car. She took the keys and drove you back home. 

As you calmed down, guilt settled in as you realised that you ruined your friend’s night. Mentally cursing yourself, you took your friend’s free hand and kissed it.

“I’m so sorry, we can go back if you want. We’re not far yet,” you said.

“Go back? No, let’s go home and have a little girls night,” she said with a small smile.

“But you were really looking forward to this party,” you countered, “I can handle myself. Come on, let’s go back.”

“You sure?” she asked hesitantly.

“Of course, I’m a big girl.”

She glanced at you momentarily before muttering “okay” and turning the car around. Thankfully, the parking spot you’d left was still empty and the both of you were back in the house in no time. 

You managed to find a chair in the living room, where you sat nursing a beer. You noticed that Dean wasn’t with the green dress girl anymore, but had another girl on his arm. It irked you to no end that he could so freely flaunt his endless roster in front of you and you’d feel every negative emotion imginable, but if you were to do the same with any guy, he would likely not even notice.

Suddenly one beer turned into five and your inhibitions had been lost. You were on the dancefloor with your friend — you didn’t even know where she had spawned from — and the music fuelled the adrenaline pumping through you. 

You felt a large presence behind you. You wondered if you had caught the attention of the only man that mattered to you. You turned around and to your surprise, it was none other than his best friend instead. Garrett Graham.

Your bodies kept moving in unison. He smirked down at you and in your haze, you flirtatiously smiled back. He didn’t know you, or at least it seemed like he didn’t. You weren’t sure whether it stung that you weren’t even worth mentioning to his best friend but you weren’t given enough time to think about it.

“What’s your name, gorgeous?” he asked. You responded with a sultry tone brought upon by your semi-drunken state.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

“Really? I thought a guy like you would have more game than that?” you teased.

“A guy like me? How do you know me?”

“Everyone knows you,” you stated matter-of-factly.

“Ah. Then I should let you know that I have game where it matters.”

“Oh yeah? And where is that?”

“I can show you if you’d like.” You hadn’t noticed how close you were until his breath hit your lips, almost like a request to proceed. There was a tension brewing in the middle, one that you broke by reaching up and connecting your lips.

“Show me then,” you breathed out in the second your lips left each other.

He took you hand in his and led you upstairs into a random room. The door had barely shut and he was on you already. You didn’t know if it was the buzz of the alcohol but you heated up fast as he kissed you slow and deep.

His hand roamed your body before lifting you top over your head. He gently pushed you back onto the bed, removing your skirt and knee high boots, leaving you only in your underwear. 

He looked at you with a prowess that sent chills down your back to your core. He removed his clothes before joining you in the bed and getting back to the kissing program.

You felt his hand move down your torso, stopping between your legs. You opened them further as an invitation to continue, which he took. 

Pushing your underwear to the side, his slender fingers rubbed your wet lips achingly slowly, purposely avoiding your throbbing nub.

“Stop teasing me and actually do something,” you said firmly, growing more wanting.

“I am doing something,” he smirked.

“Then do more,” you bit back, “or I can just find some willing to.”

That seemed to have done the trick as his fingers quickly entered you, finding your sweet spot in no time. He stroked it fiercely. You moaned loudly. Neither of you cared about being heard. 

You clenched around his fingers, signaling to him that you were close. Like the tease he was showing to be, he pulled his fingers out.

You looked at him shocked. “What the hell?”

He didn’t respond. Only rolled off of you, removed his boxers to reveal his erect shaft and laid back.

“Get on,” he instructed.

“Such a gentleman,” you grumbled sarcastically, but straddled him all the same. You sank down on him, moaning softly as you adjusted to him. 

“You always make the ladies do the work?” You asked.

“Only the more mouthy ones,” he responded wittily.

As you began slowly moving up and down on him, one of his hands made its way to your covered breast and the other to your hip. His eyes flickered between your face to where your bodies joined.

He bit his lip at the sensual sight of your hips rolling against him, your jaw slacked and head tilted back. You looked even more astonishing.

Your legs grew weaker and weaker as you felt yourself get closer to the edge. Your movements began to slow, so he flipped you onto your back to let you “rest” and enjoy the ride as he set a faster pace.

“Fuck” he moaned, pressing his forehead against yours. He took a hold of your legs and placed them over his shoulders. His eyes focused on you as your eyes rolled back. He was determined to prove himself to you.

His hand slid in between your bodies to your clit. He rubbed it rapidly, watching, pleased, as you lost yourself even further. Your eyes were squeezed shut so you missed the shit-eating grin on his face as he looked down at you.

Your moans grew louder as you felt that familiar pressure building up in your gut. As his movements grew sloppier, you knew he was close too. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, thighs trembling and toes curled as you reached your climax. 

Right on time for him as he pulled out not wanting to finish in you, and stroked himself before releasing onto the sheets beneath you.

You both heaved as you came down from both your highs. You sobered up as you looked at Garrett who now laid beside you. 

Oh no.

Regret was a feeling you were most definitely familiar with. Actually it happened more often than you would like to admit but that never stopped you from getting into situations that would make you feel it again. You got dressed and rushed out of the room with Garrett stunned quiet watching you leave without another word.

Questions raced in your head. Did Dean see you with his friend? Did he get jealous? Will Garrett talk about it to him?

Fuck! You probably ruined what you had with Dean by sleeping with his friend.

You grabbed your friend, who fortunately didn’t drink on account of being the designated driver, and left.

The drive home was quiet as you decided to pretend to sleep the whole way to avoid being questioned. Soon enough you were in bed with your thoughts and struggling to sleep.

—-

Standing in front of his house felt pathetic. You stood there, staring at the door, pondering if you should go in or not. 

With a deep breath and a count of five seconds of bravery, you went in. John Logan and a couple of other guys sat on the sofa playing some hockey game.

“Hey Logan,” you called out, “Where’s Dean?” 

“His room,” Logan responded without looking at you.

You made your way upstairs to his room. You knocked on his door, and entered after hearing a soft “come in” from the other side. 

Dean was laying on his bed, smiling at his phone. Your heart tightened as you thought that he was likely texting another girl.

“Hey…” Dean greeted with his brow arched inquisitively.

“Hey,” you breathed out. Your hands began to sweat and your heart raced so fast that you could feel it in your throat.

“What are you doing here?” He set his phone aside, giving you his full attention. That action made you even more nervous.

“I wanted to talk to you,” you responded meekly, still standing awkwardly by the door.

“About what?”

‘Us.” 

He crunched his face in confusion. “Us?” He asked.

“Yes, us.”

“Okay, go on…” he trailed off.

You cleared your throat trying to recall the speech you had practiced for hours the night before.

“I really like you, Dean,” you began. You noticed he wanted to interrupt you but you stopped him. “I really, really like you. I know this was meant to be casual and everything, but I thought I’d be doing myself a disservice if I didn’t at least try to see if you’d be up for something more between us.”

“Fuck,” Dean muttered. You looked at him dejected as he slowly made his way to you. He took your hands in his and you looked up at him as he seemed to struggle to find words to respond. “Look Y/N. I like you too but I’m not really a relationship guy. You know this. Plus, I thought you were seeing Garrett.”

“It was once and it was casual,” you said defensively, “I-I… I really want to be with you.’

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“We can try —”

“Y/N…” he sighed. 

You didn’t realise you had started crying until his thumb swiped away the tears that you’d spilled. The feeling of humiliation washed over you like a wave. You burst out of his room and rushed back to your car. He called out to you from the hallway, not even bothering to follow you outside. Once in your car, you burst into loud sobs. You leaned against the steering wheel and cried your heart out. 

You really did it to yourself. The never-ending cycle of heartbreak that you submitted yourself to every few months was pushing you to the edge of your wits. You truly believed that you were unlovable. Fuckable, for sure, but not more than that. 

You were startled out of your weeping by a knock on your window. Much to your dismay and embarrassment, it was none other than Garrett. You hurriedly wiped your face before opening your window to Garrett’s concerned face.

“Hey, are you okay? What’s wrong?” He asked, leaning against your car door.

“I’m fine,” you feigned a smile.

“You don’t look fine.”

“I need to go. Bye Garrett,” you said, starting your car.

“Hey, no, wait,” he stopped you, “how about we go to Malone’s and grab something to eat…or drink?”

“Look Garrett —”

“Please?” He insisted. You sighed before nodding and motioning him to hop into your car.

The drive was awkward. You knew Garrett wanted to ask why you had been crying, but you appreciated that he didn’t. 

The pair of you sat in a booth in a corner, silently waiting for your orders. The air was heavy, loaded with a question that ached to be asked. When your food arrived, you nibbled on it, not really having the appetite to indulge. 

“This is really good,” Garrett said with his mouth full, slicing through the tense silence between you. You just nodded in response.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked, to which you nodded again. “Wanna talk about what happened?” You shook your head.

You had a feeling he knew. You didn’t know why, but you had an inkling considering the context clues he already had. You zoned out thinking about Dean and what had happened. You cursed yourself for sleeping with Garrett in that moment of weakness. It likely cost you a relationship with the man you truly loved. 

“What are you thinking about?” His voice pulled you away from your thoughts. 

“You ask a lot of questions,” you responded very straightforwardly.

“I’m a curious guy,” he shrugged.

“Some people might call it nosy, actually,” you retorted.

“Same difference.”

“Look, I don’t want you to think that what happened is —”

“I know it doesn’t mean anything. I just figured you’d want some company,’ he clarified, much to your relief as you weren’t sure how you’d word out that you didn’t want anything with him.

“Great! Yeah… um” you stumbled through your words.

“I don’t wanna seem mean or anything, but as a quick word of advice, Dean isn’t a serious relationship guy. He’s a cool dude, for sure, but the sooner you realise that it’s really just sex for him, the better off you’ll be.”

You stared at him agape. The numbness that had settled in your chest began throbbing into an ache again. 

“I know that now,” you croaked. “Um… I’m gonna leave now… uh…thanks for the— this, I guess.” You gather your things, abandoning the barely eaten food on your plate. 

“Hey, I didn’t —”

“Please stop. I get it okay. I’m not worth a relationship.” You got up and left the diner, not even thinking about how Garrett was going to get back. 

Unfortunately for you, the man was persistent, so he followed you out. You expected him to call out to you, or do something to stop you but no. He followed in silence and got into your car with you.

You looked at him, shocked at his audacity.

“So? Are you gonna drive or?” He asked.

“I’m going to my dorm,” you said.

“Cool,” he responded.

“I’m not really in the mood to detour.”

“That’s fine. We can go to your dorm.”

Rolling your eyes, you decided you were too drained to argue with him so you just drove to your dorm. You weren’t even surprised when he followed you out of your car, into the building and all the way to your room. Kimmy was away, thank goodness. You didn’t want to have to explain Garrett’s presence.

“Okay, you’ve made it this far. Can you leave now?” You asked plopping down on your bed, taking your shoes off.

“Nope,” he said, sitting next to you. You groaned as you hopped to get a nap in.

“What do you want?” You asked. He stared back, his eyes telling a tale you weren’t sure you wanted to hear, but your body reacted before you could stop it.

You lurched onto him, fiercely kissing him. It was clumsy, messy and desperate. Before you knew it, clothes were flying off. 

You straddled him, slowly grinding on his erecting shaft. His hands rested on your hips, guiding your movements and squeezed every now and then. His lips left yours, trailing down to your neck and gently sucking on it. The tenderness of the area drew a moan out of you. His hands trailed up your body to your breasts, playing with your erect nipples. 

You could feel yourself growing wetter by the second. You grinded your hips harder against him. Both of your moans filled the air, your head falling back as you felt a tension brew at the pit of your stomach. You moved faster, desperate to reach your peak, subconsciously arching your back which pushed your breasts into Garrett’s face. He took the opportunity, taking your right nipple into his mouth. He sucked, bit and flicked it. 

Your mind drifted off to your time with Dean, comparing the two. When Dean had found out how aroused you got when your breasts were played with, it was game over for you. It did take him longer to figure it out than Garrett though.

“I’m close,’ you whined. 

Without warning, Garrett flipped you over onto your back and nestled himself between your legs. Like the gentleman he was, he quickly lowered his head between your legs and dug into you like a starved man.

Your hands found themselves in his hair as his tongue slithered through your lower lips. You felt his finger breach your entrance that was already soaked in anticipation. Again, you couldn’t help but compare how the two were quite similar in their methods but Garrett had a subtle aggression, or rather, passion.

Back arching off the bed, legs shaking around his head. You were unraveling. You took deep breaths, trying to ground yourself from the high. Shame and guilt settled in as you thought of Dean again, and what you just did with his best friend.

“Fuck!” You groaned feeling tears sting your eyes. All of a sudden you felt more exposed, and you tried to quickly and fully cover yourself with your blankets. You couldn’t bear to look at Garrett.

“Oh shit, did I do something wrong?” he sounded panicked and no doubt looked at it as well.

“No, it wasn’t you. Can you please leave now?” you cried.

“Y/N, please talk to me,” he pleaded.

“I don’t want to. Just leave,” you all but screamed at him.

“What did Dean do?”

You went quiet for a second. “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Why do you care? I don’t even know you,” you spat quite aggressively, growing tired of his persistent presence.

“Well, you know me well enough to fuck me,’ he countered.

“Oh please,” you threw the blanket from over your head to look at the now half-dressed man. “Like you haven’t fucked a bunch of girls and dumped them without even knowing their last names! You guys are all the fucking same. You use girls and then dump them like nothing.”

“I don’t —” He began but stopped mid-sentence at the look you gave that screamed ‘don’t bother lying to me’.

“Fine, but they know it’s casual too, so it’s not like I’m going around hurting them.”

“You don’t know that, do you? Maybe they want more but they know you wouldn’t give them a chance so they just settle for what you’ll give them.”

“If I don’t know that then what can I do? I make shit clear from my side, they should do the same. It’s not my fault they want something more and won’t tell me,” he said defensively. 

“And you’d say yes if one of them did?” you asked with a hint of skepticism.

“Uh…I,” he stuttered. You rolled your eyes at him.

“Exactly.”

“Wait,” he said with wide eyes. You knew from the look on his face that you had given yourself away but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You just wanted him away from you.

“Is that why you’re upset? You told Dean how you felt and he rejected you?” You felt your cheeks flush in embarrassment but nodded nonetheless. 

“Oh,” he said dejectedly.

“Look Garrett, we can’t do this again, okay? It doesn’t feel right, especially since Dean knows,” you say in a much softer tone.

“Right…” he trailed off. “Yeah, um, cool. I’ll leave then.”

“Thanks, and I truly am sorry for… um… I don’t know, I’m just sorry, okay?” You said rubbing your eyes. Garrett quickly got dressed and left your room but not without looking at your sad laying figure one more time.

You waited to hear the main door open and close, but it never did. Furrowing your brows, you got out of bed and as you reach for your door handle, it bursts open revealing Garrett, the man who didn’t leave.

“What are you still doing here?” you whined.

“Do you wanna go to the movies with me on Friday?” he said almost breathlessly.

“What?” You were confused at the very random request.

“Do you wanna go to the movies with me? On Friday? It actually doesn’t have to be the movies. We can go anywhere really but like…do you want to?”

“Garrett,” you sighed.

“Please?” You looked into his eyes, feeling bad for pulling him into your emotional wreckage. “Sure.”

“Great!” he cheered. “I’ll let you know the details tomorrow, cool?” You nodded with little to no enthusiasm. 

“Nice! I’ll leave now.” he quickly pecked your cheek before skipping out of your dorm.

—

Friday arrived quicker than you wanted. You had confirmed with Garrett to go out in the evening to watch a play on campus and then grab something to eat. You hoped it wouldn’t be at Malone’s since that’s where everyone usually hangs out but you didn’t ask further, so all you could do was wait.

Garrett was going to pick you up from your dorm. You were finishing up with the final getting ready touches with your friend lying on your bed, trying to make sense of the situation.

“I’m so lost right now,” she said for the umpteeth time.

“Girl, so am I,” you sighed.

“So like? At the party where you literally cried over Dean, you also happened to have slept with his best friend?” she questioned. Again. You cringed at the thought as you did recognise that it didn’t sound good at all. “Then three days ago you decided to confess your feelings to Dean and when he rejected you, you again messed around with his friend? Babe, you know how fucked up this sound, right?”

You groaned, pulling at your hair as you did so.

“Yes, I do. But like, it wasn’t my fault! He’s the one who keeps coming to me!” you squeal defensively.

“You can literally just say no,” she backfired. “I think you want to make Dean jealous, but babe, let me tell you now, you won’t. He could care less as you’ve seen and you’re messing around with his best friend now.”

“I was exhausted when I said yes to going out with him, but this will be the last time. The less I’m around him and Dean and anything related to them, the better,” you said with finality.

“Except, you probably already like Garrett’s attention and soon enough you’ll fall for him too. You do this all the time. Mess with a guy, fall for him, get rejected and monkey branch to the next. It’s not healthy and though I know you really want a relationship, you need to focus on yourself for a bit.”

Her words stung but they were true. You did have a habit getting with a new guy right without giving yourself the time to rest and heal from the last.

You got a text from Garrett saying he was outside. The sight of it filled you with shame as you took in your friend’s words.

“Babe, I’m not here to tell you how to like your life. Matter of fact, I’d love it if you were in the streets with the intention of being in the streets, not to find love. Just be careful, okay?” she got up to hug you from behind and left your room.

Unable to wait any longer, you responded to Garret’s text, grabbed your things and out the door you went. 

You weren’t in the best mood with your friend’s musings weighing down on you but there wasn’t much you could do. It would’ve been extremely rude of you to cancel right when he was outside and you’d feel guilty over it.

“Hey,” Garrett smiled as he got out of his Jeep to open the passenger door for you.

“Hi,” you responded softly, with a small smile.

“How’re you doing?” He asked, hopping into the driver’s seat.

“Good and you?”

“Great.”

You made small talk on the way to the movies. You both decided on watching Frankenstein. You opted to share a large popcorn since you didn’t want to ruin your appetite for the dinner afterwards. 

You felt a bit awkward, and you wondered if Garret felt the same. Soon you got your answer as Garrett’s fingers grazed yours as though to ask for permission to hold your hand. The action was cute and brought a fuzzy feeling in your stomach, nothing like Dean had ever done. 

You softly intertwined your fingers into his, your eyes stuck to the big screen but you could sense with glazing at you.

Throughout the movie, you shared small gestures of affection. You leaned your head on his shoulder, he caressed the back of your hand with his thumb. You felt like a real couple as the discomfort you felt over the situation faded.

You only let his hand go when you were in the car, driving to the restaurant he had picked out. And even then, his hand was glued to your thigh.

It was a slightly fancier restaurant with great food. You thanked yourself for having the foresight to not eat too much popcorn as you were looking forward to indulging in the meal you had ordered.

“So then, I there like ‘dude, the actual fuck?’ and he’s just looking at me like a fucking idiot half-naked in the middle of the backyard,” Garrett said, recounting a funny story of his and his friends’ adventures.

Your cheeks hurt from how much you were laughing. You were really enjoying Garrett’s company. Unfortunately, the moment of ease didn’t last and Garrett’s phone buzzed on the table, signalling that he had gotten a message. You both look down at it to see none other than Dean’s name pop up on the screen.

Your smile dropped instantly and you felt a grey cloud hover over you. He ignored the text and turned his phone over, but he noticed the shift in your mood.

This was going to be the last time.

“Don’t worry about him,” Garret said, taking your hand in his.

“I feel horrible,” you confessed.

“Don’t. He doesn’t mind. Probably doesn’t even care,” he tried comforting you but it felt worse to hear that.

“But I do. It’s not nice to sleep with the friend of the guy you like.”

“What if that friend actually likes you?” he asked. You looked at him shocked. He liked you?

“Do you?” You responded, still somewhat stunned.

“I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while now actually. Um… that’s actually why Dean kinda just stopped… um… seeing you,” he grimaced.

“Oh? Oh!”

“I didn’t know you were with him though until after the party. When I was telling the guys that I got with you and he mentioned that you guys were casually seeing each other, but that he noticed that I was constantly staring at you and…” he rambled on to the point of awkwardness.

“Oh.”

“Please say something other than that,” he begged.

“Isn’t it, like, against bro code or something like that?” You asked, still trying to make sense of the mess the situation had become.

“Uh, no?”

“So Dean knows?”

“Yes.”

“And he doesn’t mind?”

“Nope.”

“I don’t think I’d be able to go further though,” you said, looking away from Garrett. “It’s really not you. I just feel that I need time to sort myself out.”

“I get that. Really I understand. Take whatever time you need and if you still don’t want to see where this goes, again, it’s completely fine with me.” Your heart warmed at his maturity and understanding.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

The rest of the night went with the pair of you trying to get back to the carefree vibes you had going on. You couldn’t quite get them back but it was a good night regardless. 

Being the gentleman he was, Garrett walked you up to your dorm room. You lingered there for a bit, thinking about what to say after tonight’s revelations.

“Um… I had lots of fun tonight,” you said meekly, “I wouldn’t mind hanging out every now and again.”

“I had lots of fun too,” he smiled, “and I will definitely hit you up to go out some more.”

“As friends though,” you quickly added.

“Yes,” he chuckled, “as friends.”

“Thanks again,” you said.

“No need to.”

You felt that the night would end perfectly if a kiss was shared to wrap it all up in a pretty bow, but no. You didn’t want to dive head first into your doom again, so friends you’d remain for now. You reached up to peck his cheek just to not feel incomplete, and giggled a bit at the hue of red on his face.

You went into your room, thanking the universe that your friend wasn’t in to interrogate you. Once you were in bed, your thoughts kept you up but not in an entirely bad way. You felt a bit giddy, but still, there was some guilt mixed in.

You finally had someone who wanted you, but you didn’t really want him back. You were willing to get to know him but you wondered if it was your desperation for a relationship pushing you or if it was a genuine desire to pursue things with Garrett. 

Your phone buzzed next to your head. You picked it up to see a text from the new man that plagued your mind. 

Garrett: Good night and sleep tight <3

You smiled. Dean never really bothered with these sorts of things. I mean, it was casual so why should he send you goodnight texts. You figured it wouldn’t hurt to build a friendship with Garrett for the time being and just let it flow naturally.

——————————