.

If your paths cross again organically, then that would be another thing entirely.

You reach for your dress, and take a second to look around his room as you try and gather your bearings. It’s a lot cleaner than some of the frat rooms you’ve spent time in.

There are textbooks stacked on the desk instead of empty beer cans. A chemistry textbook sits open beneath a notebook full of cramped handwriting and highlighted diagrams. Another book - something biology-related - has so many sticky notes poking out of the pages it looks like it's growing feathers.

You hadn’t thought Jack was lying last night when he told you he was pre-med, but you certainly hadn’t thought he was serious about it. You figured he was probably some trust-fund kid who was going to get daddy to buy his way into medical school.

Jack apparently doesn’t fit into Cornell’s usual stereotypes.

He’s not a selfish prick the way most of the hockey team is. He’s also not a moron either - not by a long-shot. You know his music taste is pretty refined - on one date, after telling a guy that The Doors were your favourite band, he’d looked at you like you’d grown a second head.

Needless to say, there hadn’t been a second date.

And he’s funny. You’d laughed more last night than the entirety of summer. You think potentially more than your entire relationship with Seth.

God, you need to get a grip. You look around the room, almost praying to find something that’ll ruin the spark for you. Maybe a list of all the girls he’s slept with, or some Playboys under the bed. Some mouldy food perhaps?

Anything to get him off your mind.

You pull your dress over your head and glance around again.

The walls are covered in hockey.

Photos pinned to a corkboard. Team pictures from what looks like every stage of his life. A tiny kid missing his front teeth. A gangly teenager holding a trophy. A more recent photo where he's standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a group of teammates, grinning like an idiot.

There's a shelf lined with medals and a couple of plaques.

Your gaze lingers on a more recent picture - a slightly younger Jack’s first year on the Cornell hockey team. It looks familiar, and suddenly you realise why, heart sinking. Your step-brother Michael stands right by his side, smiles wide as the team poses for the camera.

Fuck.

You’d thought that the hockey team would be safe from Michael’s claws given that he’s been at medical school for the past three years. The last thing you want is to have slept with one of his friends.

While technically a step-brother, your mom met his dad while she was still pregnant with you. With your biological father out of the picture, the Robinavitch family very quickly became your own. Michael’s father is the only father you’ve ever known.

In all ways but blood, he’s your brother.

He’s the entire reason you’d ended up at Cornell. You’ve always wanted to grow up to be like Michael. Even if he’s grown a stupid beard, and goes by Robby these days.

His single piece of advice to you when you’d started college was to run a mile from anybody on the college’s sports teams.

Basketball? Bad.

Football? The worst, if Robby is to be believed.

Hockey? Good guys, but not boyfriend material. Steer clear at all costs.

Maybe they were just teammates. You have lots of group photos with people you don’t even like, much less consider a friend.

Jack seems like the kind of guy who would be friendly to just about everyone. But it could have just felt that way because he was trying to get into your pants. He could have a playbook of flattery, and you’re simply the most recent sucker to fall for it.

You realise with a snort that you don’t know much about Jack at all.

Which, to be fair, was intentional.

The whole point had been not getting to know each other. He could be

No strings. No personal questions. No expectations.

For all you know, he's seeing someone back home. Or maybe he's the sort of guy who never stays single for long. Maybe there are half a dozen girls on campus who'd roll their eyes if they heard you were thinking this much about him.

You wouldn't know.

All you know is that his name is Jack.

He plays hockey.

He's pre-med.

He’s a fan of classic rock - particularly Led Zeppelin and the Eagles, but he’s also partial to some eighties punk.

You don't know if he has siblings, or if he's close with his parents.

You move toward the desk, spotting a framed picture tucked beside a lamp.

Jack stands with a woman who shares the exact same smile. Must be a mother, though she looks pretty young. Upon further inspection, his mom is in a lot of the photos. For someone who spent half of last night pretending he didn't care about anything except having a good time, Jack seems surprisingly sentimental.

Maybe because you'd spent all of last night mentally filing Jack under Fun-Mistake. Good-Lay-Who’s-Definitely-A-Bit-Of-A-Whore.

Not Son-Who-Keeps-Pictures-Of-His-Mom-On-His-Desk.

You force yourself to look away.

This is ridiculous. You have to get out of here. At the desk, a notepad sits beside a cup full of pens, and your eyes catch on it just for a second.

You could leave your number.

Not for a date. Just to say ‘hey, that was good sex and we should do it again sometime. I’m not clingy, nor am I looking for a boyfriend, but you’re hot and I have a pushy ex.’

As soon as your brain catches up with your thoughts, you realise how pathetic you sound.

You’ve spent your entire college career avoiding becoming a stereotype. You’re not a stuck-up teacher’s pet because you get good grades, you’re not a stoner because you’re in a rock band, and you’re certainly not a Puck Bunny because you want to fuck a hockey player.

You grab your boots, and try to get the hell out of there. The frat house is mostly empty this early. For that, you’re grateful. A couple of people linger in the kitchen, nursing coffees and hangovers, but thankfully, nobody pays much attention as you head for the front door.

You slip outside.

The morning air is cool against your skin. A welcome change from the heat of Jack’s bedroom.

You don’t have a class until lunchtime, but band practice starts in forty-five minutes, and you’d like the shower before braving the heat of the Cornell Music Building.

The campus is dead at this hour, just empty brick paths and ivy before the mid-morning rush. Your boots click on the concrete, locking into the tempo of the bassline you keep looping in your head. It’s a new composition, one that you’re pretty sure goes with Jesse’s latest favourite drum-fill.

You hadn’t really meant to join a band, but when Jesse Van Horn is your next-door neighbour in freshman year, it’s hard to avoid the music.

Half the floor hated him, because he had an acoustic drum-kit set up in his room, and had no qualms about practicing at seven in the morning before his classes.

You didn’t ever mind.

Alarm clocks didn’t do the trick for you, but Immigrant Song sure did. Eventually, Jesse’s roommate had packed it in, found somewhere else to live. Meanwhile, you and he were becoming closer every day. You’d pass records back and forth, and roll your eyes over student housing politics.

When your roommate started allowing her boyfriend to practically live with you both, it had been a natural decision. One box at a time, over a week, you moved into Jesse’s spare room.

Despite the rumours, it’s never been sexual - you’re both walking proof that men and women can, in fact, just be friends.

You started jamming together, before he’d finally proposed that a band could earn you some extra cash. Outside of tutoring, you didn’t have any other income, so money got tight fast.

The only issue was that you absolutely refused to sing in front of a crowd. It’s not that you couldn’t - you’ve always had quite a nice voice, especially for folk, but the idea of singing solo in front of crowds made you want to cry.

Besides, you’d argued, you needed a guitarist anyway. You’d just find someone who could sing and play.

Jesse had placed a couple of ads across campus, and you got a lot more interest than you were expecting. Your answer came in the form of Nick Bradley - a biology major who could shred like Slash.

He agreed to sing too, as long as you’d do harmonies and take lead occasionally.

Like Fleetwood Mac, except none of you were sleeping together.

Now, a year on, you’re pretty successful. Good enough to get booked for a lot of the parties around campus, and a Saturday night slot at the local bar.

You’re still living with Jesse this year, in an apartment just off-campus, while Nick lives two streets over with his girlfriend Princess.

Were it not for Seth, you’d be having the time of your life.

Your first college relationship, you’d met Seth at a party in your first month of being at Cornell. He was a freshman too, but a business major, and loved the sound of his own voice.

Of course, at the time, he was hot, and paying you considerable amounts of attention. You were hooked.

Your entire relationship was cyclical - you’d date for a few months, and then have a huge blowout fight, and break up. You’d both sleep with other people out of pettiness, before he’d come crawling back a month later.

Much to all your friends’ chagrin, you always took him back.

This is the longest you’ve ever been separated since you first met.

It had happened over summer - an incident in New York City which had resulted in you sobbing down the phone, and Robby driving three hours in the middle of the night to come to your rescue.

You’re determined the break is sticking this time.

The cold walk back to your apartment finally wakes you up. You drop your keys on the counter, shed yesterday's clothes, and step into the shower. The hot water cuts through the smell of Jack's cedarwood cologne and the leftover stuffiness of his bedroom.

Ten minutes later, you're out and dressed in fresh black jeans and a beat-up band tee. Cream. You tell yourself it’s a total coincidence, and not because it’s a Clapton band. Your hair is still wet, but with five minutes until your practice starts, Jesse is ushering you into his car without pause.

*****

You think about Jack at random intervals throughout the day over the next few weeks.

When you're walking to class.

When you see someone wearing a hockey sweatshirt.

When a cowboy hat appears in the background of a TikTok, embarrassingly.

But thinking isn't the same thing as doing. And you've managed not to do anything.

No Instagram searches. No asking around. No stalking fraternity pages. No investigating.

Which means you're doing great.

Objectively.

You haven’t seen him around campus, but you figure that’s to be expected, given he’s pre-med and on the hockey team. You wouldn’t wish either on your worst enemy, much less both. Thankfully, Seth has been a complete non-entity too.

Maybe you’ll be able to live your entire Junior year in peace.

You're walking back from class with your phone wedged between your shoulder and ear while Robby complains about med school.

Again.

Apparently today's crisis is pathology.

Yesterday's crisis was anatomy.

Tomorrow's will probably be something equally horrifying - he’s no longer allowed to tell you any stories that involve burns, toe-nails, or eye stuff, but you're sure he'll find something else that makes you feel sick just hearing about it.

"I haven't slept in two days."

You snort. "That's healthy."

"I hate you."

You hadn’t realised that Robby going to med school would somehow be your problem too. When your parents are sick of him whinging, they send his calls your way.

"Do you know how many pathways there are for clotting?" He asks.

"No. Why would I know that? I’m pre-law."

"There are too many."

"Okay."

He groans. "I'm serious."

"Congratulations? I don't know what you want me to say to that, to be honest."

There’s a pause, and you can just imagine him rubbing his neck, regretting calling you entirely. "You don't care."

"I care deeply about many things. Clotting factors? Unfortunately not one of them. Why aren’t you moaning to Noelle?"

"She’s sick of it," He replies, sounding so miserable that you almost want to laugh.

“Just think about all the money you’ll be making.”

“Yeah, in like fifteen years.” Without taking a breath, Robby launches into another story about one of his professors, and you half-listen as you weave through campus.

Then he mentions hockey. "Honestly, sometimes I miss the team."

Your stomach does an immediate, traitorous flip. It’s been approximately two hours since you last thought about Jack, and the reminder is not a welcome one. It’s a battle to keep your voice neutral. "Yeah?"

"Not the practices,” He clarifies immediately.

"Obviously."

"Or the conditioning."

"Also obviously."

"But the guys."

You bite the inside of your cheek. You don’t care about Jack. You shouldn’t ask anything else. Change the subject, and…. "Do you still talk to any of them?"

You immediately regret it, but it’s too late.

Fortunately, Robby doesn't seem to notice the odd cadence in your tone.

"Some of them."

You hum. "Who?"

He pauses. “Most of us are scattered now, but I talk to some of the guys on the current team. You know, one of them's applying to med school right now.”

"So?"

Robby laughs. "So?"

"Yeah."

You adjust your bag higher on your shoulder, wondering if you should just fake bad service and hang up.

"Lots of people apply to med school."

"Not while playing a college sport."

"Oh."

"He asked me to look over his application."

Your grip tightens on your phone. "That's nice."

"I know. I’m a nice guy." Robby sounds genuinely pleased. Which is odd. He's usually much stingier with compliments. "Actually, his application's pretty solid."

You stare straight ahead.

Heart beating a little faster. “Must be smart, then.”

“Everything okay?”

Curse Robby and his insane perception skills. “Uh, yeah - just thought I saw Seth.”

Immediately, Robby’s in dad mode. “Don’t go near him.”

“I’m not! Jesus, Mikey - what do you take me for?”

“You don’t want me to answer that.”

You want to be offended, but you’re mostly just glad the conversation isn’t on Jack anymore. “Screw you.”

“Love you too!”

*****

The bathroom tile is freezing against your forehead.You trace the grout lines with your eyes, trying to focus on anything other than the rhythmic, violent heaving in your stomach. It’s 4:00 AM, six weeks since term started, and you’re currently paying the price for the sketchy food truck tacos you ate after last night's gig.

Your throat burns, tasting like stomach acid and cheap tequila.

This cannot be the rockstar life everybody is so desperate for.

You groan, pulling yourself up onto your knees to lean over the toilet bowl again. Your body shakes, a cold sweat breaking out across your neck and back. Every muscle in your core is tightly knotted, exhausted from the last two hours of purging.

You reach up and flush, the loud roar of the water echoing painfully in the quiet apartment. Jesse’s the heaviest sleeper you’ve ever met - there’s no way he’s waking up from a couple of retches.

You wake up on Friday morning convinced you're finally over the worst of it. The constant, violent nausea has faded into a dull, low-grade ache, and you manage to keep down half a bagel and some black coffee. Robby informs you that sometimes food poisoning takes it’s sweet time clearing up.

By Sunday, you can't lie to yourself anymore.

You’re still exhausted. The smell of the deli on the corner makes your stomach violently drop, and you spent twenty minutes this morning dizzy on the bathroom floor just from standing up too fast. It’s not a stomach bug.

You decide eventually that you can manage a trip to the grocery store for some crackers and ginger ale, in the hopes of filling your stomach a little.

Standing in the chip aisle, you glance over at the bakery counter. A woman is standing there, waiting for a loaf of bread. She’s wearing a soft knit sweater, and one of her hands rests naturally over a very obvious, rounded baby bump.

Your heart stops.

You can’t be.

You’re on the pill, and Jack used a condom. Statistically, there’s got to be no chance of that happening.

Panic floods your chest, hot and sharp.

You drop the crackers and sprint two aisles over to the pharmacy section. Your eyes scan the shelves frantically until you spot the boxes. You grab a digital two-pack, not even looking at the price, and tuck it flat against your stomach beneath your denim jacket.

You keep your head down, eyes darting left and right. The campus grocery store is a minefield; the last thing you need is a classmate, or Seth, or even Jack himself seeing you.

Running the three blocks back, the plastic bag crinkles loudly against your thigh. Your hands shake so badly that you drop your keys on the concrete before finally forcing the lock.

Jesse is on the couch, a laptop open on his knees and a half-eaten slice of pizza in his hand. He blinks up at you, surprised. "Hey, did you get the-"

"Bathroom," you choke out, barging straight past the couch. You don’t look at him, keeping the plastic bag bunched tight against your side.

"Whoa, okay. All yours," he mutters, turning back to his screen.

You throw yourself into the bathroom, slam the door, and click the lock. In the sudden quiet, your breathing sounds deafening. You rip the box open, tearing the cardboard with your fingernails until the two plastic sticks tumble onto the counter.

You’re on the pill. Jack used a condom.

You repeat it in your head like a mantra, trying to block out the terror pressing down on your chest. You read the instructions on the crumpled paper, the tiny text blurring. Wash hands. Remove cap. Hold the tip in the stream for five seconds.

You go through the motions on pure autopilot, your fingers icy cold.

When it's done, you lay the stick flat on the edge of the sink, turning the digital screen face-down against the white porcelain. You step back, gripping the edges of the counter until your knuckles turn white. On the side of the plastic casing, the tiny hourglass icon starts blinking, counting down the three longest minutes of your life.

You can’t be pregnant. You still have two more years of college, and then law school. How the hell would you do that with a baby?

Especially when the father is someone you don’t even know?

When you finally build the courage to turn the test over, you think you might cry.

“Shit,” You curse. “Shit, shit, shit!”

No amount of staring makes the line disappear, and you can feel tears start to prick at your periphery when a knock sounds at the door. “Everything okay? You’ve been gone forever.”

You swallow heavily. “Fine, Jess.” Looking back at the very positive test, and the words that flash on the screen.

Six Weeks Pregnant.

You’d only begun working at Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center a few months ago, looking for more of a challenge after spending the past few years of your career in dermatology. You didn’t hate it, per se, but you felt deep in your bones that you were meant for more high stakes work.

Not only did the job suit you better, but the people did too. Sure, you’d met some nice people in dermatology, even met your best friend there, but working in the ER surrounded you with people much like yourself. Adrenaline junkies.

Unfortunately, adrenaline junkies and medical conferences did not mix.

That’s how you found yourself at some dodgy dive bar down the street from your hotel the last night of your conference with two of your coworkers, Trinity and Victoria. The three of you had been bored out of your minds at the last lecture of the day, where some old pretentious man droned on and on and onnnnn about medical research that was about 25 years outdated. You really needed a drink.

“Okay, I know we agreed on vodka crans, but I got us green tea shots too. My treat, alright? I fucking need a shot after whatever that lecture was,” Trinity explains as she returns from the bar, setting three drinks and three shots down on the center of the table. You were able to snag some seats in the back corner of the bar, thankfully, because the last thing you want to deal with is any more people today.

“Oh god, it was horrible, wasn’t it? I was just about ready to rip my hair out. Didn’t think that guy would ever stop talking,” Victoria replies as she reaches for one of the shots. 

The three of you clink glasses, tapping them down onto the wooden surface of the table before knocking them back. 

“God, that’s fucking good,” you wince, the alcohol burning at the bottom of your throat.

The night continues in a cycle of work gossip and ordering vodka cranberries for the table. By the time you guys are leaving, you’re thoroughly buzzed.

You walk back to the hotel together, arm and arm, when you get back onto the topic of work. Feeling a little more truthful than usual due to the alcohol coursing through your system, you decide to tell your friends about an awkward moment you had during one of your shifts last week.

“Oh it was awful, you guys. I was assisting Dr. Abbot with a perforating GSW and he asked me to hand him hemostatic gauze, and I dropped the package all over the floor trying to open it. I’m talking gauze everywhere. I had to rush to get a new one, my hands were shaking like hell when I gave it to him,” you ramble. “And the worst part? He noticed. Pulled me into one of the on-call rooms afterward to ask what was up with me. I was horrified.”

Victoria furrows her brows, and Trinity slows her steps until the three of you are standing still in the middle of the dimly lit sidewalk.

“What’s wrong? Why are we stopping?” you ask, confused. 

“Sorry, you were nervous?” Victoria questions.

“I didn’t even know that was possible for you,” Trinity admits, shock displayed on her face.

“I mean, yeah. If you guys had been there, you’d understand. The whole room was tense, you could hear a pin drop,” you explain.

“Don’t think that’s how I’d describe the Pitt, but okay,” Victoria concedes, falling back into step toward the hotel as you and Trinity trail close behind.

“Y’know, I don’t think it was the GSW that had you all worked up. I’ve seen you in action. You’re not one to falter, especially not like that. I think maybe a certain night shift attending has you all hot and bothered,” Trinity prods, landing a playful punch against your shoulder.

Victoria whips her head around at that. “Oh my god. That’s totally it!” she squeals. “Are you guys hooking up? I’ll be soooo jealous, he’s a total silver fox.”

Heat blooms in your chest and creeps up to your cheeks. You’re suddenly very, very hot.

“Jesus, no. I’m not hooking up with him. I’m not even into him, not like that. I can promise you he’s not what made me nervous,” you ramble. “We work a high stress job, it’s normal to make mistakes. And that’s all it was, a mistake,” you babble on, hoping your friends won’t pick up on the fact that you’re lying straight through your teeth.

While the part about not hooking up with him is true, you can’t deny the fact that you definitely have feelings for Doctor Jack Abbot.

It’s all his fault, really. From the start, he was charming. Good at conversation. Never made you feel less than, despite being the newbie of the department. 

And it definitely didn’t help that he looked like that. Salt and pepper curls that framed his angular face which was dusted with freckles. Wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that made themselves known when he smiled. Biceps that bulged underneath his scrub top sleeve, which was far too tight considering the size of his muscles.

It got worse once you guys fell into a rhythm, able to work in tandem. Sometimes you didn’t even need words. It only took one look at each other for you to know exactly where he needed you, how to best assist him with a procedure. 

If it wasn’t a look, it was a touch. A gloved hand overtop yours, guiding you on where to make an incision. A warm, large hand braced against your back as you intubate. A pat on the shoulder after you successfully stabilize a patient. 

But undoubtedly, the worst part was the way he spoke to you. Whether it be a “Nice work, Kiddo,” after a particularly stressful chest tube placement, or a “What’s goin’ on up there?” with a featherlight touch to your temple when you were lost in thought. It was like he could sense what you were feeling before you’d even figured it out for yourself.

Clearly, whatever feelings you have for Dr. Abbot are written all over your face, because Trinity and Victoria seem wholly unconvinced.

“Okay, well if you’re not hooking up with him, then you should be. I’ve seen your dynamic, there’s some clear tension between you guys, babe,” Trinity argues as you finally approach the doors of your hotel.

“Yeah, that’s not happening. Even if I wanted it to, which I don’t, there’s no way he’d be into it,” you explain, the warmth in your cheeks only growing. 

Victoria lets out a dramatic sigh as you make your way through the hotel lobby toward the elevators. “And I thought I was clueless.”

“Sorry?” you ask, pressing the button for the elevator. It dings and the doors open, the three of you piling in. You quickly push the button for floor three. You want to escape this situation as fast as possible, if you’re being honest. Your emotions are too heightened from the drinks to be having this conversation right now.

“If you can’t see it, there’s nothing we can do to help you,” Trinity replies. “Anyway, it might not be the brightest idea to sleep with a coworker. We all know how that went for me…”

“Oh Trin it wasn’t that bad. At least she doesn’t work in the same department,” Victoria remarks, then gestures vaguely at you. “Imagine if this hypothetical hookup with Abbot really did happen. She’d have to work with him all the time and he’s her attending. Now that’s bad.”

You groan. “Gee, thanks guys. I feel really supported right now.”

“So you do want to sleep with him then?” Victoria quips. 

“No! My god, you guys. I’m done with the conversation,” you exclaim. The elevator finally reaches your floor and you waste no time stepping out into the warmly lit hallway.

“Well, I’ll see you both bright and early tomorrow. Still want to get coffee before the airport?” Trinity asks as she fumbles with her keycard outside of her room door. 

Victoria, one door down from Trinity, follows suit in swiping her card. “Sure, how’s 7:00 sound?”

“Works for me, see you guys tomorrow!” you reply with a smile and a wave, making your way down to the end of the hallway to your room. 

It hits you as you struggle to get your door unlocked that you’re a lot drunker than you thought. Not enough to warrant a hangover, but inebriated enough that you stumble toward your bed as you kick off your shoes. 

After taking a much needed shower, washing away the grime of a long day, and putting on a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top, you cuddle up into bed and check your texts.

There’s multiple from your best friend, Jackie. The one you met when you worked in dermatology. 

Jackie: girl i haven’t heard from you all day Jackie: is the conference terrible Jackie: so glad i don’t have to go to those lol Jackie: is dr hottie there at least

You chuckle at her messages. Of course she’d bring him up. She’s the only person you’ve confided in about your attraction to Dr. Abbot, and she’s become obsessed with him ever since. Even gave him that ridiculous nickname.

You swipe back to check your other notifications, reading a text from your mom and watching a Tik Tok that Trinity sent you from her room before you finally go back to reply to Jackie.

Unfortunately, in your inebriated state, your finger slides on your screen and deletes your text chain with her.

“Shit!” you exclaim. At least you remember what she said. You quickly click the “New Message” button and start typing out her name. 

j… a… c… 

You click on her contact and begin typing.

You: sry i’ve been busy but yes the conference was shit You: got drinks after im a ltitle drunk lol You: and yes dr hottie is here thank god You: i sat behind him during a talk this mornign and had to fight urges to run my hands through his sexy silver hair You: i didnrt do it tho. i am brave

Sighing, you shuffle in bed so you’re no longer sitting up against the headboard but laying on your side. You reach toward the nightstand and flick the lamp off, filling the room with darkness.

Well, the room is dark until your phone buzzes on the mattress next to you and the screen lights up, emitting a soft glow. 

Rather quickly, it buzzes again. You reach for it, expecting Jackie’s replies. While it’s not very late, she’s a night owl through and through, so of course she’d answer you immediately. 

Instead, you see two notifications from… Jack Abbot? The only times you’ve ever texted him were about coming in early or that one time you’d forgotten your sweater in the break room and asked if he could hide it in one of the cabinets until your shift the next morning. Why would he be texting you at 11:00pm on a night you were both off?

You unlock your phone and click into your text thread with him.

Jack: I think you meant to send those to someone else. Jack: I’ll try and sit farther away next time. Wouldn’t want my hair distracting you.

You shoot up in bed, breath catching in your throat. Immediately, your chest is on fire. There’s no fucking way you sent those messages to him.

You: oh my god You: im so fuckign sorry You: i was trying to text my friend

Jack: It’s OK.

You: its not You: its extremely unprofessional You: im so so sorry

Jack: Stop apologizing.

Your breathing still hasn’t calmed down. You’re mortified. How are you ever going to face him again?

For a minute, there’s no other reply. You debate texting him again, but what could you even say? “I’m sorry I think your hair is sexy”?

Instead, you try to focus on calming down. Everything will be fine. You can blame it on the drinks, even if you’re not really drunk. He won’t know that you’re lying.

Your eye catches on the three little dots at the corner of your text thread. He’s typing again. A lump forms in the base of your throat.

Jack: Where are you?

Confused, you type out a reply.

You: my room You: why

Jack: How much did you drink?

You: not much You: a few vodka crans with trinity and victoria You: im mostly sober now

It wasn’t necessarily a lie. This interaction definitely sobered you up.

Jack: So you’re OK?

You: yep You: safe and sound

Jack: Good. Jack: Dr. Hottie, huh?

You: oh god pls dont remind me You: im mortified

Jack: Don’t be. Jack: Are you in bed?

Your eyebrows furrow at that last message. At first it seemed like he was just checking in on you, making sure you weren’t stranded and drunk at some shady bar. But what kind of question is that?

You: yes

Jack: Send me a picture.

Eyebrows knitting together in confusion, you open your camera and take a photo of the foot of your bed. You can make out the shape of the chair in the corner of the room and the TV mounted to the wall. You go back to your texts and send him the photo.

You: [1 attachment] You: see You: exactly where i said i am

Jack: No, a picture of you.

Oh. 

With shaking hands, you swipe back to the camera app, this time flipping it so it’s front facing. You snap a photo of yourself, angling the phone so it captures your face and part of your torso. 

You examine the photograph, taking in the pouty expression on your face and noting the way your tank top rides up at your stomach, exposing your midriff. Considering you didn’t put on a bra, you can see the faint outline of your nipples through the thin material.

Without overthinking it, you send him the picture.

You: [1 attachment]

Jack: Jesus. Jack: You always sleep like that?

Feeling bold, the remnants of your night out still coursing through your veins, you type out a reply.

You: no You: i usually sleep naked You: but that feels a bit too exposing for a hotel 

Jack: Fuck, sweetheart. Jack: You have no idea what you’re doing to me.

You: send a pic You: i wanna see

Heat pools between your legs. There’s no way this is happening. You’ll wake up tomorrow and realize you dreamt up this entire conversation.

An image from Dr. Abbot comes through.

Jack: [1 attachment]

He’s laying in his hotel bed in nothing but his underwear. You can’t see his face, but his chest is on full display. God, his muscles were something else.

But the real star of the show is his bulge, straining hard against the fabric of his boxers. One of his veiny hands rests atop it, and you can’t help but notice the wet spot pooling where his erection sits.

Fuck.

You hold your phone in one hand and slide the other one underneath your shorts and panties, rubbing slow, methodic circles against your core. Your phone pings with another message.

Jack: What’re you doing now?

You: touching myself You: are u

Jack: Fuck, yes.

Growing warm, you kick the bedsheets aside. Your hand continues to circle, pressure building deep in your belly.

You: wish i could see u rn

Jack: [1 attachment - 0:21]

Oh, God. 

Suddenly, everything starts feeling a little too real. You should not be doing this. He’s your attending. You’re sacrificing your career, everything you’ve worked so hard for, for what? One meaningless night?

But the way your hand is creating friction against your clit combined with Jack’s messages have you too horny to care, if you’re being honest.

Nervously, you click play on the video.

You almost regret doing it.

But you can’t look away from the sight of him pumping his cock up and down in the dim lighting of his hotel room. 

It’s long, longer than you were expecting. And thick. 

You watch as he drags his hand from the base up to the head, uses his thumb to circle the precum that's built up at the slit, and then works it up and down his length.

If the sight of that wasn’t enough, the sounds he’s making have you groaning into your pillow. He’s practically growling, the noises coming ragged from the depths of his throat.

You can’t even think straight, you’re so desperate for more. For anything. Without even thinking about it, you open your phone camera again and start recording.

It’s nothing special, considering how worked up you are. You really can’t even see much since your shorts and panties are still on. 

You film as your hand moves underneath the fabric a few times, breathy moans escaping your lips. You pull it out slowly, showing off the sticky mess left on your fingers for the camera.

You: oh my god You: thats so fucking hot You: [1 attachment - 0:14] You: this is how badly i want u

There’s no response for a minute, and you worry that you went too far. Maybe he realized how fucking crazy this whole situation is. Because that’s exactly what it is. Crazy.

Before you can begin to spiral too hard, your phone buzzes in your hand.

He’s fucking calling you.

You let it ring a few times, working up the courage to answer.

With a shaking hand, you click accept.

He doesn’t say anything at first, but you can hear his heavy breathing and the sound of something wet in the background. 

“How are you doing it?” he mumbles into the phone, abruptly.

“What?”

“How are you touching yourself? Tell me.”

“Oh, I’m– I’m rubbing circles on my clit,” you can barely make out the words, feeling embarrassed. 

“Oh fuck,” he groans. “Slip a finger in.”

“Jack, I–”

“Fuck, I need you to,” he begs. “Please do it for me, Kiddo.”

“O-Okay,” you stutter, lining up your middle finger with your entrance and sinking it in. You release a moan at the sensation, pumping your finger in and out a few times before adding another.

“God, that sound. You sound so pretty when you touch yourself. Can you hear me? Hear me pumping my cock? It wants you so bad, Sweetheart. You have no idea.”

His words make you shudder, more needy sounds escaping from your throat. The sound of his hand working against his length combined with his breathy moans have you bucking your hips into your hand.

“I want you too,” you whimper. 

“What’s your room number?” Jack grunts.

“What?”

“I can’t do this. Knowing you’re right down the hall. What room are you in?”

You blink.

“302.”

The line clicks. 

He hung up.

You stare at the dark phone screen in front of you, fingers coming to a stop under your panties.

What the actual fuck just happened.

Is he coming here? Like right now?

Suddenly, there’s three sharp knocks at the door. You readjust your panties and shorts and nervously make your way to the door, fumbling to open it because of how hard you’re shaking. 

As you expected, Jack Abbot stands in front of you clad in a white t-shirt and a pair of sweats. He’s using his crutches, didn’t even waste time putting on his leg. His left foot dons one white sock. No shoe. 

Just looking at his face makes the ache between your legs grow. His skin’s coated in a thin sheen of sweat, curls sticking to his forehead. His breathing is uneven, chest heaving against the tight fabric of his shirt.

Without a word, you open the door wide enough to let him through and he wastes no time heading directly for the center of the room, placing his crutches against the nightstand and sitting on the edge of the bed. You click the door shut and lock it.

“C’mere,” he whispers.

You take one step toward him. Measured, careful. Then another.

“Jack, I don’t know if we should…”

“Fuck, don’t say that. Would you just come here?” he growls.

You move closer until you’re standing in front of him. He reaches for you, placing his broad hands on your hips and tugging you closer to him, between his thighs. His thumbs move back and forth against your hip bone.

“Do you want this?” He asks, quiet.

“Yes.”

“Then let me make you feel good. Please,” he murmurs, pulling you even closer so he can press open mouthed kisses to the base of your throat and down your chest. 

You moan into his touch, hands coming up to tug his hair.

“Is it as good as you imagined?” he teases.

“Sorry?”

“Running your hands through my ‘sexy silver hair’? Your words, not mine.” 

A laugh escapes from his lips and you groan, dropping your head on top of his so he can’t see how horrified you are. 

“Yeah, I’m going to regret that text for the rest of my life.”

Jack brings his hands up from your waist to the back of your head so he can pull you back to look at him.

“I’m not,” he says, maintaining such an intense eye contact that you begin to tremble underneath his gaze. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about it. Your hands in my hair. Your mouth on me. How you’d sound when I fuck you,” he whispers, leaning to continue sucking marks on your chest, just above the neckline of your tank top.

You moan at his words. If that’s the case, you should’ve been fucking him for months now.

Something snaps inside of you, and you give up on holding back. You want this. You can deal with the repercussions tomorrow.

You bring your hands down from his hair to his shoulders and push him back slightly on the bed so you have enough room to climb on top of him, straddling his thighs. He moves his hands back to your waist, keeping you stabilized against him.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi,” he responds, breathless.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Fuck, please.”

You dip your head down and hover your lips over his, inches apart. You can feel his warm breath fan over your mouth as he exhales. 

Fed up, Jack closes the distance, connecting his lips with yours. 

And fuck, he tastes good. 

You whimper into his mouth, quickening your pace, desperate for more.

The sound you make causes his grip to tighten around your waist, his kisses becoming sloppier. He darts his tongue out, seeking entry to your mouth.

You swirl your tongue against his and he releases a deep, guttural groan. Your bodies move together, hips grinding over the bulge in his sweatpants. 

Between frantic kisses, he manages to lift your tank top over your head, pulling back only to admire your bare chest.

“Been dreaming about these,” he admits, taking his right hand off your hip to palm at one of your breasts. “They’re even better than I imagined.”

You throw your head back as he rolls your nipple between his knuckles. He dips his head and uses his mouth to suck on the other one, and the sensation has you rocking your hips even harder against him.

“So fucking sexy,” he breathes as he swirls his tongue around your nipple. You dig your nails into his shoulder, overwhelmed by his hands and mouth.

He kisses his way back up your chest and neck until his lips connect with yours again, hand still squeezing at your breast.

“Can I taste you?” he groans into your mouth. 

You nod against him and he takes that as permission to lift you from his lap and toss you on the bed next to him, head hitting the pillow. You giggle at the sudden movement, Jack crawling above you to keep peppering your lips and jaw with kisses.

He pulls back so he’s sitting on his haunches and fiddles with the waistband of your shorts. Slowly, he peels the fabric down your legs and tosses them aside. He pushes your knees apart so you’re spread for him, ducking his head to kiss his way up your thighs.

“Jack, please,” you beg.

He places a few kisses over the lacy fabric of your panties before he pulls them to the side, face to face with your dripping center. 

He licks one slow, agonizing stripe up your core, causing you to buck your hips up in the air. 

“Fuck, you taste so good, Kiddo,” he mumbles into your cunt, lapping up the wetness that’s gathered there. He takes his time sucking and kissing at your clit, dipping his tongue into you, building you up to your first orgasm.

“Jack, I–I’m gonna come,” you whine, teetering over the edge.

“Let it happen, Sweetheart. Want you to come on my tongue.”

His words send you over the edge, riding out your orgasm against his mouth as he keeps swirling his tongue inside of you. He continues to leave soft kisses against your sensitive clit as you come down from your high.

Once you’ve settled, Jack kisses his way back up your stomach and chest until you’re face to face.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” you admit, still in shock. 

“Me neither,” he whispers, brushing a stray hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear.

“I need you inside of me,” you breathe against him, desperate.

“Fuck, okay.”

Jack makes quick work of removing his shirt and sweatpants, then drags your panties down your legs, exposing you fully to the cool air of the room.

He strips himself of his boxers and pumps his length a few times with his hand, adjusting his position so he can line up with your entrance.

He pushes forward, seating himself inside you down to the hilt in one fell swoop. You moan loudly at the feeling of him, how he fills you entirely. 

“Oh God, Jack,” you mumble.

“You okay?” he asks, hesitating to move.

“Yes, God, yes. Please move.”

With a grunt he begins working himself in and out of you, setting the pace. The head of his cock keeps hitting that spongy spot deep inside you so hard that it’s making you see stars. 

“Fuck, Jack, just like that,” you babble, clawing at his back to stabilize yourself against his frantic thrusts.

“Jesus, Kid. You feel so good,” he mumbles into your neck. “I’m not going to last. Where do you want me?”

“Inside, do it inside,” you beg.

Those words alone are enough to make him falter, his pace becoming uneven and sloppy as he releases thick spurts of cum inside of you.

The warmth of his release combined with the feeling of his dick twitching inside of you has you hitting your peak, coming again with a garbled moan.

Exhausted, Jack collapses on top of you, head still nuzzled into your shoulder. The two of you are panting heavily, chests heaving against one another.

After catching his breath and leaving a trail of kisses beneath your ear, Jack lifts his head so he can look at you.

“Still embarrassed about those texts?”

One thing you hated was the fact your dad worked in the ER. Especially the ER in Pittsburgh that never seems to get a break.

You wait on a bench outside of the noisy hospital. Ambulances rolling in and out every now and then. Your hands are tucked away in your dad’s green coat. You sniffle as your nose runs from the cold. It grows numb at the cold breeze.

You didn’t mind waiting in the cold though.

Every time the sliding doors open you can’t help but glance up in hope it’s your dad. Each time it’s someone different; some familiar faces but it was never your dad.

The sliding doors open once more, your eyes flick up, and to your surprise it’s a more than familiar face.

"Dr. Abbot?" You say, almost like it was a question.

"You waiting up for your dad?"

You scoot over on the bench as he inches closer. He just has on black scrubs, a grey shirt under, and a stethoscope wrapped around his neck.

"Yeah." You kept your response short.

With a soft grunt he sits down next to you. He leans back a bit and his legs spread open slowly in a manspread you can’t help but notice.

Your eyes flick away quickly.

"Robby is going to be held up a bit tonight." His tone makes you worry. Your eyes flick to his.

"Should I be worried?" Something in your stomach twists.

"There was a car pile up on the freeway tonight. Some of the local hospitals computer systems went down, so they had to transfer them over." He explains.

"He’s been in there for almost twenty-four hours." You mumble.

"You know how your dad is, kiddo."

Kiddo.

"The sun is rising practically, and I see the night shift doctors going home." You point at the night shift doctor who has a Dunkin' drink with him everyday, leaving.

"I know you’re upset-"

"Upset? Yeah, I hardly get to see my dad because his second home is a hospital for crying out loud." You shout angrily.

Abbot seems taken aback at your frustration, but he understands. He places a hand on your knee and gives it a squeeze.

"I get your frustration — I do. Your dad just works hard," Abbot tries to defend your dad.

You shake your head, "But when do I get a say when I want to see my dad."

You squeeze your hands into a fist, they’re tucked away in the long sleeves of your dad’s coat. You feel the tears of frustration starting to rise in your eyes. You bite your lower lip to try to stop anything from escaping but it’s hard with the cold air smacking you in the face. A tear escapes and so does a hushed sniffle.

"Hey, hey, woah," Abbot turns to you and you refuse to look up at him. "These tears aren’t worth it."

He grabs your face and his calloused hand glides against your cheek. Your eyes flinch at the touch. His hands are surprisingly warm. His thumb brushes away a tear under your eye.

"How did you get here?" Abbot asks you.

"I took the bus." You sniffle.

"I’ll text Robby that I’m taking you home today, okay?" You feel your heart rate increase at the idea of being in Abbot’s truck, just you and him, going to your house.

You nod and wipe away the tears from your face, "Okay." You softly say.

The car ride felt like it was the longest car ride. The soft hum of the engine, and the smell of the cars heater blowing in your face. You can tell his truck is a little older. It is a nice rustic red, and it suits him. Everything Abbot has or does suits him.

He pulls into the driveway of you and your dad’s house. Your own car, a 2016 Volkswagen Beetle, which broke down on you about a month ago, sits peacefully next to his truck.

"You took the bus but you have your beetle?" He points to your red beetle.

"She broke down on me last month. I think something’s wrong with the transmission. Dad was supposed to take it to the shop last week, but he got busy."

As usual.

"I can always take it into the shop. I know a mechanic who could probably get her back up and running." You can’t help but smile.

"You’d do that?" Your eyes flick between his.

With a soft nod and a smile that you can’t help but stare at, "Of course. I’d do anything for you, kiddo."

Your heart skips a beat and you can feel your palms grow sweaty. Your stomach twists and turns like you have to throw up.

"You should come in," You blurt out.

Abbot looks surprised, "You want me to come in?"

"I mean, dad wouldn’t like you to not come in. You drove me here you must be hungry or thirsty or — something." You ramble a bit.

Abbot chuckles at you and shakes his head. He reaches for his key fob and turns off his truck.

"Okay, I’ll go inside." He rests his hands on his legs.

His black scrubs fit nicely on his body. It squeezes around his legs and his black shirt accentuates his biceps.

You guys get out of the truck and you take out your key. It’s on a keychain with a picture of you and your dad, a small stuffed bunny, and a red heart. The keys jingle and you fumble a bit trying to unlock your door. You can feel Abbot staring at the side of your face and at the lock.

Once you get the door open you are instantly greeted by your cat Cinnamon. She’s a smaller tabby cat, and she rubs against your legs. She doesn’t hesitate to go to Abbot next. Rubbing on his black scrubs; her fur clings to it.

He leans down to pick her up. He lays her on her back and she purrs loudly. He takes his middle and ring finger and begins to pet her gently in the stomach.

"Such a pretty girl," He hums and rubs her fur slowly.

You lick your lips and swallow the lump forming in your throat. Your eyes can’t help but focus on his veiny hands and the thickness of his two fingers rubbing your cat.

He sets her down and when he gets back up he softly groans.

You blink out of whatever fantasy you were playing in your head.

"Are you thirsty?" You ask and walk over to the kitchen.

"Coffee would be great," He nods.

"Coffee after doing the night shift?" You tease and he huffs as he sits down on your sofa.

"Coffee is like water to me now, kid."

"You realize I’m nineteen. I’m not a kid," You glare at him.

"I know, I know. I just like saying it," He smiles.

You put the pod of coffee into your Keurig. It begins to rumble as the water starts to heat up. You awkwardly stand in the kitchen not knowing if you should go over to the couch or not.

"Don’t be so uptight in your own home," You flinch at the husky voice and look over at Abbot.

He pats the cushion next to him and hesitantly you begin to walk over. You stand in front of him and his head tilts up to look at you. You sit down slowly next to him. You can feel his eyes on you; watching your every move.

You guys sit in silence, you can hear your heart beating loudly. You’ve been around Abbot many times but this one time you’re with him alone.

You notice him bringg his hand up, and it finds your leg. He places his hand on your leg and brings your chin over his lap.

You watch him.

He knows you’re watching.

He slides his hand up to your chin slowly — rubbing your skin. Shivers run up your spine at his warm hands caressing your legs.

He turns his head and his eyes lock with yours.

You swallow.

"Abbot," you say almost breathlessly.

"Yes?" His voice is deeper than before.

You lean in more, your butt pressing against his thigh. Your legs are now both over his lap, but you’re not sitting in his lap — yet.

"Keep going," you say. "Please."

His eyes flick between yours. Something new lights in them and you can tell he’s enjoying this as much as you are.

You lean in to his neck as he continues to stroke your legs. You get a smell of his musk that makes him smell more like a man. You place a soft kiss on his neck and his hand halts on your chin.

You pull away and look up at him.

"Kid," Abbot begins.

His hand reaches out for your cheek. His thumb traces your bottom lip as he holds your face. A breathy gasp escapes between your lips. You stare up at him; he licks his lips slowly. Before you left him finish his sentence you place your mouth on his. His breath gets caught in his throat, but he doesn’t fight the kiss. His mouth wanders yours; his tongue protruding the entrance to your mouth. Your tongues fight against each other.

You find yourself now straddling him. Your hands are on his broad shoulders, squeezing and pulling on his shirt. The more you two kiss, the more you want.

He breaks away from you. You’re both breathless and he stares into your eyes. You can feel your lips are swollen but you don’t mind.

"Kid, we shouldn’t have done that." He says.

"But I wanted it to happen," You whisper.

He tilts his head back a bit and you bite your lip. You inch towards his face again and he doesn’t mind. You place another soft kiss on his lips. You can feel the heat from his breath on your lips. His breath smells like peppermint, and you can’t help but crave it.

Your tongue glides along the bottom of his lip, and slowly you rock your hips forward. With the movement of your hips you can hear him grunt in your mouth.

Everything around you disappears. All you can focus on is the feeling of your pussy slowly grinding against his growing hard on, and the way his breathing grows erratic against your mouth.

"Fuck," He groans.

He stared at you intensely through hooded eyes. You rock your hips and a shot of pleasure shoots through you.

You lean forward a bit and your head meets his muscular shoulder. His hand slides into your hair and the fingers that were once petting your cat were now racking through your hair.

You let out a muffled moan into his shoulder at the feeling of your cunt grinding and his hand roughly playing in your hair.

"Keep going," He encourages through a groan.

You press down harder and roll your hips. Your breath hitches softly.

"Yeah," He breathes. "Just like that."

You moan again at his words.

"What would your dad think?" He whispers. "Him coming home and seeing his daughter grinding against his friend, huh?"

You whimper in response.

You lean back and look at him. Your chest heaves up and down.

"I want more," You gasp. "Jack, please."

"Jack, hm?" He moves his hands down onto your thighs and up to your hips.

He squeezes and massages them slowly.

"What more do you want?" He asks.

"Touch me, anything, please." You beg.

"Touch you?" His hand slides closer to the button of your jeans.

He rubs his finger around the button. You watch the way his index finger slowly does circles on the piece of metal. You feel yourself pulsing at the idea of his fingers doing that to you.

He unbuttons the button and glides down the zipper. He can see your pink lace underwear you’re wearing. His thumb glides against the silky underwear and he looks up at you — looking for an answer.

"Please," you beg. "Touch me."

Without anymore hesitation he slides his hand inside of your underwear. You let out a mixture of a gasp and a moan as his index finger slides up your wet folds and runs over your clit, slowly. You rub is back and forth in a slowly flicking motion. You moan and tilt your head back a bit and rock your hips forward.

"You think you can take my fingers?" He wraps his free hand around your neck and tilts your head back to look at him.

You bob your head and he gives a smirk.

Slowly he pushes between your folds and slides his index finger inside of you. You squeeze your eyes shut at the feeling of his finger going in. A mixture of pain and pleasure rush over you. His index finger slides in and out slowly but his thumb finds its way down back to your clit. In a motion you fingers you and rubs circles on your clit.

"Look at that," he hums. "Such a good girl."

You moan loudly at the way he’s treating you and the words he speaks. You can feel the nerves bundling up and the pleasure becoming intense on you.

"Oh God," You whimper. "I’m going to cum." You moan out.

"It’s okay," He reassures. "I got you; cum for me."

With those words, it felt like an explosion hit you. Your body trembles as you reach your climax and you let out a loud moan. You bite your lip and collapse onto his shoulder once again. He pumps his finger slower inside of you until all that’s left is your body twitching.

You sit up and catch your breath. You two are both breathless and you can’t help but smile. Jack cracks a smile back at you.

He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing gets out as you both hear the sound of keys entering the front doors lock.

You jump off Jack’s lap and zip up your jeans. You quickly tuck your hair behind your ears and glance at Jack once more. You notice him adjust his dick in his scrubs before the door opens.

"Hi dad," You blurt out.

"Hey sweetie," Robby sets down the keys in the bowl by your door and he walks over and kisses your forehead. "Sorry I’m home so late."

"It’s fine," you say. "Dr. Abbot kept me company."

You turn your head and smile at Abbot.

Being young has its perks: you’re young, in shape, you don’t have wrinkles, and you love to party.

Your hips sway with the music that bounces off the club walls. Purple lights beam down into the dance floor. You hold your martini in the air as you get low to the floor and rise back up. You’re out on a girls night and it’s the one night that you love.

“Girl we’re so tired,” Santos groans at you.

You giggle at her, “This is the one time you wear heels out and you’re tired at 11pm.”

“That’s a valid reason to be tired.” She argues.

“Santos and I have a shift early in the morning anyways.”Mel butts in.

You frown, “You guys are really going to leave me?”

“Sorry, girl, but we have to.” Santos shrugs.

You pout, as usual.

“You have fun. Find someone to dance with, you’re only young once.” Santos nudges your arm and smile.

“You guys have a good night. I’m going to the bar to get a shot,” You point to the bar with a few stragglers and walk away from Mel and Santos.

You sit on the bar stool and watch as the bartenders shake up whatever mixture people ask for. You sip on your martini and look around. You watch as some men dance on the floor with women or their friends; nobody seems to catch your eye.

You sigh in defeat and finish off your martini. You didn’t even get the shot you wanted because all of the bartenders were busy. Grabbing your clutch you turn on the barstool. As soon as you stand up you bump into a hard shoulder.

“Oh, i’m so…” you trail off as your eyes wander up from the blue shirt clinging to a chest, to a peppered beard, and finally to his eyes.

“…sorry,” you finish your sentence.

You take in the man in front of you who is decently taller than you. He has broad shoulders, some wrinkles that suit his face, and peppered hair. You can’t help but lick your lips at the sight of this man.

“You’re fine,” His voice is rough and deep. It makes your heart shudder.

“Can I buy you a drink?” You blurt out.

This makes the fully look down at you. His eyes sweep over your tight black dress; that hugs your body so nicely. Your breasts are on display in a way that isn’t too much, but just enough to catch the attention you crave. You notice how his eyes land your lips that are lathered in glittery pink lipgloss. Something in you wants to just get your hands all over him.

“How old are you, sweetheart?” He leans in more so you can hear him.

Your nose takes in his manly scent, a woody smell mixed with a sort of musk. It’s enough to make a woman drool.

“Old enough to be at a bar,” you fire back.

This makes him laugh.

“So, twenty-one?” He cocks his head a bit.

“No.” You fold your arms. “Twenty-two.”

“Mm.” He hums.

“Sure, we can have a drink.” He agrees. “But i’m buying yours.”

He points back to the barstool you were once sat at, and you slowly sit down. He comes around and sits on the stool next to you. He props his elbow on the glass counter and turns to face you.

“What makes you want to buy me a drink?” He asks.

Bold.

“I like what I see.” You simply say.

“Do you?” His eyes flick between yours trying to read your intentions. When simply your intentions are to see what’s under his clothes. Not that hard, right?

“I’m always honest—“ you realize you don’t have his name.

“Jack.” His deep voice makes your mouth water. Every time he talks it’s like music flowing into your ears.

“Nice to meet you, Jack.” You repeat his name.

He stares at you for a moment and then looks away quickly as a bartender passes by. He raises his hand to stop them. The bartender trails back before skipping over us and is ready to take our order.

“Whiskey neat and she’d like—“ he points to you to say your order.

“— A strawberry martini, please.” You smile.

“Whiskey neat and a strawberry martini, gotcha.” The bartender walks away to make out drinks.

Jack finally lets out a laugh and your eyes flick to him.

“What?” You ask. You feel yourself beginning to smile.

“A strawberry martini at a club?” He chuckles and shakes his head.

“Oh, cause whiskey neat isn’t as basic as it gets.” You playfully roll your eyes and he looks at you amused.

“You’re interesting.” He admits.

Your cheeks heat up. You feel yourself growing shyer but also more confident. The way your conversation has been flowing so far makes you want to talk more — do more.

“Am I?” Your leg slides to his bar stool. Your black heels slides against his pants, and rubs against his leg.

You both stare at each other in the eyes as you slowly move upward with your foot. It’s near his kneecap, he is already manspreading slightly.

“You’re a real tease, y’know?” He licks the bottom of his lip. His eyes never leave yours.

“I know.” You hum. “It’s more fun that way.”

Before you could continue your drinks arrive. You quickly bring your foot down and something in you feels annoyed you had to. You take a sip of your drink quickly. The strawberry taste fills your mouth and the burn of the alcohol goes down your throat slowly.

You stand up and grab his larger hand. His fingers are large, his hands have some wrinkles, but they’re manly and calloused.

“Let’s dance.” You smile and try to bring him to his feet.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, sweetheart.” He shakes his head.

“You’re right — it’s a wonderful idea. Up you go.”

You raise Jack to his feet and have him trail behind you. He stays close; making sure he won’t lose you in the crowd. You find yourself back on the dance floor with purple lights.

You begin to slide your hands up your body. Jack stands there and watches you dance. You shimmy your waist side to side and he can’t look away. You look up at him and run a hand through your hair. You grab his hands and bring them to the air. You turn your body to where your butt is how against his crotch. Exactly what you wanted. You sway your hips against him and he drops his hands quickly to your waist.

You got him exactly where you wanted.

You guys sway to the music. Your butt rides up against him and he puts his head to your neck. You feel his tongue flick out and lick against you. You softly gasp. Your arm lifts and your hand wraps around his neck. Bringing him close to you. Your head turns to look at him. Your eyes wander all over his face and find their way to his beard, and then his lips.

You turn around and wrap your arms around his neck. Slowly you stand on your tip toes, and find your lips on his. Your tongue slides out against his and his hands squeeze your hips. You’re both hungry for it. His hand slips past your lips and to your ass. He slides his hands over your dress fabric and gives you a soft squeeze on your ass. You moan in the kiss at the feeling.

Quickly, you break away. Gasping for air.

“Let’s take this somewhere else,” You breathlessly say.

The club music begins to drown out as the bathroom door slams shut. The lights are dim in the bathroom — nobody is in it. Only thing inside are beer bottles, condom wrappers, a pair of red laced underwear tucked far off into  a corner, and you and him.

His thumb traces your bottom lip as he holds your face. You walk backwards until your back is against the cold marble sink. A breathy gasps escapes between your lips. His head tilts to the side and before you know it, his lips begin to cover yours. His mouth wanders yours; his tongue protruding the entrance to your mouth. Your tongues fight against each other.

You grip his broad shoulders feeling all over his arms and then his back. His body heat is radiating against your touch. The shirt he wears clings just right to his body.

You break away from each other and breathlessly near your ear he whispers, "I want to fuck you so bad."

You wrap your arms around his neck and lean back to look him in the eyes. Your eyes flick between his.

Confidence runs through you, “so do it."

He shakes his head letting out a breathy laugh, "not here, not now."

He leans forward to go back in, but you put your hand over his mouth; blocking him from moving any further. Your hands grip the counter or the sink. You bite your lip slowly and without a second thought your knees begin to fold.

"What are you doing?" He sounds intrigued but surprised.

"If you can't fuck me—we can at least do this." Now fully on your knees your hand slides up his thigh. Slowly making its way to the buckle of his jeans. He watches you with every move you make.

You pull his jeans down and your eyes look at his black boxers. You get his jeans to his ankles and look back up at him. Leaning forward, your mouth goes over the black cloth and he lets out a shaky breath. Your tongue laps over the tent forming in his pants. Your fingers slide up his shirt and you tuck the other inside the boxers, pulling them down.

His cock hits your lips and you lick your lips. The taste of salty pre-cum floods your mouth. You grab his shaft and begin slowly jerking him off. You run my palm over his tip and push it back down making his dick slightly wet with pre-cum. You kiss his tip and open your mouth slowly. His head goes past your lips and he groans. You look up and watch him tilt his head back slowly.

You push your head further down and his dick goes in slowly. Slowly, you begin to bob your head up and down, going back to the tip and pushing your head down to halfway of his shaft. You look back up and he's now watching. His hand tucks some of your hair behind your ear and he places his hand on the back of your head. He tugs and pulls on your hair. You guys don't break eye contact.

“Fuck,” He grunts. “What would someone say if they came in and saw you on your knees like this, huh?”

You squeeze your thighs together as the pulsing in your core grows stronger.

"Taking my cock so well," You begin to bob your head up and down faster and his breathing grows shaky.

"Shit, I'm going to cum," He manages to groan out and he pushes your head down onto his dick; making you gag a bit. His load shoots into your mouth, filling it with warmth and the taste of salt. You didn't want to swallow it, but you did.

You pull off and he catches his breath, "Sorry, I didn't mean to cum in your mouth." You wipe your mouth and get back up.

"It's okay," you say. "I liked it."

You two stand in silence for a moment, and he rubs the back of his neck.

“Well, I should get going. This didn’t happen, right? One night stand kind of thing.” He awkwardly says.

Your stomach turns for some reason and you nod, "Yeah, obviously. Secret safe with me." you smile.

With that, he leaves you standing alone in the club bathroom. Leaving you horny and also angry.

The ER is busy. As always. Jack rubs his eyes and leans back in his rolling chair. Letting out a dragged sigh.

Mohan walks by quickly, “Hey, Mohan!” She halts at the male calling her name.

She turns on her heels to face Jack and she cocks her head a bit, “What’s up?”

“Before I leave for the day, I need that head CT for the lady in room four, please, and stat.” Jack says.

He folds his arm and glances up, and back down. Suddenly, he looks back up. He notices Mel, McKay, and Santos are huddled up.

“What’s going on over there?” Jack flicks his head to the girls.

Mohan turns and looks at the group, “Oh, one of Mel’s and Santos friends came by to bring them coffee.” She explains and her face displays a bright smile, “She got me one, too!”

Jack shakes his head at her and takes this chance to walk over to the girls. Jack claps to get their attention, “Alright, ladies, back to—“

He pauses at the unfamiliar but very familiar face. He looks at you in the eyes, and it looks as if he saw a ghost.

“Mel, who is this old guy and why is he standing here?” You ask your friend.

“He’s a night shift attending! You can’t say that,” Mel’s cheeks flush and she shouts at you.

“Oh, he is?”

“You guys may continue.” Jack blurts out and walks away from you guys.

Leaving you with a satisfied smile

“Hi Rochelle, we’re gonna get you some pain meds as soon as we can. Can you tell me if you’re experiencing any dizziness or nausea?” McKay starts as they enter trauma two. from a distance Victoria and Joy watch in disbelief,

“Is that Rochelle King?” Victoria says walking over to trauma two to get a quick peek. Joy follows quickly behind,

“Whoever it is, they’re a patient. One of you find out who her agent is or whatever she needs,” Dana calls out to the two med students. Joy walks to the desk begrudgingly. “Who the hell even is she?” Dana asks Joy as she takes her phone out to find the correct phone number,

“Seriously? She just won an Oscar for that Audrey Hepburn biopic? She’s in Pittsburgh filming for the new X-Files reboot,” Joy looks at her unimpressed as Dana blinks, still confused. Joy passes her phone over and Dana’s eyes widen in surprise as she stares at the headshot of you. she hasn’t seen you in years and you were almost unrecognizable. there’s a new look in your eyes, a less naïve and more ambitious look that only those who knew you previously would notice. Dana hands the phone back to Joy,

“Call her, let her know we have her actress here.” Dana leaves and sees Robby leaving trauma two. She speeds over to him, just as he’s taking his plastic gloves off,

“How’s our Hollywood star?” Dana starts.

“Her?” Robby turns around looking back at Rochelle as they pull her gurney out. 

“What, you didn’t see that movie she was in? She won an Oscar for it.”

“Nope, I’m too busy saving lives here to watch anything.” Robby looks up at the patient board to see who’s next,

“Yeah, well the agent she was screaming about? Her agent is your ex-girlfriend,” Robby looks at Dana with panic before shaking his head, concealing his initial fright with a straight face. “You’ve got about four hours left, Robinavitch, I’m sure you can handle her until Abbot is in.” 

Robby’s palms run up his face in agitation. of course, right as his shift was on its last few hours, he’s forced to face you. it felt like an impending doom that the universe sent him for all his mistakes he made while with you.

“I refuse to sit here any fucking longer and wait for you! I can’t believe I gave up my life for this… I be should in school, making a name for myself but instead I’m in fucking Pittsburgh playing housewife to you!” you yell with hot tears rushing down your face, voice cracking as you struggle to finish your sentence. Robby stands in the middle of your shared living room, hands on his hips, quietly taking all of it. he looks as if he’s disassociated from the conversation, waiting for it to be over so he can move on with his night,

“You done?” Robby says with a mildly condescending tone. 

“Yeah, actually, I’m fucking done.” you walk to your shared bedroom, throwing clothes into a bag, rushing to get out. Robby doesn’t put up a fight, he simply sits on the couch, throwing his legs up on the coffee table. he’s been through this before with you. he doesn’t think you’ll get far and thinks it’s only a matter of time before you come running back. you needed him to survive, or so he thought. you took everything you could and bought a plane ticket heading west, never looking back. since then, you’ve been untraceable (though it’s not like he went looking for you anyways).

the sound of heels clicking against the linoleum floors snaps him out of the memory. you enter the ER dressed in a clean, well tailored designer outfit, carrying a matching bag with all sorts of papers poking out. your heavy eye makeup matches your blown out hair and minimalistic jewellery. you had your phone to your ear, quickly shutting it off as you approach the workstations,

“Dana!” you say with your arms open, embracing her. Dana squeezes you tightly in response. you look wildly different from the last time Robby saw you. if you passed him in the street, he wouldn’t be able to recognize you but there was something about your new look though that Robby wasn’t entirely buying. he felt as if he could see right through your alleged act, how could you mature so quickly from being someone who used to be so dependant on him? 

“Hey kid!” Dana says as she pulls away, her hands still gripping your forearms. “Look at you! All grown up!” you smile big at her, relishing in her kindness, 

“Thank you! Listen, I’m here for my client, Rochelle King?” in the corner of your eye, Robby approaches,

“She’s resting.” 

“Robby, long time no see,” you say, adjusting your posture so you’re standing a bit taller now. Dana slowly backs away as she watches you try to keep your composure. Victoria and Joy’s heads poke up in interest, observing from not too far away. “You know, I asked them to take her to Westbridge, but apparently PTMC was much closer.” you say, trying to take the opportunity to get a quick jab at him,

“We put her on some pain medication and are waiting on her CT results back in case she has any symptoms of a brain bleed. She’s got a concussion, an ankle fracture and some pretty bad road rash, but she’s lucky to be alive.” you nod at his diagnosis, 

“So where is she?” Robby stretches his arm out, guiding you down the ER,

“Robby’s ex is Rochelle King's agent?” Victoria asks Dana, 

“And if she is, he fumbled. Hard.” Joy continues. 

“Don’t you two have patients to check on? Chop chop, let’s go!” Dana claps her hands, breaking up the scene.

the curtains inside the ER room are closed and security stands in front of the room. before Robby opens the door he turns to you, 

“Did I get a chance to say that you look amazing?” Robby says quietly, making sure only you could hear. 

“Why do I feel a ‘but’ coming?” your eyes squinting slightly in suspicion. 

“But between us, I’m not buying it,” you scoff at his caveat. 

“You can convince Dana and the rest of this ER that you’re a big Hollywood agent, but deep down you’re still a little girl, scared to live without someone taking care of her twenty-four seven.” 

“Unbelievable. You’re still so self-centered as always, Robinavitch. You really can’t believe that I actually made a life for myself after you.” you shake your head in shock and disappointment before entering the room. Robby follows close behind. 

“Hi!” you say softly to Rochelle, something about the tone of your voice makes Robby’s heart ache, it’s reminiscent of the way you used to speak to him when he’d come home from a rough shift,

“Miss King, we’d like to keep you overnight for observation while you wait on your results back. We don’t suspect any brain bleeding at this time but we’d like to just monitor you in case anything comes up.” your client stays quiet, nodding at the new information, 

“That’s all, thank you Doctor Robby.” you dismiss him, keeping your eyes on Rochelle. you give her a soft smile as you grab her hand. you don’t care to look at him, or give him any attention besides what’s necessary. you’re technically still working, and you weren’t going to let your ex get in the way of that. Robby watches as you pull out papers from your bag before exiting the room. 

maybe Robby will be okay with you here. an hour has passed since he dropped you off in the ER room and there’s three more to go before he can clock out and hopefully never see you again. through the ambulance bay, Jack arrives early than usual, camo backpack slung over his shoulder,

“What’re you doing here? You don’t come in till six usually.” Robby says as he double checks his watch for the time,

“Yeah, I’ve got a SWAT friend coming in for a wound check up, figured I might as well just come in and do it myself.” 

as if the universe's timing couldn’t be worse, you come out of your clients room and walk over to Dana,

“Hey Dana, are there any issues with ordering food to the hospital? My client refuses to eat anything right now unless it’s a protein smoothie.” from a distance, Jack sees you chatting with Dana, 

“Is that who I think it is?” Jack chuckles in amusement, “Didn’t think this place couldn’t get worse for you, brother.” Robby sighs as Jack gives him a sympathetic pat on the back. 

“She’s an agent for some big actress who got into an accident today. I’ll give you the rundown in a bit.” Jack stares, scanning you from head to toe. with your clothes fitting in all the right places, accentuating your waistline and hips, he can’t help but stare. 

“She looks good.” Jack says, testing the waters. 

“Yeah? She’s all yours if you can handle that.” Robby jokes. it’s the first genuine laugh Robby has had all day but Jack keeps a straight face, taking his statement seriously. you feel the burning gaze of the two men as Dana passes you a sticky note with the hospital's info. your eyes meet Jack’s first, cracking a big smile on your face. he looks a bit older than the last time you saw him, and damn has time done him well. his salt and pepper hair, deep wrinkles around his eyes, if you were put in a room with him, you aren’t sure how you’d act. 

“Hi Jack!” you say throwing your arms around his shoulders, pressing your body against his. Jack wraps his arms around your waist, leaving his hands there as you pull back. 

“Hi sweetheart, long time no see. You look beautiful.” sweetheart? beautiful? Robby thinks.

“It’s what happens when you leave Pittsburgh, what can I say?” you say using your fingers to flaunt your face, letting out a giggle.

“Heard you’re here with some big actress? You live in Hollywood now?” Robby’s head tilts as he looks at Jack in confusion. 

“Yeah actually, it’s been great. I’m a talent agent to a few actors and I’m in town for a bit while we film a reboot for a series.” you beam, proud of how you’ve established yourself.

“Yeah? Well you gotta tell me about it over drinks sometime while you’re here.” Robby couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. did Jack not remember all the times Robby had complained to him about another fight you two had? or that time Robby had to sleep on Jack’s couch?

“If you’ll excuse us, we have jobs to do.” Robby says as he interrupts the moment. Dana raises her eyebrows from a distance, catching Robby’s attention. you finally look at Robby,

“Good, so do I.” you say quickly looking back at Jack, giving him a wink. Jack shakes his head as he watches you walk away. he knows you’re trouble, and he’s willing to bet everything on you. as Jack heads to his locker, Dana quickly pulls Robby aside,

“What the hell was that? That poor girl has already been through enough of your bullshit.” Robby puts on an innocent face as Dana interrogates him,

“This is an ER, not a speed dating event and we have work to do,”

“Real professional of you, Robby. I almost believe you.” Robby walks away as Dana finishes her sentence. three more hours, just three more he repeats to himself. 

𝜗ৎ 

the room is quiet in comparison to the ongoing chaos outside in the ER. you type away at new emails before a soft knock at the door that awakens your client,

“Come in.” she mumbles, shuffling around in the bed. Jack and Robby enter the room together as you push your laptop aside. 

“How’re you doing Miss King?” Robby starts as he examines her vitals. his eyes quickly glancing at you before bringing his full attention back to the patient. she groans in response, “Hurts.” she mumbles. while Robby slowly begins unraveling her bandages, Jack puts his hand on your shoulder softly,

“You doin’ okay?” you nod in response. the gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by Robby or Rochelle,

“Wounds look like they’re healing okay, no signs of infection so far. Your CT scans came back good as well so no risk of internal bleeding,” Robby turns to Jack who is standing beside you, “Let’s up her pain meds and keep an eye on the wound tonight. Should be okay to discharge by the morning.” as Robby makes his way out of the room, Jack quickly turns back to you again,

“You let me know if you need anything, got it?” you nod in silence again as he follows the other attending. as the door shuts, your client turns to you, 

“What was that?” she says, eyebrows raised and with a smirk similar to a cheshire cat,

“It’s nothing, he’s a friend– an acquaintance even. I’ve known him for a long time,” you say as you pull your laptop back out. she doesn’t break her disbelieving stare, waiting for you to confess, “You’re high on pain meds, go back to sleep.” 

“I might be high, but I know when a guy is really into you like that,” you shake your head as she turns over, “Plus he’s hot! My god, should I go for older guys? Honestly, and I mean it respectfully, if you don’t jump on him, I will!” you laugh at her drug induced ramble, trying your best to keep things professional. 

just as you’re about to respond to another email, your phone begins buzzing. you’re quick to step out of the room and rush towards the ambulance bay exit. like a puppy, Jack’s eyes trail after you as you dash out answering the call,

“You know I was kinda joking when I said she was all yours?” Robby says sliding beside him,

“Were you? What happened to never wanting to see her again?” Jack challenges,

“All I’m saying is that I don’t believe she’s changed and I don’t think you should either.” Robby says with his hands up in surrender,

“Well I’m willing to be the one to find out.”

Robby shouldn’t feel threatened by Jack’s determination. he deemed that he was over you long before your relationship ended and yet he hated every time Jack made a pass at you (and even more that you were eating it up). 

outside, the red light of the ‘Emergency’ sign above illuminates you,

“I promise you, if you don’t change that stunt team and you don’t do another pass at cast and crew safety, you’ll need to find another actress and we both know you’re in too deep to do that at this stage,” Jack walks outside to see you pacing back and forth. the click of your heels fill the silence while you listen to whoever you have on the phone, “Great, I’ll have that contract sent to you shortly, thank you.” you shut your phone off letting out a deep breath. Jack waits until you’ve had a second to decompress before approaching,

“Everything okay? Saw you running out the ER, just thought I’d check on you.” you spin around to see Jack with his hands behind his back slowly walking towards you. he stops at a safe distance standing beside, looking out at the nearby road with you.

“Yeah, producers just wanna know when they can start filming her scenes again, it’s nothing really.” your tense shoulders drop as it becomes quiet again, cars passing by filling the silent void, 

“Y’know, I missed seeing you around.”

“Really? I thought I was a mess back then. I feel like my terrible decisions showed that.” 

“Like being with Robby?” you huff in amusement as Jack’s question. 

“Yeah, kinda. But it led me to meeting you…” there’s a brief pause, “And Dana,” you add. seeing Jack after years of being away has made you feel something you haven’t felt in a long time. when you left for LA, you refused to wear your heart on your sleeve again and being around him has brought something out in you. 

the way he’s checked on specifically you multiple times since arriving, the interest he has in the life and career you’ve built, and let’s not forget how much more handsome he’s become. you don’t feel like he’s making you smaller being around him, he embraces your change. he treats you like an adult and like someone who is capable, 

“The last time I was in Pittsburgh, I didn’t really know what I wanted. I just blindly followed a man who was essentially leading me nowhere.” you turn to face Jack. he mirrors your movement standing closer to you now,

“Have you figured out what you want now?”

“Yeah, I have.” 

𝜗ৎ 

thirty minutes left, Robby kept repeating to himself. thirty more minutes and he could finally go home, escape the sight of you, escape Jack’s attempts at flirting and repress any resurfacing feelings or memories he had of your time together. 

though, he couldn’t help but remember the way you used to laugh when you rode on the back on his Bonneville, or the little scream you let out when he would pick you up and spin you around after coming home. he tries to keep busy to avoid any old feelings resurfacing but he can’t help it when the last four hours have been spent watching you openly flirt with his best friend,

“Princess, have you seen Jack?” Robby asks, 

“You could try triage? I think he mentioned something about a wound check for a friend?” Robby flashes a thankful smile and heads over. he just needs to brief Jack on one more patient then he’s out of there.

in the nearby supply closet, Jack pushes you against the wall kissing you desperately as if he’s waited years for this exact moment. you moan as Jack takes the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth. his knee pushes your legs apart and settles in between, allowing you to gently grind yourself against him. he slowly begins kissing down your neck, 

“Fuck.” you moan lowly as he marks the sweet spot on your neck. Jack quietly shushes you and puts his hand on your mouth,

“You’ll be my good girl and stay quiet, right?” you nod vigorously, his hand staying on your mouth, following your nodding movements. “Yeah, you’re my good girl.” he kissed and marked your neck, desperately wanting to show everyone he’s yours. 

Robby’s head pops in triage, doing a quick pass and even going towards the lobby to see if Jack is around. still nowhere to be found, Robby runs up the stairs towards the rooftop next. 

Jack slowly undoes the buttons of your top as he kisses up your neck again, making his way back to your lips. he hovers over them for a second whispering,

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, wanted you.” he kisses you again, struggling with the buttons of your top. your fingers run through his grey curls, stopping at the roots to gently pull and tilt his head away from yours. A quiet groan slips from him at the loss of contact with your lips,

“Tell me how long,” you whisper with a seductive smile. Jack smiles back as he looks down at you, hands still in his hair,

“Since the second I met you, I didn’t care that you were Robby’s, I always knew you’d end up here with me,” he confesses. “And I’m not letting you go, I’m not making the same fucking mistake.” you pull him back in again for an even deeper kiss than before. 

“Robby!” Doctor McKay calls out from a room. Robby dreadfully turns around. fifteen minutes he reminds himself as he walks over, 

“I can’t find Abbot and I need an attending’s opinion on this.” as Cassie goes to unravel a bandaged wound, Robby turns to grab some disposable gloves before seeing the box is empty,

“Hold that thought, let me grab a new box of gloves.” Robby says turning around to head towards the supply closet. Robby turns his head left and right, looking around as he heads towards the closet, still unable to find the night shift attending. he couldn’t have gone far, not when he should be doing his usual nightcrawler huddle with the night shift now. 

the supply closet door swings open. forcing Jack to stumble away from you. your eyes meet first with Robby’s whose eyes quickly dart to Jack’s. his lips are sticky with your lip gloss, and his short grey hair is somehow sticking in every direction possible. something about the thrill of being caught by Robby makes you lick your lips and beam a vicious smile at him. he looks back at you mortified, unable to determine if he should start yelling in anger or just close the door and pretend nothing happened. maybe this is your cue to leave and check back up on your emails and missed calls and texts. Jack and Robby turn to watch you pull a small rectangular paper out of your pocket, pressing it to Jack’s chest,

“I’ll be in town for a little longer.” you say, walking out of the closet back to the assigned room of your client. Princess watches you from a distance as you smooth your hair out and redo the buttons on your shirt. she quickly turns to Perlah to relay what she just witnessed. 

Robby stands in the closet doorway still, hands on his hips as Jack looks at the small business card. one side is simply your first and last name on a sleek blank background. on the other side is your phone number and a small description at bottom:

“Talent Agent, Based in Los Angeles”

“Fuck you.” his nephew hissed, though his bravado was visibly shaking.

Jack didn't argue. He simply hauled him an inch off the floor and re shoved him into the wall, the thud echoing through the hallway. “Apologize to her. Now.”

He left the threat open ended. He didn't have to say or what. Whether the implication was I’ll beat your ass or I’ll punch your lights out, the intensity in Jack’s eyes was enough.

“I’m sorry.” the younger man muttered, his voice small. He couldn't bring himself to meet your eyes, staring instead at the floor.

Jack didn't offer a rebuttal. Keeping a firm, white knuckled grip on the front of his shirt, he practically hauled his nephew toward the front door and out to his car, intending to see him off the property for good.

When Jack reached the driver’s side of the car, he finally let go of the younger man's shirt with a dismissive shove. 

As Jack turned his back, intending to get back to you in the house as quickly as possible, his nephew spoke. The vitriol was gone, replaced by a defeatedness.

“I'm not even... fuck, I don't know," he started, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck, his shoulders slumping. "I'm not even that mad, Uncle Jack. We weren't right for each other. It’s just..."

Jack turned back, his eyes only slightly less fiery than they had been in the living room. He waited, his silence demanding the truth.

"It’s just I felt like I knew this whole time," his nephew admitted, finally looking Jack in the eye. "You two. There was something there that we never had. And I feel some sort of vindication seeing what was always swirling around in my head was true." 

Jack watched him open the car door, staying silent as the admission hung in the air. He didn't offer a denial or an apology for the feelings that had clearly been transparent for years. Instead, as his nephew climbed into the seat, Jack stepped forward, putting a firm hand on the door window to keep him from closing it.

"I don't care how mad or upset you are, you never speak to a woman like that. You understand me? And definitely not her. Not ever."

His nephew didn't argue. He simply nodded. Jack stepped back, his arms crossing over his bare chest as he watched the car pull out of the driveway and disappear down the street.

…

Of all the people in the world you could want, it had to be Jack Abbot.

It had to be the man who was quite possibly the catalyst for the messiest situation you’d ever been in in your life. 

You were just pulling the strap of your bag over your shoulder, ready to bolt before the reality set in, when Jack stepped into the room.

He didn't look angry anymore. He looked resolved. 

As you tried to step past him, Jack moved with a surprising quickness, cutting off your path.

"No." 

Before you could protest, he was backing you against the wall. His hands delicate as they came up to cup your face. 

The kiss he gave you was slow and sweet, but deliberate with purpose. You opened up for him, allowing his tongue to swipe against yours, and you melted into him completely, the bag slipping from your fingers.

"You’re not going anywhere." he said against your skin, peppering kisses along your jawline that made your knees weak. "Not when I finally get to have you. Not after all this time of waiting."

Jack led you to the living room, tumbling down onto the sofa, and you immediately moved to straddle him.

Your hands ran up his bare chest as you dove back in to keep kissing, your heart hammering against your ribs. Jack’s hands continued their exploration over you, sliding down your back to rest firmly over your ass, just as they had in the pool.

He gripped you, pulling you closer, and you pushed yourself down to grind against him. 

You could feel him, hard and heavy underneath you, leaving no doubt about how much he wanted this.

"It’s embarrassing, the amount of times I’ve thought about this," you whispered.

Jack let out a breathless laugh against your neck. He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, that it would be ten times more embarrassing to tell you how many times he’d sought release in the shower at the mere thought of you. Even now, having you here for real, feeling your weight and your warmth, his cock was thick and pulsing, the reality of you almost too much to bear.

Jack’s fingers made quick work of untying your swim bottoms. He undid one side and watched the fabric pool down, his gaze fixed on the way it exposed just a little bit of the top of your pussy to him. 

He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. "Can I?" 

You didn't trust your voice, so you just nodded, taking your bottom lip between your teeth to stifle a moan. You lifted yourself slightly, allowing him to push the damp fabric to the side, fully exposing yourself to him.

He watched in awe, his breath hitching as he looked at how wet you were, sitting right there on his lap. The sight seemed to unmoor him all at once.

"You're so wet" the words barely a whisper.

It was clearly wild to Jack, almost incomprehensible, that you were this ready for him. He looked at you like you were a miracle he didn't deserve, the thought echoing in his mind that you could be this turned on for an old man like him. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He dragged his palm slowly down your leg and then back up, his hand coming near your center. He used his thumb to lightly graze against your pussy, and the sensation was enough to make you tilt your head back and moan. You couldn’t help it, keening into his touch, your body instinctively needing the friction, needing his fingers inside of you.

Jack nearly lost his composure seeing the evidence of your desire on his hand. Slick and sticky, practically calling for him to make you messy. 

He wasn't going to make you beg for it. No, he was going to give you everything.

He’d give you the world if you asked.

Your hands reached up to brace yourself on his firm chest as he sunk one finger into you. The relief was immediate, and you couldn't stop yourself from practically riding his hand. 

Jack’s eyes were wild as he reached up to untie your swim top. One swift pull had the material falling away, your chest fully exposed to him in the dim light.

When his lips connected with your nipple, he didn't stop below, continuing to pump his finger inside of you. Eventually, he added another, using his thumb to expertly stroke your clit.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Ride my hand. Feel good?” he asked, looking up at you. He watched as your breasts moved slightly with every movement of your hips as you ground yourself against his hand.

“So good, Jack. Going to come just from your fingers,” you managed to gasp out.

Jack felt a surge of pride he hadn't felt since his younger years. The wide gap of time since he had last been with someone wasn’t lost on him. 

In truth, he’d been nervous about getting back into this. But with you sitting on him, writhing and looking like the most beautiful thing on this earth, his doubts evaporated.

He knew he could please you. He’d make you come as much as you wanted tonight and forever.

He felt you starting to pulse around his fingers, your body tightening as you rode out your high. When the waves finally subsided, you leaned down, resting your forehead against his, your breath hitching. You placed a shy, soft kiss to his lips before whispering, “Need to feel you inside of me. Need you to fuck me, Jack.”

…

Jack’s room was exactly as you’d imagined. It was filled with dark wood, a vintage rug lay under the bed, a single book rested on his nightstand. It was all so domestic, so him. 

You leaned back, propped up on your elbows as you watched him discard his swim shorts. You had lost the rest of yours somewhere on the frantic walk from the living room.

As you trailed your eyes down, you kept catching on the little details of his body you had always wondered about. The freckles sprinkled across his chest continued past his pecs, with a few here and there on his stomach. He had a thick happy trail that held a few grey hairs throughout, but the main thing you had always wondered about had you gulping, growing hot and honestly a little worried.

"You're so big." you said, letting your thoughts slip out. "I'm honestly not sure if that will..."

Jack didn't let you finish. He pushed you back until you were laying flush against the bed. "Going to get you ready, sweetheart. You'll take me so well. I know it." 

He trailed kisses all the way down your body, stopping to pay special attention again to your nipples, palming whichever one wasn't in his mouth. He placed the sweetest kisses against your hips before coming to rest comfortably between your legs.

The first swipe of his tongue was enough to make you arch up, pushing yourself more into his face. You looked down, and the sight would be seared into your brain forever.

Jack spreading your pussy with his fingers, sucking and licking at your most sensitive spot.

"You taste so good." he moaned against you as he kept licking. "Fuck, I don't think I'll ever get enough of this."

You truly believed him, considering he made you come two more times.

You thought you would be spent, that you would need to tap out, but you desperately needed to feel him inside of you. 

As he made his way back up the bed, you reached down to line him up with yourself. Jack thought he might come just from the sight of your hand wrapped around him.

He swiped the head of his cock against you, watching with dark eyes as your swollen lips began to sheath over him.

Jack sank into you, and the stretch was far from pain. It felt so good, so intense in the best way possible. The fullness of him was a perfect fit that made your breath catch in your throat. When he finally bottomed out inside of you, he stayed there for a beat, his forehead resting against yours as he anchored himself within you.

"You take me so well. Like you were made for me." 

That got you squirming underneath him, your hips instinctively seeking some sort of friction to match the heat blooming in your core. Jack let out a groan, responding to your movement by pulling out and sliding back in slowly, before pulling out again and setting a steady pace.

His stroke game was insane.

He fucked into you as if he had been doing it for years, somehow knowing exactly what you liked, every tilt of your hips and every gasp.

"You’re fucking mine. You know that?" he said, watching as you took his cock so well.

He leaned down, his mouth seeking yours.

"I’m yours, Jack. Always have been." you managed to breathe against his lips, the confession proving something that had been quietly growing for so many years.

Jack leaned down, his sweat slicked chest pressing against yours, anchoring you to the mattress. His hands slid under your hips, lifting you to meet every deep thrust.

"Look at me" he rasped. "Everything I have, it’s all yours. Always."

You felt the first spark of your climax ignite, a white hot wave that started where you were joined and surged through your entire body. You arched your back, your fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders as you called out his name.

Seeing you come, hearing his name on your lips as you shattered, was the final straw. He buried his face in the crook of your neck as he surged into you one last time, his own release hitting him.

For several long minutes, neither of you spoke; the only sound was the slow return of your breathing to normal. Both blissfully undone.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb tracing the line of your lips. 

"I'm never letting you leave this bed."

…

One Year Later

Trinity and Dennis were leaning against the nurse’s station, watching from a distance as you handed Jack a coffee. The way he looked at you didn't go unnoticed by the staff.

"So, that's y/n." Trinity said, arms crossed. "I’ve been trying to figure out the lore there.”

Dennis leaned in, lowering his voice. "Word is, she was his nephew’s girlfriend first."

Trinity’s eyebrows shot up. She paused, letting the information sink in, then let out an appreciative whistle.

She shook her head, looking genuinely impressed. "Wow. Abbot’s got game. I didn't think the old man had that steal your girl energy in him."

Jack caught the tail end of the whispering and as he walked away he couldn’t repress the flare of satisfaction that surged through him. 

He adjusted his stethoscope, a faint, smug tug at the corner of his mouth.

He couldn’t wait to tell you about this.

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As much as they were a pain in your back– literally– Jack always made sure to show his appreciation for his favorite assets of yours— or, at least one of his favorites.

It was brains, beauty and then boobs.

Jack loved your fucking tits.

If it wasn’t evident in the way he’d tell you, it was evident in the way he’d touch you.

You’d more often than not wake up with his large hand pressed under your shirt, cupping your chest. Other times, the first thing he does when coming home after a rough night at work is bury his face between them, muffling his groans as the heavy weight of his tired body pushes you deeper into the couch.

When you’d be cooking dinner for the two of you before he’d head to work, Jack would wrap his arms around you, voice low as against your ear as the two of you talk about anything and nothing at all, while letting his hands wander aimlessly– just needing to feel you before he lost himself for 12 hours–and in the end, always landing on the same place.

Your chest.

It wasn’t even in a sexual way most of the time, only that his hands needed to be on you at all moments, and why wouldn’t he indulge in the feeling of your soft, pillowy tits if he had access to them? 

He'd be insane not to.

You can hear him turn off the shower from where you’re standing in your bedroom, a sudden idea sparking in your mind. Why not torture your poor, loving, sweet boyfriend?

The door to the bathroom opens just as you finish planning your evil trick– the steam curling around Jack’s frame as he steps into your room, crutches beneath his arms. Unfortunately, he’s wearing his boxers, but his salt- and pepper curls are still damp, and you hungrily watch as a drop of water trickles down his freckled back– the farmer's tan he’s sporting making him even easier on the eyes than usual.

There’s nothing hotter than a working man, especially if that man is Jack Abbot.

He sits down on the edge of your bed, using a towel to dry his hair, and you force yourself to tear your gaze away again, setting your plan in action.

Another sigh, this time louder and more dramatic. You run your hands down the side of your body and watch through the mirror as Jack’s eyes land on you, that focused look whenever he’s with you on his face again, and clearly trying to figure out what was going on with you.

“You okay, honey?” he calls out from where he’s seated, and you don’t respond, just continuing to stare at yourself in the mirror. 

You hear the mattress creak and turn around just in time to get a final view of his toned skin— right before his shirt covers the sight, and then watch as he leans back against the headboard.

Walking over to where he’s sitting, you perch yourself on the edge of the bed first, and within seconds he’s grabbing you by the wrist, pulling you closer, then deciding that it’s still not close enough, and finally tugging you into his lap, your legs on each side of his hips as you straddle him.

A surprised laugh escapes you at his actions, and Jack relaxes further at the sound, hands rubbing up and down the side of your waist, the look in his eyes warm and filled with relief once he sees you smile.

Unfortunately for him, you can’t have that.

You grab his hands, pulling them to a stop and to rest between you as you look down, avoiding his gaze.

“Jack, I need to talk to you about something,”

Jack nearly has a heart attack. Though instead of letting it show, he simply gulps and nods, before he realizes you’re not looking at him. Clearing his throat, he speaks up.

“Of course honey, what’s going on?”

You let the silence stretch just long enough to make him nervous, shifting in his lap.

Jack’s hands, which had gone still under yours, start to tense slightly, his thumbs brushing against your fingers like he’s trying to comfort you, but you know it’s more to ground himself.

“Hey…” he murmurs, softer now, leaning forward a bit to catch your line of sight. “You’re scaring me a little,”

You almost break right there, 

But you press your lips together, forcing a small, conflicted sigh as you shift in his lap again, your gaze still downcast.

“It’s just…” you start, hesitating on purpose, “I don’t think this is working anymore,”

Jack freezes, and you feel his body tense beneath you.

His grip on your hands tightens just a fraction, like he’s afraid if he lets go you’ll disappear.

“What– what do you mean?” His voice is careful now, fragile in a way you don’t hear often.

You finally glance up at him, just enough to see the way his brows have drawn together, the way he’s already watching you, searching your face for answers he’s not sure he wants.

Letting go of his hand, though it was harder than expected since he wasn’t trying to let go of yours, you motion vaguely towards yourself– more specifically, your chest.

“They’re just too much,” you explain, a defeated look strewn across your face, before you continue, “I think I’m going to get a breast reduction,”

If he wasn’t sure before, he was definitely sure now– Jack was having a fucking heart attack.

“That’s, uh–” he begins, then laughs nervously, “That’s a pretty big decision honey– are you sure about this?” 

Please say no, please say no, please say–

“Yes,” you say, nodding your head adamantly, “I’ve probably never been more sure in my life,”

The silence that follows nearly has you breaking character and admitting to everything. Jack looks absolutely defeated, a far away look in his eyes.

“...I understand,” he says after a very long moment of silence, finally looking back at your face, “If that’s what you want, it’s what you should do. Always, honey,” Jack finishes off with squeezing your hands, then they settle on your waist again.

“Thank you,” you say weakly, and despite it just being a joke, it felt good to know he’d understand you and go along with your wishes if it ever came down to it. 

Well, now you just felt stupid. Your mouth opens, and you’re just about to fess up when Jack speaks up again, a small frown on his face.

“Can I say goodbye to them?”

You stare at him. Jack stares back at you, gaze unblinking. 

A sharp laugh bursts out of you, your head dropping forward as your shoulders shake, any attempt at composure completely gone.

Jack flushes, flexing his jaw as he looks away.

“Don’t laugh, honey– I’m serious! If they’re going away I at least deserve a proper goodbye–”

His words send your further reeling, and you slump against his chest when you calm down, struggling to catch your breath.

“Jack–”

“Please? Just one last squeeze and I’ll–”

“Jack!” you exclaim through laughter, cupping his face to stop his rambling. “I was just kidding,”

Jack blinks at you, face completely blank for a second as he tries to figure out if you’re telling the truth or just messing with him.

Then he groans, dropping his head back against the headboard again with a dull thud.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “You are actually unbelievable,”

You’re still giggling, leaning into him now, your forehead brushing his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d–” another laugh slips out, interrupting your sentence.

Jack feels his lips twitch despite everything, and he would be lying if he didn’t say he was relieved you were just joking. Even if he had just embarrassed himself– at least his girls weren’t going anywhere. 

All three of them.

Huffing, he flips the two of you over, smirking at the small yelp you let out when he’s suddenly hovering above you, lips inches away from yours, yet not touching.  His hands slip beneath your top, brushing against the underside of your chest.

You feel your heart race faster, cheeks turning red as you arch into his touch.

“Jack…” you begin, only to bite your lip to stifle a sound when he fully cups it, his large hand squeezing it gently. His nose brushes against yours as he breathes harder into your mouth and says;

“I think I know how you can make it up to me,”

☆END NOTE: This took me less than an hour to write, because...let's just say I was inspired.