call me bee !

“You’re… giving this to me,” you ask, dragging the question out.

The Mandalorian stands at your doorstep. Unreadable beneath hard shiny metal and illuminated only by the entry light of your home above your door. The chilly night air bites your cheeks but he stands unfazed.

“As a thank you,” he explains. “You were a big help to my kid and this was the only thing I had that seemed like something you’d enjoy.”

All you did was give his little green kid some medicine. It’s not like it was even your first interaction with the infamous hunter. He’s stopped by your apothecary a couple times. Passing by so swiftly you hardly even knew he was there if it wasn’t for the lingering stares from other customers. If you recall correctly, he only ever picks up supplies to replenish a med pack or bacta spray for wounds.

Until you suddenly found him at your doorstep the other night with his adorable little green baby in his arms. The poor little guy was running a fever, coughing up a storm, and had even refused food for over a day. Any parent would be frantic. And so you didn’t even think twice to let them inside.

Luckily your small shop is attached below your home, so you were quick to find the right tinctures for his illness. The Mandalorian paced circles in your kitchen as you administered the medicine and blotted his kid’s little forehead with a cool damp cloth. It took some time and a lot of reassurance to a very nervous father, but after a few hours the fever broke.

You sent them home with some herbal tinctures and even some homemade hard medicinal candies for stubborn coughs and that was it. Hardly any words were exchanged between you that night that didn’t pertain to the child. Only a heartfelt thank you, goodnight, and a promise to pay you back somehow. You assured him that it really wasn’t necessary, that you were glad to help.

You’ve admittedly always been curious about the man. With his stoic demeanor and a reputation that preceded him like lightening preceded thunder. He’s somewhat of a local legend, menace, and hero all wrapped up in one. And now he’s at your door. With booze. Definitely a man of his word, this guy.

“You’re giving this,” you repeat with astonishment. “This whole bottle, to me?”

“Yes,” he answers again. “Is it a special one or something?”

“This is Andoan wine,” you emphasize, holding out the clear glass bottle. “You can only find these on Coruscant now. Very delicious, very rare, very expensive.”

“Is it,” he asks nonchalantly. “I’ve never tried it before. But I hope you enjoy it.”

“You really don’t have to,” you tell him.

“I insist. I didn’t know the first thing to do so I appreciate your help.”

You chuckle. With your limited interactions, you’re starting to see that he’s short and to the point with his words. Almost like he’s not entirely used to speaking with people.

“I…” You nearly argue it again but decide against it. He really didn’t have to give you such a lavish gift for something any good person would do in a situation like that. It was only natural. But at this point, refusing him might come off as rude so…

“Thank you very much.”

The Mandalorian acknowledges your gratitude with a tilt of his helmet, then turns on his heels to leave without another word. And for some reason, you linger at the door. You watch him go down one step, then another, then-

“H-hey, Mando?”

Your sudden call stops him in his tracks on the stair case and he turns to look back over his shoulder. The dim light gleaming over his steel.

“Yes?”

“I…. w-well…”

You’re stammering. Just come out and say it.

“If you’ve never tried it… would you like to share it with me?”

He stands there silently looking at you and the awkwardness crawls your skin.

“I’m not busy at the moment and it’s not really in my culture to drink alone.”

Culture your ass. You just want to drink with him. It’s unclear why in particular but… you’re curious about him. Other than the company of his kid, he seems alone. You wonder if he prefers it that way or if it’s for another reason entirely. Either way, the offer was worth a shot.

There’s more silence and the only noise in the air comes from the gentle chirp of some lava crickets and the breeze brushing the trees in the street. And it’s in that moment that regret starts to burn in your stomach

He’s gonna say no. A pause like that doesn’t necessarily mean yes. But it would be rude not to offer, right? A bottle this nice doesn’t come by these parts and it’d be a shame to drink it alone. It’s reasonable to offer the gesture. After all, he went out of his way to come here from across town. It’s the least you can do to show your appreciation in return.

“Alright.”

The word that falls out of him so effortlessly hits you like a punch to the chest. Are you nervous? Absolutely. But how many people can say they shared a drink with the Mandalorian?

A few minutes later, you find yourself standing on your tip toes, grabbing a couple earthenware ceramic cups in your kitchenette cabinet while Mando stands in your living room. His helmet follows the various potted plants, momentos and knick knacks from your travels littered around your home. Even tracing his gloved fingers over some of them.

“You have a nice home,” he says. “I didn’t notice before. Very lived in.”

“Lots of junk,” you joke. “You can say it Mando, I won’t mind.”

“My place is still new. Doesn’t feel like a home just yet.”

“That’ll change over time,” you assure him. “After a while, your home becomes a collection of memories.”

His attention gets drawn to a particular item on your wall. It’s an old worn down canvas satchel bag that hangs on the wall. At one point it was a life line. Now it serves as a reminder that no matter how hard life gets, showing a little kindness can go a long way for someone.

“What’s this memory?”

“That? That memory is what got me here.” You smile to yourself as you wipe down the cups with a clean kitchen rag.

“A few years ago, I was on Pantora with just some spare change and the clothes on my back. I was desperate to leave so I ended up hitching a ride on a freight ship. I worked on the ship in exchange for a ride to Corellia. Their language was difficult to learn and I had a rough time getting things done because for some reason everything was written in the native language and not aurebesh. On a stop to Tattooine, I accidentally labeled a pallet of coaxium as a pallet of scrap metal. That “scrap” was sold to some Jawas and by the time everyone realized my mistake we were already halfway to the next planet.”

“Was that before you came the Nevarro?”

“That was the reason I came to Nevarro,” you clarify. “It was their next stop so they dropped me here.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, ouch,” you laugh. “Anyway, I guess one of the workers felt sorry for me and left me that satchel with a couple credits and some ration bars inside. Buuut my mistake turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Nevarro turned itself around. I have my own little business. I’m even able to save a little bit of money now. For the time being, things are comfortable. I’ve hopped around the system a lot as you can see. But… this is a place I can always come back to.”

“Something reliable,” he adds.

“Exactly,” you say softly, smiling at the sentiment.

You look up at him. And you didn’t notice as you were cleaning those cups that he’s now completely facing towards you. His visor is trained on you. And it’s then that you realize how small your home really is. Because Mando is broad.

His crossed arms accentuate his wide shoulders. His chest plate follows the lines of his trim torso. Even those plates of beskar armor can barely hide the bulk of his biceps. Your eyes briefly, briefly take a tour at his waist line before you realize how incredibly rude you’re being.

He’s a guest. And a customer. Don’t. Check. Him. Out.

Heat starts to rise in your cheeks. Focusing back on the cups, you round the kitchen counter and walk over to him.

“I’m sorry. All this talking suddenly got deeper and I feel like I haven’t really introduced myself. We’ve only ever passed by each other before,” you chuckle, shaking away the nerves.

In hindsight you should’ve just introduced yourself the other night, but truthfully you were in care-taker-mode and it didn’t occur to you at the time. Plus you didn’t think you’d have an encounter with the man again other than seeing him briefly in your shop every so often. But he seems like a nice enough person with the limited knowledge you do have with him. And after tonight you’re bound to cross paths again. So you happily extend your hand out and give him his cup along with your full name.

There’s a couple beats of silence and you’re starting to see that’s his default. But it doesn’t stop you from second guessing your words as if you’re crossing an unknown boundary. There’s a slight tilt downward with his helmet and he responds with a regretful “I’m sorry, but-“

“You don’t have to tell me your name,” you immediately add. “I know there’s… principles you must have. I just wanted you to know me. That’s all.”

Another beat passes before he finally reaches out to take the cup in his hand. He repeats your name and the way it comes out of his voice holds a whole new flavor. Soft and curious even through the warble of his vocoder. It’s almost like he’s seeing how it tastes.

You like it. You like it a lot.

“It’s nice to meet you.” The voice wears the vocoder like a veil but you still catch a hint of a smile by his relaxed tone. No real logical way to know for certain, just a gut feeling.

“Likewise,” you smile back.

“So,” he exhales. “You want to know how two Mandalorians drink?”

“Sure. Sounds educational,” you joke.

With a tilt of his helmet, Mando steps further into the living room area and you follow behind, cup and bottle in hand. Walking over to the couch, his gloved hand reaches for the small round pillow resting there. His smokey grey cape flows over his shoulder and for a moment you’re mesmerized by the movement. As he turns on his heel, his fingers release the pillow. Letting it fall to the thin rug with a muted poof.

“Right here.” Mando gestures to the floor and you waltz over to take a seat on the cushion, crossing your legs. It doesn’t escape your notice how he doesn’t grab the only pillow for himself. Opting for your comfort over his own.

He takes a minute to look around the room. Probably checking for anything reflective. Then with a swish of his cape to the side, Mando settles in the floor behind you. When his back presses against yours, you expect a wall of cold hard metal beneath the cape. But instead there’s warmth. Strong and firm, but still warm and giving.

“It’s customary to sit on the floor when drinking with a war band. Usually outside around a fire. When it’s just two, it’s back to back.”

“Aaah,” you drawl. “Very practical. I like it.”

The top of the bottle comes off with a pop and the rich scent caresses your nose like a hug. After pouring about two fingers worth into Mando’s cup you pour one for yourself and settle in.

“Are we drinking to anything tonight ,” you ask him.

“Not sure. How about…,” he pauses for a moment before deciding. “To that Pantoran who gave you the satchel.”

That makes you laugh out loud. But you can’t help but feel a little pleased at that. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be on Nevarro, wouldn’t have a home. And you definitely wouldn’t be drinking with Mando tonight. For that you’re especially grateful.

“You know what, yeah,” you chuckle. “To the Pantoran.”

Mando extends his arm back to reach your cups and you meet him halfway. Letting them touch with a soft clack.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

There’s an unclicking sound and you sense that he’s probably tilting his helmet back to drink. You ignore the small tinge of disappointment that he didn’t take it completely off. But it’s understandable. He doesn’t know you well. Even drinking like this with an outsider is probably a big deal for people of his creed. His back presses a little further against yours as he takes his first sip and you take yours.

The wine is rich and dry, and a bit smokey. But the underlying taste of tangy fruit blends well with the flavor. Going by the color, it has to have been bottled for a decades. The alcohol runs warmly down your throat and settles like smoldering ember in your stomach. It’s like no other alcohol you’ve ever tried before. Not even close.

“Hoooh,” he hisses after that sharp bite of alcohol.

“Yeah,” you agree knowingly. Already sensing that this bottle is getting finished tonight.

The conversations flow pretty easily after the first drink. He tells you about how his boy came into his life and how he suddenly found himself being his father. You tell him that you can only dream of having a parent like him because you never got to know yours. You half expected he would cut the interaction short and only accept one drink. But when you offer a refill, he gladly accepted which warmed you from the inside.

Admittedly you ask a few curious questions about his creed and he indulges you a bit. And he asks about how you got into medicine making. But for the most part you both stick to easier topics like current events on Nevarro, work, and food. Eventually two drinks turn into three and somehow you’ve both dipped into topics like past relationships. Which is dangerous territory after drink number three.

“It was baaad, Mando. I’m telling you. I mean, really! Who gives two shits who makes more money than who? Or am I in the wrong here?”

“Nah, definitely not,” he replies. His speech now more relaxed but a little raspy from the alcohol. “Honestly, he sounds like a little bitch if that was his main concern.”

“Yeah! Like, what is it with these men and needing to feel superior in such bullshit, inconsequential ways?”

“You seem strong willed. Weak men are intimidated by that.”

“Yeah well, then every man I’ve met in this galaxy was weak,” you groan. “I mean, c’mon. Am I that intimidating? Is it the yapping? It’s probably the yapping.”

“I think someone who’d be deterred by something that trivial doesn’t sound worth a damn anyway.”

With that, you let out a deep sigh and slump against the man behind your back.

“Eh, you’re probably right,” you exhale. You toss back the last little sip in your ceramic cup, savoring the flavor.

“You know what, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll just be that shop girl around the corner who throws herself into her work, makes her little remedies, and stays happily independent. I think I can live with that.”

A pause streches between you.

“You don’t sound too convincing, Shop Girl,” he teases.

“Shit,” you tsk.

You both wheeze with laughter, your bodies rumbling against one another and it’s so… relaxing. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t say much. Or that what little he does say is said with a sincerity you’re not used to. Or you’re drunk. It could very well be that.

But in a galaxy full of deceit and unknown dangers, it’s refreshing to talk with someone as honest as him. He’s authentic, unapologetically so.

“Hey so… can I ask you something?”

“You’ve been asking things this whole time,” he teases.

“I know, but… it’s technically a helmet question. And you can tell me to fuck off if it’s too much.”

Mando hums and the rumble reverberates through your body, nesting warmly in your chest. He’s settled comfortably against you and it makes you feel close enough to ask what you want to ask. After thinking it over he gives you permission.

“Can’t wait to hear this,” he sighs with a little amusement.

You smile. To your surprise, he actually has a good sense of humor. A dry, blunt one . But humor nonetheless. You run a finger over the rim of your cup, finding a little more courage.

“Mando… Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

It’s a simple enough question, right? It’s within the ballpark of the topics you’ve been discussing. And you’re both adults. It’s not like it’s inappropriate…Right?

Oh god, you really are drunk…

Regret rises with each passing second and you wonder why you even brought it up. It’s probably some kind of insult to his creed to ask something like that. 

“Too much,” you broach gently.

“No,” he says softly. “You’re not exactly the first person to ask that. Doubt you’ll be the last.”

He pauses for a moment to find the right words. Then with a heavy exhale he gives you an answer to your insanely intrusive question.

“I was pretty young when I took the creed,” he states. “Ten, twelve maybe? Too young to be interested in those kinds of things. Never looked back since. To be completely honest, it’s not even something I really think about in adulthood. Never understood the hype.”

“Sooo, I’ll take that as a no.”

“No,” he breathes. “Never kissed anyone.”

Never kissed anyone? Never felt a person’s soft lips against his own or graze his skin? Does that mean he hasn’t gotten to experience more than kissing? Licking? Biting? Or…

Do not finish that thought…

“Huh… Well, that’s a shame,” you say without thinking, quickly adding “-but at the same time, I completely understand it too! I mean, it shows a lot of self discipline, you know? To resist that kind of… temptation. Most people don’t have any reason to be disciplined enough to stay chaste. I can admire tha-"

“I said I’ve never kissed anyone, I didn’t say I never fucked.”

Thank… the Maker… you’re not face to face. Because the way your eyes bulged just now would’ve been downright embarrassing had it been caught. He didn’t just say sex or even screwing. The Mandalorian fucks. The alcohol in your blood seems to conjure a brief glimpse of what that might look like before you find enough coherence to shew it away.

“…oh,” you breathe out, effectively stopping your rambling. “I-I guess I just assumed…”

A deep exhale blows out of his nose. He hums, seemingly entertained by the foot you’ve put in your mouth. But also making the air light between you.

“Well, you assumed wrong.”

The humor in his voice settles your nerves a bit. Thankfully there isn’t an awkward air at the sudden change to such a topic despite hardly knowing each other. And oddly enough, it feels easy to talk about it for that very reason.

“You’re rather chatty when you drink, Mandalorian. I feel like I’m learning all sorts of things about you tonight.”

“You’re right,” he breathes. “I spoke without thinking, I apologize.”

“No, It’s fine. I don’t mind at all. It’s a relief to know there’s a man under all that armor and not solid metal.”

He hums again and the noise stirs something in your chest.

“Well, even so… It’s late… Probably best if I stop drinking.”

You look into your empty cup. Then glance over to the bottle with barely a drop left inside. Something inside you wilts. There’s nothing to keep him here any longer…

“Yeah… Me too.”

You’re not sure if you wait for him to move first or if he’s waiting for you. But both of you remain still for nearly a whole minute. Silent and hesitant to end the night. As comfortable as it is, you feel Mando’s back lean away from yours and you miss the warmth. You turn on the floor to find him standing up as he adjusts his helmet clasp and places his empty cup on the table.

“You were right. It tasted better shared,” he admits. A satisfied smile curls your lips.

“If you learned anything about me tonight, Mando, it’s that I am always right when it comes to liquor.”

“I appreciate the hospitality.”

“I appreciate the company.”

You place a hand on the table as an anchor in an attempt to stand up and follow him to the door. But as you try to stand straight, the room spins and your knees buckle.

Nope. Not doing that.

You sit your ass right back down on that cushion before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. Quick to respond, Mando catches your free arm. Making sure you land back down safely.

“You ok,” he asks, concerned but with a hint of humor.

“Pfft. Yeah, I’m good. I think I’ll just stay down here for a minute,” you chuckle, running a hand through your hair and closing your eyes for a moment.

For sure you’ll have a hangover tomorrow. Shit. You work tomorrow. There’s a couple things you’re running low on, too. You’ll have to request an order through the trading guild. That’ll cost credits. Maybe if you get that Chiss man again you can manage a trade and he can throw in those dried flower buds for that tea that keeps getting sold out.

You know you’re already a bit dizzy. But behind closed eyes you feel like your head is swaying. Or rather… that it’s being moved. Something warm and firm holds your jaw up and when your eyes flutter open again you’re met face to face with dark silver.

The Mandalorian stands barely a foot in front of you. Visor fixed down on your face. Maybe the wine has made your brain slow but it’s only when you follow the path from his shoulder and down his outstretched arm that you realize what’s holding your jaw… is his hand.

With a subtle pass of his thumb along your cheek you can feel warmth starting to pool in your face. Awareness pricks the hairs on the back of your neck when you realize your position. Sitting on your knees, face barely level to his waist as a wall of steel and muscle towers over you.

“Your cheeks get flushed when you drink,” he mutters.

When I drink. Suuuure.

“Now you know,” you mumble without thinking. It grants you a satisfied hum from his helmet and you feel it travel through your ears and under your skin.

“Now I know…,” he repeats.

There’s no movement, no words. But there’s something thick in the air. It’s heavy and enticing. It’d be so easy to get wrapped up in it with any sudden movement. You look up at him through half lidded eyes and you get a gut feeling that they’re meeting his. You’re not sure what his are giving away. But yours have to be hinting something you’ve been trying to hide all night.

With a sharp intake of air, Mando steps back and releases your face. Your head drops a little at the loss of support and it follows his direction as he walks towards the front door with quick, heavy steps. With a press of a button on the wall panel, the door panels slide open and just before he steps outside… he stops. Not looking back, just standing there at the edge of your home with his stand still resting on the doorway.

“Don’t invite me in again.”

And then he’s gone. The door panels shut swiftly, leaving you alone and more confused than when he showed up at your door.

…what?

•

Din wishes he could say that the first thing he thinks about when he got home that night was his sleeping kid safe in the crib. Or at the very least about how incredible that wine tasted. But after he undressed and collapsed down onto his bed half drunk, the only thought he couldn’t stop thinking about as he stared at the ceiling was…

Damn… it’s been a while.

For the past few years, Din’s life has flipped around a number of times. Between barely scraping by as a bounty hunter, saving an orphan kid from an imperial psychopath, losing said kid, then having him return and be by his side to reclaim the Mandalorian home-world, there’s not much time to indulge those kinds of needs. But just because Din found himself being a busy father later in life doesn’t make certain things dead.

No. Everything felt very much alive and kicking by the end of that bottle.

Behind closed eyes, his room feels like it swirls. After that wine, his body feels loose and relaxed. Something he rarely gets to experience these days. Images dance across his closed lids. Delicate, slender hands around a handmade cup. A pink flush on smooth skin. Plump tinted lips between his fingers, softly parted and begging to be touched. The intrusive impulse to dip a finger between those lips was so strong he could feel his hand move into the action before he could even think to do so.

All thanks to that one question. That simple, innocent question activated a deep part of his brain that lay dormant. And then he decided to shatter the care free atmosphere by with a crass remark about sex.

Never in his life has he regretted saying something so fast. You barely even know each other. Admittedly, Din isn’t exactly a refined person, far from it actually. But after his third glass, any semblance of manners flew right out the window. His mouth did the walking with little thinking involved.

Yet, you didn’t get uncomfortable. You handled the slip up with humor instead of getting offended or something just as bad. Using humor to make the air light again. It surprised him how easily you did it. How easy the conversation was all night, really. It’s not everyday he’s able to let his guard down with another person.

Once he was aware of that, he became aware of everything. How late the hour was, how drunk you both were, and how your bed was right behind where you both sat. Only separated by a simple room divider. Even when he tipped up his helmet, there was a heady herbal scent from you that kept swimming in his nose and it was just as intoxicating as the wine. He couldn’t trust himself to stay any longer. And now, in the safety of his own home, he finds himself preoccupied with a mountain of questions.

What kind of person are you? What’s your daily life like? What other places have you seen? What troubles you? You seem to be rooted here in Nevarro for the time being. But from what you’ve mentioned about your past, you have a kind of nomadic life. What happens if he… if the kid gets attached and you decide to move on to another planet? But then again, it’s not like he’s not one to talk though is he?

Loyalty. Solidarity. These are things that have been etched to his core since childhood. But giving those things to something that could be fleeting? That’s a risk he’s avoided for most of his life. Those kinds of wounds never heal.

But as much as he tries to distance himself, it’s not always in his control.

Three weeks go by and they couldn’t end soon enough. When he offered to work with Teva (or Blue as he usually calls him) on a case-by-case basis, he figured they’d be more involved than the bounty hunting trade. He’s spent up to a month off planet at times in order to capture a quarry so it’s not exactly new to him.

But that was when he had the Razor Crest. With a cot to rest in, a weapons locker, and supplies readily at hand. In that regard, the N-1 leaves much to be desired. Plus Din’s back isn’t what it used to be and long rides in that ship are killer. And to add insult to injury, this last case with Zeb was especially complicated to resolve. It left him and the kid completely drained.

After finally landing back in Nevarro with fresh credits, there is absolutely nothing Din wants more than to just go home, bathe, and sleep for at least a day. But he’s got a very hungry green mouth to feed and there’s no way Din is fixing up any dinner tonight.

Street food it is.

“Alright, we’re making this quick. In and out. I’ll get you as much food as you want and you can pick out one sweet. Not five. One. Got that?” Grogu tilts his head at Din curiously from where he follows behind on the cobblestone street and he’ll just take that as a yes.

Dozens of food stalls are gathered at the main square in town as he approaches. Adorned with all sorts of neon signs, string lights and colorful banners. It’s a busy atmosphere filled with people laughing, vendors calling out for customers to stop by, and sounds of clanking and sizzling as they cook.

Din gravitates towards the skewers stand. He knows Grogu is going to down ten of them by himself so he opts for something easy, filling, and cheap. He catches sight of those spicy chunks of fatty meat searing over lava coals and his mouth waters.

“Okay, which onesss-“

Din reaches down to pick up his son only to find the street bricks.

“-Sssshhhhit,” he hisses under his breath, glancing around. This fucking kid. He knows better than to run off.

The crowd is thick and it’s getting dark. He scans through the sea of people and vendors but doesn’t find that familiar pale green.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

With a tap of his helmet side panel he switches to the tracking beacon screen. After enough scares like these he’s learned to have a tracker sewn into his clothes at this point.

Blinking red arrows come into his view and he follows the path. Not caring whose shoulders he budges or what food he knocks out of someone’s grip to get through. The red arrows turn yellow. He’s getting close but there’s still no visual of the kid and he’s starting to panic. He pushes through, scanning side to side and calling out his name in an orchestra of noises without reply.

Yellow turns to green and he’s still out of sight. He’s tiny and easy to miss. Grogu could be anywhere, he could be in any one of these stalls. What if he’s taken? What if someone else is tracking him? He could be picked up by a total stranger and taken away again.

Just as that thought crosses his mind, there’s a small separation in the crowd. Big floppy ears come into view and he’s definitely been picked up. But it’s no stranger that holds him.

“And here comes dad~” A voice soft as silk rings inside his helmet.

Relief floods his body as well as caution when he taps his screen clear. Only him. Situations like this only happen to him. It could’ve been Karga. It could’ve been anybody. But it had to be you that found him.

It was barely two minutes. But within those two minutes Din’s head flooded with every worst case scenario possible. And here he is. Happily babbling in your arms like he didn’t just give his dad a fucking heart attack.

“I know, I know,” you assure him like you can already tell where his head’s at, trying to speak over all the noise. “Don’t be too hard on the little guy. I already gave him a bit of a lecture for running around at night.”

Din wants to. It’s honestly his first reaction. But a cooler head prevails and he decides against it after a second thought. He reminds himself (once again) that Grogu is still young and that getting angry would only make things worse. What matters is that he’s safe and that he managed to find you.

“At least he won’t have to hear it twice,” he exhales, pushing out the stress sitting in his lungs. “Sorry about him.”

“No, no sorry needed. He’s smarter than he lets on. At least he ran to someone he knew. I’m glad I was around.”

Din opens his mouth to speak but ends up falling short with his words. Now that some of the stress has left his body, his eyes take you in at a second glance. Unclouded by the adrenaline.

Your hair is tied up with a pin with a few loose pieces falling at the nape of your neck and around your face. With the heat persisting into the night, you decided to wear a thin strap tank top that hangs low on your chest. It exposes miles of smooth skin, from your shoulders all the way down the arms wrapped around his kid. A dusty blue apron wraps around your waist over some baggy cargo pants so you must’ve came here right after work. There’s a glow from all the neon lights that adorns you and he has to will his mouth to move before he gets caught staring.

“Here.” He extends his hands to you. “I can take him back. Thank you for catching him. C’mon, bud. Let her get back to shopping.”

“It’s no problem,” you assure him with a smile. Your hands hooks under Grogus tiny arms and start to pull him off your torso. “Back to dad you go.”

But the moment he’s barely lifted, he cries out in protest with a shrill whine. Refusing to leave your side. You pull him back in instantly and run a soothing hand on his back.

“Oh! Okay, okay. You can stay with me for a minute,” you giggle in a sugary voice to Grogu. Bouncing him on your hip.

You both exchange a look of surprise (as much as his visor can give off anyway). What kind of person are you that Grogu prefers your embrace over his own father? He doesn’t know whether to be jealous or impressed.

But it’s getting late, they need to eat and get home and you probably need to get back to your own errands. Din’s hands extends again to take Grogu but you shake your head with a little smile. Letting him know it’s not an inconvenience to you.

“Here, wanna help me pick out some sweets?”

Grogu coos at your request, toying with the glittering silver chain pendant on your neck. You rest his kid on your hip effortlessly and the motion of it pinches something deep in Din’s chest. Turning to the assorted trays of sugared fruits on skewers, you list the various kinds for Grogu to pick out. Talking back with him like you can actually understand his little babbles. You answer him with “ooh, that’s a good choice” and “these are my favorites”. 

Din just stands aside, watching the way you both interact and it’s admittedly a bit pleasing to see how natural you are with him. Most people think he’s a pet at first glance. Karga treats him like a newborn. Talking gibberish and doting on him despite him handling a 50 year old. You, on the other hand, just treat him like a regular kid. And it’s refreshing to see.

His son’s head spins back at his father with the biggest set of sparkling inky eyes and Din can see the pleading question in them. He tilts his helmet at him and reminds him “one”. Those large ears deflate a little and you giggle at the interaction. Din offers to pay for your skewer along with Grogu’s as another thank you for looking after his son (again). The vendor gathers the treats in paper wrappers to take to go.

You turn to ask Din something, but it’s covered by the noise of yelling and cooking. He tilts his head a bit lower to try and catch what you’re saying. Then, without hesitation, your hand finds purchase on the pauldron on his shoulder. Prompting him to lean in closer to you so you can speak within earshot.

“It’s been a minute since I saw you last,” you remark with a raised voice. “Everything good?”

Shit.

For a second he freezes. Partly at the lack of distance between you, but mostly because the last time he saw you he stormed out of your place like it was on fire without so much as a goodnight. You’re probably wondering what the hell that was about and he honestly can’t answer that himself. Although your expression seems more cheerful than troubled. He crouches closer to your ears and replies with caution, hoping to avoid the direction of that conversation.

“Yeah, we’ve been um… traveling a lot lately. I get contracted by the new republic pretty often these days. Leaving him behind with someone whenever I’m off planet for too long doesn’t seem fair to him so he’s always by my side no matter what.”

“Ah, that makes sense. You usually stop by for medkit supplies so when I didn’t see you last week I figured you were away.”

Din mentally smacks his forehead. Right. Of course you meant the shop. Because what else would you be implying to a fucking customer? You’re just making small talk. Something he has never really gotten the hang of. Seems pretty damn easy when he’s drinking though…

“We actually just got back. Too tired to fix something up so I figured I’d grab us something quick and easy before heading home.”

“Ugh. I feel that. When I get home I’m crashing on the first soft surface I see,” you groan, still bouncing Grogu on the curve of your hip. Those hips…

No. Stop it.

“Busy day,” he asks and your eyes roll upwards.

“Busy week,” you exclaim. “I swear I think about quitting at least once a day. But I like it too much. Plus it’s the only thing I’m any good at. Otherwise I’d probably be some kind of criminal.” You pause then laugh at the thought before adding, “then you’d probably have to hunt me down, huh?”

That… is a scenario that he already knows is going to stick in his brain for a while. It’s such an enticing thought that he doesn’t bother to tell you he’s not in that business anymore. A tiny part of him would much rather have you think he’d chase you. Obviously you’re not serious, but he can’t help but lean into the joke.

“I don’t know,” he says unconvinced. “Might be pretty easy to find you. All I have to do is look wherever there’s street food.”

A laugh bubbles out of you and there’s a strange feeling that radiates in his chest at being able to make you laugh. Pride maybe? No, more like… satisfaction.

“Don’t underestimate me, Mando. I know my way around the outer rim. I’d make you work for it,” you say. Taunting him with a knowing smirk.

A smile tugs higher on his hidden face. The thought of you making him work for anything will no doubt be food for thought later. And instinct tells him that might’ve been your intention. But two can play at this game.

You’re already nearly face to face but he inches even closer, almost close enough for metal to meet skin. Ensuring you catch every word right into your ear.

“I’d like to see you try, Shop Girl.”

Your eyes grow a little wider at the sound of your nickname and he takes pleasure at just how effective it is. It’s another reminder of that night. A name that was spoken within an intimate atmosphere that only the two of you occupied. And by your expression, that same thought crosses your mind too.

You bite your bottom lip in a smile. The same lips that were between his hands. The only lips he can’t seem to forget. The shape, the color, and how fucking edible they look. He’s even noticed how they pout a little when you’re concentrated on a task. More questions surface.

What do they feel like? What do they taste like? What makes a kiss so good that everyone can recall their first?

The bubble created is suddenly burst by the outside world. The stall vendor gleefully hands over the candied fruit over the counter in their wrappers and you take them with your free hand. Handing the mixed one to Grogu because he couldn’t decide on just one flavor. Reality returns to Din’s head and his thoughts immediately sober up.

What the hell is he doing?

He tears his eyes away. Even if you can’t tell, looking at you like that for too long feels wrong. You’re a good person, you’re trying to live a normal life, and what you’ve told him you’re not looking to get involved in any drama. He has to keep reminding himself of those things.

That same instinct to leave hits him again. Because that urge to do something he can’t take back flares up again and it’s best to not give that feeling any more energy. For both your sakes. He gestures his hand in a hand-him-over motion, signaling to you and Grogu that it’s time to go.

“Alright, time to go kid. Say goodnight.”

Grogu whines with a mouthful of sweets and a face covered in sugar and it makes him chuckle to himself. Din would normally find the defiance a little cute, if it wasn’t for the stunt he pulled earlier. You carefully hand him over with both arms leaning in close and again he feels another pinch in his chest at how carefully you exchange him.

Your bare arms graze against his clothed ones and he pulls away the second he has hold of his kid. He ignores the small current of electricity from the contact and maneuvers Grogu into the crossbody bag to his hip. Which, of course, makes him protest.

“Nope. You had your chance. Now you get the bag.”

“Aw c’mon,” you scold “He was just playing around. Now he’s in bag jail?”

First the kid and now you? He can tell his son no, but it might be a little harder to tell you that.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe next time he’ll think twice about running off in a crowd,” he groans.

Once the kid is settled in the bag, you follow him down. Crouching down, you sit face to face with Grogu as he stuffs his face with the candied fruit. Resting your free hand on his fuzzy head as the other holds your own skewered treat.

“Kay, little rebel. Go stuff your face with some good food. And take it easy on your poor dad, alright? He’s not built for that kinda stress.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” he asks, kind of amused by your ribbing. He can count on one hand the people who are undaunted enough to make playful jabs at him.

Your lips twist and your eyes take a tour up to your brows as you think of your reply.

“Hmm… just the way you get a little impatient sometimes. You were like that when you brought him over and paced my living room for an hour,” you chuckle. “You seem like the kind of man who gets antsy when something’s not in your control.”

A smile threatens to crawl his face. Pretty presumptuous. But he can’t deny how true that statement rings. Especially nowadays when it’s not just himself he has to worry about.

“Maybe so,” he replies with a hint of humor in his voice. “Patience isn’t really my strong suit. Although this one seems to enjoy testing it.”

“Patience is bitter,” you muse as you rub the top of Grogu’s head with your thumb. He coos with delight and the softest gaze glows on your face. Then from your crouched position, your eyes glance back up at Din and add, “…But the fruit is sweet.”

His jaw flexes beneath his helmet, and heat now courses through his veins.

That can’t be a good sign. He already enjoys your banter too much as it is. But that look just now was dangerous. It dredges up thoughts he shouldn’t have about you. Thoughts like kissing someone he barely knows. Feeling skin on skin. Showing you what a man like him can do to you compared to the boys of your past.

He saw it all over your pretty face when he held it in his hand. That flush on your cheeks, your dilated pupils. Hell, he even saw your heat signature rising in his helmet screen for fuck sake. There’s an attraction and that’s fine (and not completely unreciprocated) but it can’t be anything more than that.

You and him live completely different lives. There’s no need to uproot your peace and get involved in his complicated affairs. Even if something happened, it wouldn’t be long before the allure of the suit and mystery people usually perceive of Mandalorians would turn into repulsion.

That’s how it’s gone before. That’s the way it is.

•

You’re a bad person. A horrible human being and a shameless lowlife. Downright beyond saving.

I’d like to see you try, Shop Girl.

The damn sentence won’t stop replaying in your head. It’s not just a nickname. It’s a nickname he gave you. One that’s covered in underlying context and memories that only the two of you share. One that peppers your skin with goosebumps when it comes out of that raspy modulated voice. It’s even worse when your brain starts intrusively placing it in all sorts of sentences.

That’s it, Shop Girl…

You’re doing so well, Shop Girl…

Bend over for me, Shop Girl…

That last one has crawled into your dreams more often than you’d care to admit lately.

You need to get a grip. It’s just an attraction. You’ve been alone for too long and you’re getting all wound up over a smidge of attention. He’s just a regular decent person with a kid to take care of who also just happens to have an amazingly muscular body and a voice of sin. Simple as that.

Right. Simple.

After that night at the food stalls, the Mandalorian and Grogu have been visiting your humble Clinic Shop on a more frequently. Usually you'll see them a couple times a week if they're not on one of their long haul trips. Missions? Jobs?

It's not like Mando has any reason to let you know ahead of time. But when a week or so passes with no sign of silver or green, you can't help but feel a little down. You've come to look forward to seeing your regulars. But they grown to being your favorite customers.

And if you're being honest, theres a growing part of you that feels tied to the man in silver beskar. When he's here, the part blossoms. And when he's gone, it feels... wilted. It's unexpected and confusing to say the least. The closest feeling you could label it is homesickness. And truthfully, you're not really sure if you want to feel such a heavy thing towards anybody right now.

There's a lull in the store this hot muggy afternoon. You've already finished your prescription orders, restocked your shelves, even watered all the potted plants outside the entrance. Since you finally have some down time, you figured you might as well get to making some of your popular tea mixes.

On the back counter, you have a variety of dried herbs, flower buds, tea leaves, and a few large mixing bowls. The scent in the shop is incredible right now. Swirling around on the wind propelled by the metal fans around the shop. Spiced and aromatic with a hint of fruitiness. You let the smell fill your lungs and relax your body as you place measured scoops of the mix into small paper bags. A bead of sweat tracks down the back of your neck. Even with pinning your hair up and the strapless wrap you chose to wear today, the heat of the day still clings to your damp skin.

A cool glass of that Andoan wine would be so good right about now...

Maybe it was instinct, or maybe there really is some kind of invisible tie. But something makes your head tilt to the side and glance at the open entrance. And it's then that a glint of sliver light reflects on the stucco walls. A flutter of anticipation strikes through your chest and your eyes are locked at the entrance. Then, that familiar Silver T-visor and a pair of floppy green ears peek around the corner.

The smile that spreads across your cheeks is so big it almost hurts.

"Hey," you exclaim from the back of the store. You leave your station and excitedly make your way across the store to the pair as they step inside.

“It’s been a whi-“

“Ah ah, sorry," you cut Mando off mid greeting, halting him with your pointer finger. "Grogu gets first dibs.”

Mando shakes his head but you can tell he's humored. Turning his hip to the side and giving you access to the canvas crossbody where Grogu resides.

“Even though I'm a regular customer," Mando retorts.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that sounded a teensy bit like jealousy. You smirk, giving eyes only to the little green baby.

“Not when you’re as cute as him.” You say, placing Grogu on your hip and giving him little scritches on his wrinkled head.

“Isn’t that right, Kid. Mando wishes he could be half as cute as you.” The child coos at you and Mando shakes his head. But you can tell by his body language that he's at least a little amused.

You walk back to the back counter with the kid in your arms and Mando in tow behind you. And the feeling you have in this moment is oddly... domestic? You're not entirely sure if that's the right word. In your life you've never experienced domesticity. But you figure it's similar to that homesick feeling you get.

You place Grogu on top of your station and pull out an herbal lollipop from your apron for him. You like to keep a few handy for kids and they also help with coughs. The kids inky eyes gleam as he babbles and plunges the sugary candy in his mouth. 

"Any chance that delivery for those new Pharmakits arrived yet," Mando asks, leaning a hand on the counter next to you.

"They did," you nod. "Any chance you're planning on taking on an army on your next trip?"

He shrugs, tilting his helmet to the side in that way he does when he's being aloof.

"Doesn't hurt to keep one on hand. You never know."

You hum in acknowledgment but inside a pit forms in your stomach. The danger he faces whenever he goes on these "jobs" isn't lost on you. Lately, it's been on the back of your mind more often than not. On his last visit, when he asked about ordering stronger meds and triage supplies, it hit you just how much his long absences affect you. And just the thought of never seeing him or his little boy again stirs up something vile inside.

“You seem to be busy today,” he remarks, pointing out all the open jars and mixing bowls with various dried leaves and herbs.

His remark takes you out of your thoughts. You must've been silent a second too long for him to change the subject like that. With a deep inhale and slight embarrassment you shrug off the negative thoughts and ground yourself back to reality.

“Yes and no. I’ve been restocking while it’s dead to keep busy.”

He leans in a bit to get a closer look at the contents of the bowl. Close enough for you to catch the scent of smoke and musk on his clothes.

“You’re mixing… tea?”

You hum a yes and nod.

“Tea can be used for lots of medicinal purposes. Many people prefer natural remedies to pharmaceutical ones. I try to have a mix of both.”

“So this is medicine?” You sway your head to the side, trying to think of the best way to explain the purpose of the tea.

“Kiiind of. You could say it’s preventative.”

“What does it prevent?”

“Pregnancy.”

A clearing of his throat follows your answer. You turn toward him with a smirk and a raised brow but his visor has now turned away your face.

Most fearsome bounty hunter in the outer rim, everybody.

“You asked, man,” you chuckle with a shrug.

“Guess that’s on me,” he says.

“This is actually one of my best sellers,” you tell him. You grab the wooden scoop and raise up the floral mix, letting the various petals and herbs rain back down into the bowl. The motion makes the sweet scent drive up in the air. “I have customers tell me they don’t leave the house before their daily brew.”

“I’m glad business is going well for you,” he deflects, making you fold your smile in your teeth. And suddenly your brain sees a prime opportunity.

“You know, Mando…,” you drawl as you mix the petals. “If you’re ever in a pinch and you need some, I could give you a sample.” The way his helmet jerks to face you almost breaks your nonchalant smile.

“That’s um… very generous but it’d be wasted on me.” His body straightens stiffly and you can tell the topic makes him a bit uneasy. But you press on anyway.

“You sure? You can never be too safe. I’m sure any visitors would appreciate it.” He sighs deeply and turns away, shaking his head in annoyance.

God, this is too much fun. Teasing him is so easy. If it wasn’t for the helmet you bet he’s sweating right now. He might look cool and collected. But after drinking with him, you know there’s in fact a man under all that metal.

“I’m sure,” Mando confirms. “I'm not seeing anyone at the moment.”

And there’s the answer you’re looking for.

Was it a bit sneaky? Yeah. Yeah, it was sneaky. But it rules out the theory that reason he told you not to invite home again was because he’s currently taken. It’s still an enigma as to why. But honestly there’s still the gut feeling that you did something to make him uncomfortable that night.

Maybe you crossed a line with one of your questions. You tend to ask a lot of questions. Your filter also isn’t everybody’s flavor. Even so, you had a great time talking, even joking around with him. You’ve come to cherish that night in your memory. And the thought that you obliviously might’ve said something to offend Mando in any way makes your chest ache.

But if that was the case then why has he been stopping by your store more frequently since then? He always says he’s restocking his med kit but you get the feeling there’s more to it than that. Almost as if he’s checking up on you. Making sure you’re doing ok. And above all, that’s what scares you.

It’s scares you how good that thought makes you feel.

“Picking up an order!” An unfriendly voice bellows from the entrance where a Trandoshan man in fine robes stands waiting. “Name’s Samir T’ar.”

It takes a second to snap back into action. But you slap on your best customer service smile and leave your task for later. Rounding the corner past Mando and the kid and walking to the Medicine Cabinet. Wiping the non-existent dust on your hands on your waist apron.

“Hi, yes! I’ll grab that for you right now.”

The Trandoshan stands waiting at the counter as you sort through the assorted orders in the glass case. Looking for the right name tag and plucking the tied linen bag. You dont turn your eyes toward him, but Mando’s pressance is all your body is aware of. You can tell he’s miandering through the shop, looking at various items on the shelves. Which, to you, is a bit funny since hes been here plenty of times by now.

Is he playing the curious customer right now because there’s someone here?

You rest the tied bag next to the register as you run the total. All while the Trandoshan taps his clawed fingers impatiently on the check out counter.

“‘Kay with the compounded medicine and the herbal soak salts, that puts you at… fifteen credits today.”

“It was twelve the last time.”

“Yyyeesss, some of the ingredients for the meds were hard to come by this time around. Outer rim shipping routes, and all that,” you smile, trying to humorously reason with the man.

“And that’s supposed to be my fault? Just make it the same price as before and I’ll be on my way already.”

Ugh, great. One of those.

“I understand where you’re coming from, really. But fifteen is pretty fair considering the initial cost of acquiring ingredients of this high quality. Can’t beat the price compared to those New Republic clinics-"

“Nonononono," he waves with both hands in disapproval. “I’m not paying a single credit more for something I can make myself.”

That’s kind of the point of it buying here, right? To save yourself the trouble of making it?

“Sorry. Price is firm," you say confidently but kindly. "Buuut, how about if I throw in a couple sample heating pain patches. Free of charge,” you chirp, unfazed by his condescension.

Work with me, guy. There’s a man packing heat in the back…

“How about I give you ten for the order and leave? I don’t need you to peddle your-“

It’s a hand that shuts him up. Not yours, as much as it twitches to swipe that bag and toss in it the trash. No. This hand is big. Leather clad. And planted firmly on the counter between you and the customer.

“You can pay the fifteen or you can leave. But what you won’t do,” Mando leans in towards the Trandoshan for effect. “-is talk to her like that again. Make your choice.”

With his chest pressed to the back of your shoulder, you struggle to not squirm. You can feel his heat on your body. His frame eclipses yours from behind. The smell of gun smoke and musk caresses your nose and you die a little inside. But it’s his words that make you want to melt into a puddle.

He didn’t just ask, he demanded for you to be treated with respect. Not that you can’t hold your own when it comes to defending yourself against snarky customers. But the way Mando didn’t even hesitate to intervene on your behalf. It stirs up all sorts of thoughts.

Oh maker, you really are a shitty person. The man stands up for you and all you can think about is how hot he sounded.

The Trandoshan swallows hard. Mando might as well a knife to the guy’s throat with the look of silent terror on his reptilian face. Without even breaking eye contact with Mando, he stuffs his clawed hand in his pockets, and pulls about 20 credit chips without counting. Letting them clatter on the counter as he tosses them.

“H-here,” he stutters. “Fifteen is fair.” With that he snatches his order from the countertop and makes a hasty exit.

“Have a nice day~,” you sing-song as he scurries out onto the street.

You shift your eyes up to Mando, his palm still pressed flat against the counter with his other hand thumbing his belt. His visor follows the customer as he leaves and you can tell that his body language doesn’t relax until the he’s completely out of sight.

“Fucker…,” he mutters under his breath. When he finally turns his visor to you, he finds a knowing little smirk on your face.

“What?”

“You know, if you really wanted to scare him, you could’ve just pulled out your blaster.”

His visor turns away and he takes a step back as if he’s been caught doing something out of character. And if it wasn’t for his confident stance, you’d almost say he got a little flustered just now.

“I didn’t like the way he spoke you,” he grumbles. Which only makes you giggle.

“You’re right,” you agree with a serious tone. Slamming your palms on the counter. “That’s the last straw! I’ll have to close and resort to a life of crime after all!”

Although you can’t read his face, his body language says it all. He tilts his head to the side in a way that can only mean “are you fucking kidding me” and it only makes you smile harder.

“C’mooon, it’s funny,” you say. But he’s still not charmed.

“Does he always treat you like that,” he asks like he needs to know for certain.

You fold your lips between your teeth to hide your smile. He’s concerned for you and you can’t help but bathe in it. At least for a little bit.

“And if I said yes?”

“I’m being serious.”

“It’s fine, Mando. It’s really not a big deal for me. Look, if I let every snippy customer get to me, I wouldn’t have a business. I’m a big girl. I can fight for my honor all on my own, don’t you worry.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Yeah? What is your point then?”

He steps in closer. Forcing you crane your neck to face him. Your backside unconsciously presses against the back of the counter and you’re pinned. He’s impossibly close. Close enough to see your eyes reflected on the inky black screen. Knowing he’s captured your full attention, he hits you with a bombshell that devastates you.

“I wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you when I can do something about it,” he says crystal clear, lowering  his voice. “If someone gives you trouble, they’ll deal with me before they mess with you... Understand?”

That shuts you right up. Your playful expression falls, now replaced with silent astonishment. He keeps saying things that reach deep inside you, making your chest tight. Words like that make it hard to breathe.

You feel utterly captured and it’s no wonder he was the best hunter in the outer rim. Because even though he’ll defend your honor and call you sweet nicknames… all he has to do is stand his ground in front of you to make you feel like prey. And fuck, do you wanna be caught…

“Ok,” you breathe when you find the courage. “I understand now.”

“Good…”

Silence streches between you and it feels as though you’re both waiting for something to happen. Something that feels like it’s been teetering on the edge since the night you drank together. It’s connected and deep in a way you’ve never experienced before. You can tell it’s something he’s afraid to say out loud.

What you’re both afraid to say out loud.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t add anything to his statement. He’s got you locked in his gaze with no escape. And for a moment you wonder if he’ll take hold of your jaw again. Goosebumps rise to your skin because it wants so badly to close the gap.

Suddenly, a call rings from the vambrace on Mando’s forearm, abruptly breaking the tension. At first he hesitates to address it, still locked onto you. But after the second ring he lets out an aggravated sigh and steps away to check the incoming call.

You walk back to your work table and mixing bowl of tea to give yourself something to do while your breathing returns to normal. Scooping a measured cup from a large jar of dried leaves before adding it in.

Grogu sits with his little feet dangling over the table, now finished with the lollipop and looking at the candy-less stick with droopy ears. And before Mando turns to look, you sneak his son another herbal lollipop from your apron.

"Don't tell your dad," you whisper, pressing your index finger over your lips. Which earns you a happy little "Batu" in understanding.

Mando is pacing around now. Conversing with a gruff sounding Lasat. You don’t eavesdrop per se, but words like “new lead”, “investigation”, and “high-risk” get your ears to perk up.

“Shit,” he sighs deeply once the call is done. Planting his hands on his hips.

“Work call?”

“They like to keep me busy, that’s for sure. Best not keep them waiting.”

“R-right! The pharmakits."

You walk towards side of your shop in the back closet where your new inventory sits in their delivery crates. Grabbing one case but then after a second thought grabbing another before turning back and handing them to Mando. When you return Grogu is already back in his father's tote still nursing his treat.

“Couple things," you disclaim, handing the cases to him. "Keep these in a dark cool place if you can. Heat can spoil some of the medicine. And if you ever find yourself needing the epibacta, I’d advise you to take in a safe place. This dose will knock you out cold for a while. Emergencies only.”

He takes the cases by the handles and gives you a nod of understanding.

“I appreciate it. I’ll try to avoid needing it.”

“Just… be safe.”

“I will…”

Another beat of silence. At this point it's starting to feel like you're waiting on the other person to break the ice. But after a moment, he clears his throat.

“Well... Until next time, Shop Girl.”

“Until next time,” you repeat.

He really should stop calling you that. But you just can’t bring yourself to stop him. What do even tell him if he asks why?

You turn to the holopad on the front counter and check the inventory list to give your hands something to do. Chewing your bottom lip as walks towards the exit. One step, then another…

“And thank you,” you quickly add before he steps out. His foot stalls just before reaching the street and you tap on the screen pretending not to notice. Your eyes glance up to him, catching his helmet peer at you over his shoulder “…for stepping in.”

“Anytime,” he says softly. He step out into the street and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You lean on the counter with your chin propped in your palm, now free to watch them go without notice.

Grogu turns back to look at you one last time, his tiny arm fighting against the fabric of his bag before popping out and waving at you. The adorable gesture makes you giggle. The little guy must know exactly how stinking cute he is. You wiggle your fingers back at him from behind the counter. Mando takes notice of his kid, turns his head back, and finds your gaze.

For a moment, everything’s frozen. People cross and mix in the street between you. Life seemingly goes on like any other day for everyone in town. But in your eyes, there’s only him. Only bright silver fills your vision. After a moment, Mando raises a hand for a final farewell, and in the next, he’s gone. Blended into the crowd.

An ache spreads in your chest, and that confirms it. You can’t deny that what you’ve been pushing down for months isn’t just an attraction. Strangers can be attracted to each other but he feels like anything but.

You like him. You like how you feel when he’s around and how safe his presence feels. You like that little skipped beat you get when something you said earns even the smallest chuckle from him. You like that he trusts you around his kid.

And you love that he keeps coming back.

You’ve tried to rationalize as just a simple customer acquaintance. But you can’t keep kidding yourself. Its always felt more than that. And you want to know more about him.

At the end of the day, you roll down the metal doors of your humble apothecary and walk the same 15 steps up to your home as you do everyday. You bathe, put on your most comfy shirt and sleep shorts, make yourself a simple meal, and wind down for the night. It’s been your routine everyday since you made this place your home.

Only tonight, despite all your trinkets, all your memories, and all your comforts, tonight your home feels a bit empty. Like something important has been removed and you can’t place what it was. With your dinner bowl in hand, you almost take your seat on the couch before thinking twice on it and choosing the floor of your living room instead tonight.

You actually find it to be pretty comfortable. More grounding. You only wish you had something warm to lean back on.

•

Din thought Guild Master Greef Karga had an inflated ego. But High Magistrate Greef Karga makes that Karga look like a Jedi monk.

He finds himself sitting on a leather chase with his legs propped on the window ledge in Karga’s high tower office. He watches him spread and maneuver a 3D hologram model of Nevarro and the town. His voice filled with ambition as he explains all his new projects for the upcoming year.

“We’ll put the lodges here, here, and here. They’ll have access to the hot springs in the crawling canyons and docks will be built around the water edges. I’ve spoken with that lovely Twi’lek bathhouse owner and she’s spending her best architects to Nevarro as a personal favor to me. It’s going to be the jewel of the rim I tell you!”

Much of the dialog goes over Dins head. Mostly because he’s dead tired and currently operating on less than four hours of sleep. They only landed a couple hours ago from another grueling mission. He partly listens to Karga’s plans, partly watches Grogu quietly sit on the hologram table as he stuffs his mouth with blue cookies his “uncle” has given him. But mostly, Din gazes out one of the many windows in his 360 degree office. Watching the sun set over the canyons and turn the sky a dusty pink.

The shiny bronze protocol droid shuffles around the office with a silver tray with two crystal glasses of spotchka. He offers a glowing glass to Karga who gladly takes it. Then the droid starts to approach Din with the platter, offering him a glass as well.

“Uh no no, he doesn’t drink,” Karga quickly corrects, taking a momentary pause from his plans. The shiny droid fumbles a bit, flustered, then offers an apology before scuttling away with the tray.

Mando doesn’t even bother to correct them. Too much energy. It’s true, he’s never accepted alcohol in front of Karga. Especially in those early guild days when trust was low. But even to this day, Din doesn’t drink around people.

Well… most people, that is.

An image of last time Din saw you pops into his head. That thick, slightly mussed hair tied up with a hair stick. Dewy skin. All smiles and laughter. You wore a deep blue torso wrap that time, His eyes kept following the lines of your collar bones and all that exposed skin seemed to glow in the reflected sunlight in the shop.

And those lips. Those goddamn pink tinted lips that he can’t get out of his head. If that’s not the definition of beauty he doesn’t know what is.

Your teasing is something he’s growing used to. But that day you pushed too far. You weren’t taking him seriously and you shouldn’t be the only one who gets to tease, right? When he cornered you against the counter, he made it known just how serious he was about defending you. That flush came back to your cheeks and your breathing had picked up. You had no idea, but your eyes had found his and it made heat pool in his lower abdomen as he got lost in the color of them.

In that moment, Din wrestled back the impulse to lift you up on that countertop, spread those perfect legs and-

“-Right, Mando?” Karga’s voice interrupts just as that train of thought was getting good. Din turns his visor over to him.

“Hmm?”

“You just agreed to let the kid spend the night here.”

“Right. Yeah,” Din scoffs. “Was that before or after I sold my ship to the Jawas,” he replies in a gruff tone. Karga doesn’t find the sarcasm amusing.

“Alright, alright.”

“Maybe I’ll sell them my armor while I’m at it.”

“I get it,” he exclaims. “You weren’t even listening! I was talking about the space port proposal and I can’t even tell where you clocked out. That's not like you, Mando.”

“I’m tired. I just got back from a long trip.” Kargas eyes glance between Din and the window he's been looking out from.

“I wouldn’t say tired. More like… Distracted.”

He says the word with an insinuation Din would rather do without.

“It’s nothing,” he deflects.

“Hey, you know me, Mando. I’m not one to judge,” Karga says, throwing his hands in the air. “If there’s anything on your mind I’m all ears. Money, politics, work, women-“

“There’s nothing to discuss. I’m fine," Din deadpans.

Kargas covers Grogus ears, who is too preoccupied by his munching to mind.

“Sounds like you need to get laid.”

Maker...

“You’re sordid,” he grumbles, shaking his head and turning back to the window. Karga just laughs. Amusement written all over his wrinkled face.

The arguments were one of the main things that changed between them over the last few years. Now they bicker like two old friends instead of two business associates. But one thing that has never changed is the way Karga tries to pressure him into revealing things out of him. Imperfectly human things.

He’d offer Din all sorts of things like spice or Twi’lek bathhouses just to see if he was capable of being tempted. And right now… there’s only one other person Din can think of capable of doing that.

“You know what I think? I think you’re starting to outgrow this lone wolf lifestyle of yours,” he speculates. “You’re a father now. Don’t you think the little one needs a mother?”

Dins helmet swivels back to Karga.

“Don’t you think you should stick to governing your town?”

“I was just getting to that," Karga exclaims excitedly. "You know we really should consider moving a few of the-“

“Here we go…,” Din sighs to himself.

What should’ve been a quick visit has turned into a one sided yap session. It’s been a couple weeks since he left and he’s eager to re-supply for his next run with Zeb. He’ll need to head to the square at some point as well. His home is in desperate need of a re-stock. And of course, a visit to the clinic probably wouldn’t be a bad idea if he’s already in the area.

Even from up here, your store can be seen at the far corner of the plaza. And every couple minutes, he can see you. Popping in and out of the small store and rearranging some of the potted plants outside. People greet you from the street and you turn to wave back.

It’s getting harder and harder to find excuses to go there that sound necessary. Last time he was there he picked up two new pharmakits, even though another two regular medkits sit unopened in his home. He’s been buying that energy tea you make, despite him being a kaf drinker his whole life. He keeps going back for shit he really doesn’t need. But if he was pressed to give a better reason, it’s mostly because he feels a need to check on you.

True, Nevarro has become significantly safer, but that doesn’t make it safe. Especially for a woman living completely on her own. You’re a kind hearted, giving person in a galaxy that does nothing but take. And someone like that should be protected. He’s looked the other way too many times in the past and he doesn’t want to be that person anymore. And plus the kid enjoys the visits.

Sure, the kid. Keep telling yourself that, Din…

A chiss man with a floating pallet of goods approaches your shop entrance and your attention turns from watering the plants to greet the vendor with a bright smile. You speak animately. And it would normally be endearing, if it wasn't directed towards another man. In the privacy of his helmet, Din grimmaces.

He shouldn’t be surprised. You’re well traveled, knowledgeable. It’s no wonder you’re able to buy products from so many places. But this particular vendor is getting a bit too close for Din’s comfort.

As usual, you talk with much enthusiasm. Sparking a conversation with the man. It’s clear you’re familiar with each other by the body language you both give off. And he’s not sure if it’s because you regularly get inventory from the man, or something beyond that.

You turn around on the balls of your feet to dip back inside the shop and as you do you’re completely oblivious to the way the Chiss’s head tilts to the side so his crimson eyes can roam your backside. And the only reason Din caught it was because the binocs in his visor seem to have unconsciously been turned on by his finger on his vambrace.

You return to with a small wooded box and open the lid to show him mineral salts, the kind he’s seen you make herbal soaks with. The vendor offers a large lidded glass jar of some kind of dried purple flower buds from his cart. With the added exchange of some credit chips, there’s more talking and smiling. Something he said makes you laugh as you sign his holopad and Din has to flex his fingers to stop them from clenching into a fist.

Enough. Stop watching.

The mental check forces Dins attention to shift back to whatever Karga keeps droning on about. You can associate with whoever you damn well please. It’s none of his concern who you do business with or what your personal life is like. Din nearly turns his visor away. But out of the furthest corner of his eye, he catches something he can’t tear away from.

The distance between the Chiss and you has suddenly shrunk. The moment unfolds in slow motion as his eyes chew on every second. The Chiss steps closer to lean down then…

Din’s arms uncross when the Chiss leans in close to your face. And before he knows it, the fucker plants a quick peck on your cheek. And you return it! The whole exchange lasts less than a second before you wave each other goodbye and he goes his separate way. You return inside with the product like nothing and Din sits there, completely rattled.

What… the fuck?

Was it a casual kiss? Did you even know that he was checking you out? If you did, was that a friendly goodbye gesture or was it flirtatious? That son of a bitch gets to walk around with bliss on his cheek all day now. Oddly enough, that’s what puts Din over the edge. A complete fucking stranger knows how your lips feel and he doesn’t.

Never in his life has he harbored thoughts like these. It’s downright pathetic. He feels corrupted.

“Fuck it,” he growls to himself beneath his breath.

“-Anyway, back to my point. I was considering having a port built for- hey!”

Before Karga has a chance to monologue further, Din has picked up his son from the edge of the desk—grubby hands still clinging to the bag of cookies—and has placed him right into Karga arms.

“I need you to watch over him for the night. I’ll come back for him in the morning.”

“Okay then? Fine by-.” Din doesn’t bother to listen because there’s no ending to that sentence that matters to him in this moment. He makes his exit, the slide doors opening as he nears them.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going all puffed up like that?”

“I need to settle something,” he tosses back before letting the doors shut behind him.

The sun is getting low and a few other vendors are starting to take down their signs and close their doors. You’re probably getting ready to close up for the day yourself. Hopefully he’s able to catch you before then.

Each step on the cobblestone is heavy with purpose. And it's not unoticed the way several people on the street see an armor clad Mandalorian and scurry out of his way with a petrified look on their faces. But right now he doesn't particularly care. Right now everything in his head is clouded with the exception of one objective.

From a couple stores away, you catch him approaching from your peripheray. And he's not sure how to describe it, but it's like something in your body language softens when you see him. Your shoulders become less tense, your eyes gleam, and you cast him that bright toothy smile that could stop any man's heart.

“Ah! Hey! It’s been a while, Mando! How’s-“

“I need to have a word with you.”

Both your expression and your hand freeze momentarily in place, minus a suspicious quirk in your brow.

“Okaaay, you have my attention,” you chuckle, but there’s a nervous tone riding on it. “What can I do for you today?

“I need to speak with you," you tells you bluntly. "Privately.”

Confusion paints across your face and your smile falls a bit. Understanding how serious his request is.

“Like, right now,” you ask hesitantly.

“Preferably, yes,” he answers.

“Ok, yeah sure. Um… I’m just about to close up and we can head upstairs in a minute.” You start to turn away but then quickly turn back to him and immediately add “or we can go somewhere you’re more comfort-“

”It’s fine,” Din quickly interjects, stopping that train of thought. “This won’t take long anyway.”

You blink at him a couple times and give him a quiet “ok then” before turning around and preparing your shop to close.

Seems that Din’s command from his last visit was taken seriously. Regret over those words washes over him. If he’s being honest, being inside your home again sets off several red lights in his head. But he’s already on the verge of blurting out something teetering on the edge of his brain. Better to wait until he’s behind closed doors and away from any prying eyes. Or flirtatious vendors. This shouldn’t be complicated. He’ll make it quick.

He decides to wait around the corner of the shop where the stone steps meet your front door. He leans against the wall with his arms crossed and his finger nervously tapping his arm brace. After a few minutes you round the corner with your bag over your shoulder and lead the way into your home. Instinctively, he looks around for any eyes before entering and closing the door behind him.

“So where’s your boy,” you ask, tossing your bag on the couch and walking towards the kitchen. “I have to say I’m kind of surprised not to see him on your hip. You seem inseparable.”

Your voice is chipper but he can tell by your stiff body and lack of eye contact that you’re not entirely comfortable. For a moment Din reconsiders this encounter. But no. The sooner he this bug out of his system the better.

“He’s… spending the night with a friend,” he answers. Grabbing one of those ceramic cups from the cabinet, you fill it with water from the sink and he’s starting to think that you’re only doing that to keep your hands busy.

“Aaww, a sleepover? Is it his first-”

“If you don’t mind,” he cuts off. “I’d like to get to my point.”

“Oh… Y-yes, I'm sorry. I’m rambling,” you say sheepishly. “I’m just…,” you take a deep breath, rest the cup of water on the counter, and lean back against it. Eyes fixed to the floor.

“…it’s just what you said the last time you were here. And the way you approached me earlier, you seemed kinda… I don’t know, upset? I know you don’t wanna be here so I’m wondering what I did to upset you that you’d come here.”

Damn it… He’s such an asshole.

He should’ve never said that. You've been thinking this entire time that you’re at fault for his shitty social skills. Truthfully, with the way that wine had his head so deliciously foggy, he had to leave before his body did something it was aching to do, begging him to do. But how does he even begin to explain that?

“You didn’t do anything,” he answers immediately. But thinks on it once more. “Well… technically you did. But I’m not upset with you.”

“You’re not,” you ask him sheepishly.

“I’m not,” he assures.

A beat passes in silence as you chew over his words.

“Okaaay,” you say with a smirk, “now you really got my attention.”

That mischievous tone travels through Din’s helmet, in his ears, and settles warmly in the pit of his stomach. Something about the combination of your sweet voice and relaxed shift in your body language makes this whole interaction even more nerve wracking.

“Sooo, you wanted to talk to me about something I did?”

“Right.”

“Okay, sooo...” He feels you urging him to continue but now Din finds himself more cautious of his words now. If you’ve been silently worried about offending him the last thing he needs is for this to come off wrong way.

“It’s… a bit hard to explain,” he exhales. If he could pinch his brow right now he would. “To put it plainly, the night we drank together, you said something that’s been… stuck in my head.”

“Was it the thing about the name?”

“N-no.”

“Was it the Pantora story?

“No.”

“Was it the comment about knowing my liquor? Because I like a drink from time to time but I don’t have like a problem or anything-“

“No- Can I finish,” he asks impatiently.

“Okay, okay. Sorry. Go ahead.”

“When we were drinking, and talking… we said a lot of things and got into some deep conversations. And at one point, you asked me if I ever kissed anyone before. I said no back then because… I've never given it any thought in the past. But now it’s got me… curious.”

Your quirk your brow at him.

“Curious how?”

“I want to know what it’s like,” he answers plainly.

“… Sorry, what?”

“I need this… curiosity out of my head. It’s driving me crazy and I need it out of my system. So I figured… since you’re the one who mentioned it in the first place, you can help me kill it.”

“You’re… Okay so, hold on…,” you say with a shaky breath. “Are you… asking me to kiss you?”

“That’s… an oversimplification. But yeah.”

“You’re asking me to be your first kiss? Am I understanding you right?”

Maker, you ask a lot of questions. Are you always like this? You did the same exact thing when he gave you the wine. On any other day it would’ve been endearing but he didn’t anticipate the conversation lasting longer than a minute. Now his request sounds more and more lecherous with each passing second.

“I won’t bother you again after this. You have my word. It’s completely casual. Just killing a curiosity.”

“There’s a preeetty common phrase about curiosity and loth cats that goes differently.” A giggle tumbles out of your mouth on the tail end of that sentence and humility crawls under his skin.

“Sorry to waste your time.” He starts to turn towards the nearest exit when you step in to stop him. Placing a hand briefly on his arm in the space between his armor and the contact sends a current of electricity up his spine.

“No wait, don’t be like that,” you toy with him.

“I’m not laughing,” he spits. But you still have the nerve to giggle.

“It’s okay, Mando,” you laugh assuredly.

“No, it’s not. It’s ridiculous. I hate it. I hate that you put this in my head.”

You fold your lips between your teeth to try to hide your amusement. But you still can’t help but crack a smile a little at his frustration. He basically just confessed to having this obsession for months and he can tell by your smug expression that you’re enjoying how incredibly uncomfortable he is about this.

“You’re right. I’m… sorry,” you say under your breath. Trying to fix your face.

There’s a beat of silence. Stepping in closer, he tilts his head down to you. Locking you in his gaze. He takes pleasure in being nearly a full head taller and the way your breathing picks up before he says in a low gruff voice…

“No, you’re not.”

You smile behind your hand as your eyes dance across his visor, unknowingly locking eyes with the man beneath. You know you’re not sorry, just like he knows he’s not particularly sorry either. It’s not just this moment. It goes back to every interaction you’ve had together. The banter, the nicknames, the visits. He’s as much to blame as you are. And then… you slowly you shake your head, agreeing with him and confirming his suspicion.

Fuck, you’re cute. He hates that he loves how cute you are. He hates himself for not being stronger.

“Ok,” you nearly whisper. Looking up at him with the sweetest eyes. “I’ll help you.”

•

“Is all this really necessary?”

Din currently sits on the floor of your living room. The same spot as last time in fact. Your were the one that insisted on it and honestly he couldn't bring himself to tell you no. Since he sat down in the soft carpet, you've been flitting around your home turning off lamps, closing blinds, and covering any reflective items. Which, admittedly, he's greatful for. But the more time he spends here, alone with you, the more he's not going to want to leave.

“It’s not everyday you get your first kiss, Mando. I wanna make sure it’s a good one. I wish I could re-do mine.”

Gloves fingers flex and stretch restlessly on his knees as you approach the last lamp sitting on a side table in the living room and pause.

“Are you sure about this?”

Fuck no he’s not. But the sooner he does this, the sooner he can find some normalcy in his head again.

“Flip the switch," he says in a low modulated voice.

You fold in a growing smile before taking a deep breath and flicking the switch. Bathing the entire home in inky darkness. The silhouette of you through turns to hues of thermal green and red, carefully maneuvering through your living room by memory before finding your seat in the floor in front of him. And with slight hesitation, Din reaches up to remove the last barrier he has.

“Can you see anything?”

“Not a bit,” you answer.

With that confirmation, he unclasps the chin strap and slowly lifts the helmet up and off. He blinks several times to adjust his vision before finding the outline of the table and placing his helmet there. On the return, his head bumps into your outstretched hand. Not knowing that you had moved.

“Agh.”

“Sorry sorry,” you pull away. “Give me a moment, I’ll find you.”

Your hands search in the dark for him. He can’t see much but he can tell your hands land on nothing by the way the air between you moves and he doesn’t feel any contact on his person. So he reaches out, bumping into your arms and taking hold of them. Following the line of your forearm until he reaches your hands.

“Here,"  he murmurs. Gloved hands wrap around your wrists and gently lift them up. He guides your hands forward until…

You let out a small gasp when your hands find the warmth of his bare face. Soft and giving as opposed to the cold, unyielding beskar. Their movements are slow and explorative. Running your thumbs over his stubble. Surprisingly his hands don’t release their grasp. His leather clad digits press against the racing pulse in your wrist as his thumbs run over the back of your palm.

“This help?”

“Yes, thank you,” you whisper.

From sound of rustling on the rug, Din can sense your body leaning in. Your breath brushes over his skin for a moment before something warm presses against his chin and it takes a second to register that it’s your mouth. You ease him into the build up and he’s greatfull for it. Jaw. Then cheek. Then just grazing the furthest corner of his mouth.

And then… contact.

At first it doesn’t feel like much. Just something soft and warm pressing against his mouth. What most people refer to as a peck, he assumes. But it’s when you barely pull back and return for another that a shiver wracks his skin. Your lips lock in the return, molding together in perfect unison. And it’s fucking electric.

Just by feel alone, he senses that your lips are slightly open. So he mimics you. Giving his jaw just enough slack to respond as you go in again. The sensations have his mind in a thick fog. The soft flesh, the sweet taste, the faint suction. His skin feels like there’s live wires going off underneath. Giving in completely, he finally returns the kiss. Pressing into it with more confidence.

You hum against his mouth, and he dies a little inside.

That’s when the real hunger builds. There’s a slow simmering heat rising between you now. Without thinking, his hands grip your wrists a little harder. Pulling you in closer. The kiss grows a bit stronger with each return back into each other with no loss of contact. Lingering longer and breathing against one another.

He feels your head tilt more to the side and again he mimics your movement. The break only lasts a fraction of a moment. But in the re-entry, the tip of your soft tongue happens to brush his mouth. Sweet wetness coats his bottom lip and it’s in that instant Din feels all restraint leave his body.

Taking your face in his hand, he kisses you open mouthed, inviting you in. Your tongues slowly graze one another and if he fucking died in this moment he’d be ok with it knowing that he got to know how you taste.

The hunger becomes unbearable. Soon enough the breathing becomes heavier and the air becomes hot. Your arms end up wrapping over his shoulders, pulling him deeper and he’s more than happy to dive further. Another small noise escapes your throat and the vibration travels through his entire body.

He needs to feel you. To taste you. Devour you. He needs you.

A break for air is the only thing that throws him back into semi-consciousness as you pull away. The heat built up between you makes him dazed. Hot breaths fill the small space between your lips as you lean your forehead against his.

“Mando?”

“Yes,” he responds in a raspy whisper. A few moments pass as you collect your words and catch your breath.

“Is this really just about curiosity…?”

Your words lean more towards a statement than a question. There’s no point in denying it now. As much as he tried to convince himself or rationalize his strange request, he does feel a pull towards you. Much more complicated than just attraction. The more he sees you, learns about you, and talks with you, the more… inevitable you feel to him. There’s a gravity to you that he can’t escape from. Nor does he want to.

“Yes and no.”

“What does that mean?” The breath of your question brushes the heated skin of his cheek. And right now, he can't think of any answer that wouldn't give him up.

So he lets it fly.

“It’s not just the kiss I’m curious about.”

The silence in the air is thick. The only thing between you are the sounds of both of you catching your breath. It’s possible he might have ruined everything with that one sentence. But it’s the truth. It had nothing to do with the kiss and everything to do with you. Your kindness, your banter, your hospitality. All of it.

There’s no way of telling what you’re thinking at the right now. It’s in this moment that he wishes the lights weren’t out so he can at least read your expression. But then after what seems like an eternity, your forehead nudges against his and you blow a deep sigh of relief. Arms still draped over his shoulders.

“Oh good… I thought it was only me,” you confess with a skittish laugh.

And that tightly pulled restraint finally snaps inside him when he hears that.

Without any hesitation, he dives back in. Kissing you like a man starved. Just like that night, he feels drunk. Only this time it’s on the taste of you and the feeling of your hands finally on him. It’s that thought that drives him to rip off his leather gloves and toss them aside without breaking contact once. His bare hands find your waist and the strip of bare skin between your shirt and linen pants.

“Is this what you meant,” you pant. “When you told me not to invite you in again.”

“Yeah... it is.” He pants the confession as his mouth trails down the line of your jaw and finding your neck in the dark.

“That’s a relief,” you chuckle. “I was worried I offended you.”

“The only thing that’s offensive is that I can’t see that pretty pink flush on your face right now.”

“Should I get a blindfold,” you tease.

What a fucking woman. The mental image of you in a blindfold, only a blindfold, pours fuel on an already blazing fire. But for now, he’s more than ok feeling his way around tonight.

“Next time.”

It comes out of his mouth confidently and without hesitation. Because you both know there will be a next time. He’s bitten into the forbidden fruit and now he’s addicted to the taste.

With a simple shift, his hands dip beneath the thin fabric of your shirt and find the delicious heat of your soft belly.

"Lay down for me."

With your arms draped over his shoulders, you eagerly comply. Slowly dragging him down with you. He careful not to press all his weight on you—being crushed by beskar would definitely kill the mood—but it doesn't stop you from pulling tighter. Craving connection. All while Din rains wet kisses and soft bites upon your pulse.

So this is what your skin tastes like. Slightly salty, sweet, and smooth between his teeth. He might eat you whole if he’s not careful. He nips at the skin of your exposed collar bone and you writhe. Arching to press your chest to his. So he decides to give it some attention.

“Take it off," you pant with an neediness that drives him pull the damn shirt off in one swift motion.

His bare hand crawls up your sternum. Exploring the valley of soft skin free of any restricting fabric. The moment his fingers find the stiff peak of your bare breast he pinches eagerly. Earning the sweetest little whimpers from you as his mouth works on the other nipple. Biting and sucking the soft point. He can’t see a thing in the dark, but what’s lacking in sight is made up by sound with the delicious breathy moans you let out for him.

“Mando…”

Fuck, does he love the way you call out for him. Every touch, kiss, and  suck he gives elicites the most gorgeous sounds out of that perfect mouth. The sounds to straight to his cock, now painfully stiff. It's tempting to just dive into you right now. But he's waited this long. So why not take his sweet time with you. With his face still burried between your breasts and you fingers raking through his hair, Din feels a press of your hips against his armor. And he needs more.

“Shop Girl…”

The nickname doesn’t catch your attention. You’re either too lost in the moment or too breathless to answer. It’s only when he uses your given name that your body perks up and you give him a raspy “yeah?”.

“Do you want this," he asks.

His right hand has found its way to the waist band of your work pants. Ready and waiting for your answer. You try to grind against his hips but he presses your hips down firmly. He knows damn well neither of you want to stop. But he needs to hear it. There's no going back after this.

"Is this ok?"

He doesn't know if you're unsure. Or if maybe your trying to meet his eyes through the darkness. But there's a long pause. Only the sounds of heavy breaths and the pulse beating hard in his ears. And every second that passes has him hanging on the edge of madness.

"Yes...," you finally breathe. "I need you."

She needs me.

The words leave him winded. Months of questions and pining suddenly feel well worth the wait just to hear those words. They not only affirm going further, but the bond that's been steadily growing between you. Not a single ounce of hesitation survives after he hears that. And with one hand, Din loosens the tie of your pants and dives in beneath the fabric of your underwear.

By feel alone, Din manages to pull your pants down to your thighs and you kick them off your feet. His hands roam over all the smooth exposed skin and he can only imagine how perfect you must look if you feel this good. The tips of his fingers finds the dampness between your legs, running along the seam, and he slowly pushes inside until his knuckles meet your entrance.

You release a soft gasp and he swallows it with a deep kiss. You both sigh into each other's mouth. As if you need the other to even breathe. Din's lips never leaves yours as he does an experimental curl against the fleshy part of your walls and you arch your body against his.

“This where you need me," he huffs against your lips. "Right here?”

“Right there... Perfect..."

"I wanna taste you." The confession comes out before he can even think about it.

"Then taste me, Mando."

He can hear the smile in your voice. The taunt. And he's more than happy to reciprocate it.

He rises above you and you whine from the lack of contact. But the loss doesn't last long. Because before you even can register what he's doing, his head has already lowered between your legs.

"What are you- ah."

That gasp you let out when his mouth envelops your pussy is downright tortured. Good too know you were just as desperate as he was.

"Fuck! I thought you meant... You were gonna... Shit..."

No fucking way would he be satisfied tasting you on just his fingers.  The sweet tangy flavor explodes over his tongue and he groans. Fucking hell, you taste good. He doesn’t even know what the hell he’s doing but that’s sure as shit not stopping him. He drowns in you. Lapping and sucking on your swollen little bud and loving the way it makes you cry out. Two thick fingers pump into your wet heat as you melt in his mouth. Such a fucking treat.

You writhe beneath him. Squirming and clawing at anything to hold on to as he works you up. Eventually your hands finds his hair again. Taking a fistful and pressing his face further against your cunt. The sting on his scalp makes his cock twitch in his flight suit and he groans.

“You want me to make you come, Shop Girl," he mumbles against you.

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“Make me come, Mando... Please…”

He doesn't break pace, doesn't falter, doesn't change a damn thing what he's doing because he can feel close to the edge you are. You tighten around his digits as the pump in and out. And with a firm suck on your clit you let out a strangled gasp.

"Oh Fuck! Fuck! Mando!"

Your breathing becomes short and shallow. Panting so hard right before holding your breath and tipping over the edge with a strangled cry. You come long and hard. Trembling so much he has to hold you steady by the hips.

Through the waves of your climax, Din continues to eat you. Lapping at your perfect pussy like it's wine and he doesn't waste a single drop of you. Even sucking and licking his fingers clean as you lay breathless before him. They come out of his mouth with a wet pop and he can’t help but let out a small breathy laugh.

“I’ve always wanted to try that…” he confesses.

You let out your own exhausted little laugh and he can already tell he wants more. More laughter, more of those pretty sounds, more of you.

It's with that in mind that Din starts pulling his cape off.

Piece by peace, he silently removes his armor. And after a few moments, a second pair of hands joins in. You fumble in the dark with his chest piece first. Helping him out of his armor one section at a time. They fall to the carpet with a soft thud along with the crumbling pieces of the restraint he’s built since that first night.

There’s no signs of stopping. You keep giving him more. More heat. More yearning. More questions.

What makes you laugh? What gives you pleasure? What makes you feel good and whole and satisfied? He needs to know.

And now that he’s gotten a taste, there’s no way he’s leaving here tonight until you’ve both had your fill.

•

If this is what happens when you invite the Mandalorian into your home, let your door never close.

Getting to your bed was easier than you thought it’d be in pitch black darkness. The only thing keeping your ‘bedroom’ separate from the rest of the home is a wooden lattice divider from the ceiling to the floor.

He lays you down on the soft futon on the floor and you open for him like a flower. Two strong palms drag and paw all over your body as his mouth works magic on yours and it makes you dizzy with desire.

Maker, he’s so good with his hands.

His body separates from you only to remove his flight suit and you whine at the loss of contact. Naked and panting for him. Within seconds he’s back on top of you and the feeling of his bare skin against yours makes your head spin. With everything so dark you wonder if this is even real. Maybe this is all a fever dream.

“Are you gonna show me how Mandalorians fuck this time,” you tease against his lips. Calling back to when he showed you how they drink. With your bare legs around his hips, you tease his resolve by running your inner thighs over his sides and you’re rewarded with a low hum. The hand supporting your neck slowly drags forward to find the base of your throat.

“You don’t need to know how Mandalorians fuck.” His wide grip gently squeezes the sides of your throat, just enough for you to feel the power in those hands. “Just how I fuck.”

Holy shit. You thought him gripping your jaw was hot. But this? This might’ve awakened something you didn’t even knew you wanted.

A whimper escapes you only to be muted by his mouth again. His tongue swirls with yours with a hunger you’ve never knew was there these past months and it’s such a relief to know that you weren’t the only one pining.

Mando’s mouth travels to your cheek, then jaw, finally finding purchase on your neck. Biting and sucking as his body presses into yours. He’s insatiable right now. There's no doubt that you'll find yourself covered in marks when the lights come back on.

You’re so lost in the moment that you almost don’t notice when something hard and warm presses against your inner thigh. Out of nowhere, a thought you haven’t even considered before decides to pop into your head at the very last minute.

“H-hold on!”

Your hands find his shoulders, urging him to pause. His lips unlatch themselves from your neck the second you blurt it out. Instantly propping himself above you with his hands on either side of your head.

“You want me to stop?,” he pants.

“No… Hell no. It’s just…”

How do you even begin to ask this?

“Um… I know I probably should’ve asked earlier but… you’re human, right?”

Mando blows out a low chuckle, understanding your underlying meaning. He feels human, from what your hands can tell anyway. He could be like his kid for all you know. It’s not that you’re not willing to go Inter-species, but your experience is mainly human. Plus with the lights off it’d be pretty difficult to figure out fitting things.

Taking your hand from his shoulder, he presses it against his chest where you can feel a dusting of hair. His skin is hot, damp with a thin layer of sweat and his breathing is heavy. He continues to lead your hand further down his torso so you can feel every hill and valley of his muscles. Eventually your hand hits a trail of hair down the middle and then…

Oh shit.

His hand guides you along the length of his cock. Encouraging you to explore every ridge from the thick base all the way up to the damp tip. He’s stiff and hot in your palm. When you give him a firm squeeze he groans and twitches in your grip.

Oh shit.

“Does that answer your question?”

The human part, definitely. Fitting is still debatable.

He lets you handle him. Giving you free rein to tug and tease as he bucks into your hand. He groans with pleasure and the power trip you feel knowing exactly how you affect this fiercely disciplined man makes the pulse between your legs throb harder. After a minute, his hand snatches yours to a halt, making your grip around his cock tighter.

“Show me where you want it,” he demands in a gruff breath. And you do just that. Pressing the damp tip against your clit. The contact sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.

“Inside,” you plead. “I need you inside me.”

With an impatient huff, his hand comes down to take hold of your leg behind the bend of your knee. Spreading you wide and teasing your entrance before pushing himself inside. You gasp at the initial stretch, digging your nails into his shoulders. Mando curses under his breath and as he pushes you worry for a moment if there’s an end to him.

It’s slow, deliberate. Feeding his cock into your tight cunt until he’s pressing the limits of your walls. You shudder together when he’s completely sheathed and his hands grip your hips so hard his fingers dig into your flesh.

“Mando…” You throw your head back. Arching your whole body, waiting it to adjust to him. “Fuck!”

“I knew it,” he pants. “Fucking knew you’d feel good…”

He splits you in half and before you’re even ready the first hard thrust hits you. You whimper from impact and he thrusts again. Pinning you down by your hips to keep you at the perfect angle. Soon he sets a steady pace as he fucks you into delirium. It’s too much, he’s too much. Yet you moan and whine for more like each thrust might be the last. He feels incredible and you can only claw at his trim waist as it moves for you.

“That’s it… Good girl… Taking me so well… I wanted this… I want you to know every part of me.”

His words plunge into your chest like a dagger. Laced with a meaning that goes far beyond sex. Because you feel it too. You wanted him to be closer. You wanted him to know your name, know you. Even if it took this long to get here.

You feel one hand find your leg. Hiking it up so the back of your thigh lays flat against his chest. His hand drags up and down, caressing the soft flesh without losing a beat with his thrusts. A kiss presses on your calf and your head feels like it’s spinning. One moment he’s rearranging your insides and the next he’s giving your body sweet affection.

Tension builds in your core. Growing tighter and tighter with each hard thrust. Usually the second orgasm is more elusive to chase on your own. But this man is about to push you right into the next one not five minutes after the first one.

“Don’t… Stop…,” you pant. “Don’t stop, I’m so close, Mando…”

“Come for me... Let me feel you."

Then it comes. Tensing your entire body before coming down like a crashing wave. It’s spreads through every inch of your body, making you pulse and shake beneath his frame. You cry out in the midst of the euphoria, clinging to his shoulders, and everything feels so right. He moans along with you, feeling every tight pulse around his cock and letting you ride out the remaining waves.

“That’s two now, Shop Girl. You gonna give me a third?”

You let out a breathy laugh, still coming down from the clouds.

"I... I'm not sure I can," you chuckle.

"Yeah, you will," he pants. Amusement lacing his raspy voice.

Without out warning, Mando takes both your legs. Placing your calves over his shoulders as his leans forward. Folding you in half. And with one hard thrust, his cock drives back into you at a deeper angle. Your back bows and you swear you see stars in the blackness of the room. His lips land on the corner of your mouth and kiss their way to your lips. Offering a soft apology after the roughness. His strong arms are propped around you and you feel eclipsed under his broad body.

Soon his rhythm picks up. Becoming more desperate as he chases his own release. The room fills with the sound of your bodies meeting and you don't think you've ever heard anything more perfect. His panting picks up, his moans become louder, and the quivering breaths he makes when he finds a particularly deep spot will no doubt live in your mind rent free forever.

“You wanted me bare, didn’t you,” he huffs, pressing his damp forehead to yours.. “When you offered me that tea? You thought about me coming inside this perfect cunt, didn’t you.”

Caught red handed. Sure, you wanted to know if he had a partner as well. But the thought did cross your mind when he cornered you against the counter. You wanted to know how he felt bare, with nothing between you. Even dreamt a few times about it.

“Yes… Fuck, yes! Please! I want it!”

“You gonna come with me, Shop Girl? Hmm?”

“Maker, Mando! I’m right fucking there, please! I… I’m… ah-“

His firm hand grips your jaw. Whipping your face back to him so he can cover your mouth his. He kisses you deep, open and messy. No technique, just raw desire as he eats you alive. You moan and whimper against his mouth with each debilitating thrust he makes. He drives into you faster, harder. Relentlessly pushing you closer to the edge.

When it arrives, the orgasm hits you at full force. Wracking your whole body in convulsions as you scream, actually scream against his mouth. Your toes curl, your nails dig into his back and your cunt squeezes on to him for dear life like he’s never allowed to leave again.

Mando hisses through his teeth and he's right there with you. Ramming into you with relentless force as he chases his own release. His face dives into the crook of your shoulder and his arms scramble to take hold of you and he loses control. Letting out a sharp groan as he comes.

“Fuck.. Fuck,” he shudders in your ear. “Agh!”

His hips jerk against your body, driving himself as deep as you can take him. You feel his cock throb as he pumps into you again and again. Filling you to the point of spilling out and it’s... everything. Connected in such a profound way you’ve never felt before. In this moment, it’s hard to tell your bodies apart. You’ve melted and mixed and you never want to separate.

You ride it together, mold together, lose control together because you both knew it’d come to this. In the end this was inevitable. And in a galaxy filled with unknowns, in this you can be certain. A connection like this is few and far between. It’s real and raw and rare. Resisting that feeling was never an option, so why try?

Even in the climb down he doesn’t stop. Those hard demanding thrusts slow to a gentle drags as if he doesn’t want to finish yet. Hands glide all over each other’s bodies, soothing the other. All along his tense shoulders, you pepper soft kisses to his skin. Easing you both down from the clouds. He hums in the decent and it lulls you into an exhausted bliss.

Everything feels hazy and soft. You’re not sure how long you stay melted together like this. Minutes? Hours? But it’s needed. After a while, the breathing becomes steady and a soft, drowsy satisfaction settles between you.

“That’s the first time someone's come inside me,” you quietly confess. For a moment, Mando absorbs what you just said. Then you feel him prop himself in his elbows above you.

“Really?”

“Yeah…,” you breathe. Running your hands up the sides of his neck and resting them on his stubbled face.

“You know… since we’re sharing firsts tonight.”

He smiles and this time you’re able to know for certain by the feel of it in your hands. Leaning down, his forehead finds yours in the dark and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so whole before.

“I’m your first, huh,” he breathes. “I like that.”

There’s so many layers to this man. Quiet and withdrawn. Rough and demanding. Soft and caring. Each one is a trait you’ve come to cherish. You’re not sure if you love this man. But you’re definitely starting to fall for him. You can explore that treasure box later though. For now, you’ll take tonight for tonight and let whatever comes next between you arrive in its own good time.

“Me too, Mando...”

•

•

•

💕 THANK YOU FOR READING 💕

“Can’t fuckin’ believe I’m actually doin’ this.” Joel mutters behind his hands that were currently pressed against his face.

You can’t help but chuckle at the sight of him. Your tripod was set up at the end of your bed, just the right angle to ensure it wouldn’t capture either of your faces. Not for you, it was your only fans, of course. But for Joel, considering the only condition he had for this whole livestream you had planned was that he didn’t show his face.

Since starting your relationship with Joel, you gradually pulled back from partner work in Porn, and completely stopped when the two of you became official. In fact, you’d decided on switching careers altogether. Not because Joel judged you for what you did — he never would. If you chose to continue doing Porn as your main career, he would respect that wholeheartedly. But it was actually you who made the decision to make a change.

You enrolled yourself in some courses to get some extra education under your belt and ended up landing a job working in an office. It was far less exciting than fucking for money, but it felt official. And, you no longer froze when someone asked about what your job was.

But, you still did some solo stuff on an only fans account you’d made.

It wasn’t really for fans, in fact, you didn’t even go by your old Porn name. And you definitely didn’t do custom videos. You just posted some sexy selfies, a video here and there and now, only recently, you’d started doing livestreams.

You’d actually built quite the community. The majority of your members were actually females, which instantly made you feel more comfortable. The comments from them felt more like actual compliments. They were uplifting and empowering. Not just the token “i would rail tf out of her,” or “great tits,” but genuine, personal compliments.

Which was why you’d brought it up with Joel — the idea of filming a livestream with him.

And initially, it was a hard no. In fact, it was a hard no before you’d even really explained any of it to him.

But when you’d sat on his lap and explained to him, maybe using your best pleading eyes, he’d said he’d think about it. Which then evolved to him laying back on the bed now, his meaty thighs spread apart and his dark green boxers tenting despite the awkwardness etched into his mannerisms.

You giggle again and climb onto the bed, crawling toward him. You were clad in a pair of lingerie, in fact, the exact ones you’d bought with him the day the two of you had your first time. You’d seen the way his eyes glimmered at the sight of you in the set while you were changing moments ago. How personal this set was in your relationship.

You straddle his hips, bringing your hands up to his own to remove them from his face. “Relax, baby. You’re gonna be super sexy, I promise. I’ve actually always wondered what we look like when we’re having sex.” You say thoughtfully, tilting your head to the side.

Joel flushes a little at that, hands hovering over your hips momentarily before finally settling on them, as if he forgot that he was actually allowed to touch you. “Really?” He asks a little sheepishly.

You nod your head and lean down to capture his lips in a quick yet soft kiss. “Of course. I mean.. it feels good, so I can only imagine it looks good.”

Joel nods, certainly agreeing with the feels good part. “Only one way to find out, I guess.”

You grin and crawl back towards the camera.

You sit between Joel’s legs, your back against his chest. Both of you now completely naked in front of the camera. Everything below the neck was visible on you both, per Joel’s request, and although you can’t see it in the reflection of the livestream, you can feel his head pressed into the back of your neck, the skin of his face hot.

People started joining the live one after another and before you knew it, a hundred people were already present. The first comments you read were remarking on the complete difference in size between you and Joel. How large he was compared to you. His biceps were large, his arms that were wrapped around your middle dwarfing you no matter what size or height you were. His hands were huge and one of them was splayed out against your stomach, feeling the soft skin there.

“Mmm, I think they like you, baby.” You hum to joel, tilting your head back to encourage him to read the comments. He follows your silent request and you hear him curse under his breath when he sees a particular comment.

“Omg I just knowww he’s hot. Can u suck his dick for us?” @_pillowprincesss asks enthusiastically and you giggle when you realise that it was the comment he had read.

You giggle and push your hips back into joel, your bare ass pushing against his cock. “Sounds like a great idea to me.” You reply playfully, twisting in his arms until you were facing him. You guide him to sit on the side of the bed, facing you as you get into position. Joel’s face is still out of frame but yours comes into it when you lay on your stomach to get closer to his crotch. You grin when you take a glance at your phone screen, the sight of Joel’s flushed chest and how good the two of your bodies looked making your thighs unbelievably sticky.

“You guys seem to like my man already,” you muse to your mostly female audience. Joel’s cock is hard and heavy between his thighs, but in his position, the camera isn’t actually able to capture it. “Just wait until you see his cock.” You finish, reaching over and tilting the camera to the side until Joel’s beautiful dick came into frame.

He’d trimmed his hair down there slightly just for the occasion, sweet thing. You may have helped him a little too, which was fun.

Joel groans when you take his cock into your hand, and you can tell the touch makes him forget about the audience with the lust that comes along with it. Making him finally speak for the first time since the livestream was turned on. “Fuck, Angel.” He grits, loud enough that the camera picked it up and it set the comments going crazy over his voice. And although the words were brief, it made your core swell with arousal.

You lick your lips and began to pepper soft kisses over his tip, your hand slowly beginning to stroke his length. Not enough to relieve much pressure though. “You think I should tease him a little, guys? Push his limits until he decides to put me in my place?” You ask the audience, starting to suck softly on his tip.

Joel makes a sound that sounds pretty close to a growl at the threat. His hand comes down to tangle in your hair, his short nails slightly digging into your scalp. You chuckle, locking eyes with him while you speak. “Huh. I don’t think he likes that idea.”

And at that you part your lips and take his cock into your mouth, his dick a pleasant weight on your tongue as you begin to slide your mouth down his shaft. You take him down to the root, your nose nuzzling his trimmed hair, and he lets out a long, desperate groan at the sensation of his cock in your throat.

You move your mouth side to side, gagging once, twice, before bringing yourself back up for air. You gasp and release a moan when you glance back up at him. “Fuck, Daddy.” You whimper, your eyes teary from retching.

Oh yeah. Daddy was a thing now.

You didn’t call him it often but agreed to it for the livestream since he also didn’t want his name in it. You could tell it only heightened his pleasure when he heard it come from your drooling mouth right now.

“Keep going. Use your tongue on my tip, sugar,” He orders lowly, and you feel a sense of pride at his confidence in speaking in front of the camera. When you take him inside of your mouth again, he wraps a couple strands of your hair around his fist. Not pulling, just holding. “Atta girl. Oh yeah, baby. That’s it.”

And his voice is a little whiny when he says it. It always gets like that when you suck his tip like this. Just the way he liked it. He was so fucking sensitive here, it drove you insane.

You close your eyes as you pleasure him. Relishing in the sounds of his moans. So much so, that it catches you off guard slightly when he reads the screen. “They want me to fuck you, baby. Think we should give them what they want?”

You pull off him with a whimper and smile giddily, nodding your head frantically.

The bed creaks with the force of Joel’s thrust. The continuous slam of his hips into your ass as he fucked himself into your g-spot perfectly from this angle. You were sprawled on your stomach in doggy style, your ass raised in the air to get him as deep as possible.

Your moans rattle through the bedroom, the insistent ping of comments flowing through the livestream a distant sound in your mind.

“Oh. My. God.” You moan, each word punctuated by a powerful thrust of Joel’s cock. Everything felt so overwhelming, every push of him inside you knocking the air from your lungs. The squelch of your cunt made your cheeks heat up, your arousal dripping down your thighs in a sticky mess.

“Tell them,” Joel orders, his voice gruff, his restraint wearing thin with how tight and warm and fucking perfect you felt around him. He’d recently found his voice properly, and the things he said, the dirty words he spoke to you while fucking you into next week had the people on the livestream going insane. “Tell them how much you love being on display for them while I fuck you.”

The words cut through you like a pleasant smack. You did love it. You loved being watched like this. Being someone for other people to get off to. But the fact that you were doing this with Joel now, that you were essentially inviting these strangers into your bedroom and sex life with your boyfriend, felt a little more personal.

And it just turned you on all the more.

You grip the sheets, the consistent pounding of his cock making it hard to focus on talking, on stringing a response together. You were so fucking cocky earlier while talking to the camera, sucking Joel’s dick and teasing him like a little slut. And now look at you? You made eye contact with the camera in front of you. You were a complete mess of tears and drool and hickeys. Your face was hot and every push of Joel’s hips sent an uncontrollable moan tumbling from your lips.

“I — fuck, Daddy,” you try, the pleasure consuming you completely. God, why couldn’t you just speak? Your brain was mush. Complete fucking mush. Was his cock really that good? “I love it so m-much. Love being fucked in front of the camera. L-love showing them what a good girl I— I am for you.”

Joel feels his balls tighten at your words, his cock threatening to spill his release right then and there into your suffocatingly tight pussy. He’d already wrung two orgasms out of you, ones that left you breathless and trembling in ecstasy on the mattress beneath him.

“That’s right,” he grunts, leaning over your body, his pace unfaltering as he grabbed your phone from it’s perch and flipped the camera to the back, bringing it down to capture the sight of his cock plunging in and out of your dripping heat. “Look at this. This fuckin’ — mess. This all it takes, baby girl? All I gotta do is pull out a camera and you go all fucked out on me?”

His words melted into your brain, turning your already mushy noggin into a pool of pleasure. A coil that you weren’t even aware was building deep within you, snapped only seconds after he directed the camera right at your both most intimate parts.

And Joel could feel it, feel you coming apart on his cock once again. He fucked you through it, slowing his thrusts down now, pulling himself out enough that he was just fucking you with the tip of his dick. The sight in the moment was amazing, but on camera? Fuck it was even better.

Your phone captured the pearly white substance you’d created with each release perfectly, despite the not-so great lighting of the room. Your juices had dripped down to his balls, coating them and leaving them shining beautifully.

Joel uses the other hand he wasn’t holding the phone with to stroke your back through your soft gasps and sobs. His pace now almost non existent as he barely moved within you. “You all done, sweetie? You had enough?” He asks gently, a hint of condescension in his voice that had you clenching around the small part of him still inside of you.

“Hm,” you huff, your voice whiny and raw. The truth was, you weren’t sure if you had had enough. I mean, had you ever truly had enough of Joel’s cock? You didn’t think so. “M’not sure, Joel.”

Fuck. Your heart squeezed at the mistake you’d made. You weren’t meant to say his name.

Joel notices your error immediately, but the panic of his name being out there for everyone to hear, didn’t hit him. He just leaned down to press a kiss to the small of your back. “S’okay,” he glances down at the comments on the stream, reading the praises of the audience.

One particular comment requested for anal. The petition was vague and brief, not specifying the exact kind of ass play they wanted.

The request has his cock twitching. He still hadn’t found release yet, and he knew you enjoyed ass play. You had actually been the one to bring up the idea of it in the bedroom a couple months ago, which he was pretty hesitant about before actually trying it with you.

“What if we finish this off with a request from one of your little friends on here, sweet girl? Seems like they’re awful into the idea off ass play.” He suggests, pulling out of you completely, watching his cock bob slightly with the action.

“Ohh n’yeah, yes, joel. Want.. want your mouth and your fingers there.” To be honest, you think you’d agree to anything at this point. Your brain was so relaxed, your body so thoroughly pleasured that even the touch of his hand palming an asscheek of yours sent waves of arousal swimming in your stomach.

You arch back into his touch and joel takes his time with capturing the soft jiggle of your ass when he slapped it gently, the ripple of the soft skin. He then aimed the camera to focus more on the pretty, puckered hole above your entrance.

It was practically winking at him, and the urge to completely devour you whole was coming very tempting. But he suppressed the urge. He wanted to show just how beautiful his girl was. How the softest touches could make you squirm.

Joel groans low in his throat, the sound rumbling from him at the beauty in front of him. “This sweet fuckin’ asshole, baby. You’ve no idea how much I love playin’ with’cha right here.” He expresses enthusiastically, angling the camera to capture just below his nose as he leaned down and licked a stripe from your clit, alllll the way up to your other hole.

A contented smile crosses your lips and your drop your face down into the pillow, humming softly at the pleasantly ticklish sensation. God, you couldn’t wait to look back at the highlights of this live. Hopefully someone clips this.

Joel flattens his tongue and begins to lick your hole up and down, the wet heat of the muscle on those sensitive nerves making you gasp softly. The camera captured the moment perfectly and Joel found his chest swelling with pride at the fact that that was his tongue on your ass. Not some idiot pornstar who barely cared for your pleasure. But him.

“Oh, Joel. S’right there. M’so— so sensitive there.” You moan into the pillow, the sound of voice muffled against the fabric.

Joel moans against you, not wanting to pull back to answer in case he fucked up his rhythm. He reached up with his free hand to your pussy, finding your soppy clit with ease. You moan louder when he begins to circle it as he eats your ass.

He feels himself stir down south, his cock throbbing in time with his heartbeat as your moans progressively got louder.

You were a mess above him, the fact that this was being filmed was the last of your thoughts. “Gonna — gonna cum, daddy. Gonna cum.” You sob. Your pussy was already so sensitive after your previous releases and with the mix of his tongue and fingers, you were coming apart before Joel could even respond.

But joel was there, talking you through it. And.. coming himself. Thick ropes of his cum came spurting from his tip onto the mattress, a mess to think about later. He moans and grunts against your asshole and finally pulls back from it, but doesn’t stop rubbing your clit through it.

And the comments? Were going crazy.

“Omg his voice is so fucking hotttt”

“The way he speaks to her is so perfect it’s so hard to find actual good praise kink in porn”

“HES CUMMING UNTOUCHED IM OBSESSED”

Yeah, you think the fans might want this to be more of a regular thing. And Joel? You weren’t sure he’d object.

Harry Castillo is a man of power. He works for the private equity business that his mother started up when she was younger, and he owns the most businesses out of anyone there. Besides his mother of course. 

The Castillos have never been afraid of money. Hell, they bathe in it every night. Because of this, Harry isn’t afraid to spend a pretty penny on a woman. Except he hasn’t found someone that actually deserved it.

Sure, he’s had his fair share of women — none that he’s ever been photographed with. A list extending from women he’s worked with to sex workers. But no one has interested him long enough for him to think about any type of future with them. He’s not necessarily proud of his ways, but it’s a big stress relief for him.

Control is a necessity in all parts of Harry’s life — including in the bedroom. These women willingly submit themselves to please him in whatever way he desires. Of course, Harry still respects them and makes sure they’re properly taken care of. After all, he’s not a dick. He just thinks with his. 

Harry is currently on a phone call in his office. Something about a leak that was reported in a recent building he bought. To be honest, he tunes out the man on the other end about halfway into the conversation.

“Yeah, I’ll look into it,” he says, exasperated as he waits to end the phone call sooner rather than later.

“Okay. Thank you, Mr. Castillo. Have a good—“

The man’s voice dies out as Harry puts down the phone, effectively ending the conversation before the man could finish his thought. He slumps back in his chair, running a hand down his face. 

Crown Castillo has been the busiest and biggest it’s ever been. The annual New Years gala is in a few weeks, and his mother wants him to have a date for it. Harry could get any woman he wants for it, really. But he has been getting tired of that life. He is well into his fifties and coming to terms with the fact that he might end up alone.

Just then, his assistant, Rick, knocks on his door. “Come in,” Harry calls out, sitting up straight in his chair.

The door slowly opens before Rick steps in, “Mr. Castillo, there’s a woman here to see you. Something about the photography at the gala.”

Confusion stretches across Harry’s face before he tells Rick to let her in. He wasn’t aware of any meetings with a photographer, but he’d see what they needed.

What Harry doesn’t expect is for you to walk in: younger, long hair that went down past your shoulders, soft skin, black blazer, black skirt that stopped at your mid thighs, and the expanse of your legs being covered by sheer stockings. 

Fuck, you’re a sight.

Standing up, Harry buttons the middle of his suit jacket. “How can I help you, ma’am?” he asks with a small nod.

You wait for his assistant to close the door before you walk up to Harry’s desk. Extending out your hand, you introduce yourself. Your hand is practically swimming in his as he gives you a firm handshake.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he says before gesturing for you to sit in one of the chairs across from his desk.

“My business was called about taking pictures for your upcoming New Years gala. They sent me out to confirm with you. Make sure everything is exactly the way you want; the pictures you want taken of the venue, the people – the food even.”

Harry watches your lips move as you talk, subconsciously licking his own while he takes in your words. He hadn’t been aware that there would even be photographers at the gala this year, so this must’ve been his mother’s doing.

He clears his throat, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I was made aware about any of this. You might’ve been looking for my parents, not me.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Your parents?”

“It’s a family business,” he shrugs like it’s nothing. As if Crown Castillo isn’t the wealthiest private equity firm in the U.S.

“Ah, I see,” you nod slowly, “So who do I speak to then?”

“Well,” he rounds his desk, moving to stand in front of you, “if you were looking for a ‘Mr. Castillo’, that would be my father: Emiliano.”

You nod once, taking in the information and correcting the form you brought in. As you build up the courage to ask, you place the end of your pen between your lips, drawing Harry’s gaze towards them once more.

His gaze darkens, hands tightening on the edge of his desk until his knuckles are nearly white.

“Do you mind showing me where your father’s office is then?” you finally ask, putting down your pen and meeting his eyes.

Harry would normally tell someone who asked for directions to ask his assistant, but something about you draws him towards you. His body craves a little more time with you, even if it’s just for five more minutes.

“Sure. This place is easy to get lost in,” he huffs out something close to a laugh.

He gestures for you to walk in front of him, getting a small whiff of your perfume. It’s something subtle, sexy and sophisticated, causing his slacks to feel a little tighter and uncomfortable. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been so easily affected by a woman, let alone one he just met.

As he holds the door open for you, he allows his eyes to travel down the back of your body, getting a good view of your ass before he walks in front of you.

“Such a gentleman,” you tease him lightly as the two of you walk in unison.

Harry feels heat creep up his neck, wondering if you felt his heavy gaze on you or if you’re referring to his manners. “Yeah,” he says gruffly before he clears his throat, “I’m not as big of an asshole as they say I am in the press.”

Your brows knit in confusion at that, “The press?”

He freezes in his tracks, making you stop as well. The stare he’s giving you is almost like he’s trying to figure you out. His eyes are narrowed, mouth slightly agape as he reads you.

Your pulse picks up under his intense stare. Chest rising and falling a bit faster before he speaks. “You don’t… know who my family is?” he asks in disbelief.

“Am I supposed to?”

“I… guess not,” he says quietly, brushing it off before he continues walking.

You stand there, trying to process what just happened before you trail behind him. 

“Sorry if I offended you, Mr. Castillo, but I’m not really into the whole… business world of things. I’m sure you and your family have plenty of fame. I just don’t know anything about it.”

Immediately you realize how much you’re rambling when Harry doesn’t even bat another eye at you. His expression is stoic as he walks, keeping his eyes trained forward. You got a sense that you would ruin this deal if you kept talking, so you stayed quiet for the rest of the walk.

After another minute of walking past the most expensive and busiest people you’ve ever seen, the two of you stop in front of an office door that reads: Emiliano Castillo.

“Thanks for walking me here,” you murmur once he turns towards you.

There’s the faintest hint of a fire burning behind Harry’s eyes. So faint that you aren’t even sure if you’re really seeing it.

“Guess I’ll see you soon,” he states, his voice a little rougher than it was before. 

You’re not too sure why, but your skin prickles at his tone. Goosebumps spread across your arms as you look up at him.

“See you soon, Mr. Castillo.”

With that, he walks away, leaving you alone to talk to his father.

Harry Castillo was a man of power, and he was slowly losing it with you. After leaving you, he makes his way to the men’s restroom, locking the door behind himself before he steps into a stall. The heavy ache between his thighs becomes too much, and his erection is noticeable. He needs to do something about it quickly.

The second the sound of him unbuckling his belt echoes within the four walls of the restroom, he knows he is going to regret this. He pulls out his throbbing cock with a small hiss before spitting on his hand and fisting himself.

He works his wrist at a steady pace, tipping his head back in ecstasy as his thoughts drift to you. He imagines hiking up your short skirt and bending you over his desk, or fucking you against the floor-to-ceiling windows in his office.

God, he just knows you’d make the prettiest noises as he fucked you into oblivion. He’d make sure to drag his cock within the deepest depths of you, making you and your pussy sing. 

Just the mere thought of it has him thrusting into his hand faster, fucking his fist until he creams all over it. He shudders through his orgasm, vision going a little blurry around the edges, causing him to place a hand on the stall door to keep his balance. 

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever cum like that just from the thought of someone he barely had five minutes of interaction with. No, this is something entirely different, and he isn’t completely sure about what it was exactly. 

After all of that, there’s one thing Harry knows for sure: You’re his, whether you know it or not.

Setting up the gala with the coordinator has been… eventful. You’re not even completely sure if he was actually listening to your advice or if he was just staring at your tits. Perhaps the dip of your dress was a little too far down your cleavage, but it isn’t your fault that men act like pigs around you.

The venue is beautifully decorated and you’re sure you are going to get some gorgeous shots. Diamonds dangle from the ceiling in forms of chandeliers, reflecting off of the tall walls covered in expensive art. You had an inkling that the Castillos were rich, you just didn’t know how rich.

Right at 7PM, guests start to pile in. Women wearing diamonds and gold around their necks, wrists, and fingers. You’re guaranteed that if you sold this building and the people in it alone, you’d make a lot of money. But you aren’t here to think hypothetically, you’re here to do your job, and you’re going to make sure the photographs are up to both your boss’ and Emiliano’s standards.

Guests mingle, drinking punch, eating the appetizers that were set out, some checking out the art, but the Castillos are still nowhere to be found. It’s nearing 8:30 and Gavin — another photographer — is starting to get antsy. 

“We’re supposed to get a shot of them coming in,” Gavin says through his teeth, letting out an exasperated breath.

“They’ll be here,” you murmur, your eyes focused within the camera lens.

You’re watching the guests through your camera, always ready for the perfect shots. A happy couple smiling, the camera flashes. Guests looking up at the art, another flash. 

When one head snaps towards the door, so does your camera, and you don’t hesitate to take the shot of the family walking in. The lens whirs as you zoom in on the parents alone, and then the brothers.

It’s almost automatic when Harry feels a camera on him. His gaze finds you in the crowd after the picture is taken, and you lower the camera just slightly to catch his eyes. His eyes travel down your body before he tips his head slightly towards you. Immediately, you feel your skin heat up.

He is clad in a tailored black suit, broad shoulders stretching out his suit jacket so much that you could hear the fabric begging for mercy from where you stand. A white handkerchief folded neatly in the pocket of his suit jacket, black slacks down his legs. 

You could already tell he was a big and broad man. Probably manhandling every woman he’s ever been with. 

“Did you get the shot?” Gavin asks, pulling your attention away from the man across the room.

“I got it,” you nod slowly, taking a few more just for good measure.

Harry’s gaze still hasn’t moved from you, and for a brief moment, you wonder if this is how mice feel underneath a microscope. Their little bodies squirming as they’re being examined and experimented on against their will.

“You better fucking have,” Gavin states before he walks away from you.

Ignoring his comment, you take more pictures of Anastasia and Emiliano walking up to the small makeshift stage by the speakers. A microphone stand sits idly on it, waiting to be used for announcements. 

You may not be looking at Harry, but you can still feel his gaze on you. Briefly, you wonder what he’s thinking about, but then his father starts speaking.

“May I have your attention ladies and gentlemen. It is with great honor that I thank each and every one of you in this room tonight. My wife’s business would not be as successful as it is without the help of you all. We are extremely grateful for your commitment and dedication to the place we call home: Crown Castillo.

Friends, family, employees – all of you are important and valuable. All of our hands keep this place up and running, and that is what a found family is. I hope we all continue to have each other’s backs during the years to come. And please… enjoy yourselves tonight, and don’t forget that all the funds collected tonight are going towards charity.”

Emiliano and Anastasia raise their glasses of champagne before Ana continues, “To the Crown Castillo family.”

Everyone raises their glasses, repeating her words and going back to mingling. A handful of cameras flash, you and your coworkers getting hundreds of shots for the family and company. The more lively the photo, the better. You’ve learned over the years that these kinds of people appreciate the ‘vibe’ of the pictures more. If they look united, they’ll love the photos. 

You lower your camera, checking all of the photos you’ve gotten so far before a man walks up to you. “Excuse me,” he says, placing a hand on your bicep to get your attention. 

You look at his hand before you look up at him, “Can I help you, sir?”

He extends his hand out, introducing himself, “Lucas Taylor, Taylored Photography.”

Extending your hand out, you stare at him. He’s a recruiter, no doubt. With a company name that doesn’t even sound familiar to you, and you know all of the photography companies in New York. Emiliano didn’t tell you about another photographer being here, so you’re a little confused.

“I must say,” he puts his hands in his pockets, straightening his posture, “the photos you’ve taken thus far are beautiful.”

“How would you know?” you query, “You haven’t seen them… Lucas.”

He chuckles softly at your retort, nodding, “You’re right.” The heated look he’s giving you isn’t very subtle, and it makes you a bit uncomfortable. “I just wanted to tell you how breathtaking you look in that dress, miss…” Lucas trails off, trying to get you to tell him your name.

You press your lips into a fine line, getting ready to open your mouth, but Harry steps in next to you, placing a hand on your lower back. “You’re a little close, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I,” Lucas stammers, chuckling sheepishly, “I was just complimenting her on her-”

“I’d advise you to leave,” Harry states, his voice cold and calculated as he stares Lucas down.

Harry has a good few inches on Lucas, so he shrinks into his skin, murmuring something under his breath as he walks away. Immediately, you step away from Harry, the warmth of his hand leaving your back and sending a cold shiver up your spine.

“I didn’t need saving.”

“Really?” he draws out with a raised eyebrow, putting his hands in his pockets, “‘Cause it seemed like you were dying to be saved.”

His tease makes you narrow your eyes slightly, “I appreciate the act, but I can handle myself, Mr. Castillo—”

“Harry,” he corrects you, “I think we’re well past the formalities now, don’t you think?”

“What, because you ‘saved’ me?” you retort.

“That’s exactly why,” the corner of his lips tug up into a small smirk, making you roll your eyes.

“Look, I’m trying to do my job for your father. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to it now.”

Harry chuckles fondly, watching you raise your camera back up to your eyes. You have a good work ethic, which he admires. But he also wonders if you ever took a break and truly winded down. There’s a huge chance that you don’t do anything remotely close to what he does to wind down, but he feels the need to push your boundaries.

Throughout the night, his gaze keeps landing on you. Watching you mingle with guests, take pictures, talk to his parents, and sip your own glass of champagne. There’s just something so intriguing about you and how you carry yourself. It’s not surprising that he’s thinking with his dick first, but he feels some sort of pull towards you. Like something within the both of you is calling out to each other.

It’s been weeks. 

Harry hasn’t been able to get you off his mind. He doesn’t think he’s ever fucked his fist as often as he has lately. He’s done it at least four times today, and he’s painfully hard again, but he can’t wrap his hand around his cock without hissing. 

You’re taking over his mind, and you haven’t even really done anything. 

He’s looked up the photography company you work for to see if your number is anywhere on it, but the website only has the owner’s information on it. 

Asking his parents would be the easy thing to do, but he doesn’t want to raise their suspicions. They already hassle him enough about finding someone to marry, and he doesn’t need more of it.

As if the Gods were blessing him, he looks up from his desktop just in time to see you walking by. A black portfolio folder is in your arms as you walk swiftly towards his father’s office. You’re probably here to drop off the pictures, but Harry knows that his parents are out on a lunch date.

Without really thinking it through, he leaves his office, walking past the many cubicles while keeping his eyes trained on you. You’re on the opposite side and have yet to notice him, but he catches up to you just before you make it to his father’s office door. 

Just as you’re about to knock, Harry slides right in front of you, blocking the door with his broad frame. Your palm meets his chest instead of the door, causing warmth to bloom throughout his entire body.

“Hey you,” Harry says, putting his hands in his pockets like he wasn’t entirely in your way.

“Hi,” you reply tentatively, dropping your hand down to your side. “Is your dad here?”

“No, he’s out on lunch,” he averts your gaze for a moment, making eye contact with his assistant before he looks back down at you.

“Oh, I was told to drop off the pictures here,” you murmur, tucking your hair behind your ear as you take a step back. “I’ll just come back later—”

“I can look at them,” Harry says a little too quickly, clearing his throat and backing off the door, “I mean, this is my firm just as much as it is my parents’. Let me look at them.”

“Okay,” you draw out, handing him the portfolio, “Your dad can email me if you guys aren’t happy with the photos.”

“I’m sure we will be,” Harry states matter-of-factly, giving you a charming smile as he takes the folder from you. He holds it like it’s something sacred, “We can get this done now, if you want. Why waste more time on this?”

You ponder his request, biting the inside of your cheek. The instructions your boss gave you were to drop the photos off, get all information if changes needed to be made, get lunch, and come back to edit photos for another company. But with Emiliano gone, Harry is your best option right now.

Reluctantly, you agree, following him to his office. The look he and his assistant share isn’t lost on you as he closes the door, drawing the blinds as well, plunging the room in partial darkness as the sun spills in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The cool leather quietly squeaks as you sit down across from his desk, watching him sit in his own chair and open the folder. He carefully studies each photo, not saying anything yet, but his dark eyes meet yours every now and then over the photographs. 

You shift under his heated gaze, crossing your leg over the other and sitting up straighter. 

Harry smirks faintly at your reaction, knowing he’s got you right where he wants you. “These look amazing,” he compliments, putting down the photographs to make eye contact with you.

You murmur a small thank you, intertwining your hands in your lap. “I’ll send them over to your father this afternoon so you guys can… do whatever you please with them.”

“And then we’re done?” he asks.

“And then we’re done,” you confirm, slowly nodding.

“So,” Harry starts, standing up to round his desk, “you won’t be working for my company anymore, right?” he asks, sitting on the edge of his desk – directly in front of you.

You can hear the frantic pulse of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. Though, you keep it strictly professional.

Harry’s eyes follow your movements as you stand, pressing his palms into his desk and looking at you with his big brown eyes. 

“That’s correct,” you confirm, straightening your posture and adjusting your suit jacket. “We won’t ever have to see each other again, Mr. Castillo.”

“Harry,” he corrects you again, “And who said anything about not seeing each other anymore?”

“I did.”

Harry huffs, shaking his head slowly, “You can be very disobedient. Someone outta teach you a lesson.”

Your eyes narrow by a fraction, taken aback by the sudden statement that came tumbling out of his mouth. “Is that what you tell all the women you sleep with?”

“I—”

“Women aren’t on this earth for men’s pleasure. We are people, and we have feelings,” you scoff.

Suddenly he stands, towering over you with his broad frame. But you don’t back down, standing your ground and looking up at him with a defiant look.

“I never told you anything about my sex life,” he states, his voice low.

“Aw, did I hit a nerve?” you pout, “I know you didn’t. I like to know the people that I work for, and it wasn’t that hard to find out about your… extracurricular activities, Mr. Castillo. Maybe you should make sure the women that you fuck are more tightlipped than they let on—”

Harry’s hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against the warmth of his body. You can feel his breath fanning over your face, his lips slightly agape as he stares down at you.

“Say one more thing,” he warns, eyes flicking to your lips momentarily. “I’m used to getting what I want, when I want it.”

“That must get very boring,” you tease with a tilt of your head. “You want me? Then earn it,” that’s all you leave it at before you step back from him, heading towards his office door. “Tell your father I said thank you for the opportunity,” a small smirk tugs at the corner of your lips, and then you’re gone.

Harry exhales harshly through his nose, running a hand through his curls as he’s left there: wanting you.

You gave him a challenge and he sure as hell isn’t going to back down.

Steam from your coffee mug curls around your laptop in lazy tendrils, patrons of the coffee shop chattering amongst themselves. The raised ceilings give the place a more open feel, the hissing of the espresso machines echoing throughout the building. 

Your friend, Samantha, sits across from you, telling you about her latest hookup. It’s some guy she met at a party a few months ago. They’ve been talking back and forth for a while and only recently decided to just bite the bullet and fuck.

She waves her hands around as she speaks, telling you in grave detail about the fun night she had.

“I think I blacked out at some point,” she mentions, prompting you to raise your brows in surprise.

“Jesus, Sammy,” you breathe out, astonished by the statement.

As the conversation goes on, she tries to press you into telling her about the last person you worked for.

“Have you heard from Harry?” she casually asks, earning narrowed eyes from you.

“Why would I have heard from him?”

“Because,” she draws out, lifting her coffee mug to her lips, “he definitely wanted to fuck you and you totally shot him down!”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “He’s just like every other rich asshole, Sam. He thinks he can walk all over people and expect them to polish his Italian shoes with their tongues. I don’t need anything like that.”

“So?” she shrugs, placing her elbows on the wooden table, “I bet he fucks like an animal.”

“Samantha,” you deadpan.

“What?” she feigns innocence, “He is a man that screams dominance in the bedroom. If you won’t get under him, I will.”

Against your will, a fire of possessiveness begins to burn in your gut, prompting you to narrow your eyes at your friend. She continues to talk, oblivious to the uneasiness you’re beginning to feel.

“It’s a crazy feeling being with someone that dominant and kinky,” she pauses, thinking. “Oo, maybe he has a sex dungeon—”

“Sam,” you shake your head once, “Enough.”

“I’m just saying,” her tone switches to something lighter, “maybe you’re missing out on what’s right in front of you.”

“Or maybe I dodged a bullet,” you tilt your head to the side slightly. “He’s like… in his 50s, Sam. You do know that, right?”

She shrugs, “Just because the wrapper is wrinkled, doesn’t mean the candy isn’t sweet.”

You raise your brows, amusement spreading across your face as you let out an incredulous chuckle. “You did not just say that. Do I need to take your phone away from you?”

“Probably,” she grimaces, “But seriously, he wants you. I don’t think you should let that go to waste.”

You press your lips into a fine line, hearing the murmurs of the cafe die down. Everyone’s gazes collectively fall to a single person who walks in, reeking of luxury and money. Like a moth to a flame, Samantha’s eyes lift as well.

You bite into your toast, the crunch a lot more audible than it should be in a busy cafe in New York. 

“Oh my God,” your friend murmurs, causing you to look up at her.

“What?” you ask, putting your hand over your mouth as you chew.

“Expensive looking hottie alert,” she states, nearly making you choke on your food.

You wipe the corner of your mouth, turning to look over your shoulder at who’s caught everyone’s attention. The world slows around you, Harry’s dark eyes locking onto yours as his signature smirk pulls at his lips.

“Wait, isn’t that—”

“Yes, it is,” you cut Sammy off, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as Harry begins to stalk towards you.

“Ladies,” Harry greets, nodding once towards your friend before his gaze locks onto yours. He crouches down to your level, so close that you can feel his breath fanning across your face. “Hi,” he murmurs to you, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

“Hi,” you repeat his words, narrowing your eyes at him. “How the hell did you find me?”

Harry nods towards Samantha again, “Your friend posts a lot on social media.”

Of course.

“Look—“

“I just wanted to personally invite you to the Crown Castillo Black & White Gala,” he speaks lowly for your ears only. “But…” he trails off, reaching for a manilla envelope from the inside of his suit jacket, “I’d like you to look over something for me.”

“Is it regarding the photos I took?” you ask steadily, not looking away from his deep espresso eyes. 

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, drawing your eyes towards it. “Not necessarily, but it is business.”

You tilt your head to the side, “What—”

“Just think about it and have an answer by the night of the gala.” He hands you the envelope, standing up and straightening his suit jacket. “I look forward to doing business with you.”

The second you get to your apartment, the sound of the envelope ripping fills the empty space. You pull out a thick packet of white paper. The title page reads: “THE COMMENCEMENT DATE BETWEEN THE DOMINANT AND THE SUBMISSIVE”

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you blurt out immediately.

Your thoughts start to swarm as you glance through the pages, words like sex toys, gags, and whipping sticking out to you.

He wants you to be his sex slave?

Did he listen to a single word you told him in his office?

Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you pull it out without thinking. A new email pops up on your lock screen, Harry Castillo being the obvious name as the sender.

The packet hits your kitchen counter with a sharp thud as you unlock your phone, quickly opening the email he sent.

“Good afternoon, I hope this email finds you well.”

You narrow your eyes at the first line before you continue reading.

“I hope you consider reading over the packet I left with you. Whatever you aren’t willing to do, I will accept immediately and set up a meeting to change them. Please read over everything. All I need is your written consent.”

You scoff, placing your phone face down on the counter, hands gripping the edge of it until your knuckles are white. Darkness envelops you when you close your eyes, your breathing picking up as you attempt (and fail) to process whatever the fuck you just read.

There’s no way this is real life, right? People don’t actually do this outside of movies.

Right?

The thick packet taunts you when you open your eyes, sticking out like a sore thumb in your peripheral vision. 

As the weeks go by, the contract sits untouched in your nightstand drawer. Harry emails you, but most of the time you don’t respond, earning desperate messages from him late at night. 

You don’t know what to think about the situation. Honestly, you thought everything you found out about him were all lies, but this seems pretty fucking real to you.

The night before the gala, you build up the courage to show up at his office. You briskly walk past the security, the packet held tightly against your chest as you reach for the elevator, repeatedly pressing the button for his floor until the doors close.

You exhale in relief once the security guards faces are no longer in view, leaning back against the back wall. Briefly, you look down at the contract again, the word submissive staring back at you.

That isn’t who you are. Isn’t who you were going to be.

You refused to bend yourself to a man’s will just to please him. It goes against everything you stand for.

The elevator dinging pulls you out of your thoughts, the doors sliding open to reveal his floor. It’s dark and quiet, nothing like the other times you’ve been here. Your heels echo in the space as you step out. 

Too loud. 

Too final.

You turn back around to leave but the doors close too quickly, sealing your decision.

A familiar voice calls out your name, you looking over your shoulder to see Harry’s assistant, Rick, walking towards you.

“Sorry,” you call for the elevator again before turning around to face him, “I shouldn’t have come here. I was just leaving—”

“Mr. Castillo will see you now.”

That catches your attention, the doors sliding open behind you and revealing the two security guards. Rick holds up his hand, signaling them away. “We’re fine here. She has an appointment.”

The men share a look, deciding it’s best not to say anything.

“Please, right this way, miss,” Rick beckons you to follow him.

You glance back at the two brawly men, figuring that it’s best not to get in the elevator with them since you technically just snuck into the building. Against your better judgement and your body screaming at you not to, you follow Rick to Harry’s office.

There’s nobody on the floor. Not even a single janitor in sight. It’s like a ghost town, or one of those horror movies that start off with a vulnerable woman left alone in an office building. Nine times out of ten, she ends up dead in her car.

Rick knocks on Harry’s closed office door twice before opening it. “Have fun.”

“Wait, you aren’t staying?” you ask quietly, watching him shake his head.

“I don’t work overtime.” With that, he gathers his things and heads back towards the elevator, leaving you alone with a stranger that asked you to be his submissive through a packet of paper.

You walk in slowly, noting that his eyes immediately dart down to your bare legs as he stands. He says your name, nodding in greeting. “I’ve been expecting you. Please, shut the door.”

Hesitantly, you close the door behind yourself, feeling like you’re sealing a deal without signing your signature.

“Why were you expecting me?” you ask, walking deeper into his office. The skyline of New York City gleams behind him, like diamonds against a dark sky.

He shrugs faintly, placing his hands in his pockets. “Women usually come around to these sorts of things.”

The statement nearly gives you whiplash, your fingers tightening around the contract before you toss it onto his desk with a sharp thwack.

“Is that what you think? That women want to be your little plaything?”

“It’s not about that,” Harry claims, rounding his desk to stand in front of you. “It’s more about… testing your limits. Seeing how far you’ll go, learning what pleases you—”

You hold out your hand, “I’m gonna stop you right there.” Harry goes quiet, allowing you the space to speak freely, “You tell me one thing, but the contract says another.”

“So you read it?” he asks.

“No, I only read the title page,” you explain. “Sex shouldn’t be a business deal. A relationship shouldn’t be a business deal.”

Harry weighs your words, rolling his tongue over his teeth. “I prefer the term fucking.”

“I didn’t ask.”

He chuckles faintly, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting on the edge of his desk. “If you want to change things in the contract—”

“No, you don’t get it,” you cut him off again, stepping closer, “I didn’t want it in the first place. Did our conversation in this very office just fly over your head?”

“No, it didn’t,” he claims, shaking his head slowly, “but I can tell that you want more from me.”

Harry stands slowly, closing the last bit of space between the two of you until you have to tilt your chin up to look at him directly. A faint smirk tugs at his lips, “What is it that you want? Money? Jewelry—”

“You can’t buy me, Harry,” you interrupt him. “I won’t sign your sex contract and I don’t want to see your face again.”

He nods once, “You came to my office at 9PM just to tell me that? Something you could’ve emailed me or told me over the phone.”

You roll your eyes.

“I mean, it’s a little much, don’t you think?” he asks.

“No, you’re right,” you take a slow step back, “Goodbye, Mr. Castillo.”

You turn around, exhaling through your nose as you begin to head for his office door. Before you can get too far, you feel his hand wrap around your wrist, spinning you around until you’re flush against his chest. The collision steals all the air from your lungs, hands instinctively coming up to steady yourself on his biceps. 

Harry’s breath mingles with yours, one of his hands coming up to cup the nape of your neck before he crashes his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

A sound of surprise leaves you, and without thinking, you push at him just enough to jostle him before your hand flies across his face. Your hand stings from the force of it, causing you to shake off the pain. Harry keeps his head turned to the side for a moment, his gaze dark when he looks back at you.

What you don’t expect is for him to spin the both of you around, sending everything on his desk flying before he bends you over it.

“Is this what you wanted, princess?” he rasps, breath hot against your ear as he hikes up your skirt.

“Harry—” a low moan cuts you off when he sucks at your pulse point, the rapid flutter of your heartbeat quivering in between his teeth.

He slips his foot between your legs, kicking them apart before he delivers a harsh smack to your ass. You jolt forward upon impact, a sharp gasp leaving your lips. He soothes the plush skin, rubbing his hand along the red spot that’s started to bloom from the force of his palm.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs in your ear, the metallic rattle of his belt unbuckling filling the office. 

“This is a bad idea,” you weakly protest. Though, you make absolutely no effort to move.

“Really?” he taunts, dropping his slacks and boxers in one go. “You’re saying one thing… but your body is saying another,” he repeats what you said in his own twisted way, peeling your lacy panties to the side.

The cool air hits your slick heat, sending a shiver throughout your body. You know this shouldn’t happen. Fuck, you shouldn’t have even shown up here tonight. But then he swipes the tip of his cock through your folds, parting them, smearing your slick as well as his precum. 

His hand is steady on your hip, the other gripping the base of himself as he repeatedly stimulates your clit with his swollen tip until your knees nearly buckle. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, “you’re so pretty.”

“Just shut up and fuck me,” you quip.

Harry chuckles darkly, shoving himself in, the stretch stealing the air from your lungs as you both moan in unison. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to his girth before he’s fucking you raw. The obscene slap of wet skin against each other fills the space of the office, his breathy grunts behind you stirring you on.

Push him back, you repeat in your head over and over again. It feels so right, like the Earth’s axis has finally shifted into place as your slick velvet walls greedily suck him in deeper. But you know this shouldn’t be happening – you worked for his family, he left a fucking sex contract with you, and he’s the most cocky son of a bitch you’ve ever met.

Not to mention, absolutely infuriating.

But he feels too good, angling his hips to reach parts of you that have never been touched before. You’ll get your fill just this once, you tell yourself, succumbing to the feeling of him splitting you open.

“Look at you,” he purrs, “taking my cock so well, baby.” Another gasp comes tumbling from your lips when he smacks the supple skin of your ass, watching it ripple with every deep thrust.

The ruthless pace has you mewling, arching your back until your arms are straight forward across the surface of his desk. Harry wraps your hair around his hand, using it to pull your head back and fuck you harder.

“Yesyesyes,” you chant, your jaw going slack, the sting of your hair being pulled, an odd but welcome sensation.

Harry’s other hand slides up to your waist, indenting his fingertips into your skin. “Is this how you like it?” he punctuates between thrusts, “I knew you’d be fucking perfect.”

For now, you ignore the comment, too focused on your pending orgasm and the roaring of your blood rushing in your ears. “Ohh, fuck,” you slur, feeling every ridge of his cock stimulate your sensitive spots perfectly – like it was made to ruin you specifically.

He groans, gritting his teeth as your walls squeeze his shaft. Without much warning, he hooks his forearm under you, lifting your upper body towards his. His hot breath fans over your ear, deep grunts telling you he’s just as affected as you are.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growls, tugging at your blouse until your tits spill free. Roughly, he takes one in his warm palm, massaging the soft skin and rolling your peaked nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

You lean your head back on his shoulder, closing your eyes and pulling your bottom lip between your teeth when his hand leaves your waist to wrap around your throat. He squeezes gently, feeling the frantic pulse of your heartbeat under the pads of his fingers.

“Harry,” you whimper, heat pooling low in your abdomen as you near your peak.

“Shit,” he hisses, your walls pulsing and squeezing him just right. “You gonna come for me?” he rasps, slipping his hand between your legs to circle your swollen clit. 

Your vision goes blurry around the edges, incoherent moans toppling out of your lips as shockwaves spark through your body in fast-rising surges. Blood roars in your ears, your body threatening to double over, but Harry holds you tightly to his heaving chest.

He lets out a ragged groan, bending you back over the desk and pulling out just in time to release his thick, hot, white spurts of cum. He shudders through his orgasm, fucking his fist until he has nothing left to give.

The room stills, both of you breathing heavily from your equally intense climaxes. Your heart pounds in your ears, mind a little hazy and not fully coherent as you lift yourself up, palms pressing into the desk.

Harry pulls up his boxers and slacks, grabbing the box of tissues on his desk to clean up the mess he made.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks quietly when you don’t speak, watching you adjust your clothes and hair back into place.

“No,” you shake your head, turning around to face him, “it was good.”

He hums in acknowledgement, “So will I see you tomorrow night?”

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out just yet. Honestly, you hadn’t thought about whether or not you would go to the gala. What would you even do there besides accompany him and fulfill his… needs?

“I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

Harry steps closer, closing the distance between the two of you and placing his hands on the desk behind you. This way, you have to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes.

“You should go,” he murmurs, leaning in to press his plush lips to yours, giving you a tender kiss that you didn’t think he was capable of. 

Despite yourself, warmth blooms in your chest, leaving you wanting more. 

Everything feels wrong: your heels are too uncomfortable, dress too tight – too long, jewelry too heavy.

You felt completely out of place. This isn’t your crowd. You’re always the one in the back, a professional black dress and pumps on your body, camera in hand while you blend in with the wall. 

You’ve never been in the sea of people you take pictures of.

The building is 24 stories, drowning in exquisite taste and class – something you definitely missed the lesson on in school. Chandeliers scream money, reflecting off the lights and the diamonds dangling from women's necks. 

Soft jazz music fills the lobby, creating an alluring atmosphere that eases your nerves for the moment. 

A worker offers to take your coat, hanging it up with the rest when you give it to him. You feel exposed, anxiety rising once more now that your dress is revealed. It was a black off-the-shoulder dress, the back of it stopping in the middle of your back. 

Goosebumps sprinkle across your skin, shrinking you into your own warmth as you take cautious steps towards the grand double doors. Your heels clack on the marble floors, echoing in your ears.

Inside, classical music drifts through the air, strangers chatting too loudly and overlapping one another. 

What the fuck were you doing here?

This isn’t your scene and you’re already going against your morals – stepping out of your comfort zone because a man asked you to.

On instinct, you stick close to the back wall, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, but also not wanting to intrude. 

Neither Harry or his family are anywhere to be seen, tempting you to leave before you’re noticed by anyone.

Servers pass by, not giving you a second glance as you practically hug the wall. One walks by holding glasses of champagne and you don’t hesitate to grab one, hoping the fizzy beverage will ease your racing heart.

It’s just a party, you tell yourself. Hell, not even a party, this could pass as someone’s fucking wedding reception.

Just before you burrow deeper into your inner turmoil, everyone goes silent – even the music. Someone on a microphone somewhere introduces the Castillo family and everyone claps. You look around for a moment, lost, before you tuck your clutch under your arm and clap along with them; careful of your glass of champagne.

“Happy birthday, Mrs. Castillo!”

“Happy birthday, Ana!”

People begin shouting out, the older woman laughing and wrapping an arm around her husband.

Harry invited you to his mother’s birthday party and acted like it was just another annual gala.

Jesus Christ.

After a while, you manage to make your way to the bar, successfully ignoring Harry to the best of your abilities. You don’t move from your spot until he disappears into the crowd and you’re 100% sure he can’t see you.

You order a vodka martini, downing it pretty quickly before you pop the olive in your mouth. The sting tingles your throat, causing you to clear it into your hand, ordering another one.

“There you are,” a familiar voice says behind you, placing his forearms on the counter. “You’re avoiding me.”

You stand up straighter, rolling a toothpick in between your fingers. “Am I?” you query, tilting your head to the side. “You don’t even know how long I’ve–”

“I noticed you the second I walked in,” Harry cuts you off, rendering you speechless for a second.

He chuckles when you don’t respond, another glass being replaced with your empty one. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“A little, yeah,” you murmur, nodding before you sip on your drink.

Harry watches your throat work when you swallow, his mind going to more impure places. “You wanna get out of here?”

You raise your brows, “Isn’t this your mom’s party?” you pause, leaning in and lowering your voice. “Y’know, I don’t appreciate how you blindsided me with that, by the way. I would’ve brought a present.”

He chuckles, straightening up and looking down at you. “Now where would the fun be in that?” he asks, pausing before adding, “Plus, you didn’t need to. My mom already adores you.”

Surprise flashes across your face before you remember that you worked with her and her husband – not just Harry. “Well, she was lovely to work for,” you murmur.

“So what do you say?” he asks, leaning in to whisper in your ear, “Let’s go somewhere more private.”

Your skin tingles, not only from his tone of voice, but also from his proximity. In order to keep your sanity, you press your palm against his chest, pushing him just a bit. “Just because we had sex doesn’t mean that we’re together now.”

“Really?” he draws out, straightening up and placing his hands in his pockets. “So you’re not gonna go home with me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

The city of New York twinkles below, reflecting in your irises. There hasn’t been a time where you’ve seen the city like this: so high up and a lot clearer. 

“You can see most of the city from here,” you murmur to Harry once he steps behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and turning you around.

“Wouldn’t you rather look at me?” he teases, earning an eye roll from you.

“You do that a lot,” he points out.

“Do what?”

“Roll your eyes at me.”

A small smirk tugs at your lips, “And you’ve deserved it every single time.”

Harry’s hands tighten on your waist, pulling you flush against the hard planes of his body. “Have you thought about the contract anymore?”

Your expression falters, opening your mouth but nothing comes out. In your hasty escape from his office last night, you completely forgot about the contract. “No, because I don’t have it anymore. Plus, I already told you my answer.”

His eyes narrow by a fraction before he pulls you by your wrist, leading you up the stairs in his penthouse. 

“Harry,” you try to get him to stop, but he tightens his grip on your wrist.

“I just need you to see,” he states, stopping in front of a locked door and fishing the key out of his pocket.

The lock clicks, your heart races, practically in your throat as he opens the door. Lights slowly turn on, reflecting off of the deep red of the walls. Harry gestures for you to go first, and your breath catches in your throat when you step inside. 

“Oh, my God,” you whisper, your body going rigid, the shock evident on your face. 

A king-size bed sits in the middle of the room, gold hoops attached to the four bedposts. The walls look like a horrific murder scene, a wine red making everything seem more intense and unnerving.

“This is my playroom,” Harry announces.

Your eyes are wide, lips agape as you assess the sight in front of you. “Yeah, I can see that,” you breathe, “Jesus Christ, Harry–”

“Before you start,” he cuts you off, “just look around. Nothing in here can harm you, I promise.”

You glance at him sideways before he stands off to the side, giving you free reign to look around. Your eyes dart around the room, trying to figure out what you’re looking at. Hesitantly, you put one foot in front of the other, heels clacking against the hardwood floor.

The wall on your right is lined with various paddles and sensory toys. A rack of items you’ve never seen before sits in front of the bed, and without really thinking, you run your fingers through the rough material.

“That’s called a flogger,” Harry informs you, moving to hover beside you.

You snatch your hand back like you’ve been burned, suddenly remembering his reputation and the other women he’s most likely used this stuff on. Crossing your arms over your chest, you move on, examining the various cuffs and gag toys he has.

“Say something,” he murmurs, “Please.”

You take a deep breath, tilting your head back to look at the ceiling as you muster up the courage to even open your mouth again. Only, you realize that the expanse of the ceiling is covered in a metal grid system. Bondage is the first thing you think of.

You knew he was kinky, you just didn’t know how kinky… Until now, that is.

What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

This has never been something you’ve been remotely interested in, and now it is right in your face. 

Finally, you look back at Harry. “You do this stuff to women?” you ask, even though you already know the answer.

“Yes,” he confirms, “but everyone walks away happy.”

“H-How?” you stammer, some of your willpower returning to your body. “You’re a sadist.”

“Dominant,” Harry corrects you, earning an eye roll from you. “That right there,” he points at you, “If you were mine, you wouldn’t be able to sit for a week.”

“Excuse me?” you chuckle breathlessly, crossing your arms tighter across your chest. “By definition, you are a sadist. You get off on people’s pain.”

“It’s not that,” he states, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I told you: it’s all about testing limits.”

“Why?” you shrug, “Why would you want to…” you gesture towards the dangling whips on the opposite wall, “use these kinds of things on people?”

“For pleasure,” he answers like it’s completely obvious.

You shake your head slowly, “You can’t just enjoy regular sex like everyone else?”

When he doesn’t answer, you continue. “I don’t know what you want from me, but I sure as hell know that this isn’t a relationship.”

“I never said anything about a relationship.”

That’s what gets you. Your brows knit, an unfamiliar ache settling in your heart. “Then what the fuck are you doing with me?”

Instead of answering, he grabs a silk ribbon from a drawer, walking back over to you. “Hold out your wrists,” he instructs.

You glare up at him, and he senses your defiance. “I’m not gonna use them to force you into anything, I promise.”

To make sure he knows you don’t want to do this, you continue glaring at him as you slowly hold out both wrists. His signature smirk pulls at his lips, his hands deftly tying the red silk around you. Once tied, he tugs harshly, pulling a gasp from your lips.

“It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“No,” you whisper, meeting his eyes. “No, it doesn’t.”

“All the fear is in your head,” he voices firmly, letting the silk slip from your wrists.

A thought pops into your mind as you drop your hands to your sides. “If you want to… continue having sex with me, then why can’t we be together?”

“This is the only kind of relationship I associate myself with.”

Confusion stretches across your face, your brows furrowing as you try to see through his facade. He’s telling you one thing, but the way he’s acting is the complete opposite. He almost seems… obsessed with you; he hasn’t left you alone for months, he tracked you down via Samantha’s Instagram stories, and now he is trying to force a contract on you to keep you.

To you, it seems like he enjoys the thrill of the chase rather than anything else.

“How many women have you done this with?”

All you know is what you and your friend could find on the internet, and honestly, it wasn’t much. News outlets are very vague when it comes to Harry Castillo’s personal relationships, and it makes you curious.

He tosses the ribbon onto the bed, placing his hands in his pockets. “Let’s not go there right now.”

“Why not?” you push gently, closing the distance between the two of you, only for him to suddenly take a step back.

Oh, is all you can think as you stare up at him, trying to read between the lines of what he’s not telling you.

“How many?” you repeat your question earnestly, keeping your place.

Harry rolls his tongue over his teeth, “Twenty.”

“Twenty?” you breathe, all of the air leaving your lungs at once. “Christ, Fabio,” you joke, deflecting the situation.

Your mind swims within multiple questions.

Who’s to say that there won’t be twenty more after you?

How has his dick not fallen off?

Do you need to get tested?

The two of you fucked raw on his desk. You should definitely get tested.

Harry doesn’t laugh at your joke, his face remains serious. “It’s the way I am.”

“Why?” you ask quietly, almost scared of the answer.

His lips press into a fine line, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Abruptly, he grabs you by your upper arm, leading you out of the room and locking up behind the two of you. 

In the hallway, you can think clearly, not intimidated by the actual sex dungeon you were just in. You swallow thickly when he turns to face you, he seems steady but his eyes tell you otherwise. There’s the smallest hint of vulnerability in them, and it’s gone the moment you notice it.

“Be honest with me,” Harry says, “what are you thinking?”

You exhale sharply. What are you supposed to think after being shown that? It is the exact opposite of what you firmly stand on, but he seems set in his own ways.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, heading for the stairs. “That’s… a lot to take in,” you look over your shoulder, seeing that he’s following a few steps behind you.

“If you don’t want anything to do with me anymore,” he stops at the end of the hallway, looking down at you, “that’s completely fine.”

You know he’s not fine with it, but you appreciate the statement more than you’d ever let on. “I just,” you start, trying to find the right words as you process what he showed you, “I don’t think I can do that: bend to the will of someone else. That’s not me.”

He nods slowly, his eyes mimicking a puppy. It’s almost enough to make you change your mind.

Almost.

“I can’t be one of your girls – I won’t.”

part 2

a/n: i couldn't find anything like this so i wrote it myself 🌝 ive genuinely only been thinking about fifty shades since i watched it in december and Harry was the perfect character to write something related to those movies on. this isn't like anything else ive written so im stepping out of my comfort zone a bit here 😅 but i hope you enjoyed reading it. feedback is much appreciated! (part 2 soon i hope lmao)

᯽ tags: @missladym1981 , @kirsteng42 , @mcthsman , @petalsinblood , @rosharanfiction , @cherrycokeispunk , @cuteanimalmama , @harriedandharassed , @madpanda75 , @shadowqueen2024 , @picketniffler , @kokoluwie , @reedispunk , @umadirectioner , @katyispunk , @missadangel , @time-for-my-weekly-spanking , @missadangel , @stylesispunk , @milla-frenchy , @gothcsz , @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 , @sunshineflowersandkisses

dividers by @/angeliicide

You tell yourself that it’s Joel’s fault. He is the one that started this stalking game, after all, so he is the only one to blame when you shove both soup containers in your bag and casually strolls by the new-ish apartment complex at the edge of town— You’re not certain this is where he moved into but it seems like the obvious choice, most of the condos are still empty because nobody really wants to move to your town and the people already living in it don’t really want to move out of the houses they’ve been living in for decades. You tell yourself that you’re not staking, that you’re going just a little crazy because your period is late and you’ve never had to deal with that before and you’re hormonal and all that bullshit people say when they want to demean a woman’s actions.

Truth is, you miss his steady odd presence, and Tommy’s words about being one of ‘Joel’s people’ has been stuck in your mind ever since. His truck isn’t parked anywhere in the small parking lot of the condo complex and you tell yourself that it’s fine, it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He could be at work, or maybe Tommy left with his truck, and a myriad of other reasons as to why Joel wouldn’t be home at seven pm on a Thursday. 

Tommy had said Joel was indisposed. Maybe he’s at the local clinic, getting treatment for whatever ailed him. So, on your way back home, you walk past the clinic just in case. His truck isn’t there either, and you try to tell yourself that this is a good thing. Maybe Joel skipped town. Maybe he got mauled by the wolf and Tommy and Sarah left and you didn’t hear anything about it because you haven’t watched the news since they announced they’d be hunting down your wolf. 

Maybe he is hiding, because you told the black wolf that he should.

When you finally get home it’s close to 9 pm and the streets are entirely empty, the lamp post near your driveway flickering, cicadas screaming from the woods even though it’s not warm enough for them to be making so much noise. The full moon is high in the sky, so bright it bathes your living room with its pale, silvery light. 

There is a dark mass in the middle of your living room. It looks like a small nest, animal pelts and thick blankets and pillows arranged in a circle formation; your couch has been pushed back along with your coffee table, the nest placed above your rug, just under the TV. The entire room smells of pine trees and something warmer, muskier and comforting that makes you think of the inside of Joel’s truck. You pause, front door still open, half expecting Joel to pop out from somewhere but there is no one other than you; you have no idea how he got in, every window closed and the back door properly locked and for a ludicrous moment you think that, maybe, he knows about the spare key you keep on your back porch. It’s probably too easy to find but you’ve kept it there for the past two years, after one too many times locking yourself out of the house, and you’ve never had any trouble with it until now. 

You don’t take away the key.

Instead you simply shut your curtains, turn on the TV and lay down in the nest: It’s warm and comfortable and smells like him. It lulls you into a state of half sleep, the uncomfortable cramps and lower back pains you’ve been getting for the past week or so melting away as if you were wearing a heating pad. You stay there in your work clothes for over an hour, too tired to get up and shower until your hungry stomach protests so loud you drag yourself into the kitchen. You know there’s leftover green beans casserole that your grandmother made and, while it doesn’t taste much of anything, you don’t really have the strength to cook anything else. 

An entire tray of lasagna awaits you inside your fridge. It’s covered in plastic wrap and in a deep dish you know is not yours but that is not the only thing that calls out to your eyes: The fridge is full. Orange juice and milk and little containers of sliced figs and peaches, small round packets of Baybel cheese and yogurt cups and soft drinks. The freezer is packed with glass containers of homemade meals, all of them labeled with best by dates and small descriptions of what is inside— Steaks, roasted vegetables, all sorts of rice and pasta and some shit you’ll have to Google to figure out what it is.

He just got a weird way of takin’ care of his people. The whole ordeal makes you want to cry. You don’t remember the last time anyone did anything for you, and you certainly don't think anyone has ever gone through such lengths— Your grandmother used to cook, sure, but feeding you was more a byproduct of her having to feed herself than actual concern for whether or not you were healthy. You eat the lasagna, which you presume it’s what he wants you to eat first considering it is the only meal not frozen, and then you take a hot shower and lay down on your nest, a rerun of Full House playing on TV that you’re too tired to pay any attention to.

Your period finally comes at some point throughout the night and you drag yourself out of the nest, terrified that you might’ve stained it. Everything is clean and in order, however, so you just put a pad in place before climbing back into the nest— From the living room window you think you catch a pair of glowing eyes in between the trees but it’s already gone by the time you crane your neck to get a proper look.

You think someone would arrest you for loitering with how much time you spend on your Sunday afternoon prowling the grocery store parking lot. Joel isn’t at church that morning so, after service, you walk to the only grocery store in town that sells the brand of frozen raspberries you found in your freezer— The fancy, chocolate-covered kind that you had never eaten before because of how expensive it is and that almost made you cry when you first tasted it. You tell yourself that you’re going in because you just want to check if there are any sales on the dog treats you got for the wolf but, in the end, there’s no need. Joel walks through the doors just as you’re gathering the courage to go inside, pushing his cart with one hand and holding his phone to his ear with the other. 

The only tell he gives to make you think he’s noticed you is the way his chest puffs a little, coming to his full height as he walks towards his truck, mumbling something that sounds angry into his phone. You jog to catch up to his long strides, squeezing yourself between Joel and the truck before he can start loading up with his bags. 

“I gotta go.” He says to the phone, one brow quirked at you as he pockets it. 

“What the fuck is going on?”

Joel maneuvers around you, placing the grocery bags in the bed of his truck with the sort of nonchalance that makes it seem like you’re talking about the weather but you can see how his lips tighten into a stern line. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the shit, Joel. Showing up to my doorstep with food and period advice is creepy enough, but breaking into my house? The weird little nest and the food in my fridge—” You blink, a thought striking you for the first time. “And the bear skin. That was you too, right?” 

You feel a little silly at how long it’s taken you to figure that out, because it makes a lot more sense than assuming the wolf had brought it to you— Which had been your first thought and, now that there is a more plausible explanation, you’re more than a little embarrassed.

He shrugs, not answering at first, unloading his groceries with care as you tap your foot and puff. Joel walks the cart to its proper location before he comes back and opens the passenger door. You’re floored when he motions for you to get in, your fingers tightening into fists to keep yourself from shoving at his chest— His broad, thick-looking chest. 

“Get in, ‘m drivin’ you home.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” You hiss through clenched teeth. “Now answer me.”

“It’s goin’ to rain, you’ll catch a cold walkin’ home.” Joel looks up to the sky, weariness on his face as he stares at the heavy dark clouds. “Get in.”

“Fuck you.”

“Get in the truck.” 

Your body moves on its own even as you think that you really, really shouldn’t be getting anywhere near his car. But it’s almost as if you can’t control yourself, as if the need to follow through with his orders has hijacked the logical part of your brain. Joel helps you inside, leaning a little too close as he clicks your seatbelt into place before he settles on the driver’s seat. 

There is something very wrong. It’s as if you’re not driving your own body, as if with those four words Joel has taken a hold of every muscle, tendon, sinew and bone inside of you. You’re on the verge of tears, your stomach tight and your entire body feels like it’s been dunked inside an ice bath but Joel simply turns the radio on and drives away. 

“What did you do to me?” This time, instead of angry, your voice sounds every bit as scared as you feel. 

“You’re stubborn.” Joel responds but he’s a little pale, his eyes a little too wide as he, too, is afraid. “I’m sorry, but I can’t have you gettin’ sick.” 

“Why? Why are you doing this?” You turn to face him, tears blurring your vision and Joel turns to stare at you for so long you think he might crash but his eyes fly back to the street just in time. “The gifts and the stalking me at work and— And the food? It’s fucking weird, man.”

Joel doesn’t answer for a long time, his fingers tightening and then relaxing over the steering wheel exactly nine times before he finally speaks up. 

“You told me you couldn’t afford the steak. You can’t take proper care of yourself, but I can.”

Your breath stutters, chin wobbling as you think back to the wolf, the same eyes and the scar and the fucking Pup-peroni that you bought on discount. You click off the seatbelt and, before Joel can protest, you open the truck’s door and throw yourself onto the busy street.

You wake up to dark wooden ceilings and voices arguing down the hall. You recognize Joel’s voice right away but it takes you a moment to place the other man’s voice as Tommy. Or at least you think it might be him, based on how thick his accent is— Thicker than Joel’s, and even his is a lot harsher than anything you’ve ever heard. 

You sit up from the bed you’re laying on and your head spins, stomach churning at the movement. Your arm burns just a little, and there is a thick white cloth wrapped around your forearm— You know it is hiding a nasty case of road burn, had seen the strip of skin that peeled from your forearm as you rolled onto the hot pavement just before your head hit the curb. You’re surprised that your head isn’t hurting considering how hard the blow to your temple was and when you touch the side of your face it’s just slightly tender, like an old bruise that is already half healed.

You know you’re in Joel’s bedroom without needing to be told— The furniture is old but well maintained, dark tones and little wooden trinkets spread on top of the dresser intermixed with a couple picture frames. There is a mirror and a leather chair in one corner of the room, a dark blue flannel thrown over it. But, most of all, the room smells like him. Like the inside of his truck and the nest he made in your living room, warm and woodsy and so comforting you’re tempted to lay back down onto the red comforter.

He walks into the room before you can do something you’ll regret, giving the door a single knock before he comes inside. 

“Am I kidnapped?” You ask, your voice holding more tiredness than anger. You’re not as scared as you ought to be, you belatedly realize— Mostly you’re just exhausted, and the scent of Joel’s bed is calling to you like a siren’s song. 

“No, of course not.” He frowns as if the idea is preposterous, and you hear something like ‘fuckin’ told ya!’ coming from Tommy somewhere down the hall. “You got hurt, I needed to take you somewhere you could rest. I’ll drive you home whenever you want.”

You want to say you want to leave right now, but the words don’t really come out and Joel gives you a small smile as if he knows exactly why. “Supper’s almost ready. Eat with us and then I’ll take you home.” 

“Okay.” The word is barely a whisper before you’re laying back down. Joel nods, once, but you can see the satisfaction on his face. You don’t think you can sleep, considering the weight and meaning of Joel’s words before you jumped out of the car but his smell envelops you like a hug, the comforter pulled all the way up to your nose and you’re unconscious before you can think about how the only living being that is supposed to know the truth about your financial situation is the killer wolf.

Supper is a quiet affair for the most part. Joel serves you and Sarah with a plate of smoked brisket, cornbread and roasted vegetables— Tommy skips the vegetables, shoving his brisket slices inside the cornbread, which Sarah tries to imitate and ends up with crumbled cornbread and shredded meat on the ground. You keep your eyes on your plate but your chest warms with Joel’s low laughter, the soft tilt of his voice as he speaks with the little girl. He calls her pup again and, while you had first thought it to be just a petname, the word brings dread to your stomach now. 

“Y’know, I reckon you would’a run screamin’ by now.” Tommy speaks over Sarah’s soft babble and you snap your head towards him. He has an easy grin on his lips but you see the worry in the scrunch of his brows. 

“I tried,” You reply in a voice that sounds like your own but doesn’t feel like it. You raise your arm a little bit, motioning to the bandage. “Didn’t work.”

Tommy barks out a laugh and from the corner of your eyes you can see Joel tense, his attention now on the both of you. 

“Funny girl.” Tommy points at you with his beer bottle. “I like it.” 

It’s not a joke and, by the pained look on Joel’s face, he knows you mean it. You go back to staring at your plate, shoulders drawn tight, and finish your meal in silence. 

True to his word, Joel drives you home as soon as your plate is cleared. He brings Sarah with him and you think it’s more for your benefit than anything else, her squeaky toy in the backseat filling up the heavy silence. Joel doesn’t live in the apartment complex as you expected, but in a two story home with a craftsman architecture that you had never seen before because of how deep into the woods it is, with a twenty-five minutes drive through gravel and dirt just to hit the main road and then another forty minutes before he parks in front of your house. 

“At what time do you drop off from work tomorrow?” He asks as you struggle to take off your seatbelt, your fingers shaking so badly you can barely unclick it. 

“Fuck you.” You say, only then realizing you probably shouldn’t curse in front of the child but Joel doesn’t seem bothered by it. He just hums, his fingers tapping repeatedly against the steering wheel. 

“I’m workin’ at the Johnson’s house until four, then I’ll stop by the pharmacy and pick you up. Not safe for ya to keep walkin’ around by yourself.”

You don’t want to answer him, already climbing out of the truck, but his words make you see red. 

“And why is that, Joel? Because I might run into the wolf that’s been murdering people?”

His upper lip curls into a snarl for a brief moment before his face slacks back into nothingness. 

“Animals gotta eat, darlin’. ‘S how nature works.” 

“I hope the hunters shoot you dead.” You hiss, slamming the truck’s door with a lot more force than necessary before stomping all the way to your front door.

The injuries are all almost gone. It’s been, at most, twelve hours since you jumped out of Joel’s moving car but the bump on your temple is entirely gone, replaced with a bruise that is already starting to fade back into your normal skin tone and the road burn on your arm — the one you watched the flesh being ripped off of — is tender and slightly discolored but your skin is perfectly mended together as if the injury had happened weeks ago, not just hours. You stare at yourself in the mirror for so long the shower runs cold even before you get in but it feels like the sort of penance that you deserve.

You’re pretty sure you blew it. Life goes on as it usually does, but without Joel’s presence: The wolf’s body count keeps stacking, townsfolk keep trying to hunt it down with no success, but you don’t see him anymore. Not at church, not at the grocery store, not in the woods. 

You feel like you’re going crazy, your entire body craving him as if a piece of your very soul is gone. Your house doesn’t smell like him anymore, Jenny moves on to different gossip, the food in your fridge dwindles back to frozen mac and cheese and discounted candy. You drink and smoke more often, coming in late for work so often that you know you’re on the verge of getting fired and you really, really can’t afford that but you also can’t find it in yourself to care.

The timing with Céline’s call is abhorrently terrible. You’re high and just a little tipsy when your phone lights up late at night as you try to bury yourself in a pathetic attempt of imitating the nest Joel made for you— It’s not as comfortable or as calming, doesn’t have his scent and the pillows aren’t stacked as comfortably as he made them and it somehow only makes you feel worse. You almost don’t pick up, but it’s been so long that you’ve seen your best friend’s face and you’re so, so alone. 

Céline smiles bright and wide when you finally pick up the FaceTime call, her eyelids covered in glitter and, from the reflection of the mirror behind her, you can see her fiancé skipping from one side of the room to the other, halfway through putting on a sparkling drag outfit. You try to imitate her smile but it feels like a cheap copy of it, much like the nest you’re on. Céline’s smile wavers a little when she sees you and you can only guess what she’s looking at: Your hair a mess, deep-set bags underneath your bloodshot eyes, the cracked skin of your lips where you’ve been picking at for days now. To her benefit, though, the concern on her face never swerves into pity. 

“How are you?” 

You’re not sure how to answer. I’m great! You think of saying, The man I’m in love with is a flesh-eating monster that has been wiping out junkies and racist from our town! Oh, by the way, he also ate the pedophile that almost ruined my life and he’s been breaking into my house to make sure I don’t starve to death! Isn’t that sweet?

You know Céline is understanding, but even she would send you to a mental hospital for that. Your lips quiver, and you shrug, trying to steer the conversation towards the fishnets that you can see her fiancé trying to squeeze into from the mirror but Céline has always been smart — too smart, which is why she skipped town and you didn’t. It’s why she’s going to drag shows with her fiancé and living in a beautiful high rise apartment in Jackson and it’s why she’s going to become a very successful doctor while you’re rotting away in the small town you were born in, with a dead end job, no prospect of ever getting a better life and a stalker that turns into a giant people-eating wolf and even he gave up on you. 

It feels like a whole new level of pathetic.

Still, somewhere between talks of drag shows and Céline’s exhaustion from her residency at a trauma center, you tell her about Joel. You don’t tell her that he all but admitted to being a werewolf, but you tell her about the break-ins and the homemade meals — making sure to hide the fact that he’d done it because you couldn’t afford groceries — and, in the end, it slips out from your mouth that you think he’s the one killing people. It feels good to admit it, even if it’s a censured version of the truth, the admission lifting a weight from your shoulders.

“I thought it was an animal attack.” Céline frowns at that and you bite down on your already chewed up bottom lip. 

“That’s what they’re saying, but…” You shrug, your brain rummaging for a reason to hang up. “I don’t know, Cél. Things are weird right now. Maybe I’m just freaking out.”

“Send me an e-mail with all of this.” She says, pragmatic as ever. “Detail every break in and the creepy things he’s doing. If anything happens, we’re going to need proof it was him.”

“If I end up on the evening news mauled by a wolf, you mean?”

“You’re not going to die.” She says but you can see the concerned look she exchanges off camera with her fiancé. “Maybe you should come spend a few days in Jackson with me. It’ll do you good to get some fresh air and meet some new people.”

You snort, because you could never afford a trip like that; you don’t tell her that, though, choosing the next best excuse. “I’d get fired.”

“Use your PTO.” Céline insists. “I can ask my dad to let you borrow one of the cars.”

You promise you’ll think about it, but you already know the answer is no— Not just because it seems crazy to take a vacation when you can barely afford food, but because the idea of being away from Joel makes your stomach tighten.

Three more people die in the following week: A hunter that had been in the woods searching for the animal, a nurse that worked the nightshift at the local clinic and a teenager that had been spraypainting the buildings by the train tracks. 

The teenager changes things— His body is not as mangled as the others and you hear it through the grapevine that it’s because one of the hunters managed to interrupt the animal halfway through feeding. The hunter talks about a big grey wolf, smaller than a bear but not by much, and you’re seething that people now believe what you’ve been telling them for months. He doesn’t kill the wolf, says the animal was too fast and far more intelligent than other wolves he’s encountered before and that anger you’re feeling turns into absolute dread.

The reward for the wolf’s head doubles, and you find yourself sitting on your back porch almost every night, collar and leash in hands, just in case. 

But you don’t see him, and you don’t hear his howls.

Your next PMS hits you like a freight truck. You barely notice almost a month has gone by until you’re crying in pain, lightheaded and shaking as you get out of bed to go to work. You’re just about to leave your house, at exactly eight-fifteen, when you notice Joel’s truck parked in your driveway. You don’t even hesitate to step outside, your heart beating wildly in your chest and the weight of the disappointment in your face when you see Tommy in the driver’s seat is something you can barely hide. He smirks, just a little, as if he can see right through you. 

“ ‘M driving you to work.” He says, head poking out of the window. “Joel’s orders.” 

“He has some balls, thinking he can boss me around after an entire month of radio silence.” You say, your gut heating up with anger but you climb into the truck anyway, slamming the door so hard it makes the windows shake. Tommy on his part seems unfazed by your little outburst. He drives carefully, slow but not enough to make you worry about being late; your fingers tap against your thighs and, for a moment, you think about throwing yourself out of the car yet again. 

“How did he do it?” You ask before you can lose your courage. “The road burn on my arm was pretty much healed by the time I got home that day. Not even a scar.” 

Only after you ask the question do you realize that, maybe, Tommy didn’t know about his brother’s condition— But if you were right about it, and apparently you were right about a lot of crazy shit lately, Tommy had the condition himself. A black wolf, smaller than his brother, that pushed and prodded you into safety one dark night. 

“Saliva.” He answers as if it’s nothing, turning on the blinker before turning the car into the pharmacy’s parking lot. “It’s healin’ for our… Partners.” 

The handful of words only makes your head spin and raises a thousand different questions. “He… He just licked my arm? What do you mean partner? Where is he?”

“The wolf did.” Tommy answers, his eyes bouncing from your face to the windshield. It’s the first time you hear someone speaking about it so openly and it gives you whiplash, not really expecting Tommy to be so blunt about it. “It’s not— The abilities are different when he’s human and when he’s not. And he didn’t come pick you up ‘cause he’s indisposed.”

He doesn’t answer the partner thing but the use of that same damned word that made you so worried the first time around has you into a different direction. 

“What the fuck does that even mean? The full moon comes around and suddenly he’s too cuckoo to see me?”

Tommy chuckles. “It’s a certain cycle that has him goin’ cuckoo, ‘lright, but it ain’t the moon one.”

The looks he gives you makes your face burn so much it borders on painful. “Are you fucking—”

“You’re going to be late.” He interrupts you, pointing to the store with his chin. “I’ll pick you up after your shift. Can’t answer much more, though. Joel will explain it all once he can be ‘round you again.”

Your manager has to lecture you twice during the day which is not something that happens often. Despite how miserable you are with this job and your life in general you try to be a good employee because you need it; you’re too distracted, though, Tommy’s words swirling around your head and making you more confused and more nervous than before. 

You’re a little giddy, too, the word partner making its way to the forefront of your mind even as you try to distract yourself, trying your best not to focus too much on that. You find yourself drawing bits and pieces of the wolf on the back of receipts all day long, nothing but rough sketches, nothing fully formed or shaped enough to let other people recognize but you know.

You leave work half an hour early, giving your manager an excuse of a doctor’s appointment that doesn’t exist but you manage to avoid Tommy altogether, instead taking a bus with a bit of pocket change that you swiped from the pharmacy’s register during Jenny’s lunch break. The bus takes you to the next town over in a trip that is just a little under forty minutes and you find yourself in the local church with just a few minutes to spare before the 6pm mass. 

In all truth, you’re not sure why you gravitate towards the church, sitting on one of the very end pews. You don’t enjoy going to church; maybe you did at some point as a kid, when you could spend your Sunday mornings with your friends running amuck because the nun that handled Sunday school had never been able to reign any of the children, but that’s far in the past. 

Nowadays, you only attend because your grandmother would never let you live it down if you didn’t but there is something peaceful about it this time around, the golden sun shining through the windows as people slowly start to fill the pews at the front— There’s not a lot of folks this time in the day, mostly old ladies like your grandmother that seem to live more inside the chapel than outside of it. 

The sermon is about the story of King David and Bathsheba, and the priest goes on and on about the dangers of lust and the deadly consequences that came from it, how King David had to lie and hide and eventually order the death of Bathsheba’s husband to hide her pregnancy— You think it’s funny to hear such a sex negative story in a room that is basically filled with old ladies that probably haven’t slept with anyone since the Reagan administration but it’s the consequences part that hits you the most. How one bad decision spiraled into the death of an innocent man, how your life can change because of one small action. 

Your life has been a string of bad decisions, one after another, that has led you to this very moment. 

You leave the church before the end of the sermon, feeling somehow even worse than you did before.

Joel is at your front door by the time you get home — close to eight pm —, pacing from one side of your porch to the other, hands behind his back.

“You’re okay.” He says, relief coating his tone as he crosses the yard in just a couple large steps, engulfing you in a bear hug before your brain can catch up to it. Your arms hang limp beside you for just a second before they come up to wrap around him— The action is instinctual, something your body does before your brain can decide whether or not it’s a good idea. Joel’s chest is warm, his soft tummy pushing against you as he holds you close, your nose smushing into his sternum. He sniffs at you, nosing the side of your head and behind your ear and down your neck, inhaling deep and fast; the action tickles and you giggle, squirming as Joel tightens his grip on you. 

Joel’s chest rumbles and, at first, you think it might be a silent laugh but you’re quick to understand that it’s not— It’s deeper, coming from the depths of his sternum and it’s more of a purr than anything else. The sound melts something inside of you, your eyes fluttering close and, for the first time in forever, you feel like there is nothing wrong with the world. 

You blink, trying to shake yourself from the fogginess of our brain, still unable to pull away from him. “Tommy said you’re not supposed to be here.”

“ ‘M not.” Joel responds, his blunt fingertips digging into the fat of your sides as he crowds over you, still nosing your neck. “But fuck— I was so worried.”

“I—” 

His teeth scrape against the soft skin of your collarbone and all thought flies through the window, the word you were about to say melting into a whine. Joel growls in response, maneuvering you so fast you can barely understand what he’s doing but one moment you’re standing on the grass as he folds himself over you and the next one your feet are being lifted from the ground.

“Inside.” He explains when you yelp. “Need’ta get you inside.” 

Joel’s kiss is, at the same time, exactly what you expect and nothing like what you expect at all. He pins you to the wall of your entryway, the door shut behind him, and he devours your mouth like a man starved. His hands knead and tug at every bit of skin he can reach, fingers flexing against you as if he can’t believe you’re real and all you can do is take it, your own hands digging into the soft curls at the nape of his neck. 

Your brain only seems to catch up with your actions when your leg is already hiked up to Joel’s waist, your other foot barely touching the ground— You can feel Joel’s hardness pressing against your core, his teeth nipping against your jawline. He ruts slowly against you, the seam of his jeans catching on your clit every single time.

“Joel—”

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He mumbles, his voice low and rough, wrecked in a way you haven’t heard before. “I can smell it— So damn sweet.”

“Joel—” You try again, this time splaying your hands on his chest, trying to push him away even though all you want is to fall to your knees. “We shouldn’t.” 

“I’m sorry—” A whine rips through his throat but Joel pulls his hips away immediately, his hands falling to your waist, his forehead on your shoulder. “I— Fuck, this— This is why— I—” 

His chest rumbles underneath your fingertips before he pulls away entirely. His pupils are blown wide, hair a mess from where you tugged, his neck and face flushed; you don’t look down, keeping your eyes away from the erection straining his jeans even as he adjusts himself, trembling fingers running through his hair. Joel licks his lips, once, before he turns around and bolts through the front door into the night.

Neither your fingers or your toys are enough to get you off, and when you’re still wet and aching after three orgasms you drag yourself to the shower and try again with the shower head, something you hadn’t done since you were a teenager still discovering your body; you pass out eventually, exhausted and unsatisfied, your hands still toying with your nipples as you burrow yourself under the covers. 

Joel texts you the next morning. You’ve never given him your phone number but considering how many times he’s been inside your house without your knowledge you can’t say you’re surprised that he found it out somehow. 

Good morning. Tommy is asking if you’ll allow him to drive you to and from work today. – Joel. 

You giggle at the formality of the text, every punctuation and upper case in its proper place, and it makes him seem older than he really is. 

nope

You don’t ask him where he got your number from, or tell him to lose it or stay away or call him a creep like you think you should. It’s cute, almost, that he’s concerned about you like that. 

Do you know how to drive? – Joel.

The question comes in while you’re in the shower, and you shove a piece of toast in your mouth as you reply with one hand and pull up your pants with the other. 

yup just dont a car but i can walk u dont need to sign off every text btw

You probably should’ve expected it but it still surprises you when you walk out of your house to find Joel’s truck parked in your driveway, the keys in the driver’s seat— You turn your head this and that way, but Tommy is nowhere to be found. 

kind of rude of u to make ur brother walk home

Joel takes a long time to reply, which you’re anxious for but you keep telling yourself that it’s because he has a toddler to take care of and not because you’ve offended him somehow. Your phone chimes just as you’re parking in front of the pharmacy, Jenny’s head poking from behind one of the isles at the rumbling of the truck. 

He’ll live. 

And then, a few moments later:

– Joel.

You’re uncertain if that’s a joke or not, but it still makes you giggle.

Joel keeps texting you while he’s “indisposed”, but he doesn’t answer any of your questions regarding the wolf and its repercussions, simply promising that he’ll explain more in person. He sends you candid pictures of Sarah and Tommy, snippets of the dinner he made or the hairdo Sarah gave him or the sky when it’s particularly pretty— You find yourself doing the same, small snapshots of your day to day, including the seven inch scratch you give his truck when you clip the mailbox one morning; you promise to pay for it but Joel seems to shrug it off, saying he ‘knows a guy’ that can fix it dirt cheap.

They kill a wolf on a cold morning as autumn turns into winter and you find out about it through Jenny just as you’re about to leave at the end of a particularly grueling shift. Your stomach drops when she says it so casually, scrolling on her phone, and she looks at you like you’re insane when you ask what the wolf looks like before she shrugs a ‘dunno’ and then moves on to talk about how one of the Kardashians removed her breast implants. 

You’re so out of it you forget Joel’s truck in the parking lot, walking home through the train tracks, calling his phone repeatedly with no answer. You’re unable to find any photos or descriptions of the wolf that was killed even though you scroll through the feed and Instagram stories of pretty much every person that posted about it, pacing your living room and then pacing your back porch as you try to reach Joel through the phone again, the inside of your house feeling too stifling.

You’re genuinely considering walking to Joel’s cabin when you first catch a glimpse of glowing eyes in the woods. It’s there and then it’s gone, as if he was taking a long blink but you’re already running towards it, your bare feet skidding on the cold grass. 

The wolf is slumped near a tree, hunched in on himself and even in the dark you can see it is shaking. It’s Joel, you can recognize the brown and gray pattern anywhere, and you fall to your knees next to him. You pat his flank and he growls but makes no move to actually bite which you take as enough of a permission to finish your cursory check; it’s too dark and you have no idea what you’re doing but you can feel the blood sipping out of his side.

“We gotta get you inside.” You say, unsure of how much Joel understands in this form. You think that if he understands enough to make sure your fridge is full he’ll understand enough to drag himself into your home but he doesn’t move, his snout too warm and too dry— You know it tells whether or not if the animal has a fever but you’re not sure if being warm is good or not. He doesn’t budge no matter how much you beg so you run back into your house, sprinting in and out to make sure he won’t leave while you’re gone, Cerberus’ old leash in hand. 

“Don’t bite me.” You say as you thread it through his neck, holding it in a firm grasp as you use it to tug him inside your home— The wolf digs his heels into the ground and refuses to budge at first but you’re just as stubborn as he is, pulling on the leash until he finally relents, slowly crossing through your backyard and into your living room. 

“I should’ve been a vet.” You say as you unleash him — keeping the thick leather collar around his neck just in case you need to manhandle him again —, laughing to yourself even though it’s not funny, the sound interrupted by panicked breaths. “If I knew I’d end up with a dying werewolf in the middle of my house, I would’ve been a fucking vet.”

He seems more comfortable inside and you bring him a water bowl and the very last Pup-peroni you still have, using a warm wet cloth to wipe the blood from his snout and from his flank carefully, pausing whenever he growls for too long, more out of respect than anything— You’re still not afraid of the wolf, even as you clean up his long claws one by one, his paw big and heavy on your lap, the blood from the wound on his side starting to dry up as you pet him, the wolf’s head coming to lay across your thighs. 

“I really hope you have some special healing super power.” You mumble, checking the wound for the fourth time, unsure of how to proceed other than waiting it out. You don’t have Tommy’s cellphone and that seems like a horrible oversight— You’ve also forgotten Joel’s truck at work, so it’s not even like you can drive him home. “Can’t you just use that special spit of yours to fix this?”

The wolf purrs, the grumbling sound very similar to the one Joel had done the last time you saw him but, this time, you think it sounds like a laugh.

next chapter. (coming soon.)

Maria’s concerned by this whole thing. You can tell by the way she keeps glancing at you through the corner of her eye as she helps you tape up the boxes of your things to put in storage. You’ve decided to pack light, given that you really only need clothes since his house is already up and running

“Maria,” you say when you can no longer take her not so covert glances. “Just say it.”

You watch her open her mouth before she hesitates. She tucks a long braid that’s escaped loose from her ponytail behind her ear before she speaks.

“I just don’t get why you’re staying with him,” she says. “Don’t you think it’ll complicate things?”

“There’s nothing to complicate,” you say too quickly and that’s your first mistake. You know Maria can see right through your lie. And she does, with how she gives you a deadpan stare.

“You can fool everyone but not me,” she says. “The two of you are married. And I know you want to jump his bones.” Her nose wrinkles as she says that last part. 

“I do not,” you say, lying. Maria scoffs. “And it’s not like it’s a real marriage.”

“Babe, I’ve known you for over a decade. I know how you look when you want someone. And you’ve been looking at Joel like that since the goddamn airport.”

You can feel your cheeks heat up. You look away, taping down another box. 

“Okay, so I think he’s handsome. Is that a crime?” you ask. 

“You like him,” she says. “I know you do. You’ve been charmed by his reticence since day one which is why your drunk brain went ahead and married him, whether you remember or not. And now you’re going to live with him. All while getting a divorce.”

When she puts it like that, it does sound like a bad idea. And you have been second guessing your decision since the morning after that anniversary party. Was it really the right thing to do? You barely knew Joel Miller and you had agreed to live with him for the foreseeable future just because he had twirled you around with his calloused hands and spoken to you in his low, honey thick drawl. You lean against a box, turning back to face Maria. She’s looking at you with soft eyes, concern etched on her face. 

“You can stay with me and Tommy, you know,” she says, voice gentle. “I just don’t want you thinking that there isn’t a place for you with us.”

“I don’t want to be a burden on you and Tommy,” you say. “And I know you’d never think that because you’re the best but I don’t know how long I’m going to be like this. And I know it might be stupid to move in with the guy I drunk married but he has the room for it. Tommy’s a good guy but I think he’d grow tired of me living on your couch which is totally fair, by the way.”

Maria hesitates before she concedes. She knows you’re stubborn nature and once you’ve made up your mind, there’s no changing it. 

“Just be careful,” she finally says. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

You want to tell her that your crush on Joel is nothing. It’s just been a while since you’ve seen a hot man with biceps and a broad chest and salt and pepper hair and come on, you’re only human. And beyond that, there’s something buzzing between you and Joel, some thread of tension that stays taut. You know he feels it too, with how he looks at you sometimes. But you’re smart enough to not act on it and you won’t. This is purely about you getting back on your feet and staying with Joel will give you a chance to have your own space and not squander your savings while you job search. It’s practical. That’s all that it is. 

“Okay,” you agree, placating. “I’ll make sure not to jump my husband’s bones. I promise.”

You hope it makes her smile, easing the tension in the air and are relieved when you see her shake her head, an amused smile gracing her mouth.

“I’ll be careful,” you add, a bit more serious because you know how Maria worries for you. 

She nods, seemingly satisfied for now. The two of you finish up with your boxes before you grab your phone to order pizza. The movers will be coming by tomorrow to collect your things and put them in storage and then you’ll head to Joel’s house to…move in, you guess. It feels odd to think about it. Joel had called you earlier in the week to iron out the details about your move-in, asking you if you needed help with your things which you had politely refused. He was already doing a lot and although you weren’t entirely sure why, there was only so much grace you could accept from him without feeling a bit like a charity case. 

“You know,” Maria says after you confirm the order with the guy on the phone. “Tommy was saying Joel’s been different too. I think the word he used was chipper.”

“Were you not convincing me less than five minutes ago that this was a bad idea?” you ask, raising a brow at her. Maria shrugs, pouring the two of you twin glasses of wine. 

“I never said it was a bad idea,” she says. “I said it was complicated. There’s a difference. And I only brought it up because you’re my best friend and I’m protective of you.”

“Uh huh,” you say. “Sounds like a whole lot of lawyer talk.”

“I’m just saying,” Maria says, voice sing-song. “It’s an interesting turn of events, all of this.”

“I’m glad my life is amusing to you,” you say, taking the proffered glass of wine from her.

“Very much so,” Maria agrees, clinking your glasses together. You roll your eyes but you’re relieved that Maria isn’t too worried about the whole thing. If she really did think this was a bad idea, she would tell you. She’s not one to mince words when they need to be said and you’ve always been grateful for her honesty. The two of you make your way to your couch, which is now wrapped in a plastic sheet. It’s still comfortable enough to sit on though which you’re grateful for. Your back hurts from all the bending and lifting you’ve been doing. Once you’re settled on opposite ends of the couch, you clear your throat.

“For the record,” you say. “You’re my best friend too. And I appreciate that you’re looking out for me. I really will be on my best behaviour.”

And you will be. You’re not going to mess this up. 

Living with Joel is a tad awkward at first. Of course it is. It seems like every time you and Joel see each other again, the rapport you’ve built resets. He’s no longer grouchy but he’s still quiet and for the most part, you both keep to yourself. Joel usually leaves the house early, just as dawn breaks over the sky like a cracked yolk. Your alarm typically goes off at that time too, and you spend the entire day applying to jobs and avoiding your existential dread. You usually take a break around three pm to go on a walk around the suburban neighbourhood Joel lives in, nodding at retired couples who happen to be taking a stroll at the same time. When you come back from your walk, you start on dinner. It’s the only meal you and Joel really share. At least up until tonight. It’s been almost two weeks of living with him when he doesn’t show up for dinner on time. You know it’s none of your business but it leaves you antsy. Joel is a timely person, always following his routine to a tee. Even though it hasn’t been very long, you’ve grown comfortable with it too, expecting the heavy sound of his work boots on the stairs in the morning when he’s heading out and hearing the front door open every day around seven in the evening when he gets back home from work. 

It’s almost ten in the night and there’s still no sign of him. You had made him a plate when you realized he wasn’t making it back home on time. It’s sitting in the microwave now as you pace in the kitchen. You glance at your phone, looking at the time again. It’s only been three minutes since you last looked. You think of the worst case scenario. Maybe there was an accident on site and Joel got hurt. Or maybe it was Tommy. But if that was the case, surely Maria would have called you by now. You will your nerves away, deciding to just text him. It’s perfectly normal to check in and you guys are basically roommates so really, it’s the correct thing to do. You swipe your phone to unlock it, pulling up your text thread with Joel. The last message is from the night he called you about the anniversary party, almost three weeks ago now. 

[You, 10:07 pm]: hey Joel! just wanted to check in to make sure everything’s okay since you’re usually back home by now. 

You read it over a few times, wondering if it might be weird to refer to his house as ‘home’ since it really isn’t your home at all. But your house sounds too formal and odd given that you’re here too and the house makes it sound like you guys live in a dorm or something. So home it is. You hit send before you can overthink it too much and then head to the couch, turning on the television to distract yourself. You channel surf for a bit before settling on a rerun of The Hunger Games. You give it fifteen minutes before you check your phone, only to find no response yet. You sigh, settling into the couch a bit more. You rest your head on one of the soft throw pillows. When you had first seen Joel’s place, you had wondered if the decor came from his daughters. He hadn’t seemed like the type of man to buy throw pillows or have a persian rug in his house. Now, you’re grateful for the softness of the rug beneath your feet and the support the pillow provides for your neck. You pull up your text thread with Maria.

[You, 10:23 pm]: hey babe, did Tommy say anything about running late today?

You hit send, already knowing she’s going to give you a hard time for this. And she does, when you read her reply a few seconds later.

[Maria, 10:23 pm]: Yeah, he said they had to stay on site longer because of some mix up with the parts. 

[Maria, 10:23 pm]: Why? 👀

You groan, slumping against the couch again, this time bringing your legs up so that you’re lying down on it. You angle yourself so you can see Katniss in your peripheral vision, now desperately volunteering for her sister. Even now, years later, the scene gives you chills. Your momentary distraction is interrupted by the buzzing of your phone.

[Maria, 10:25 pm]: Joel’s probably with him. He’ll probably be home late too. In case you were worried…

You groan, beginning to type back. 

[You, 10:25 pm]: i was just curious

Maria responds almost immediately. 

[Maria, 10:25 pm]: Mhm, sure babe. 

You contemplate telling Maria and ultimately decide, why not? It’s not like she doesn’t know about your little crush already.

[You, 10:26 pm]: i texted him to ask if everything was okay. but he didn’t respond which is totally fine ofc

[Maria, 10:26 pm]: He probably hasn’t seen it. They have a strict no phone policy when they’re on site. Tommy texted me during a bathroom break.

It makes you smile, how well she knows you to assuage your worries about overstepping by texting Joel. 

[You, 10:27 pm]: thank you, you’re the best 

[Maria, 10:27 pm]: Oh, I know 

You set your phone aside, snuggling into the couch. At least it’s nothing bad and you don’t have to worry anymore. You tune back into the movie, watching as Peeta and Katniss shake hands after the reaping. You remember reading the book for the first time as a tween, each page leaving you wanting more. It’s been so long since you’ve felt that way about anything. You need to start reading again, you think as you feel your eyes grow heavier. Maybe you’ll go to the library tomorrow and pick up a few books. Your library card is collecting dust in your wallet. You wiggle, settling yourself deeper into the plush of the couch. Katniss is twirling now, her red dress lighting up in orangey blue flames. It’s the last thing you remember before you fall asleep. 

You feel a gentle nudge on your face and you lean into it, chasing the warmth of whatever’s there. You furrow your brows. Are you dreaming? You hear someone say your name, a low voice calling out to you. You feel something light on your cheekbone, moving in a back-and-forth motion. Someone says your name again and your eyes flutter open. You squint, adjusting to the orange glow of the room. Above you, stands Joel, his dark eyes watching you carefully. It’s his thumb that rests on your cheekbone, now still. You suddenly remember where you are and you sit up quickly, suddenly wide awake.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you say, looking around for your phone. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” Joel says, voice soft in the quiet of the night. “I just didn’t want you to get a crick in your neck so I thought it might be better to wake you up so you could sleep in your bed.” 

You take him in properly now. He looks tired. There are dark circles under his eyes and his hair falls flat against his forehead. His pants are smudged with what looks like paint and he smells like the rain you can hear falling against the windows. 

“What time is it?” you ask. You still haven’t been able to find your phone. 

“Late,” Joel says. “It’s almost midnight.” 

“And you just got home?” you ask, and he nods. 

“I didn’t see your message until I was in my truck, headin’ home. I’m sorry, didn’t mean to worry you,” Joel says and you shake your head. 

“No, that’s okay,” you say, too quickly. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I should’ve let you know,” Joel says. He sounds as tired as he looks but he gives you a soft smile. His crows feet seem even more prominent now, in the dim light of the living room and you feel something tender in your chest. 

“I made you a plate,” you say. You stand up and Joel takes a step back, giving you space. “I can warm it up if you want to shower and change and stuff.”

“You don’t gotta stay up for me,” Joel says. 

“I don’t mind,” you say. “Really. You can go freshen up.”

You watch as Joel contemplates, his eyes never leaving yours. Finally, he nods. You make your way to the kitchen as you hear his heavy footsteps up the stairs. The pipes turn on a few seconds later and you lean against the counter. A few minutes later you hear the water shut off and it’s only then that you begin to warm up his plate. Joel comes down soon after, now dressed in a soft-looking grey shirt and flannel sleep pants. His hair is pushed back from his face and wet, dripping so that there are dark patches on his sleep shirt. The ends are already beginning to curl against the nape of his neck. You gesture for him to take a seat at the dinner table just as the microwave rings. You bring the plate over to him, setting it down in front of him.

“Thank you,” Joel says, looking up at you. His eyes look warmer in this light. You nod, unsure of what to do next. You should probably excuse yourself and let him enjoy some peace and quiet. Just as you’re about to say that, Joel speaks again. 

“You could take a seat,” he says. “Only if you want. If you’d like to go to bed, I understand.”

You take a seat adjacent to Joel, watching as he spears his fork into a quartered roasted potato. He chews slowly and you watch the movement of his strong jaw before you realize you’re staring and look down at the wooden dining table. 

“I never said thank you for makin’ dinner,” Joel says when he’s done chewing. “I appreciate that you’ve been doin’ it every night. I shoulda said earlier.”

You shrug, giving him a small smile.

“I like cooking,” you say. “It gives me something to do. Plus, it’s the least I can do since you’ve been nice enough to let me stay here.”

You watch something flit across Joel’s face, his mouth pulling into a small frown. 

“You don’t gotta pay your dues or anythin’ like that,” he says, setting his fork down. He looks at you with so much sincerity, his dark eyes serious with concern. “Really. You don’t have to make dinner just because you feel like you owe me somethin’. I’m the one that offered you a place to stay.” 

“Oh no,” you say quickly. “I didn’t mean to make it seem like I felt like I owed you something or anything. You’ve been a great host. I just meant that it’s the least I could do.”

Joel shakes his head, seeming displeased. You wonder how most of your interactions seem to go awry. Why the two of you can’t seem to speak to each other without misstepping is beyond you. 

“You don’t have to do anythin’,” Joel says. “You could sit on the couch the whole day and you’d still have a place here. S’all I meant.”

His candor momentarily surprises you and you look at him, eyes wide. The notion of what he said is so…sweet. It’s probably one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to you, really. Especially someone you don’t really know all that well. You feel something well in your chest but you push it down, instead giving Joel a tight smile. 

“Thank you,” you say. Your voice sounds off and he must notice, given that he reaches for his fork again, shoulders set stiff. You want to say more. You want to tell him that you don’t understand why he’s being so nice to you, why he’s offering all this when the only relationship the two of you share is that of one, legally binding, drunken mistake. But you don’t. Instead, you ask him how his day went and watch his shoulders relax. He finishes chewing before he answers. 

“Shit,” he says. “A guy on our team ordered the wrong parts and the client was pretty upset about the main bathroom not having plumbin’ so Tommy and I stayed back to get it fixed. Took us six hardware stores to find what we needed. And then there was a pile up on the freeway on my way back. Felt like I’d never get home if I’m bein’ honest with you.”

He gives you a tired smile when he’s done speaking and there’s a slight flush across his cheekbones, as if he’s embarrassed of saying too much. 

“Well I’m glad you made it back,” you say, tone light but genuine. “Had me worried there for a second.” And you mean it. You’ve always been good at imagining the worst case scenario. 

“I should’ve texted,” Joel says. 

“Well you did say you don’t like texting all that much so I can’t hold you to that,” you say, tone still teasing. You like this – the ease at which the two of you can talk when things seem to click. It reminds you of that night at the anniversary party and you haven’t really had a proper, non-logistics related conversation since then. You watch as he swallows his last bite of dinner, his plate clean. You feel pleased with yourself, that he enjoyed what you made. 

“Think I can make an exception for you,” Joel says and it’s not delivered in a flirtatious way. He says it like it’s factual, like it’s perfectly sensible that he would go out of his way to text you. It still leaves you feeling warm all over. You ignore it, nodding in response. 

“I appreciate that,” you tell him. The two of you get up and you watch as he washes and dries his plate and fork. The muscles of his back flex through his t-shirt as he moves and your eyes trace over them. When he’s done, he turns around to face you. If he notices you staring he says nothing. 

“We should get some sleep,” he says and you nod. You lead the way up the stairs. Your room is on the other end of the corridor so the two of you hesitate in the landing, standing in the no-man's land between your rooms. You feel the same feeling you felt when Joel had dropped you home that night after the party. You don’t want him to leave. There’s something comfortable being around him. Something about his presence that grounds you. Joel rubs a broad palm against his jaw as he looks at you. You can hear the scratchy noise of his beard against his calloused skin. You notice how heavy his eyes look. You knew he was tired but Joel seems like he might fall asleep right here. 

“I hope you get a good night's rest,” you say. His mouth twitches in a soft smile and he nods. 

“Thanks for keepin’ me company,” he says. This time it’s you who smiles. 

“Anytime,” you say and Joel doesn’t know how much you mean it. You like his company so much it scares you. You take a step back, towards your room. “Goodnight Joel.”

You don’t say his name very often, at least not to him. It rings in the quiet of the night. His eyes trace over you before he gives you a nod. You pivot on your other foot, half turning around when you hear him speak again. 

“Goodnight sweetheart,” he says and when you glance back, he’s already disappeared into his bedroom, the door slightly ajar. You walk towards your room, pulling at the sheets. As you do, you wonder if you had imagined the term of endearment falling from his lips but you think of that night at the party and how he had called you the very same word. You tuck yourself into bed, thinking of Joel’s low drawl and the way sweetheart had sounded, coming from his mouth. Your eyes grow heavy with sleep and you think of Joel’s thumb across your cheekbone, gently waking you up. You think of how it might feel now against your skin and that’s the last thought you have before you fall into deep sleep. 

You receive your first response a few days later. It’s an email with a calendar link of the hiring manager’s availability for an in-person interview. It’s something. You’ve applied to countless jobs by now and this is the first time you’ve had a response that isn’t an automated rejection or simply nothing at all. It leaves you giddy and you pick the earliest available slot which happens to be two days from now. When you’re done replying, you immediately start prepping. You start writing down answers to the typical questions like your biggest strength and your greatest weakness and how they somehow make you perfect for this role. You pore over webpages that detail how best to answer questions about salary expectations and ambiguous work environments, taking notes of what to say and how to say it. When you’re confident with that, you review your resume, making note of the bullet points you think are most relevant to the job posting. You jot down notes about projects you’re proud of and how you tracked their success, making sure to have metrics for each item to quantify your achievement. You rehearse your sixty second elevator pitch until it comes to you like second nature. And when you’re done with that, you review all your notes again. The company is a mid-size tech firm that believes in being humble but always ready to be gritty, whatever the fuck that means. But you’ll take it. You’ll channel whatever that is because you have to. You need this. 

You lose track of time, reading over their website and making note of their recent successes and releases when the front door opens. You look up to find Joel, a streak of dust across the cut of his cheekbone. It’s only then that you realize that you’ve spent the last seven hours prepping for your interview. You forgot about dinner. Shit. 

“Evenin’,” Joel says, looking at all the paper you’ve strewn over the dining table. He looks amused. 

“Hey,” you say. “Sorry about the mess. I lost track of time and completely spaced on making dinner because I got a job interview and it’s in two days and I spent the whole day reading about this company and what makes me a great fit and I just didn’t realize how much time had passed. I can clear this up in a sec.” 

It’s only after you’re done speaking that you realize how much you’ve rambled. Joel’s quiet the whole time, his steady gaze on you.

“Hey,” Joel says, coming to stand in front of you. “Take a breath for me.” 

You follow his instruction, purposely relaxing your shoulders. You nod at him after you exhale. 

“Can you tell that I’m nervous?” you ask and it gets a smile out of him. 

“Just a bit,” Joel says and you let out a laugh, high and uneasy. 

“I just don’t want to fuck it up,” you say. “And I really am sorry about dinner.”

Joel shakes his head, waving a hand. 

“Forget about dinner,” he says. “Like I said, that’s not your job. I appreciate that you do it but I have no expectation for it. I can make somethin’ for us tonight. You go take a break. Have a shower or somethin’.”

It’s then that you realize you’re still in the same pajamas from last night. You can feel your cheeks heat but you nod. 

“Thank you,” you say and Joel waves you off. It’s then that you remember the streak of grey dust across his face. 

“Joel,” you say. “You have something on your face.” You gesture to his cheekbone and he raises a hand, rubbing it over the space. He misses the streak entirely. 

“Gone?” he asks and you shake your head. He swipes his hand again, and misses, again. You reach for him instead, rubbing your thumb across his cheekbone. You watch the patch of skin go red as you rub away the dust. Joel is stone still, watching you with honey dark eyes and when you’re done, you realize that perhaps you’ve overstepped. You take a step back. 

“Sorry,” you say. “I –”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Joel grumbles, voice low, and your heart thunders against your ribcage. That’s the third time now that he’s called you that. “Now go relax for a bit and I’ll make us dinner.” 

You nod, suddenly feeling flustered. You make your way up the stairs and towards your bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You lean against it, catching your breath. You strip off your pajamas, tossing them in the hamper before stepping into the shower. The hot water soothes the tension in your muscles from being hunched over your laptop the whole day. You rub the lavender scented soap into your skin, watching it foam. You wet your hair, shampooing your scalp twice before putting your hair mask in. It’s only then, when you’re waiting the designated five minutes for it to work its magic, that you think of Joel. You know you think he’s attractive and you know you enjoy talking to him. Something about him calms you and you’ve come to accept that for whatever it is. But you need to stop this line of thought before it becomes something you can’t handle. Maria was right, as she usually is. You cannot afford to have a serious crush on the man you accidentally drunkenly married who’s being kind enough to let you stay with him while you job search and try to sort out the mess that is your life. You cannot. There’s no good outcome in this and you and Joel will be officially divorced in a month anyways. What you do need to do is focus on this interview and get this job so you can afford your own place and forget about the strong, sweet man downstairs who for some reason, knows just how to calm your nerves. 

You rinse the hair mask out, combing your fingers through your hair and untangling the ends. You stand under the shower for a few more minutes with your eyes closed, taking in deep breaths. You rehearse your pitch once more before you shut the valve off. You dry yourself and slip into a pair of cotton pants and a sweatshirt before rubbing some moisturizer into your skin. You look fresh now, eyes bright and smelling like vanilla. You nod at your reflection before heading back downstairs. When you enter the kitchen, the smell of something rich and warm hits you immediately and your stomach grumbles. Rather loudly. So loudly in fact, that Joel turns around to face you, an amused tilt to his mouth.

“I take it you're hungry,” he says and you give him a sheepish smile. 

“What gave it away?” you ask, willing yourself not to be embarrassed. Joel chuckles. You move to stand next to him, watching as something bubbles on the stove.

“I can really only cook a handful of things so I made us some chilli,” he says. “It’s not as good as the stuff you make but it’s Ellie’s favourite.” 

You hum, peering inside the pot. The sauce is red and the smell of the spices leaves your mouth watering. 

“It looks delicious,” you say. When you look up at Joel, the tips of his ears are pink. You watch as he turns the stove off, before he reaches past you for the bowls. But he moves so that his arm is behind your head, and suddenly you’re engulfed by him. His bicep is right next to your head as he opens the cabinet and you can smell him. The fresh scent of cedar and pine mixed with something musky. You look away from the muscle of his arm, focussing on the steaming pot of food, before you do something absurd like bite his bicep or beg him to touch you. The heat of him is gone in the next moment as he moves to set the bowls on the dining table. You slip on the oven mitts before grabbing the pot, moving it to the table too. Joel nods at you in thanks and the two of you sit down. He serves you first before helping himself. 

When you spoon a bite into your mouth, you can’t help but make a noise. 

“Mmm,” you say, mouthful and uncaring. “This is so good. You’ve been holding out on me.” 

It’s silent for a moment and when you look up at Joel, his eyes are already on you. His dark eyes seem even darker now. He swallows and you trace the movement of his Adams apple. He clears his throat before he speaks.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’d still argue you’re the better cook though.”

You shake your head, already chewing on another mouthful. The flavours blend together into something so rich without it being overbearing. You need to get the recipe from him because you’re going to be having this at least once a week. 

“You’re just saying that so you don’t have to cook,” you joke once you’re done chewing and it makes Joel crack a smile, shaking his head.

“You got me,” he says, and you laugh. The two of you eat in silence for a bit before he clears his throat, speaking again. 

“So what’s the interview for?” he asks. He patiently waits as you chew and swallow your mouthful of chilli before you speak. 

“It’s pretty similar to what I was doing at my old job but on a smaller scale because this place seems to be transitioning from being a start up. I think it’ll be a bit more hectic but hey, I’ll take it,” you say. Joel nods. 

“Do you like what you do?” he asks, but it’s not the judgmental way people usually ask it. He sounds genuinely curious. You shrug. 

“It pays the bills,” you say. “It’s practical, I guess. And I like the problem solving aspect of it.”

“That’s good,” Joel says, nodding at you. You watch him take another bite of dinner, tracing the movement of his throat as he swallows. You look back down at your bowl, taking another bite as well.

“Do you like your job?” you ask after a moment. You want to know more about him, really. Like his favourite colour and his favourite flavour of ice cream and what he sounds like right when he wakes up. But you settle for this. Joel shrugs, his broad shoulders moving. 

“I like makin’ things,” he says. “Like to keep my hands busy and the job lets me do it. We’ve got a good crew too so I can’t complain.”

“That must be nice,” you say. “It’s important to like your coworkers.”

It’s silly to say but it’s all you can think of as you focus on Joel’s hands, now that he’s mentioned them. His fingers are long and thick, and you know how his thumb feels against your face but you want to feel more. Fuck. You should have gotten off in the shower. At least you wouldn’t be so on edge now. 

“It can be a pain in the ass workin’ with your little brother though,” Joel says and you let out a laugh. 

“You say that but you’re the one willingly doing it,” you say and Joel shrugs. 

“He’s family,” Joel says but there’s something warm in his voice. He sounds fond as he speaks of his brother. 

“Did you always want to be a contractor?” you ask and Joel hesitates before he answers. 

“No,” he finally says. “If you can believe it, I wanted to be a singer.” 

Your eyes widen at that. “You gotta sing for me now,” you say and Joel shakes his head, a firm no. 

"Wouldn't wanna make you endure that,” he says but you think he’s being humble. His speaking voice itself is low and warm, like honey, and the drawl of it is lovely. You can’t imagine his singing voice being any different. But you don’t push it.

“So how’d you get into construction?” you ask instead. 

“Sarah’s mom got pregnant right outta high school,” he says. “I had to find a way to support my family and construction didn’t need a college degree so I ended up workin’ my way into contractin’ and here we are.”

It’s the first time he’s mentioned Sarah’s mother and your curiosity must show on your face because he continues speaking. 

“She left soon after Sarah was born. S’not her fault, I don’t think she much wanted a child and I did. Thought it would fix our relationship,” he says, a wry smile on his mouth. 

“That must’ve been difficult,” you say, catching Joel’s eye.

“It was,” he agrees. “And then it wasn’t. Wouldn’t change it for anythin’.”

You want to ask him about how Ellie came to be and so you do. You watch as he lights up. This story has no loss in it.  

“I adopted her when she was fourteen,” Joel says and the answer surprises you. Not because you don’t think him capable of it but because it’s rare for adoptions to occur so late in a child’s life. “One of the best decisions I ever made.”

You feel something warm crack open in your chest as he speaks. You were so terribly wrong about Joel Miller. He wasn’t a grouch or a jerk. If anything, you think he might be one of the kindest people you’ve ever come across. 

“That’s very sweet, Joel,” you say, voice sincere. You watch him look away, rubbing his thumb into the centre of his palm. You decide to talk about something else, not wanting him to feel embarrassed for opening up. You tell him more about the company you’re interviewing for, about how their slogan is stay humble and stay gritty and he questions why a tech company would even need to be gritty but he listens attentively as you ramble on about your day and how you prepared for your interview. 

“I think you’ll do great,” Joel says when you’re finally done monologuing. “You’re smart and charmin’. They’d be silly not to see that.”

He says it with such certainty that you believe it, even just for a second.

“Thank you,” you say. “That’s really nice of you to say.”

Joel nods at you. The two of you stand up then, clearing the dishes to the sink. You begin to wash them and Joel stands next to you, drying them and placing them in the metal dish rack next to the sink. The quietness that settles over the two of you is gentle and homely, as if this is something you do all the time. When your fingers brush his as you hand him the last bowl, you ignore the zing of warmth that goes through you. It feels domestic in a way you’ve never experienced before and that terrifies you.

You’re sitting in your car, feeling giddy. Your interview had gone great, if you do say so yourself. The hiring manager had seemed to really appreciate your past experience and you hadn’t stumbled over your words. Every question that had been asked to you was one that you had rehearsed and your answers came out smooth and confident. You had firmly shaken everyone’s hands as you left and Lisa, the lady that had interviewed had even said that she was looking forward to working with you as she had walked you to the elevator. You had called Maria right after, too excited to keep it to yourself. You didn’t want to jinx it but you had a good feeling. Perhaps your luck was finally turning around.

The drive back to Joel’s is smooth and you’re lucky to beat rush hour. When you open the door, you’re surprised to find Joel in the living room, sitting on the couch. He looks up as you walk in, eyes brightening. 

“Joel,” you say. “You’re home early.”

“Yeah,” he says, before clearing his throat. “Was curious about how your interview went and it was a slow day at work so I thought I’d just come home early.”

You take in his words. He had left work early for you. Well, maybe not exactly since he did say it was a slow day but still. You feel warm all over.

“You could’ve just texted,” you say but your voice is teasing. You watch Joel’s mouth twitch in a smile. 

“You know how I feel about textin’,” Joel says and you laugh, feeling the happiest you’ve felt in a long time. Joel smiles, his eyes crinkling. “I take it your interview went well then?”

You nod, unable to hide your smile. 

“It was so good, Joel,” you say earnestly. “It’s like they knew all the questions I had prepared for and literally asked me every single one. And Lisa, the lady interviewing me, told me that she’s looking forward to working with me.”

“That’s great,” Joel says, and he sounds happy too. 

“I just hope it works out,” you say.

“It will,” Joel says with so much authority that you believe it. “And I think we should celebrate.”

Your brows furrow. “Celebrate?” you ask and he nods, firm. 

“You did amazin’ in your interview today,” Joel says. “We should celebrate that.”

You shake your head, feeling nervous. “Joel…we don’t even know if I got the job.” 

“I have a good feelin’,” he says. “Let me take you to dinner. Just as a break from the cookin’ and as a pre-celebration for the good news I know you’re gonna get.”

The way he says it makes it sound like a date but you won’t let your mind wander that way. Joel is kind. You know this. He’s doing this because he’s kind and maybe the two of you are friends now, after five weeks of marriage and almost a month of being housemates. 

“Okay,” you agree, ignoring the butterflies in your chest. “That would be nice.”

Joel looks pleased. The two of you agree to get ready and meet back in the living room within the hour. You spend the next fifteen minutes pondering what to wear. Joel hadn’t said where dinner would be so you settle on something good enough for a somewhat fancy restaurant but also casual enough for a burger place. The skirt falls against you in a soft swish of material, soft against your legs. You slip into a white blouse that matches the polka dots of your skirt before slipping into a pair of sandals. You’re already wearing make up because of your interview so you just reapply your lipgloss before fixing your hair. You slip the lipgloss and your wallet into your purse, giving yourself a onceover in the mirror. 

This isn’t a date, you remind yourself before you head downstairs. 

All you can think about is how devastatingly handsome Joel looks as the waiter brings you your drinks. You had ordered a Hugo Spritz and Joel had gotten an IPA. He had changed into a long sleeve shirt that’s forest green and fits him perfectly. His hair is combed and his beard is trimmed and he smells like cologne. This isn’t a date, you chant in your head as you take a sip of your drink. He’s just being friendly. The restaurant is lovely. It has outdoor seating and the cool evening breeze makes everything mellow. The sun is setting now, painting the sky a pale pinkish orange and you can hear the last few chirps of the summer birds before they settle for the night. 

“So,” you say, setting your glass down. “How was your day?”

“Pretty standard,” Joel says. “Did some finishin’ touches on this one house in Barton Hills and Tommy had to leave early because he and Maria are goin’ on a trip this weekend. So I let the guys go early too.”

“That’s nice of you,” you say and he shrugs, still bad at taking any sort of compliment. “I would tell you how my day went but I feel like we already covered that.”

It makes Joel chuckle and you’re pleased to hear the low sound of his laugh. You want to make him laugh again. 

“What can we talk about now?” he asks and you pretend to ponder. Really, you already know. You were thinking about it on the drive over, watching Joel in your peripheral vision. 

“I was thinking actually,” you start. “For being housemates and for being like, legally married, we don’t really know all that much about each other.”

“Huh,” Joel says, and if this was five weeks ago, you’d think he didn’t want anything to do with this but now that you know him a bit better, you can tell that he’s intrigued.

“So I was thinking we should just ask each other questions,” you say. “Just like the basic stuff.”

You watch as Joel considers it for a handful of seconds before he nods. Before you can ask him your first question, the waiter comes by with your food and you both nod and thank him. When it’s just the two of you again, you begin.

“What’s your favourite colour?” you ask and Joel’s mouth lifts in a half smile.

“That’s your hard hittin’ question?” he says but his voice is soft, gentle and only slightly teasing. You like the lilt to it. You nod, resolute. 

“Hm,” he says, pretending to ponder. “Green.”

You glance down at his shirt and he follows your eyes. 

“Should’ve guessed that,” you say and he shrugs. “Okay, your turn.”

“What’s your favourite book?” he asks and the question surprises you. You take a second, wracking your brain. You haven’t read in so long, life having become too hectic. You realize you’re taking too long to answer. 

“Uhhhh,” you say. “I can’t think of anything.” 

“Now come on,” Joel says. “I’m sure there’s something. Take your time.”

There’s something in his voice, something gentle and cajoling but not in a condescending way. It makes you feel like you really do have time to answer and so you do take a moment to consider all the books you’ve read. Finally, you come to an answer. 

“The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society,” you say and Joel’s brows furrow. 

“Are you pullin’ my leg?” he asks and you laugh, shaking your head. 

“I promise you it’s a real book,” you say. And then you go on to explain to him what the story’s about and how it’s told solely through letters and why you like it so much. He listens carefully, asking questions and nodding at your explanations. The evening continues on, and you learn that Joel’s favourite movie is something called Curtis and Viper 2 about two commandos who fight people and one of them is maybe a ninja? The plot is a little lost on you but you like listening to Joel’s voice as he tells you about how he watched the last one with his daughters when he went to visit them during Christmas break. By the time the waiter brings the check, Joel knows that your favourite colour is blue and that you’re double jointed and you know that he can play the guitar and actually does sing upon request but only for his girls. Joel pays before you can even bring out your wallet. You try to protest but he shakes his head.

“I said we were celebratin’,” he says. “And what type of man would I be if I let you pay for your own celebration?”

“One that believes in equality?” you say, joking. Joel scoffs and you laugh, watching him sign the merchant copy. Afterwards, the two of you make your way to his truck, making small talk about the weather and the cool spring breeze. The drive back home is quick, the soft sounds of Fleetwood Mac filling the car. Much to your disappointment, you find yourself back in the foyer of Joel’s house far too soon. You watch as Joel sets his keys down on the table by the door.

“Joel,” you say and he turns around to face you. “I just wanted to say thank you. For tonight. It was really nice.”

“Of course,” he says. “Anytime.”

He has a knack for saying things like they’re factual. Like it’s a given that he’ll take you out to a celebratory dinner anytime something good happens. You feel a surge of affection for him and you reason that that’s what makes you move towards him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You rest your chin on his shoulder, having to rise on your toes a bit to do so and you hug him. It’s nice, feeling him against you and it’s even better when you feel his arms come up around you. You’re surrounded by him. You stay like that for a few more seconds before you pull back. You’re closer now –  almost toe to toe and you have to crane your head a bit to meet his eyes. 

Joel brings a hand up, cupping the left side of your face. His gaze traces over you, his dark eyes mapping your features and your stomach swoops. There’s something tangible in the air between the two of you, just like the night of the anniversary party but this time it’s stronger.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” he asks, voice low. “Hm?” 

He moves his thumb to rest against your bottom lip, just pressing there. Your lips part and he watches, with his dark eyes. He rubs his thumb across your pouted mouth and you let out a small sound that has him stepping towards you, even closer. You’re toe to toe now, your sandals meeting his boots. He brings his other hand to your face, so that he’s holding your jaw in his large, warm palms. Your eyes flutter close as he leans down, pressing his plush mouth against the corner of your own. You let out a sharp breath, your heart beating frantically against your chest. His lips move to your cheekbone, pressing a kiss so soft, that you wonder if he kissed you at all. If it weren’t for the scratch of his moustache against your skin, you’d think you had imagined it. Your eyes flutter open, and he moves his mouth again, pressing a kiss to your other cheekbone before moving down to the other corner of your mouth. His breath is hot against the side of your face and insanely, you think that the two of you must be breathing in the same air at this very moment.  It’s also perhaps the most intimate thing you’ve ever experienced. 

“Joel,” you say, sounding desperate, even to your own ears. You want him to kiss you. You want to feel him everywhere. But, it has the opposite effect. Once he hears his name from your mouth, it’s like the hazy curtain of want has lifted off of him and he steps back, his hand dropping away from your face. For a second, you want to reach back for it, take his thumb into your mouth. You feel cold suddenly, the heat of him no longer there. 

His eyes are wide when they meet yours and he clears his throat. The hand that cupped your face is now curled into a fist. 

“Should go to bed,” he says as if nothing has happened at all. “I have a long day tomorrow.”

“Oh,” you say, unable to think of anything else. Joel nods, almost to himself before he takes a step back. He looks down at his hand, the one that had held you and then back at you. 

“Goodnight,” he says and then he’s taking the stairs two at a time. You stand there for a few more minutes, trying to make sense of everything. But you can’t. You don’t understand what just happened and it leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You head up to your room, legs still shaky and the phantom touch of Joel’s hand still on your skin.

It does not surprise you when Joel avoids you after that. He comes home later, texting you that work is running over and that there’s no need to wait up for him. So you don’t. You eat your dinner alone, leaving him a plate in the microwave and by the time you hear his heavy footsteps downstairs, you’re already tucked in bed. It goes on like that for three days. On the fourth, you get an email at four p.m with your official offer letter. Even with all the confusion between you and Joel, you feel a rush of excitement. You finally have a job. It’s been almost six weeks of searching and failing and now you’ll have a stable income. It might be foolish, but the first person you want to tell is Joel. Even with the weirdness between the two of you. So you wait up, even when you get a text from him telling you that he’s running late and won’t be home before ten p.m. You watch Catching Fire, curled on the couch and it’s just as Katniss shoots a spear up into the arena, that the front door opens. 

You feel nerves settle in your stomach as Joel walks into the living room. If he’s surprised to see you, he makes no show of it. 

“Evenin’,” he says, looking worse for wear. His eyes are slightly red and his hair is limp against his forehead. 

“Hey,” you say, sitting up from the couch. “How was your day?”

Joel shrugs. “S’alright.”

You feel like you’re at the airport again, trying to make small talk with a man who seems like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Still, you want to tell him, hoping that the good news might change things between the two of you. You still don’t know what went wrong.

“I got the official offer letter,” you say, giving him a hopeful smile. “Signed it and all. They even gave me a bonus.” 

You watch as Joel’s mouth pulls into a smile, the first real one you’ve seen since dinner three nights ago. His cheek dimples and his eyes crinkle and something like relief settles in your chest. Maybe you were right. Maybe this will make things better. 

“That’s great,” Joel says. “Told you you would.”

You nod, smiling. 

“Yeah,” you agree. “Thank you. For believing in me.”

Joel nods. But then his smile falters and you know there’s something unsaid. Something you don’t understand but clearly Joel does. You have to know what happened. What changed all of the sudden for you to be like strangers again.

“Joel –” you start to say just as he speaks.

“So does that mean –” he says and you both pause. 

“You first,” you say, feeling nervous. Joel clears his throat. You watch him bring his thumb to his other palm, rubbing the centre of it.

“I was just wonderin’ if this means that you’re movin’ out soon,” Joel finally says and the words shouldn’t shock you. It makes sense, logically. You were only staying here so long as you needed the free accommodation and now that you have a well paying job, you can leave. You should leave, really. Yet, it still feels like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on you. You take a moment before you respond. 

“Yeah,” you say, too quickly. “Right. It does mean that. I was thinking of going back to my old place, actually. My landlord texted a few days ago and said it’s mine if I want it, so.”

You don’t finish your sentence, letting it hang there. It’s not a lie, at least. Your landlord had texted and you had told him that you’d let him know in a few days. You suppose that now you have your answer. 

“That’s good,” Joel nods. “I’m glad it worked out for you.”

Everything feels so terribly formal. You wonder if you blacked out and did something insane the night you went out to dinner. It’s the only explanation you have for Joel being so indifferent all of the sudden. He had kissed you. He had held your face in his palm and pressed his mouth to your skin like you were something precious. And now it’s as if it had never happened. You swallow past the tight feeling in your throat. Your nose tingles like it does when you’re about to cry and you blink twice, clearing your vision. 

“Yeah,” you agree. “I’ll, um, keep you posted on when I’m leaving.”

Joel nods, face stoic. He holds himself so rigid, the tense line of his shoulders looking painfully tight.

“Let me know if you need help with movin’ anythin’,” he says and the offer settles like a heavy weight in your stomach. 

“Thank you,” you say. “Anyways, I’ll let you get to it. I’m going to bed.”

You take the stairs two at a time and it’s only when you’re in the safety of the bathroom with the tap running at the maximum flow, do you allow yourself to cry. 

Joel doesn’t want anyone else to know about Vegas. It’s bad enough that Tommy gives him a hard time whenever it’s just the two of them. The only people he had actually told were his kids and it had gone surprisingly better than Joel had expected. He had video called the two of them together as soon as he was back home, and meandered around the actual topic until the nerves got the better of him and he brought it up, his words clunky and uncertain.

Ellie had thought he was joking at first before looking at Sarah’s face and seeing her wide-eyed, concerned gaze.

“You’re serious?” she had asked and Joel had nodded, feeling incredibly stupid. He was way too old to be doing things like this. He had specifically instructed his daughters to never make silly, drunken mistakes and now here he was, married after twelve hours in Vegas.

“I wish I could tell you what happened but I don’t remember,” Joel had said, ears burning. Ellie had laughed, delighted. She had interrogated him some more before telling him that a mid-life crisis was totally normal at his age. Joel had balked at the words but he was secretly relieved that she didn’t think of him as a fuck up. Sarah on the other hand, had been awfully quiet. He could tell that she was at work given the sound of the coffee machines and bustling customers in the background and he hated that he was worrying her when she was busy. He had gone on to tell them that they were heading to the courthouse later in the day to file for the divorce but that it might take a while for it to be finalized. Eventually, Ellie had to leave to go to soccer practice and once she had, Sarah had spoken in a soft voice.

“Are you sure you’re okay, dad?” she had asked. Her mouth was pursed, almost identical to his. It was still jarring, twenty one years after becoming a father, seeing his mannerisms in his girls. 

“M’aright,” he had said. “Really. I just made a silly mistake.”

“You got hitched,” Sarah says. “How drunk were you?”

Joel knew that he had looked sheepish.

“Pretty drunk babygirl,” he had answered and she had shaken her head. “M’sorry. Didn’t mean to worry you. Or embarrass you. I know I’m too old to be actin’ like this.”

“It isn’t that,” Sarah had said, voice gentle. “I just want you to be okay and happy. I know it’s been lonely since Ellie left too.”

“I swear I’m fine,” he had answered, voice resolute. The one thing he wasn’t going to do was have his kids worry about him, not when their lives were just getting started. And if that meant telling them that he felt completely normal about getting so drunk that he ended up married to the first woman he’s been attracted to in years a few hours after meeting her then so be it. She’s so much younger too. He thinks of how sweet she had been in Vegas, making conversation with him even when he was too in his head to talk like a normal man. She likely hates being in this situation with a grouch like him. 

“If you’re sure,” Sarah says but she doesn’t sound convinced. 

“I’m sure,” Joel had reassured and finally, she had nodded, seemingly satisfied. When the call had ended, Joel had felt relieved, slumping in his work chair. At least they hadn’t been upset with him. 

Now, Tommy is looking at him with a look that reminds him of when Tommy had broken their mother’s favourite vase when he was nine and begged Joel to take the fall because he really wanted to go to summer camp that year. Joel had because he was a good big brother and it had ended in him being grounded for a whole month that summer which was one of the worst things that could have happened to him  as a sixteen year old. 

“What is it?” Joel asks, already feeling agitated.

Tommy rubs the back of his neck. 

“I mighta fucked up,” he finally says.

The state of Texas has a sixty day “cooling-off” period which means that even though you and Joel had filed for divorce two weeks ago, there’s still fourty-six days left of the two of you being married. This doesn’t really affect your life though. You both have barely spoken since that weekend in Vegas, the remainder of which you, him, Maria and Tommy had spent trying to figure out what the hell had actually happened. Unsurprisingly, it had yielded no results. Neither you nor Joel were able to remember how you had wound up married in a chapel or how you had even made it back to the hotel. The icing on the cake was that Tommy and Maria hadn’t even left Double Down Saloon to begin with. Joel had been wrong about their being only one bathroom which wasn’t surprising given that he was drunk enough to marry you approximately twenty minutes later. The divorce had been fairly easy to file. Although Maria wasn’t a divorce lawyer, she had a lot of lawyer friends who were and so you and Joel had been in and out of the courthouse in a matter of an hour, divorce papers signed and all. 

Currently, you’re sipping on an overpriced iced latte and looking at rentals in your current area, trying to find something that’s less expensive than your current apartment. You’ve found a basement but the man who’s renting it describes himself as a “fun-loving, forty something year old who wants to make some good memories” so that’s most definitely a no. Other than that, there’s literally nothing you can find that won’t break your bank. You’re lucky you’re on a month-to-month with your current place but you’ve already given your notice to your landlord because there’s no way you can afford a $2000 apartment while unemployed. And it’s not looking like anything’s gonna change soon given that you’ve heard back from no one. You let out a sigh. 

“Nothing?” Maria asks, across from you. She’s working on a contract for one of her clients, keeping you company for the day while you switch between job applications and scouring the internet for some place to live. You shake your head, slumping in your seat. 

“If I had told you a month ago that I’d be jobless, almost homeless and a divorcee, would you have believed me?” you ask and Maria huffs, shaking her head.

“You are not going to be homeless,” she says. “You can always stay with me and Tommy. And you will find a job.”

“Notice how you said nothing about me being a divorcee,” you say, but there’s a smile on your face. It’s sort of funny, really. Divorced before you could really be married. 

Maria says your name in warning, but she’s smiling as well. 

“I can’t stay with you and Tommy,” you say. “There’s not enough space and I can’t stay on your couch indefinitely.”

“You can stay on our couch as long as you need,” Maria says with certainty. “If I’m being honest, Tommy can stay on our couch and you and I can share because his snoring is getting worse.”

“Ah, so this is all a ruse to benefit you, really,” you say and she laughs. 

“Exactly,” she says. Then, her face becomes serious. “I am being serious, you know. You always have a place with us.”

“I know,” you say. “And I appreciate that.”

The sharp ringing of her phone interrupts your conversation. You watch her glance at it before her eyes soften and you know it must be Tommy calling. She picks it up and you look back at your laptop, giving her some privacy. 

“Hey babe,” she says. You can hear Tommy’s muffled voice on the other end as you read a listing about an apartment with a “small pest problem” and shudder. 

“Tommy,” Maria says and she sounds annoyed now. You glance up to meet her eyes. “Fine but you have to ask her.”

Then, she’s handing the phone to you. You must look confused because she gives you an apologetic look.

“He said he needed to run something by you,” she says, sounding stern. You take the phone from her, bringing it up to your ear.

“Hey Tommy,” you say. “How are you?” 

It had taken you a bit to get over your embarrassment when interacting with Tommy post-Vegas wedding. You hadn’t wanted him to think less of you and it was sort of insane that you had accidentally married his older brother approximately twelve hours into meeting him. But Tommy had been sweet and understanding, if not really amused by the entire situation. If he had given anyone a hard about it, it had probably been Joel. 

“Hey there,” Tommy says. “M’alright, just a long work day. How about yourself?”

“I’m good,” you say, even though it’s quite untrue. He doesn’t need to be bored by your crumbling life. Maria probably fills him in on it anyways. 

“I’m glad,” he says and there’s a pregnant pause.

“Soooo,” you say, filling in the silence. “You just wanted to check in on your sister-in-law or is there something else?” 

Maria shakes her head, smiling and you can hear Tommy let out a laugh on the other end. He sounds nervous though. 

“I fucked up a bit,” Tommy says. “Remember that big client project, we were tellin’ you about in Vegas? Well, today I might have let it slip that Joel was married.” 

You think he’s going to continue but the line stays silent.

“Oh,” you say, still confused. “I don’t really understand why that’s an issue.” 

You hear him clear his throat. 

“Well, the client is this rich married couple and they were so excited to hear about Joel that I couldn’t tell ‘em the circumstances of the marriage. So I said that he was a private man and it had been a small ceremony, and you know, all of that.”

“Okay,” you say, suddenly feeling nervous. You don’t really like where this is going.

“Long story short they invited us all out to their anniversary party,” Tommy says, so quickly that there’s barely any separation between his words. “And we said we’d go. And Joel wants to wring my neck but it would mean a lot if you’d play along. Just for that one night.” 

You must take too long to respond because Tommy says your name.

“Sorry,” you say quickly. “Yeah, um. Sure I can do that.”

You catch Maria’s eye, her mouth still pursed. 

“Thank you kindly,” Tommy says. “I told Joel I’d talk to you about it but he’ll send you the details and y’all can figure out your story.”

“So you’re telling me that we can’t tell them that we got drunk and then married in the span of like, four hours?” you ask, and you hear Tommy laugh. You bid him farewell and hand the phone back to Maria. You tune out her telling him off for having too big of a mouth sometimes. You think of having to interact with Joel again. You haven’t really seen him since that day at the courthouse and even then he had been curt, the way he was when you had first met.

“I’m sorry about this,” Maria says when she sets her phone down. “Tommy talks way too much sometimes. He shouldn’t have said anything.”

You shrug. The nerves have settled now and it’ll probably be fine right? You’re doing Joel a favour so surely he won’t be as sullen as he usually is and maybe now the two of you will be able to laugh about the whole thing instead of pretending it's not actively still happening.

“S’alright,” you say. “I mean we are technically married. And I don’t mind helping them out if it means they don’t give their client a bad impression.”

“You know, you don’t have to do this,” Maria says and you know she means it. “They can make something up.”

“I know,” you say. “Really, it’s okay. Me and Joel can absolutely pretend to be happy newlyweds for an evening.”

Maria raises a sceptical eyebrow at you and you look down at your laptop so that she can’t see through your lie. 

You can do this. 

You get a text from Joel later that night. 

You’ve just made pasta using sauce from a jar but you know how to make it taste better so you’re really quite pleased with your dinner. You’re rewatching an episode of Grey’s Anatomy when your phone buzzes, fork halfway to your mouth. You look down, your heart stuttering when you see Joel’s name. You drop your fork into your bowl of pasta, reaching for your phone and swiping up to unlock it. 

[Joel, 7:47 pm]: Hi. This is Joel. 

It makes you snort. The two of you had exchanged numbers on that last day in Vegas in case you needed to coordinate lawyer appointments and divorce stuff but you had ended up never using his number. Still, it’s silly that he’s introducing himself again. 

[You, 7:48 pm]: hey Joel! i figured it was you since we exchanged numbers lol

You see him start typing almost immediately. You watch the text bubble appear and then disappear six times and then your phone starts buzzing. He’s calling you. You sit up straighter, suddenly feeling nervous. You press the green answer button before you can overthink.

“Hello?” you say. 

“Hey,” Joel’s deep voice says on the other end of the line. “Sorry for callin’. I’m not much of a texter and thought it might be easier to talk like this.”

“Of course,” you say, even though your heart is still hammering against your chest. You’ve never been good with unexpected phone calls. 

“I take it Tommy told you about our client,” Joel says and you nod before you remember that he can’t see you.

“Yeah,” you say. “He did. The anniversary party, right?”

“Yeah,” Joel says, sounding tired. “Tommy and his big fuckin’ mouth. I’m sorry ‘bout this. I wasn’t there when it happened.”

“That’s alright,” you say. “I’m sure we can manage pretending to be a happy married couple right?” 

You mean it as a joke but there’s no chuckle on the other end. 

“The party’s next Friday,” Joel says instead. “It’s at their place an hour out of town. I can drive us.”

“Okay,” you agree, suddenly feeling tired. The least  he can do is be somewhat friendly, when you’re the one doing him a favour. “Is there a dress code or anything?” 

“Yeah,” Joel says. “They said it was cocktail attire.”

You snort. Of course it is. You think of what Tommy had said, about smoothing out your and Joel’s story. 

“Joel,” you start. “You do realize we have to be convincing right? That means we need a story about how we got married. If what Tommy’s saying is true, these clients are nosy and going to ask.”

You hear Joel sigh, on the other line. You wonder if he’s also in his pajamas, sitting on his couch. It’s silly, but you’re curious about him. From what you remember, he had been friendly on that first night in Vegas. Sure, it had taken him probably ten drinks but he had taught you to play pool and defended you from that creep at the bar. But it’s like a switch has flipped and now he’s back to his surly self. 

“We can iron out the details on the drive over,” Joel says. 

“Sounds good,” you agree. “Will Tommy and Maria be driving over with us?” 

“Probably,” Joel says, sounding annoyed. You think it’s likely directed at Tommy and how he’s gotten you two in this situation but you can’t be sure. Not with Joel. At least it means you won’t have to deal with him all on your own. And Maria’s good at coming up with stuff on the spot, a skill she’s only gotten better at since becoming a lawyer. 

You hum. There’s a pause and you can hear his breathing. You realize how stiff you’ve been holding yourself through the entirety of the call, shoulders rigid.

“Okay, well goodnight, Joel,” you say. You can hear him shuffle on the other end, like he’s getting up. You can feel your heart beat faster, and you settle more firmly against your coach, trying to relax your tense muscles. 

“G’night,” Joel says, voice low. You press the red button to end the call, wondering why your interactions with Joel always leave you feeling flustered. 

Friday comes sooner than you expect. You had spent the morning at an apartment viewing with a mysterious yellow stain on the wall and a damp scent that seemed to permeate from the floors and had done your best to nod and smile as the person showing you the place had talked about possibly investing in an extra lock for the front door. Now, you’re looking down at the dress you had picked out for tonight, deep red with black flowers on it and a lace neckline. The straps are thin and delicate, also decorated with black lace. You wonder if it might be too much as you slip it on but you think of how Tommy had described the clients. If they really are so wealthy then they’ll probably be wearing things much fancier than this. You look in the mirror, smoothing down the dress. It fits you quite nicely, cinched at the waist but flaring near the bottom. You adjust the straps so they aren’t twisted and fix your hair. Just as you’re finishing up the last bits of your makeup, your phone begins to ring. 

“Hey you,” you say to Maria on the other end of the line. “What’s up?”

“I’m so sorry,” Maria says and your brows furrow. “Tommy’s not feeling well. He’s been throwing up all morning and I was hoping it would get better but I don’t think we can make it today. I’m so sorry, babe.”

Leave it to Maria to apologize to you for her boyfriend being too sick to move. 

“Maria,” you say. “You don’t have to apologize for this. Is Tommy okay?”

You hear her sigh. 

“We went out to dinner last night and I think whatever he had didn’t sit well. He’s okay, just super tired. He texted Joel just now to tell him too,” she says. The mention of Joel has your stomach in knots. Right. This means it’s going to be just you and Joel for the night. Perfect.

“Well tell him to take care, okay? Really, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine,” you say, voice convincing. 

“I’m sorry –” Maria starts again but you cut her off.

“Do not finish that sentence,” you say. “Seriously. You have nothing to apologize for. Really.”

“Alright,” Maria acquiesces. “You can text me anytime, okay? If Joel’s being a dick again tell me and I’ll tell him off. I think he’s a tad intimidated by me.”

You laugh. Some of your nerves settle.

“I think it’ll be great,” you say. “It’s like a play, really. We’re playing husband and wife. Maybe I’ll find that I love acting and do a career pivot.”

You hear the tinkle of Maria’s laugh on the other line before there’s a muffled noise. You think you might hear Tommy calling for her.

“You should go take care of Tommy,” you say. “I’ll keep you posted on how Mr. and Mrs. Miller goes tonight.”

“Okay,” Maria agrees. “Text me okay?”

“Cross my heart,” you say. Once the call ends, you glance at the clock. There’s still forty minutes until Joel’s supposed to come and get you. You’ve always gotten ready too early but it’s that or being late.

You head to your fridge, pulling out a bottle of wine you opened earlier this week. You pour yourself a glass, sitting at your counter. You start thinking of what your and Joel’s backstory could be. Maybe the two of you met at a bar and hit it off immediately? Or maybe you ran into each other at a grocery store, literally. Your shopping carts bumped into each other and when your eyes met, that was it. You had dated for a year and then gotten married around your closest friends. In Vegas. With no pictures. You snort, taking a large sip. Glancing at the clock you see that it’s only been five minutes since you last checked the time. It seems like time is crawling at a snail's pace. 

You reach for your laptop, opening up LinkedIn. You go through your suggested jobs, bookmarking two that seem promising. You still haven’t heard back from anywhere and while you’re trying not to take it personally, it breaks your heart a little every time you get an automated rejection email or simply hear nothing at all. You’ve never taken rejection well. It’s like you woke up one day and everything you knew about your life was gone. Your job, and now your apartment. And on top of that, you’re almost a divorcee. Not that you care particularly about the label given your marriage isn’t real, but everything feels off kilter. Like you’ve entered some alternate reality where almost everything is the same except for your life. You sigh, clicking on the job postings. You go through the motions, updating your resume to include all the buzzwords from the posting and drafting a cover letter that’s almost as fake as your marriage. By the time you’re done filling out all the details, it’s been thirty minutes. You only realize this when your phone buzzes. 

[Joel, 4:45 pm]: I’m parked out front by the dog park. I know I’m a little early, take your time. 

Your mouth twitches in a smile as you read the text over. It’s chivalrous of him and you appreciate that he’s early instead of late. You head to your bathroom, giving yourself a once over in the mirror. You swipe on another layer of lip gloss and fix your hair. You head back out, slipping into your shoes. You’ve never much liked heels but the pair you slip into are comfy and you can even dance in them. Not that you imagine you’re going to dance tonight but it never hurts to be prepared. You smooth your dress down once more and grab your purse before heading out the door. You take the stairs since the elevator of your building takes forever and you’ve gotten used to climbing the four flights of stairs by now. 

The air outside is warm but thankfully, not humid. You see Joel’s red pickup truck right where he said it would be. You walk over, resisting the urge to smooth your dress again. There’s no reason for you to be nervous. You’re doing him a favour. You’re surprised when you see him get out of his side of the truck, coming around to your side. You take him in. He’s wearing a fitted dress shirt that's navy blue and tailored pants. His hair is combed back and he’s wearing dress shoes. He looks hot, but that isn’t surprising. The novelty hasn’t worn off but you’re more used to it now. 

“Hey Joel,” you say. His eyes trace over you, taking you in. 

“Howdy,” he says in his drawl. “You look nice.”

It’s shockingly not grouchy of him and it makes you stop for a second. Maybe Maria did end up calling him and telling him to behave.

“Thank you,” you say after a moment of hesitation. “You do too. I like the shirt.”

You watch his cheeks tinge pink and he nods in thanks. He pulls the door of his car open for you and you get in, holding the skirt of your dress so you don’t flash anyone even though it falls to your shins. You watch him walk around and then he’s in the driver’s seat. He clears his throat, looking at you.

“I take it Maria told you about Tommy,” he starts and you nod. 

“Yeah, sucks to be him,” you say and you watch Joel’s mouth twitch in an almost smile.

“Deserves it for gettin’ us into this mess,” he says but his tone isn’t sullen. He almost sounds as if he’s joking. 

“I think today might be fun,” you say. “Really. How many people can say they got accidentally married in Vegas and then had to pretend to be a real couple?”

It’s almost like a hybrid of your two favourite romcoms but you leave that part out, not wanting to break the fragile olive branch Joel seems to be extending to you.

“Guess so,” he says as he turns on the ignition. You watch as he reverses out of his parking spot and he does that thing where he settles his right hand at the back of your seat as he looks behind him. You look away, glancing ahead. 

“I was thinking of our backstory,” you start as he pulls onto the road. “I have two options. Option A is that we met at a bar and hit it off and Option B is that we ran into each other at a grocery store and you asked me out in the produce section.”

You glance at him, watching his brows furrow. He glances at you, catching your eye. His mouth is pursed and you don’t know him very well but you know him enough to know he isn’t impressed. You deflate in your seat, glancing away. 

“I was actually thinkin’,” he starts. “It might be easier to remember if it’s similar to how we actually met.”

“At the airport?” you ask, looking back at him. He shakes his head, his eyes now on the road. 

“On a plane. Maybe you were nervous and I was sat next to you and helped you calm down. We hit it off and then I asked you out when we landed. We dated for six months, knew that we were it for each other and then had a shotgun wedding in Vegas with our closest friends.”

It’s sweet. The backstory but also the idea of Joel thinking about it enough to have it fully fleshed out. 

“I like that,” you say and you see the right side of his mouth pull up into a smile. A dimple indents his right cheek and it makes you smile in turn, even as you glance back at the highway ahead of you. 

“I think we might also need to know a little more about each other,” Joel says. “Just in case anythin’ comes up. We’ve been workin’ with them for the last couple of weeks now and personal stuff sometimes comes up. Nothin’ crazy but they know I’ve got two girls.”

You hum, nodding.

“Maria mentioned,” you say. “They’re off at college right?”

You watch as he nods. 

“My oldest, Sarah, she wants to be a doctor. In her senior year at Penn State and smart as a whip. My younger one, Ellie’s just as smart. But she’s a freshman so she’s still figurin’ out what she wants to do. She loves to draw though so she was thinkin’ of graphic design. She goes to NYU.”

He visibly brightens as he talks about them and it makes you smile.

“They sound amazing,” you say. He nods in agreement. 

“What about you?” he asks.

“Pretty boring stuff. I moved here for college and ended up staying. No kids or anything. Just me,” you say. You’re not the biggest fan of talking about yourself but you’re not exaggerating. There’s nothing really intriguing about your life.

Joel nods, seemingly satisfied with your barely there answer. The two of you settle into a comfortable silence for the next thirty minutes but there’s a question that’s been rattling around your head since he had texted you a week ago and you’ve gotta ask.

“Do you remember anything else from that night?” you ask, breaking the silence. He glances at you and you can see him become more rigid at the mention of your wedding. It takes him a second but he finally answers.

“I don’t,” he says. “I kept wrackin’ my brain tryin’ to figure out how we ended up doin’ what we did but I always draw a blank.”

“Me too!” you say, voice pitching higher. It’s nice to finally talk about it. Joel had been reticent that weekend, likely from his own shock and embarrassment. You had felt the same. “It’s like my brain was wiped clean of those two hours.”

Joel hums, nodding. 

“The power of alcohol, I suppose,” he says and you laugh. He clears his throat before he speaks next. “I hadn’t actually had a night out like that in a few years. Tommy drags me out to bars in Austin but I hadn’t gone that hard in probably a decade.” 

“I think the last time I got that drunk was in college,” you say. “So I’m right there with you.” 

He huffs out a laugh and you’re pleased that it’s a result of what you said. 

“Maybe we steer clear of the drinks tonight,” Joel says and it takes you a second to realize he’s joking. Joel Miller is cracking a joke about your drunken, accidental marriage. If someone had told you this would happen ten hours ago you wouldn’t have believed them. You laugh, leaning your head back against the head rest. 

“Deal,” you say. “Although I’ve already had a glass of wine.”

You glance at him and you watch as he raises one dark brow.

“It’s 4:30 in the afternoon,” he says and you shrug.

“It’s a Friday,” you counter and you watch him contemplate your answer. 

“Guess that’s fair,” he concedes and you can’t believe this. You’re bantering with Joel Miller. It’s what gives you the confidence to say your next sentence.

“Plus, I was sort of nervous about this,” you say. “We don’t have a track record for being pals.”

You watch as he shifts in his seat, his fingers flexing against the steering wheel. He clears his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he says and you look at him properly now, your brows furrowing. “I know I haven’t been the friendliest. And I suppose part of that is just who I am after all these years. But I should’ve been more of a gentleman, especially after -” He pauses here, and you grin.

“After we got married?” you say and you watch his ears go pink. It’s endearing that it embarrasses him so much.

“Yeah,” he says, reluctantly. 

“That’s alright,” you say. “I mean if I’m being honest, you are a gentleman. You helped me on the plane and with that creep at the bar. You’re just a bit –” and this time it’s you who hesitates. You watch him look at you now. There’s a slowdown ahead and it’s only then that you realize the car has been at a standstill for the last few minutes.

“A bit what?” he asks, mouth pulling into a small frown.

“Crotchety?” you say but it sounds more like a question. His dark eyes narrow but he doesn’t look genuinely annoyed. 

“Now I know I’m old but I don’t think I’m old enough to be called crotchety,” Joel says but his eyes are soft as he watches you. You laugh, feeling nervous and hoping he doesn’t take any offense. Not when you’re on the verge of being at least friendlier than before. 

“Let’s circle back to when I said you were gentlemanly,” you say and to your delight, he grins. It’s a full smile and you can see his teeth and the crinkles by his eyes. You find yourself mirroring his smile, unable to stop yourself. 

A horn blares out of nowhere and you jump in your seat only to realize that the slow down seems to have cleared up. Joel starts too before he grumbles under his breath, glaring at in his rearview mirror as he hits the gas. The drive goes by quickly after that, the traffic from the city clearing up. Joel turns on the radio, old tunes of Joan Baez and Linda Ronstadt filling the mostly silent car. The silence isn’t tense though and you find yourself relaxing against the warm leather of your seat, humming along to the bits you know. Soon enough, Joel is pulling into what is probably the biggest house you’ve ever seen. Your jaw drops as you take in the Mediterranean style house with huge windows and a porch with marble pillars.

“Holy shit,” you say.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees. “They’re pretty rich.”

You let out an amazed laugh. 

“Can they adopt me? I’ve spent the last week looking at listings and my best option is a basement unit with water stains on all the walls. It smells like it too.”

“You’re movin’?” Joel asks and you stop gawking at the house to look at him. Leave it to you to overshare, you guess.

“Oh, um yeah,” you say. “My lease is ending soon and I can’t afford to renew it. Maria offered me her and Tommy’s couch but I don’t wanna third wheel.”

You shrug, suddenly uncomfortable under Joel’s scrutiny. He looks…concerned maybe? Or maybe he’s just confused about how much of a mess your life currently is. Honestly, fair enough. So are you.

“Anyways,” you say, eager to change the subject. “Should we head in?” 

Joel nods, but his brows are still furrowed. You open the door, undoing your seatbelt simultaneously. You slide out and smooth down your dress, making sure the straps haven’t twisted. You look at the side mirror, pulling out your lipgloss and swiping it on. When you look up, Joel’s in front of you, watching the whole thing. You put your lip gloss back in your purse, ignoring the nerves in your stomach. 

“Ready?” he asks, sounding like he’s genuinely checking in. You nod. The two of you can do this. If anything, it’ll be a fun story for Maria. Hopefully.

“We should, uh –” Joel starts, rubbing the back of his neck. Your brows furrow. He seems almost shy. 

“What is it?” you ask, stepping towards him.

“I think we might have to hold hands,” Joel says. “Since we’re newly married and all. Tommy really sold them on our relationship. Said we were crazy about each other and all that.”

Your mouth twitches in a smile. Of course Tommy did. If it’s one thing he can do it’s tell a story. The first time you had met him, when he and Maria had officially labelled their relationship, you had sat  listening to how he described seeing Maria for the first time. It had been the most entertaining and heartwarming hour and a half of your life.

“That’s fine,” you say, reaching out to take his hand in yours. For as big and burly as Joel was, he seemed to be shy about stuff like this. At least when he was sober. He seemed just fine touching you at the pool table in Vegas. For a second, you think of his large hands against your hips but you’re quick to sweep those thoughts away. 

You can feel the callouses of his hands, worn from work and slightly rough near the pads of his fingers. You interlock your fingers together and glance up at him. He’s looking down at where your hands are woven together, his eyes dark. He clears his throat, coming back to himself. 

“Let’s go,” he says, but he doesn’t tug on your arm. He waits for you to start walking and then joins. Your hand feels clammy against his warm, large palm and you straighten your posture, steeling yourself. A butler opens the door to the house and you do your best not to gawk at the sheer wealth in front of you. It’s all very tasteful but also so very opulent. There’s a chandelier that glimmers in the centre of the foyer, the lights glistening off the polished floor.

“Straight through sir, ma’am. The soiree is in the garden,” the butler says, gesturing with a gloved hand. You nod, eyes wide.

As you and Joel walk towards the direction he pointed in, you glance at him.

“You need to tell me to control my face because I think I’m going to be slack jawed at everything,” you say, only half joking. Joel’s mouth tugs in a small smile. 

“Alright,” he agrees. He leads the way as you walk into the back garden and it’s then that you notice a wrapped gift in his left hand. You let him guide you, taking the time to look around. The decorations are beautiful, lanterns illuminating the space in a soft, orange glow. There are artful flower arrangements on every table and a dance floor at the centre. There’s also a fountain of chocolate and what looks like an open bar. Everyone around you is dressed to the nines. Women have glittering diamonds on their necks and the air smells of expensive perfume. Soon enough you’re standing in front of an impeccably dressed couple. The woman’s hair is dark and elegant, pulled into a beautiful updo and her dress is all even lines and a gauzy white material. The man is wearing a dress shirt, the collar starched and stuff just as the cuffs are and well tailored pants. 

“Joel,” he says warmly. He reaches a hand out and Joel’s fingers untangle from your own to take it. “We’re so glad you could make it. Shame to hear Tommy wasn’t feeling well.”

Joel nods, giving the man a smile. “He’s sad to be missin’ this, that’s for sure.”

“And this must be the mystery woman we’ve heard so much about,” the man says. He reaches for your hand and you take it, doing your best to give it a firm shake.

“I’m Jack,” he says. “And this is Anna, my wife.”

Anna reaches out as well, and you shake her hand too. You can’t remember the last time you shook someone’s hand, let alone at a party. You tell them your name and they nod, smiles wide. 

“It’s so nice to meet you both,” you say, smiling. “And happy anniversary!”

“It’s lovely to meet you too,” Anna says. “And congratulations on the wedding! Joel hadn’t even mentioned he was going to get married!”

You laugh, shrugging. You catch Joel’s eye and you can see the line of his back tense. 

“Well we’d been thinking about it a lot but it sort of happened in the moment,” you say. “We want to do a proper ceremony in the next year or so, isn’t that right babe?” 

Joel nods, mouth pulling into a smile. His shoulders are still stiff though. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “And when we do, we hope to see y’all there.” 

He sounds sincere, at least and you feel relieved.

“You have got to tell us how you met,” Anna says, excitedly. 

“You do,” Jack says in agreement with his wife. “Joel’s so private but we’ve been desperate to hear the details ever since Tommy told us.”

Your jaw is beginning to ache from all the smiling but you nod, matching their enthusiasm. 

“Well it was fate really,” you start, making your voice dreamy. This part you can do. You’ve always loved telling a story. You suppose you and Tommy have that in common. “I’m a nervous wreck of a flier. I was heading to Vegas for a bachelorette party and just ran out of my Xanax. There I was, shaking in my seat when this handsome man came down and sat by me. He was a bit surly at first, you know how he can be.” 

You pause here and Anna and Jack nod with matching smiles. You glance at Joel, watching his eyes narrow slightly at you but his mouth twitches in amusement. 

“But then, just as the flight was taking off, I got really nervous. My legs felt shaky and I was stiff as a board in my seat. Next thing I know, Joel’s taken my hand in his, and is doing acupuncture to help me calm down. I didn’t even notice the rest of the take off. And we chatted the whole flight. Wasn’t even scared of landing, which statistically, is when there’s the highest chance of an accident.”

You look up at Joel, giving him a warm smile. You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers again. You know exactly what you’re going to say next to seal the deal. 

“And he’s been holding my hand ever since.”

Anna awws, wrapping her hand around her husband's arm.

“Oh, you two are just the sweetest,” she says and you laugh, delighted. “Joel, I had no idea you were such a softie.”

You glance at Joel and he shrugs. 

“I suppose she brings it out in me,” he says and you look away to hide your laugh. Anna coos again and Jack is grinning, teeth bright in the dim glow of the lanterns. 

“Well we hope you both have a lovely night,” he says. “There’s food and drinks and dancing soon. We have to go do the rounds but we will be finding the two of you again.”

“Thank you for having us,” Joel says, again. “The place looks great.”

The two of you watch as Jack and Anna walk towards guests that have just arrived, greeting them with enthusiasm.

“They seem nice,” you say and Joel nods. “Kinda whimsical but very nice.”

“They are,” he agrees. “You’re good at that, by the way.”

You raise a brow. “At what?”

“Makin’ stuff up,” he says and you let out a snort. 

“Why thank you,” you say and the corner of his mouth lifts up in an almost smile. 

“Let’s take a seat,” Joel suggests. “They look like they’re about to start servin’ food and I’m starved.”

You nod in agreement and he tugs your hand so it’s more firmly in his grip. You take in his broad shoulders and strong back as he leads the way, bringing you to an empty table. He lets go of your hand to pull your chair for you and when you take a seat, he pushes it back in. A second later, he’s seated next to you. A waiter comes by almost immediately and you ask for a glass of white wine while Joel opts for a whisky. 

“Just the one,” Joel says to you when the waiter brings your drinks to you. “For me,” he adds. “I’m drivin’ us back so.”

“Oh,” you say. “Lucky me. I’m going to drink a ton. Maybe get a second wedding out of this.”

Joel lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. 

“Careful sweetheart,” he says and almost immediately you can tell that he catches his slip up. He clears his throat and you look away, not wanting him to feel embarrassed. 

“So,” you say, not wanting this to become awkward. “Are all your clients this rich?”

You watch him swallow a sip of his drink as he shrugs, contemplating.

“I suppose so. But we don’t usually deal with the higher ups that much except for board meetins’ and that sort. Jack and Anna are the friendly kind. It’s pretty rare. S’my first time bein’ invited to a client’s anniversary party.”

You nod. “That makes sense.”

Joel shifts so he’s facing you more fully. 

“How have you been doin’?” he asks and you can tell he means with the whole jobless thing you have going on. You shrug, your grip on your wine glass tightening subconsciously. 

“I’m alright,” you say. “Still figuring out what to do next, I guess.” 

You hate talking about it. It always leaves a lump in your throat and you feel silly that it makes you want to cry but you’d spent your whole life doing exactly what was expected of you. You went to college and majored in something reasonable that your parents approved of only because they told you it would get you a good job. And now, you don’t even have that.

“It’s a tough market,” Joel says, voice low. He doesn’t sound sympathetic but there’s something in his voice that’s less gruff than usual. Softer, even. You let out a humourless chuckle.

“That it is,” you agree. You take a sip of your wine, the coldness of it a welcome distraction. 

“Well if there’s any –” Joel starts but then the music comes on interrupting him. There’s a live band that you’ve just noticed. Well, a live orchestra, really. They play something vaguely familiar, something fast but romantic. The two of you look to see couples heading to the dance floor, arms intertwined and laughing. 

“Joel!” a man yells and you look to the source of the sound to find Jack with Anna, twirling her around. “Dance with your wife.”

You can feel yourself flush as you glance at Joel. He looks at you, an eyebrow raised in a silent question. 

“We don’t gotta,” he says and you take a second before you stand up. Joel does too, holding out a hand for you. This time, you lead the way to the dance floor, only turning around when you’ve found a nice spot that isn’t too in the centre but also not right by the edge. The song bleeds out into something slower and before you can think of what to do next, you feel warm hands at your waist, tugging you closer. 

“This okay?” Joel asks, dark eyes tracing your face. You nod, suddenly at a loss for words. You realize your hands are hanging at your side and quickly bring them up to his broad shoulders, resting them there. Joel smells like fresh pine and something darker, woodsy and smoky all at once. 

“We don’t gotta do this for long,” Joel says and you move a little closer, enjoying the sturdiness of him. It’s been a long time since you’ve danced with a man. 

“I don’t mind,” you say. “I like dancing. Don’t get to do it enough.”

He nods and you think his hands on your waist might tighten but you also might be imagining it. 

“You’re a good dancer,” you say and Joel laughs. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. 

“I’m alright,” he says.

“You haven’t stepped on me once,” you say and he shakes his head.

“That’s probably because you’re a good dancer,” he says and you smile. It’s nice being like this with Joel. In your peripheral vision, you notice waiters setting cloche covered plates on the tables and it’s then that you remember what Joel had said. The song is beginning to fade out into something new too.

“You said you were hungry,” you say. “I think the waiters are bringing out food if you want to head back.”

You catch Joel’s eye, his gaze warm as it meets yours. 

“I don’t mind dancin’ a bit more if you don’t,” he says. It surprises you but you feel something warm flutter in your belly. “But if you want to head back to our table, we can.”

“No,” you say, a bit too quickly. “I’d like to dance some more too.”

You’re silent for a bit, swaying with the music. At one point, Joel twirls you around and you let out a delighted sound when he pulls you back in. 

“You’ve got moves,” you say and you feel more than hear his chuckle. 

“I was young once,” Joel says and you shake your head.

“You’re not that old,” you say, thinking of the grey near his temples and the patches of it in his beard. 

“I’ve got at least two decades on you,” he says. There’s something in his voice that you can’t place. You think of the wrinkles by his eyes when he smiles and the fine lines on his forehead and you don’t think it’s such a bad thing, him being older.

“That’s two extra decades of dancing,” you say. “No wonder you’re so good.”

Joel’s hands shift as he pulls you closer so that you’re almost chest to chest. Your hands settle so that you interlock your fingers around the back of his neck, where his dark hair curls. You rest your head on his shoulder, and the two of you sway gently to the soft tune of the violins.

The drive back to Austin is quicker this time round. There’s barely any traffic on the road at 1 a.m. You and Joel had ended up staying much longer than you had thought, with a seven course dinner interspersed with dancing. It was probably one of the loveliest nights you’ve had in a long while. Joel had stopped after his first whiskey just like he had said but you had indulged in another half pour of wine. It had left you flushed and happy and only now, as Joel pulls into your apartment complex, does the anxiety begin to set in. Being back here reminded you of how the entire evening hadn’t been real, not really. This was your reality. This apartment complex that you had to vacate in three weeks and a life you had to figure out before you ran out of money to pay your bills. You sit up straighter as Joel pulls in to park. You watch as he puts the car in park before he turns towards you.

“I just wanted to thank you,” he says, his accent a little stronger now in the quiet of the night. “I appreciate you doin’ that for me and Tommy.”

Right. This had been for Tommy too. Of course it had. It makes perfect sense yet it still has you feeling slightly disappointed. You know it’s absurd, but there’s something about Joel and it’s not just the rugged handsomeness. When you’re with him, you feel calm, even if at times that calmness is replaced with agitation when he’s being particularly sullen. But tonight was something else. He had smiled and laughed and even twirled you around the dancefloor once. 

“Of course!” you say, your voice pitched higher than usual. “Happy to help. And today was fun. I didn’t know rich people partied like that.”

Joel huffs out a laugh, nodding. 

“Let me walk you to your door,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you say. “Really. It’s a few steps away, I’ll be fine.”

“I want to,” Joel says. “I’d rather make sure you make it inside safe.”

God, did he have to be such a gentleman? You might miss him being grumpy. At least it didn’t leave you so confused. 

“Okay,” you agree. You open the door and step down, but your foot catches on a wet patch of grass and you falter. Your ankle bends and you think you might fall but of course Joel is there to grasp your arm, holding you upright and against him. You don’t know how he made it around the truck so quickly. Probably with his long legs.

“Easy,” he says, voice low. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you say, slightly breathless. Your ankle throbs a bit but you haven’t twisted it so hopefully it’ll be fine with some ice. Joel holds you steady as you straighten up, adjusting your  left foot so it’s secured in your shoe. “Thank you.”

Joel says nothing but he only lets go once you nod at him. You both walk to your building door in silence, and you find that you don’t want him to leave. You know it’s silly and you chalk it up to hormones. Your period is due soon anyways. When you reach the door, you pull out your key fob. 

“Thanks again,” you say. “For driving. And dancing with me.”

“I should be thankin’ you,” Joel says and you smile at the drawl of his accent, thicker now.

“You already did,” you say and he nods.

“Guess so,” he agrees. He rubs a large thumb into his palm and he looks down at his shoes. You wonder why he’s hesitating. Maybe he’s just a bit awkward with goodbyes. That’s alright, you can do it for him.

“Well goodnigh –” you start

“Listen, I was thinkin’ –” Joel says at that exact same moment.

You both stop speaking. 

“You first,” you say because well, it sounds like he was going to say something more than just goodnight which is all you were going to say. 

“I don’t mean to overstep,” Joel says and he sounds nervous, maybe. “But you mentioned not bein’ able to find a place and I know the rental markets are pretty rough right now. Now that Ellie and Sarah are out of the house, I have a lot more space.”

You take in his words, unable to process at first. When you do, your mouth opens and then closes, at a loss of words. 

“You want me to rent a room at your house?” you ask, sounding only slightly incredulous even though you feel incredibly so.

“No,” Joel says quickly, sounding disturbed at the prospect. “God, no. I’m not tryin’ get money out of you. I just meant, if you needed a place to stay for a while while you sorted things out. I have the room. I know you said Maria offered you their couch but I can’t imagine that’s the most comfortable option.” 

You feel even more incredulous now.

“You want me to move in with you?” you ask. Maybe the one glass of whisky had gotten him drunk?

“Just until you’re back on your feet,” he says. He runs a large hand through his hair, looking away. You’re still dumbfounded which is why you stand there, silently gawking.

“Listen, if I overstepped, I apologize. I shouldn’t have said anythin’,” Joel says. “I’ll leave you be. Goodnight.”

He starts turning around but your hand flies up, gripping his arm. Your brain finally catches up to everything he just said. 

“Wait, Joel!” you say and he looks down at where your hand grips his arm. You can feel the muscles of his bicep and you move your hand away. 

“Sorry,” you say. “Didn’t mean to grab you like that. And I appreciate you offering. You don’t have to though. I didn’t mean to make you feel sorry for me when I told you about that stuff earlier today.”

Joel shakes his head, turning around to face you. 

“I’m not doin’ this out of pity. I just think it would make sense given that I have two spare rooms and you need to find a place in a couple weeks,” he says. “You can think on it, okay? No pressure. I just wanted to put it out there so that you have somethin’ other than Tommy and Maria’s couch.” 

You watch him turn around as he heads back to his car. You stand there, thinking over his offer. Would it be insane to move in with the man you accidentally married while drunk out of your mind in Vegas? Yes. But is it your best option right now? Also yes. As much as you appreciate Maria and Tommy for offering, you know their apartment is small and you know yourself enough to know that it would take you approximately twenty-four hours to start feeling like a burden. It’s all of this that has you calling out to Joel’s retreating figure. He turns around just as you catch up to him, slightly breathless from having to jog to catch up to his long strides. You ignore the twinge in your ankle.

“We’re really sorry about this,” the HR lady, Linda,  says over video call. Her red lipstick is smudged slightly but other than that there’s not a hair out of place. She looks poised, giving you a sympathetic smile as you listen to her drone on about a four week severance package that will most definitely not cover both your bills and your rent. You haven’t processed what she’s saying, not really. Something about how the company had to restructure because of changes the CEO had wanted to implement and how that meant they were downsizing your team to everyone but you and three others. You had been at the firm for nearly seven years now, right from when you graduated college. Did you like your job? Not really. But it paid the bills and was a stable source of income. At least until now. 

“Do you have any questions?” Linda asks you. You clear your throat before you speak.

“No,” you say. “Thank you for, uh, explaining that to me.” 

She nods, looking pleased. She tells you that she’ll send you an email with everything you talked about and that once you’re done with this call, you can go ahead and drop your laptop off with your manager who had conveniently avoided joining this meeting. You nod, dumbly. The goodbyes with your team are awkward. You hadn’t been particularly close to any of them but Mary, a gentle woman in her fifties starts tearing up as you hug her farewell and the idea of comforting someone else over you losing your job has you saying your goodbyes even faster, telling everyone how much you appreciate them and how much you’ll miss seeing them everyday. Your manager, Brian, thumps you on the back, hard enough that it startles you but you know he means well in the way a forty-something year old man in corporate America does. It’s only when you leave your office building that you allow yourself to truly feel. Your vision clouds as you stop on the corner of the street. You can feel that stinging feeling in your nose and you know you’ll start crying. Thankfully, you’re interrupted by your phone buzzing in your pocket.

“Hey,” you greet Maria. You had texted her as soon as you got the meeting invite, knowing what it was. That hadn’t made it any easier. 

“Hey babe,” she says, sympathetic. “How did it go?”

You let out a sarcastic laugh. 

“It was awkward and shitty,” you say. “I have severance for a month but after that it’s gonna be tough.”

“You know I’m here to help however you need,” Maria says immediately. It makes you smile, her kindness. You met Maria in college and have been best friends since that terrible frat party with the sticky floors and disgusting boys that you both escaped from. You had ended up at Dairy Queen for the rest of the night, sharing a plate of fries and a vanilla milkshake and had been inseparable ever since. You both had planned living in Austin together after you had graduated and had even been roommates up until she had met Tommy. Eight months later they had moved in together. It had worked out fine since you had just gotten a raise and were able to afford a one-bedroom apartment but now? You didn’t even want to think about it yet. As if hearing your internal monologue, Maria cuts in.

“I was thinking you need a break,” Maria says. “A little weekend trip.”

“Maria,” you start, unsure. “I don’t think I have the funds to go on a vacation. Even if I really, really want to. I’m sorry.” 

“Oh, but this is the best part!” she says, immediately. “Remember how Tommy and I were going to Vegas with Nina and her boyfriend for a couples getaway? They had to cancel last minute because he dislocated his shoulder bouldering. But the flight and the room’s already paid for and they’re fine with someone taking over since it’d just go to waste.”

“And you want me to third wheel you and Tommy?”

Maria laughs and it makes you smile.

“Well, not quite,” she says. “Tommy asked Joel to tag along too. He’s been sort of a recluse since his youngest, Ellie, went off to college and Tommy’s worried about him.”

You’ve heard of Tommy’s brother before. Joel Miller. He works with Tommy and they run a contracting business together. He’s older and a bit grouchy if what Tommy says is true and you’re not sure you’d want to share a room with him. Not when you’re feeling particularly sensitive. Before you can refuse, Maria continues.

“Tommy’ll share with him,” she says, quickly. Again, as if she’s read your mind. You suppose twelve years of friendship will do that. “And we can room together. It’ll be like old times.”

“And you’re sure you guys are okay with that? Wasn’t this supposed to be a romantic getaway?” you ask, uncertain. You don’t want to impose, especially when it’s so clearly out of pity. Maria snorts.

“I live with Tommy,” she says. “I can most definitely survive two nights not sharing a room with him. And trust me, he’s the one who pitched this idea. Something about Joel needing to get out of the house.”

You contemplate it for a handful of seconds before you decide, fuck it. You just got laid off from a company you’ve given most of your adult life to and you deserve a fun weekend in Vegas. So what if you spend half your severance on overpriced cocktails? 

“Okay,” you agree. “Okay. I’ll come.”

Over the phone, Maria squeals.

“Perfect!” she says. “I’m going to email you the flight details. It’s tomorrow afternoon at 3 p.m.”

“Sounds great,” you say, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Thank you, Maria.”

“You deserve a break,” she says. “I know this sucks and as soon as we’re back, I’m going to help you find a job but for the next two days we’re going to have fun. And we’re going to have silly cocktails and gamble, within reason, and lounge by the pool. Okay?” 

“Okay,” you agree. Something loosens in your chest, the heavy anxiety that had been cloaking you seemingly disappears. Maria’s right. This isn’t the end of the world and change can be good, right? You didn’t even like your job all that much anyways. You’ll figure it out. 

At least, you hope you will.

The airport is crowded and chaotic when you get there. Your uber driver had sped for most of the journey, fast enough that you had to clutch your seat and pray that you’d make it in one piece. Still, it seems almost pleasant compared to the TSA line that seems never ending. It’s as if everyone is travelling this weekend and it leaves you antsy. You hate being late and the idea of missing your flight while you’re at the airport might just break the fragile resolve you’ve built up in the last twelve hours. When you had gotten home the night before you had allowed yourself to cry in the shower, have two glasses of wine and then you reined it in, realizing you still had to pack. If you didn’t feel good, you might as well try to look good which is how you decided on the shimmery dresses and rather plunging going-out tops that you hadn’t actually worn in what felt like ages. Now, you wonder if you’ve packed too much with how heavy your carry-on is. 

After what is at least an hour, you finally make it through security and head to your gate. Maria had texted that her and Tommy had just made it through security as well, and were waiting at the gate with Joel. As you arrive at B7, you spot Maria quickly. She waves at you, a big grin on her face. When you’re close enough, she engulfs you in a hug.

“Hey,” she says, squeezing you. You rest your chin on her shoulder, squeezing back. “Doing okay?”

You nod against her. “I’m alright,” you say. “I’ll be alright.”

She pulls back, her brown eyes gentle as she watches you. Pleased with what she sees, she nods. 

“Hey there,” Tommy says and for a second, you had forgotten that this wasn’t just a girls trip. You pull away from Maria, looking at Tommy. His hair is a bit longer now since the last time you saw him but he looks the same as always, a bright smile on his kind face. 

“Hi Tommy,” you say, pulling him into a quick side hug. He pats your arm and you wonder if he must know too. “How are you?”

“Survived TSA so I can’t complain,” he says, all easy charm. You laugh, nodding. It’s only then that you notice the man next to him, watching you with a furrowed brow. Tommy follows your line of sight.

“Oh right,” he says. “This is my big brother, Joel. Don’t think y’all have met yet but Joel, this is Maria’s best friend.” You smile at Joel, introducing yourself. He looks at you as if you aren’t there at all, only nodding in return. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you add, unsure if his surliness is specific to you. Tommy had mentioned that Joel could be serious, veering on the side of grumpy. Still, you had never met anyone that said so few words upon introduction.

“You too,” Joel says even though he sounds as if he’s pulling teeth. His voice is deeper than Tommy’s and he’s definitely a few years older, with patches of grey in his beard. His hair is pushed away from his face, almost damp as if he’s just taken a shower, and it’s also threaded with silver. His brows stay furrowed and he doesn’t smile, not once. 

“Well then,” Maria says, breaking the uncomfortable tension between you and Joel. “We land at 6 p.m and I was thinking we could get ready and then grab some drinks at this bar.” She pulls out her phone, showing it to you and then Tommy and Joel. You nod, smiling at her. 

“It looks amazing, Maria,” you say and Tommy agrees. Joel just nods, his eyebrows still furrowed. You tamp down the irritation that builds up inside of you. How he’s related to cheerful Tommy Miller is a mystery to you. A muffled voice announces that it’s time for boarding so the four of you make your way towards the counter. Tommy and Maria are whispering to each other, smiles on their faces. You look away to give them privacy, smiling at how giddy they both seem with each other. Your eyes land on Joel, who’s standing adjacent to you and squinting down at your bag.

“Something the matter?” you ask Joel. You want to ignore him and his shitty attitude but there’s something about him that makes you want to prod. He looks up at you with his dark eyes.

“Your bag’s overweight,” he says. You can feel yourself flush, already annoyed at the certainty of his tone. You know he’s right. Still, the way he says it, like a disappointed parent, rubs you the wrong way.

“I know,” you say. He says nothing, looking away. You resist the urge to scoff. What was his problem? If he didn’t want to come on the trip so badly, he could have just stayed home. You push your annoyance away, turning back towards the boarding gate. Eventually, you make it to the front. Tommy and Maria have already passed through, lining up ahead of you. The man at the front looks down at your carry-on just as Joel had. 

“It’s too large,” the man says. “You’ll have to pay and check it in.”

You can feel the tips of your ears heat up. Joel is right behind you, listening. You hate that he was right. 

“Right,” you say. “How much would that be?”

“Ninety dollars, ma’am,” the man says and your eyes widen. 

“Ninety?!” you ask, voice pitched high. 

“New policy,” the man says looking bored. “We apply a late check-in fee if you have to check it in at the gate. Because of the inconvenience.” He pointedly looks behind you, likely at the line of people waiting to board. You can feel yourself growing flustered. Before you can speak however, you hear someone clear their throat. 

“She can take the space for my bag,” Joel says. The gate employee looks behind you, and you shift as well, looking back at Joel. He lifts up his duffel, and you try not to stare at the way his bicep flexes, straining against his grey t-shirt.

“It doesn’t work like that, sir,” the man says. You can tell he’s annoyed, and you’re about to tell him that it’s fine, that you’re good to pay the ninety dollars even if you currently are jobless and not doing great financially. “Her bag is too large. It won’t fit.”

“I can make it,” Joel says, jaw clenched. He sounds as annoyed as the gate employee now and it makes you nervous. The last thing you need is for an argument to break out because of your poor planning. 

“It’s okay,” you say to Joel, pulling out your credit card. You hand it to the gate agent and watch as he swipes it. Your phone buzzes with the notification of the transaction and you don’t want to look at the egregious amount you just spent to get your stupid bag on this flight. You watch as he ties the baggage label to it before setting it aside. He scans your boarding pass and you walk through quickly, joining Tommy and Maria in line. Maria raises an eyebrow and you know she’s about to offer something insane like paying you back for the bag so you put on a bright smile. 

“All good,” you say, quite unconvincingly. Neither her nor Tommy look like they believe you but Maria must see the pleading look in your eyes to leave it because she does. She nods, giving you a gentle smile. Joel joins the three of you right after and the line begins to move. When Maria and Tommy are distracted in conversation, you turn to Joel.

“Thank you,” you say. You watch as his gaze settles on you, his dark brows furrowed like he doesn’t understand what you just said. You clear your throat. “For uh, for trying to help back there. I appreciate it.”

“I told you your bag was too big,” is all Joel says in response, voice gruff. Right. And here you were, expecting him to not be a dick. That was your mistake, thinking he was actually a gentleman because of one act of semi-kindness. You scoff, not dignifying him with a reply. Maria seems to overhear the entire interaction because she slows down in front of you, gesturing for Joel to go ahead. He does, and you watch him and Tommy begin to talk in their low southern drawls. 

“He can be a bit…” Maria starts. 

“Of a dick?” you say and she laughs, hiding it behind a hand. 

“He wasn’t always this bad,” she says. You’re both keeping your voices low so that no one but you both can hear one another. “He’s just been going through a rough patch since Ellie left. His older daughter Sarah’s been out of the house for a few years now. Empty nest syndrome, I suppose.”

“Right,” you say. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Maria sighs, wrapping her arm around yours so that they’re interlocked. You lean into her.

“I promise this will be fun,” she says and something warm cracks open in your chest. You’ve always been grateful for Maria’s friendship, but you have a newfound appreciation for her now. Distracting you into having fun, making sure you’re not wallowing in your apartment for the next few days which is how you usually have been when life hasn’t gone your way. You can be in your head a lot, hypercritical of yourself in a way that has never been productive. You know it. But it’s a hard trait to break away from and Maria knows that too. So she’s doing the next best thing. Breaking you away from your mind for a bit.

“Oh I know it will,” you say. “Because we’re about to get day-drunk for two days straight.”

“And night-drunk,” Maria adds. 

“And whatever’s in between,” you say and she laughs, tugging you closer. 

A few minutes later and you’re all finally at the door of the plane. Tommy and Maria go ahead of you and Joel. Joel steps aside, allowing you to pass in front of him. It’s surprisingly chivalrous for a man who’s been glaring at basically everything. You say a quick thanks to him before handing your boarding pass over to the flight attendant, who smiles at you brightly. She points you in the direction of your seat and it’s only when you overhear her repeating Joel’s seat number back to him that you realize that you’ll be sat next to each other. You suppose it makes sense since these tickets were originally for Maria’s friend and her husband but you’re still disappointed. Two hours next to Joel Miller and his shitty attitude will be a challenge in itself. You contemplate falling asleep, but planes make you too nervous. 

When you sit down, you realize the flight’s also too short to have an entertainment system. Or maybe too old, given the faded cushions and flimsy plastic that make up your chair. You’re grateful you packed your kindle, pulling it out before you shove your bag under the seat in front of you. You shuffle your feet, trying to find the most comfortable position given that your handbag is taking up so much space. You can’t even remember what you packed in it for it to be so large. You lean down to shift it, jamming it further under the tiny alcove below the seat in front of you when a shadow looms over you. You look up to find Joel watching you, mouth pursed. He might as well be glowering, really. His arms are crossed over his chest, the material of his t-shirt straining over them and if it was anyone but him, you’d appreciate the bulge of his biceps and the well fitted shirt.

You give up trying to make more leg room for yourself and shift closer to the window, not wanting to be in Joel’s space. And he takes up a lot of it, with his broad shoulders and strong thighs. You try not to be overt as you watch him attempt to get comfortable as he settles in his seat, but you can tell by the grimace on his face and the way his knees hit the seat in front of him that it’s to no avail. You almost feel bad for how he’s cramped. Surely it can’t be comfortable on his legs. You’re not as tall as him but even you’re struggling. 

“Here,” you say, your kindness getting the better of you. He looks up, watching as you shuffle your legs so they’re both pressed against the side of the plane you’re closest to so that he can spread his legs out wider. He doesn’t, just watching you with furrowed brows. You clench your jaw, already regretting your kindness. 

“So you can spread your legs a little more,” you explain even though it’s obvious. “Isn’t that what you guys do anyways?”

Joel raises a brow, mouth still shut. Maybe he was cursed by someone in a past life so that if he says more than ten words a day, he’ll spontaneously combust or something. 

“Manspreading,” you explain. It was meant to be a sort of joke but now it comes off awkward, mostly because of Joel’s bored expression. 

“Right,” he finally says. You watch as he shifts, moving his legs so they’re further away from each other and no longer pressed up against the hard plastic of the seat in front of him. 

“Thank you,” he adds, once he’s situated himself. He still looks like he’d rather be anywhere but on the plane but at least he found some manners. You nod, not wanting to continue the conversation, if you can even call it that. You shift closer to the window just as the plane jolts, and your breath catches. You can feel your entire body stiffen as the plane begins to move, slowly taxiing down the runway. You know what’s about to happen next, that it’ll speed up and then you’ll feel the shift of gravity as you take-off. You hate it. You shift again, looking away from the window. It does you no good, watching everything become tinier and further away. It just makes you hyper aware of how far up you are and how far down you’d go if you did have the misfortune of crashing. You look to your left and catch Joel’s gaze. It isn’t as sharp as earlier but his brows are still furrowed.

“You’re scared of flyin’,” he says and it isn’t a question more so a statement. You let out a sigh, slumping in your seat. It’s at that moment that the plane speeds up and you stiffen again, sitting up. 

“Yeah,” you say, voice only slightly shaky for which you’re thankful for. “Terrified of it. I hate it, really.”

“You know the likelihood of dyin’ in a plane crash is one in eleven million,” Joel says. If you weren’t terrified right now, you’d think it was sort of nice of him trying to make you feel better even though saying the words plane crash while you’re taking off isn’t the best way to do it.

 “I’ve heard it all –,” you stop talking as the plane jolts as it lifts off the ground. You shut your eyes, gripping the handles of your seat. You do the breathing method you once learned through a YouTube video, inhale for four, hold for seven and then let go for eight but you can feel your pulse thundering in your ears. Suddenly, your left hand is engulfed by something large and warm. You open your eyes, looking down to see your hand being held in Joel’s much larger, much warmer one. You look up at him to ask him what he thinks he’s doing but he beats you to it. 

He presses into a point between your thumb and index finger, as he starts to speak. 

“Accupuncture,” Joel says, voice gruff. “This point’s supposed to help with anxiety and all that.” 

The shock of it – of grouchy Joel Miller talking about anxiety and acupuncture startles a laugh out of you. He narrows his eyes and it makes you laugh a little harder. 

“I just didn’t take you for an acupuncture guy,” you say, but your voice isn’t unkind. You can see the tips of his ears go red although his face stays stoic. 

“Well when you’ve got two daughters, they teach ya a lot,” he says. “My older girl Sarah’s real interested in mindfulness.”

It’s sweet, really, and your mouth pulls into a smile before you can catch yourself. Joel presses into the pressure point once more, and you focus on the juxtaposition of your hands. His hand is large and tan, and you can feel a callous where he presses into your own, which is smaller and softer from the hand cream you always keep in your purse. It’s only when he presses into your hand a fifth time that you realize that the plane is already in the air and seeming to level out. Your breathing is also normal. As if Joel notices in that same moment, he drops your hand. For a split second you miss the warmth of it. 

You clear your throat.

“Thank you,” you say. “Didn’t even notice that we were done taking off.” 

Joel nods, and you watch as his hands curl into fists on his lap. You lean back into your seat and close your eyes. Before you know it, you’ve drifted asleep. 

The hotel rooms Tommy and Maria have booked make up for the shitty flight seats. Truly, you shouldn’t be complaining about the flight either because it was free but still. You had stayed asleep for the rest of it, only jolting when the plane had landed. When you had glanced at Joel, he was already watching you. You had given him a sheepish smile and his mouth had twitched before he looked away.

Now, you’re sitting on the king sized bed, waiting for Maria to come out of the bathroom and already wearing the best dress you own. It has a halter neck and it glitters, a sparkling silver, that falls against you almost perfectly. You’re concentrating on putting on a second coat of mascara when the door opens and Maria comes out. She looks like a million dollars, wearing a wine red dress that complements her brown skin. She wolf whistles when she sees you and you laugh, feeling lighter than you have in months. After you’ve swiped on some more glittery eye shadow and lip gloss, you slip into your shoes and grab your purse, making sure your wallet is in there. Maria follows you out the door, closing it behind her. She hands you the keycard and you slip it into your purse.

“Tommy said he and Joel were getting a drink at the bar,” she says. “Said we were taking too long to get ready.”

Her voice is fond as she says it and it makes you smile. You’ve never seen a couple quite like Maria and Tommy. They’ve been in sync since the moment they met, understanding each other in a way that you didn’t think existed until you saw them together. 

“Well I think he’s going to appreciate it when he sees you,” you say and she smiles, her eyes twinkling in the golden light of the hotel corridor. 

“So how was it sitting next to Joel?” Maria asks, eyes curious. “Did he talk much?”

You snort. “Oh yeah, loads. Just wouldn’t shut up, really.”

The sarcasm drips off your voice and Maria laughs, interlocking her arm with yours. 

“It takes him a bit to warm up,” she says and you hum. “But he really is a decent man.”

You think of how he had held your hand to calm you down, pressing down on the soft part of it and you believe it. 

“Yeah,” you agree. “I can see what you mean.” 

Maria raises a brow, not expecting you to acquiesce so easily. 

“He, uh, he helped me when I was feeling anxious during take off,” you explain. “Found some acupuncture point on my hand and it helped me calm down.”

“He held your hand?” she asks, and it sounds incredulous when she puts it like that even though he had, for those few moments. You shake your head. 

“Not really,” you say, too quickly. “Just like. He just helped, okay?”

“Huh,” Maria says after a moment. You can see the gears twisting in her mind and you nudge her. 

“Stop it,” you say. Her eyes twinkle, a smile pulling at her mouth.

“Stop what?” she asks, innocently. It makes you snort.

“Thinking whatever it is you’re thinking that’s putting that glint in your eyes,” you say. She grins now, her dimple appearing. You groan as the elevator doors slide open.

“Well goddamn,” a familiar voice says. Tommy steps up to Maria, his eyes roving over her and she smiles, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He looks smart in his printed shirt and dark jeans, the curls of his hair styled so they fall against his neck. They make a striking couple. 

“You look very nice too,” he adds, giving you a smile. You nod in thanks. It’s then you notice Joel behind him, stoic as ever. He’s wearing a fitted green shirt and a pair of dark jeans. It seems like he fixed his hair too, now slicked away from his forehead like he just got out of the shower. You notice four shot glasses in his left hand. He holds them like they’re nothing, fitting them all in one palm. You realize you’re staring when you catch his eye, one eyebrow slightly lifted as if he’s asking you a silent question.

“Those for us?” you ask, ignoring the fact that he caught you looking. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice low. 

“Thought we could get a headstart on those drinks,” Tommy explains. 

“And how many have you already had?” Maria asks and Tommy winks. 

He grabs two glasses from Joel, handing one to Maria and then to you. The four of you move to the side, before standing in a circle. It feels silly, like you’re back at a college houseparty, but it makes you smile. You clink your glasses and then you down the shot. It burns as you swallow and you squeeze your eyes shut. It’s been a while since you’ve done shots, nowadays opting for a glass of wine or a less sugary cocktail. It settles in your stomach hotly and you hold your breath for a second, trying to get used to the heat of the alcohol. 

“We have to catch up to them,” Maria says. She tugs your arm, steering you towards the hotel bar. Before you know it, there’s another shot glass in front of you. This time though, Maria asks for slices of lime to go with which you’re grateful for. It hits you almost immediately, your vision feeling fuzzy. With how hectic work had been, you haven’t had much time to go out and let loose. You put down the shot glass, reaching for your wallet but a hand is reaching past you, giving the bartender a credit card. You look up to find Joel next to you. He’s not touching you exactly but you can feel the heat radiating off of him. 

“I got it,” you say, feeling a little more sober than you did a few seconds ago. You don’t need him to pay for you and you’re not sure why he would given his general surliness. Joel says nothing, waiting as the bartender hands him back his card. You watch him write down a tip before he’s sliding the bill back to the other side of the shiny counter. The two shots have loosened your tongue. 

“God, do you ever talk?” you ask. “Or do you owe someone money every time you say a word or something.”

Joel looks at you now, his gaze sharp. You see a corner of his mouth lift for a millisecond before it settles back into his typical almost-frown. 

“Do you always complain this much when a man buys you a drink?” he asks and it stuns you for a second. Maybe it’s the implication of it. The idea of him wanting to buy you a drink, with his big hands and broad frame. It’s also probably the two shots of tequila you just had on an almost empty stomach. 

“Is that what you’re doing then? Buying me a drink?” you ask, and you don’t mean for it to sound like a line because it really isn’t. You’re more so curious about silent, grouchy Joel Miller who gives acupuncture massages and pays for shots of tequila but avoids making conversation with you. You think his eyes might darken and they flick down before meeting your gaze. 

“Hey!” Tommy says. “We have a reservation to get to so we gotta go. We’re gonna be late and you know how my girl feels about tardiness.”

Whatever conversation had been building between you and Joel evaporates into thin air. You watch him nod at his brother, following him out. You turn around and follow them, ignoring the heat in your cheeks.

Dinner is delicious. The restaurant is gorgeous but that doesn’t surprise you since Maria had picked it. The food is perfectly spiced, every morsel melting into something decadent against your tongue. The conversation is good too, at least between you, Maria and Tommy. You learn more about Tommy and Joel’s contracting company, how they had just signed on to do a big project in the south side of the city.

“That’s so cool,” you say, voice pitched with enthusiasm. The second cocktail you’re on probably contributes some of it but still. 

“It’s fine,” Tommy says, a bashful smile on his face. “It was really my brother here that did the negotiatin’, sweet talked us into a pretty good deal.”

You snort before you can stop yourself. Both Tommy and Maria look amused while Joel just looks like he bit into a lime. 

“Somethin’ funny?” he asks, eyebrows drawn together. 

“Just hard to imagine,” you say. Tommy guffaws and Maria hides her laugh behind a sip of her cocktail. 

“And what is it that you do for work?” Joel asks and almost immediately a pit forms in your stomach. You see Maria stiffen in her seat and the smile on Tommy’s face falters. So he must know then. It makes sense, you suppose. They do live together and now that you think of it, he hasn’t asked you about work which is one of your typical topics of conversation. 

“I uh, did data stuff at this big firm downtown,” you say. “Got laid off yesterday though.”

You watch as Joel’s eyes shift. He swallows, and you know you’ve made it uncomfortable. You try not to feel embarrassed at your confession. Lay offs happen all the time and you know it’s not a personal reflection on who you are. That doesn’t stop it from feeling that way.

“Oh,” Joel says. You’re not sure if you’re imagining his voice softer than it was earlier. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

You shrug, uncomfortable. “It happens.”

The air is tense and you want it to go back to how it was before so you smile a little brighter, sitting up straighter in your chair.

“How about another round of drinks?” you propose, and Tommy nods, flagging down the waiter. You catch Maria’s eye and you know she sees right through you. You give her a real smile, one she returns but her eyes are still concerned. When you glance at Joel, you find that he’s already looking at you. There’s no pity in his gaze, not that you were expecting it but you’re still glad. Instead, it’s softer somehow, less sharp. When the waiter brings over your drinks, you’re grateful for something to do. Maria raises her glass, and the three of you follow, clinking them together. You take a big gulp of your spritz, the fizziness making your nose twitch. 

“So where to next?” Tommy asks, turning to Maria. 

“There’s this speakeasy that makes specialty cocktails and has some of the best whisky in the city,” she says. “I made us a reservation there for 10 p.m.”

“Of course you did,” Tommy says, voice fond. You smile as you watch them. There’s so much devotion in their eyes. 

Joel glances at his watch brows furrowing.

“We should probably wrap up,” he says. “It’s thirty past and we don’t wanna be late.”

You watch as Maria beams at him. She really is a stickler for timeliness. The four of you finish off your drinks, and you can feel the warmth of your cocktail heating your skin. You thought that dinner might help the tipsy feeling you have but you still feel the buzz of alcohol. You like it though. It makes you feel happier and you could use some of that after the week you’ve had. The waiter comes by with the check and just like at the bar, Joel swoops it up before anyone else can.

“We can divvy things up at the end of this weekend,” Maria says but Joel shakes his head. 

“It’s on me,” he says and you’re reminded of the bar. “Y’all planned this and I’m not even payin’ for my flight or hotel room so it’s the least I can do.”

“Well, I didn’t really do anything,” you add in. Joel looks at you just as he finishes signing the slip of paper. He doesn’t dignify you with an answer and you’re not surprised by it but it still irks you a bit. It’s not that he’s talkative with everyone else but he seems more reserved with you and you can’t figure out why. Careful to speak and when he does it leaves you hot and cold all at once. You push up from your chair and stand up, and your heel catches on uneven ground. You stumble a bit before a hand is on your elbow, stabilizing you. 

“Thanks,” you say, glancing at Joel. His hand is so warm against your skin. It stays there for a beat before he moves it away. He nods at you. 

“You don’t have to do anythin’, by the way,” Joel says. “Dinner’s my treat.”

You feel something low simmer in your belly but before you can think of a response, he’s walking away. You catch Maria’s eye and she raises her brows. She’s a lawyer and you know nothing gets past her. Still, you shake your head and give her a smile. There’s nothing to say, really. You can’t figure Joel Miller out and you’re not going to try. 

You’re not sure how you made it from the fancy cocktail bar to Double Down Saloon but you’re too buzzed to ask. Everything around you feels warm and upbeat, the dim lighting of the bar creating a hazy glow. You’ve lost count of the number of drinks you’ve had if you’re being honest, but judging by Maria’s giggles and Tommy whispering in her ear, you think they might be the same. Even Joel seems relaxed, slouching a bit against the seat of the booth. His gaze is lidded as he drinks the last dredges of his whisky and you look away before you follow the line of his throat as he swallows. You’re drunk enough now to admit that as confusing as your interactions have been, Joel Miller is probably one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen and it’s not even the alcohol clouding your judgement. He’s so strong, with his broad shoulders and long, sturdy legs. His hair is messier now, some of the greyish brown curls falling against his forehead and his plush mouth is red from the ice in his drink.

“We’re going to get some air,” Tommy announces, cheeks flushed. It snaps you out of your thoughts and you’re grateful for the distraction. You look at Maria who seems just as flustered and you smirk, raising an eyebrow. She looks giddy as you scoot out of the booth, allowing them both to get up.

Joel grunts, nodding at his brother. Still a man of few words, you suppose.

“Have fun,” you say, voice teasing. 

“Are you okay here?” Maria asks, brows furrowed with concern.

“Of course I am,” you say, not wanting to ruin their plans. This was meant to be a romantic trip for them after all and you’re already rooming with Maria which means they won’t get much time for just themselves. “Now go. And use protection.”

You whisper the last part but it’s still loud enough for Tommy to hear and he looks sheepish. Maria elbows you, but her grin is bright. You watch as he leads her away, their hands tangled together. You glance at Joel to find him already looking at you.

“Having fun?” you ask. You can do this. You could make small talk with a wall really, with how talkative you can be. So you can make small talk with Joel too. Surely the drinks would have loosened his tongue a bit. 

“Sure,” Joel agrees. And that’s all he says. You scoff, standing up.

“I’m going to get another drink,” you say and he opens his mouth to speak but you’re already turning away, heading to the bar. You flag down the bartender and get another G&T, asking for a double this time. Everything is still hazy around you, the chatter of the other customers blending into ambient sound. Once you pay for the drink, you realize that you don’t want to go back to your booth and sit in silence with Joel. You’re too drunk to be quiet and you’re jittery from the buzz of it. You look around, spotting an empty pool table near the corner. Perfect. You’ll play pool with yourself. It’ll be grand. 

You down your G&T in two large gulps, ignoring the burn of it before making your way to the pool table. You have to hold onto the backs of the chairs as you meander past the tables, your footing slightly shaky. You reach for a pool stick, but it takes you a second to figure out which side needs to be pointed towards the table. It’s also at this moment that you realize that you’ve never actually played pool before. You focus, trying to angle the stick between your fingers but it’s so long. How are you even supposed to lay it on the table so you can strike the formation of the cues? Your confusion is cut short by a throat clearing. You look up and find yourself face to face with a man who looks about your age wearing a printed button up. His dark hair is slicked back and he has a cigarette tucked behind his ear. He smells of smoke and you do your best not to flinch. 

“Hey there,” he says. 

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you, still focused on the zebra pattern of his shirt. 

“Hi,” you say, standing up straight. The cue stick hangs limply in your hands. 

“You seem confused,” he says. “I can teach you to play.”

He steps forward, into your space and you don’t like it. You take a small step back, hoping it’s not obvious. You’ve dealt with enough insistent men in your life to know that moving too quickly doesn’t always end well. Something about fragile male egos. 

“I’m good, thank you though,” you say, voice pleasant. You give him a short smile, hoping that he takes the hint. Your legs feel shaky beneath you and you think maybe you shouldn’t have downed that last G&T so quickly. 

“Come on now. I can’t leave a pretty girl like you all by herself when she clearly needs a hand,” he says, and has the audacity to smile. It’s just as slimy as the rest of him. 

Even in your drunken state, you don’t appreciate the insinuation that you’re struggling. So maybe you don’t know how to play pool. That doesn’t mean you need some cocksure thirty something year old, probably-finance guy given the loafers he’s wearing, to teach you. 

“I’m good,” you say again. You don’t smile this time. His smile doesn’t falter and he takes another step forward. You stand your ground, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. 

“Let me at least buy you a drink, baby. I’m Levi,” he says and you want to grimace at the nickname. God, you forgot how much you hated being at bars because of men that can’t take a hint. 

“Think she said she’s good,” a voice interrupts and you look behind the guy – Levi you suppose – to find Joel. Levi turns around as well, eyes narrowed. 

“Don’t think it’s any of your business, man,” he says. 

“I’m not sayin’ it is. I’m just sayin’ that if a woman tells you to leave her alone, you should probably leave her alone,” Joel says. His jaw is clenched and he walks towards you, coming to stand to your right. 

“You know this old creep?” Levi asks and he says old like an insult. Like it’s the worst thing to be. You glance at Joel and watch his shoulder stiffen. Sure, you had been annoyed with his reticence earlier but you’re not going to let Levi, the actual creep, get away with being rude. Especially when you’re at least eight drinks in.

“Yeah, I do,” you say, sweetly. You wrap your arm around Joel’s, squeezing the muscle of his bicep and you catch his brows furrowing just as you lean up to press your mouth to his cheek. His stubble is rough under your glossy mouth. 

“Thanks for coming to the rescue, baby,” you say, voice soft so that it seems like it’s just for him even though you know Levi can hear every word. You catch Joel’s eye and watch as his mouth twitches before breaking out into a small smile. You haven’t seen him smile before. He has a dimple. 

“Anytime, darlin’,” Joel says, voice gruff. His dark eyes trace over your face. You can feel your ears get hotter under his gaze and you take that as your cue to look back at Levi who looks positively gobsmacked. 

“I’m sorry, man. Didn’t know she was taken,” Levi says before scurrying away. You scoff. If he was going to apologize to anyone for being a bother, it should have been you. You realize you’re still holding onto Joel’s arm and let go, taking a step to the side. 

“You’ve got no idea how to play pool, do ya?” Joel says and you’re surprised he’s making conversation, even if it is at the cost of critiquing your poor pool skills.

“I’m trying to learn,” you say, giving him a sharp look. To your shock, he smiles again and you watch the crows' feet by his eyes become more prominent. 

“I can teach ya, if you’d like,” he says. It’s different from the offer Levi made you. There’s no condescension here. He sounds genuine. You contemplate it for a handful of seconds, cocking your head to the side and giving him a once over. He holds himself more loosely now, his shoulders relaxed and his hands unclenched for a change. His tan skin is flushed pink in the dim glow of the bar and his eyes are glassy.  His hair is even messier now. He’s at least tipsy. No longer stone faced and quiet

“Are you drunk?” you ask and you can tell the question throws him off guard. 

“I’ve had a few,” Joel answers, the drawl of his accent stronger than it was before.

“So you’re drunk,” you say but you’re smiling a bit now too. You can really feel that last G&T now. 

“I’m too old to be drunk,” Joel says. It makes you laugh and his mouth twitches at the sound. 

You hold out the pool stick for him and he takes it, stepping up to the pool table. You watch the muscles in his back move under his shirt as he flattens himself so that the stick is angled towards the cues. 

“It’s easier to settle it against your thumb if you’ve never played before,” Joel explains, gesturing to his left hand. You watch, looking at his thick fingers wrapped around the stick. Your throat feels dry, all of the sudden. He continues speaking.

“Then, you have to pull it back, just like this,” he says and you watch as he pulls with his right arm. “And when you’re sure of yourself, you strike.”

You watch the cues fan out perfectly, two of the striped ones going into the pockets of the table. Joel stands up straight, handing the pool stick to you. 

“Come on now, your turn,” he says, voice gentler. You take the stick from him, lining it up the way you remember him showing you. It feels awkward in your grip, and you’re pretty sure your left hand is cramping from how stiffly you’re holding it against the pool table. You lean forward, focusing on the solid yellow cue. You move your arm back to strike only to have it completely miss the cue entirely. You end up nicking the side of the pool table and the stick falters in your grasp. Your face warms and you stand up, glancing at Joel and hoping he hasn’t noticed your blunder. Of course, he’s watching the entire thing. But there’s no derision on his face. Instead, he shakes his head.

“You’re holdin’ yourself too stiff,” he says. “Your hand’s gonna cramp if you don’t relax it.”

“I literally did exactly what you told me,” you say, only sounding slightly petulant. What can you say, alcohol brings out all the emotions in you. Joel steps up so he’s right behind you. The heat of him is like a wall and some silly, drunk part of you wants to lean back into it.

“May I?” he asks, the picture of southern manners. You’re not sure what exactly he’s asking permission for but you don’t really care. You nod, maybe a little too quickly. Then, his large hands are on you, angling your hips so they’re just against the pool table. They’re so large and warm, and the slinkiness of your dress does nothing to help. You can feel every point of contact between the two of you. You also feel the loss of them as he moves his hands away from your hips. He takes your left hand and settles it against the table, repositioning your fingers so that the stick rests against the divot between your thumb and index finger. 

“Relax,” he murmurs near your ear, so close to you that you can feel his breath against your neck. You do, letting your shoulders fall. “Attagirl.”

Something warm sparks in your belly. You let him reposition the stick once more. 

“Now, I want you to focus just on that yellow one over there okay? Forget about all the others. And let your right arm move smoothly, you don’t gotta force it. Can you do that for me?”

“Okay,” you agree. Your voice is breathier than before but you really can’t be held accountable for it when Joel Miller is talking you through playing pool. You move your right arm back, gently just like he instructed, your eyes focused on the yellow cue. You strike, and watch as the tip of the pool stick makes contact with the cue. It rolls and rolls, and then plops into the pocket of the pool table and you laugh, a joyful sound. You whip around, and Joel is right there, so close you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. 

“I did it,” you say, still smiling. You can feel your pulse fluttering in your chest.

“You did,” Joel agrees. He’s smiling too and it just makes you grin wider. 

“We should celebrate,” you say. You leave the pool stick at the table and reach for his arm, dragging him back towards the bar. Your footing is still shaky but you don’t really care. 

“Four shots of your best tequila,” you say to the bartender who pours them almost immediately. You give him your card. 

“Shoulda let me pay,” Joel says when you turn around. You watch him tuck his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans. 

“Think of this as a thank you,” you say, handing him a shot. You clink your glasses together before bringing the shot glass up to your mouth. Neither of you break eye contact as you down the drink and the warmth in your belly has sparked into something hotter. 

“Still not going to admit that you’re drunk?” you ask once the burn of the tequila has subsided. You know he is, with how loose his shoulders are and the soft smile that seems to stay put on his pink mouth. 

“What are the extra two shots for?” Joel asks, avoiding your question. His gaze is heavy. You can already feel the effect of the tequila, everything becoming hazier. It takes you a second to answer.

“For Maria and Tommy,” you say and then frown. “But they’re not here.”

Your brows furrow as you look around. 

“How long could they be?” you ask. Joel looks around too. He’s so tall that he can probably see over most of the people here. You watch him as he surveys the crowd. When he looks back at you, you don’t even try to hide the fact that you were staring. 

“I don’t think they’re here,” he says.

“What about the bathrooms?” you ask and he shakes his head.

“I was in there before I found you and that kid. There’s only one and it was empty. We oughta go find ‘em.”

You nod. You reach behind you for the two shots of tequila, and Joel raises a dark brow.

“Well we can’t let them go to waste,” you say and he huffs a laugh, taking from you. You both swallow down the shots quickly, and you don’t even feel the burn of it anymore. You follow Joel out the bar, his large frame clearing a path for you. The night is cold, unexpectedly so given how warm it had been when you had landed. Even the alcohol coursing through you isn’t helping the chill. You stumble on the sidewalk as a group of giggly women walk by, one of them wearing a fake veil and holding a rather phallic shaped lollipop. Joel catches you but his footing is a little shaky too. He must be drunker than he leads on. 

“It’s cold,” you complain. Suddenly, there’s a flask in front of you. You look up at Joel and all he does is shrug.

“It’s whisky,” he says and you groan. Of course it is. Still, you take it, lifting it to your mouth. You can stomach two sips before it’s too much and you hand it back to Joel who takes a long gulp from it. There’s a tiny part of your brain that’s thinking of how he placed his mouth right where yours had been. You shake your head, dispelling those thoughts. The whisky does help though, warming you up so you feel a flush of heat. 

“C’mon,” you say, tugging at Joel’s hand. You look around, trying to think of where Maria and Tommy might have snuck off to. You look around, but the lights are so distracting. Everything is so bright and so glamorous. You blink a few times, trying to focus. You spot something in the distance, bright white and red with twinkling lights. There. It’s calling to you.

“That way,” you say, pointing. Joel squints. You tug on his arm again, and begin to walk. He follows you, surprisingly docile. 

“Where are you takin’ us?” Joel asks but he doesn’t sound annoyed. If anything, it’s mostly curious. 

“I think they’re there,” you say, pointing vaguely to the white structure. You don’t know what it is but it’s calling to you. Your gut instinct has always been right. 

“Really?” Joel asks, sounding amused. You didn’t even realize you were speaking out loud. 

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m always right. Always.”

“Except when it comes to playin’ pool, I suppose,” he teases, voice warm. 

“No one’s perfect,” you say. 

Suddenly, you feel ridiculous, arm in arm with Joel Miller who you had spent most of the day being annoyed with but also vaguely attracted to and looking for your best friend in Las Vegas. You’re jobless too and drunk as a skunk. It makes you giggle, once, twice and then you’re full on laughing. You clutch your stomach, leaning forward. You can feel tears gathering at the corner of your eyes. When you open them, Joel’s watching you, an amused twitch to his lips. He takes another swig of the whisky before offering it to you. You don’t take it from him, instead leaning forward so that your mouth is on the edge of the flask, right where his was. Your eyes drift up to meet his own and his jaw clenches. He tilts the flask towards you and you feel the liquid flow down your throat. He watches you the entire time, his dark gaze never leaving your eyes. It’s only when you’re done swallowing that he moves the flask away.

“I’m pretty drunk,” Joel admits once he’s put his now empty flask away. It breaks the tension from the moment before. You grin, feeling like you won something. His eyes are glassy as he watches you, cheeks flushed a soft pink. 

“Finally,” you say. “God, and here I thought you’d never admit it.”

Joel shrugs. His arm is still hooked around yours and your whole right side of your body is warm. 

“Since we’re admittin’ to not bein’ perfect,” Joel says and you laugh. You tug him with you as you head towards the white building. You both stagger in turns, each of you helping to keep the other upright. As you approach the building, you still can’t make out what it is. Your vision is kind of blurry and when you look at Joel, he’s squinting at the sign. You guess he doesn’t know either. 

“I think they’re in there,” you say. “Gut feeling.”

“You already said that,” Joel asks, looking down at you but his voice isn’t sharp the way it usually is. He sounds amused. You nod, resolute. 

“Because I’m certain,” you say, trying to sound serious. Your words feel heavy as does your tongue. You wonder if Joel feels the same way too. “How many drinks did you have?” you ask, suddenly curious. 

“Probably a lot,” Joel says, his accent honey thick and with a slight slur. “Stopped countin’ after my fifth whisky if I’m bein’ honest with you. And that was at dinner.”

“Okay wow, you’re definitely drunker than me,” you say, and are you talking slower? Maybe but it seems like Joel is as well so it’s probably okay. “Let me do the talking when we go in there okay? We have to find Maria.”

“And Tommy,” Joel adds. Right. Tommy. Joel’s brother. You nearly forgot.

You nod, eyes wide. 

“And Tommy,” you agree. 

You push the doors of the building open, pulling Joel inside with you. 

Something is buzzing near your head. It won’t stop and you think it might be a form of torture. Your head throbs as you squint your eyes open. Your mouth tastes like something died inside of it. You lift your head to find your phone buzzing against the side table. You reach towards it.

“Hello?” you say but it sounds more like a croak. You’re parched.

“There’s a bottle of water right by your phone,” Maria answers at the other end of the line. You glance up to find that she’s right. Of course she is. 

“How’d you know that?” you ask, wincing as you feel another throb in your head. 

“Because I left it there,” she says, voice amused. “Is Joel up?”

Your brows furrow and you groan when it makes your head hurt again. 

“Fuck,” you say. “I don’t know. How would I know?”

“Babe,” Maria says, voice purposely calm. “I’m going to need you to look to your left.”

Slowly, you do, making sure not to move too much. You come face to face with Joel, who’s fast asleep. His whole face is relaxed and his mouth is slightly ajar. There’s a pillow crease on his cheek and his hair is sticking up in ten different directions, the curls matted near the base of his head.

“Oh my god,” you say. “Maria. What happened?” 

You must have spoken too loudly because Joel makes a noise, before his brows furrow. You look away, unable to meet his eyes. 

“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me. Tommy and I couldn’t find either of you last night and eventually we went back to check the hotel to find the two of you passed out in our room.” Maria says and you had momentarily forgotten that you were on the phone with her. You chance a glance back at Joel and his eyes are open now, his brows even more furrowed. He looks as confused as you feel. 

“Maria, I’ll call you back okay?” you say. Another wave of nausea passes through you and you take a deep breath. 

“Fuck,” Joel says, pressing the heels of his palm into his eyes. “My head’s splittin’.”

His voice is even gruffer than it usually is. 

“Do you remember anything?” you ask, sitting up. You look down and sigh in relief to find that you’re still wearing your dress and when you glance at Joel you can see that he’s still in his outfit from the night before too, save for shoes. That’s a good sign. At least you most likely didn’t sleep with your best friend’s boyfriend’s older brother the first time you met him. There’s bad decisions and then there’s bad decisions.

“Last thing I remember is teachin’ you pool and then maybe drinkin’ some more,” Joel says. He sits up as well, looking around. For what, you don’t know. 

“Seen my phone?” he asks and you shake your head, flinching when it brings on a wave of pain. You reach for the bottle of water, sipping it slowly to not upset your stomach any further. You watch Joel stand up slowly, his knees creaking with the movement. He groans, low and pained. 

“God, I’m never drinkin’ again,” he says and you hum in agreement. He’s chattier than you expect him to be, hungover and grouchy. 

You slowly stand up too, holding onto the bed frame for support. You look around the hotel room and it’s almost exactly as you and Maria have left it except for your heels and Joel’s shoes which are strewn across the floor. You both must have flung them off when you got in. You look around for Joel’s phone, but can’t seem to find it. It’s then that you hear shuffling and you look back around to find Joel, with a crumpled sheet of paper in his hands. He’s squinting at it, brows furrowed. Then, his face drops and he looks like he might be sick.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he says, the word so sharp that you flinch. He sounds beyond upset. 

“What?” you say, a pit of anxiety forming in your stomach. You make your way to the other side of the bed, where he stands stock still. When you look over his shoulder, the pit in your stomach suddenly feels like it weighs a hundred pounds and blood rushes to your ears. 

There, in big, black cursive are the words Certificate of Marriage printed at the top of the page. You don’t even think, reaching for the paper and snatching it from him. You can feel your heart racing, rattling wildly against your ribcage. At the bottom of the paper are your and Joel’s full names, and underneath that, your signatures in red ink. You look up at him and you’re certain your shock mirrors his own. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.