Sweetest Girl in the Garden

John doesn't let anybody have the aux in his truck. Even Jules is prohibited from plugging their phone in, except on special occasions. It's a game among the guys to try and see how long it'll be before he notices it isn't the radio playing, but Dean's Childish Gambino mix.

You don't know this until John tells you on a summer night. Warm rain is rickety on the windshield, a delightful undertone. His mouth is hot against yours, hands rubbing up and down your thighs on either side of his legs. He pulls back and looks at you, then your phone abandoned on the seat. Your playlist has conjured a new song and he's barely trying not to laugh.

Removing your hands from the lapels of his jacket, you fold your arms. "What?"

"Baby," he half-chuckles. "This is a Christmas song."

"Nuh uh."

"She literally just said 'it's coming on Christmas'."

"That doesn't make it a Christmas song," you protest, "It's Joni! Not even a Christmas album."

"What's this playlist?" He wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you close as he picks up your phone. "It's thirty two hours long?"

"It's every song I've ever liked," you shrug. "I couldn't decide what to put on."

He meets your eyes again and you can't help your smile. "Why not?"

You reach up to kiss his jaw. "Didn't know what you wanted to listen to."

John puts your phone down so he can rub your sides with both hands. "You don't have to worry about that. Put on whatever you want."

You squint. "Are you sure? Or do you mean, like, within reason?"

"Whatever you want," he emphasizes. "You're the only one I let on aux. You play anything you feel like."

"Wait, really?" You tilt your head into his palm.

"My truck, my rules, baby." He pulls you gently forward for a kiss on the cheek. "Even if you wanna play Christmas songs in June."

"Not a Christmas song," you insist, but you're smiling.

You don't hesitate after that. He doesn't bat an eye at your Zara Larsson mix or a Lana del Rey album. Sometimes you hear him humming No Doubt under his breath. He says you sound pretty when you sing along.

You're cuddling on the couch a week later, watching a movie of your choice. Dean lingers, stealing popcorn and throwing out a comment every now and then. You don't mind his company. He appreciates romantic movies.

"John, could you pass me my water?" You reach out for your cup. He leans over you, grasping the handle and bringing it forward so you can sip from the straw. When you're done, he puts it on the ground for easier access.

You glance at Dean and find him staring. "What?"

"John?" He's squinting, brow furrowed.

You shrug, settling back into your lover's arms. "I'm not calling my boyfriend by his last name."

"We've talked about this, Dean," John says, clasping your hand in front of you.

Dean's grinning. "Johnny."

"That's a privilege reserved for her and her alone." John covers your eyes, other arm shifting. When you can see again, Dean's flipping him off.

You turn to frown at John. "What'd you do?"

"Nothing, baby." He smooths your hair and you smile, touching his cheek with your finger. "Keep watching the movie."

You cuddle back in, pushing the blanket away because it's hot but you still want to be held by him.

He complains on another hot day about being tired and you rub his head, his cheek in your lap. John presses his lips to your leg every now and then as you stroke his hair. His sheets are nice and cool, and his fan is giving you goosebumps. You're wearing a t-shirt and a pair of panties with a little bow in the center waist and he's only in his underwear after dramatically tossing his clothes away and squirming into you.

You've always loved his hair, the way it swoops and curls a little when it's wet. He grunts when a strand falls onto his cheek, reaching up to bat at it. John gets grumpy when he works in the heat for too long.

"Can I braid it?" you ask, and he nods, sitting up. You spread your legs, hooking them around his front, and he holds your ankles,

It's something you do when your fingers are shaky, or when he needs a little extra attention. You're sleepy and happy and he's stroking the tops of your ankles. "You okay?"

"Mhm." You drop a kiss on his head. "Just relax."

Absentmindedly, you braid and unbraid, rubbing his head in between. He shuts his eyes and you keep at it, not noticing when Garrett opens the door. "Hey."

You jump, accidentally pulling John's hair. "Sorry." He pats your knee, and you keep going.

"Uh, Tuck's making chili. Do you want any?" Garrett scratches his head.

"We'll be down in a sec," John says with his eyes shut. Garrett turns around, shutting the door behind him.

You unbraid a strand and let your hands fall to your sides. "Sorry, was that embarrassing?"

"No, why?" He rubs your ankle.

Leaning forward, you wrap your arms around his front, chin on his shoulder. "I don't know. Just, being like this and other people seeing it."

"What, chilling with my hot girlfriend?" He turns around, hoisting you onto his lap so suddenly it makes you laugh.

You squirm into his neck, shutting your eyes. "No-o."

"I could never be embarrassed about you," John says, tightening his arms around you. "You're my girl."

"But do your friends get annoyed that I'm around all the time? And that we're, y'know, lovey with each other?" You bite your lip, brow furrowing.

John shakes his head, kissing your cheek, then your chin to make you laugh. "Dean's done unspeakable things with a million girls all over the house. Anything we do is nothing."

"Are you sure?"

Smoothing out the wrinkle in your forehead, he says, "They like you, baby. I promise." John plants a gentle kiss on your lips. "Tucker's making comfort food while you're over. It's a sign of goodwill."

You smile. "Really?"

"Really." John pulls you up with him. You accept another kiss and let him pull a pair of sweatpants over your legs so you can go down and eat.

Later that night, you're lying with your leg thrown over his, using his chest as a pillow. He's rubbing your back, lips grazing the top of your head every now and then. His bed is the coziest place you've ever known.

A thought occurs to you, and you let it out. "Sometimes I think you'd let me do whatever I wanted."

He laughs quietly into your hair, pulling the blanket up over your back. "You know what? You're absolutely right."