A Reluctant Poet

Saturday came up so quick and Annie was anything but calm.

She stood in her room putting the final touches on herself—smoothing down her blouse where it was tucked neatly into her shorts, adjusting her belt, and giving her hair one last look in the mirror.

Everything sat just right. Her legs were out, her waist pulled in, and her hair fell perfectly. She looked good and she knew it.

She was ready to have fun.

They had already agreed to show up a little later than the actual start time so it would be enough time for the party to really get going.

Annie grabbed her purse and headed downstairs.

Her grandmother was in the living room, sitting on the couch with the phone pressed to her ear. The second Annie stepped into view, her grandmother’s eyes lifted and slowly dragged over her from head to toe.

“Where you going?” she asked.

Annie didn’t even break stride.

“I’m going out,” she said simply. “Don’t wait up for me.”

Her grandmother didn’t respond to her. Instead, she spoke into the phone.

“Mhm,” she said. “She standing right here dressed like she loose in the pants.”

Annie stopped dead in her tracks and her mouth fell open.

“Mama!”

She turned toward her, completely offended.

“Leave me alone,” Annie said, exasperated. “I’m grown enough to go out and have fun.”

Her grandmother just hummed into the phone like she hadn’t said anything wrong.

Annie rolled her eyes hard.

“Who are you even on the phone with anyway?” she asked.

“Cousin Charlie,” her grandmother answered plainly.

Annie’s face scrunched up immediately.

“What he calling for?”

“Just catching up,” she said.

Annie gave her a look that said she didn’t believe that for a second. But before she could say anything else, the sound of a knock on the door pulled her attention.

Annie turned quickly, starting to move.

“Well, I gotta go,” she said. “Don’t wait up for me.”

And just like that, she left her grandmother on the couch and headed for the door.

When Annie pulled the door open, Elijah was standing there waiting. He had on a simple black shirt, neatly tucked into a pair of dark pants, the sleeves fitted just enough to show the strength in his arms. He looked well put together.

But the moment Annie stepped fully into view, his eyes dropped from her face down to her shoulders, over the curve of her waist, and lower. He wasn’t used to seeing her dressed like this. Not with her figure so clearly outlined, nothing softened or hidden behind fabric like her usual dresses.

It caught him off guard. And it showed, just for a split second.

“You look…nice,” he said, his voice a little distracted.

Annie smiled, completely unaware.

“Thank you.”

She stepped out onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind her, and Elijah quickly shook himself out of it. He stepped forward and held his hand out.

“Careful,” he said.

Annie placed her hand in his, letting him guide her down the steps. His grip was steady and firm. He walked her to the car and opened the passenger door. Annie slid inside, adjusting herself comfortably before setting her purse on her lap.

“Thank you,” she said again.

Elijah nodded, closing the door gently before walking around to the driver’s side. Once inside, he started the car and pulled off.

The drive was easy and quiet in a comfortable way. Annie talked here and there, and Elijah mostly listened, but his responses were short. His focus split more than usual. Every now and then, his eyes flicked toward her then quickly back to the road.

It didn’t take too long before they were pulling into the neighborhood.nEven from a distance, they could tell they were close. Cars lined both sides of the street. Music thumped faintly through the air, growing louder the closer they got.

Elijah found a spot a little ways down and parked. He turned the engine off, glancing over at Annie.

They both got out, and Annie immediately took the lead, walking ahead of him.

Elijah just followed behind her and tried, really hard, to keep his eyes forward. But it wasn’t easy when her shorts fit like that.

He exhaled quietly to himself, dragging his gaze away more than once, trying to focus on literally anything else. Anything but her. But she was right there.

They walked up to the house and the music was so loud with voices spilling out through the open windows. People lingered outside talking and drinking. Annie walked straight past them and up to the door.

She reached out, grabbed the handle, and pushed the door open. The second it swung open, they were met with an overwhelming energy.

The air was thick with smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling. There was a sharp scent of alcohol mixed with something sweet. Laughter rang out from every direction, layered over whatever song was playing.

People were packed into the living room and spilling into the hallway. To the left, a group crowded around a table, cards slapping down hard as voices rose over a heated game.

Across the room, there was a makeshift dance floor. Bodies moved close, grovving and grinding together like the rest of the world didn't exist.

The moment Annie stepped fully inside her name started to flow from different ares in the space. And before Elijah could even fully take it in, Annie was being pulled into it. She gave out round of hugs and quick greetings. She slipped easily into the chaos like she belonged there, and it caught Elijah off guard.

This wasn’t exactly the Annie he was used to. He knew her as soft-spoken and warm. She didn’t smoke and she didn’t drink much. She was social, yeah, but never in a way that blurred lines or invited too much attention. But, here, she fit right in.

Elijah stood just behind her, taking it all in, eyes moving slowly across the room. Then Annie looked back at him to show that she hadn't forgotten he was there. She smiled and reached back, grabbing his hand.

“C’mon,” she said, leaning closer so he could hear her over the music.

Her fingers tightened around his as she gently pulled him forward through the crowd.

“I’m gonna take you to my friends.”

Elijah let himself be led, his hand still in hers as she guided him deeper into the party. She weaved them through the crowd and down a short hallway, the music growing slightly muffled the farther they moved from the main room. She walked them all the way to a door in the back of the house. She pushed the door open and it briught them to a smaller room that was far more intimate than the main area.

A large pool table sat right in the center of the room with a hanging lamp overhead. About seven people filled the space, all clearly familiar with each other.

And just like before, when Annie stepped in the room lit up. The women broke away from where they were standing and came straight for her. Lillian reached her first.

“Look at you!” she squealed, grabbing Annie by the arms and pulling her into a tight hug before pushing her back just to look at her.

Michelle and Monica were right behind her, crowding in close.

“You look good,” Michelle added, eyes scanning her up and down with a grin.

“Really good,” Monica said, already circling her like she was inspecting her from every angle.

Lillian grabbed Annie’s hands again.

“Turn around,” she demanded.

“Y’all—” Annie laughed, already knowing where this was going.

“Turn around!” Monica insisted, reaching out and grabbing her waist.

Between the three of them, Annie didn’t have much of a choice.

They spun her and when she fully turned all three of them stared proudly at what was presented to them. Their hands were instantly all over her.

Monica reached out and grabbed a handful of Annie’s backside.

“Girl, if I had all this—” she said, squeezing one cheek for emphasis.

Annie gasped. “Monica!”

“And THIS—” Monica continued, bold as ever, reaching forward like she was about to grab at Annie’s chest.

Annie swatted her hand away while laughing.

“I think I’d be spreading it around,” Monica went on, completely unfazed. “Popping my legs open like a can of biscuits—”

Lillian burst out laughing.

“Monica, you already do that,” Lillian said while laughing.

Monica straightened up real quick, placing her hands on her hips.

“Excuse me?” she said, narrowing her eyes.

Lillian was still laughing.

“Guess you would know about spreading legs, huh? Little heifer,” Monica shot back.

Lillian gasped dramatically. “Don’t you call me out my name!”

And just like that, they were on each other, play fighting in the middle of the room.

Annie let out a breath, smoothing her blouse back down like she hadn’t just been manhandled, and looked over at Michelle. They shared their usual look that was something between half amused and half tired.

They were used to it by not. They had been like this for years.

Annie and Lillian met freshmen year when thrown together as roommates. Lillian had been loud and completely unfiltered from the start. The type to say whatever and do whatever came to her mind without thinking twice.

From there came Monica. She was Lillian’s friend from back home. They were more like sisters than anything else. Monica had a sharp tongue and didn’t sugarcoat a single thing. People who didn’t know her thought she was mean, but Annie knew better. She was honest and fiercely loyal. She was always the first one to step up if it ever came down to it.

Then there was Michelle. She was the youngest of the three. She could be a little naive in some ways, but she was also sweet, charming, and quick on her feet. She had a way of talking herself into anything and out of everything just as easily. Men loved her, women watched her, and she carried herself like she didn’t even realize the effect she had.

They all balanced each other perfectly.

Annie slipped away from the chaos and moved around the room, greeting the rest of the people there. She hugged the men just as easily as she had the women.

“Hey, Annie girl,” one of them said warmly.

She smiled as she pulled back.

“Hey, Tommy.”

Thomas, also known as Tommy, grinned down at her. He had an easy presence about him. He was the kind of man who didn’t have to do much to be liked. He rested a hand briefly on her shoulder before stepping back.

“You look nice,” he added.

“Thank you,” Annie said.

She moved on, greeting the others—Carson, who everybody called CJ, Andrew, and Sampson.

Across the room, Elijah shifted slightly, but it was enough for the room to notice. The energy shifted to him almost immediately. The women's eyes flicked over him in interest. Then they went back to Annie, then back to him. Smirks formed on their faces as they stared at the two.

Lillian crossed her arms, her lips curling as she looked him up and down without shame.

“Well, well, well…” she said, dragging the words out. “Who is this fine, sexy man we got here?”

Annie cleared her throat immediately.

Elijah stood there completely aware and steady. His gaze moved across the room, taking everyone in quietly.

Annie glanced at him before stepping up.

“This is Elijah,” she said, her voice a little more composed. “My friend.” There was a slight emphasis on the last word.

Then she gestured toward the women.

“That’s Lillian, Monica, and Michelle.”

Each of them gave their own little greeting, but none of them were subtle.

“Hi, Elijah,” Monica said, her tone just this side of teasing.

Michelle smiled sweetly, tilting her head. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Lillian didn’t even try to hide her interest.

“Mhm,” she hummed, eyes still on him.

Elijah gave a small nod.

“Nice to meet y’all,” he said. His low, smooth, southern voice caught them off guard.

The women exchanged pleased looks.

“Oh,” Monica muttered under her breath.

Lillian pressed her lips together like she was trying not to say something reckless. Michelle blinked, clearly caught off guard. Meanwhile, the men collectively rolled their eyes.

“Here they go,” CJ muttered, shaking his head.

Tommy chuckled, already pushing himself up from where he’d been sitting.

“Alright, my name's Tommy. Michelle's husband,” he said, stepping forward and extending his hand to Elijah.

Elijah shook his hand firmly. “Nice to meet you.”

Tommy nodded, then gestured to the others.

“That’s Carson, but he goes by CJ,” he said, pointing. “Andrew and Sampson.”

Each man stepped up in turn, giving him handshakes and quick nods of acknowledgement.

Elijah tried to stay relaxed but he was also alert. This was such a new and overwhelming environment so his eyes moved just enough to keep track of everything around him.

He was a little on edge, but it wasn't enough for anyone else to really notice. This scene wasn't bad for him, though. It wasn't hostile, so he didn't feel the need to guard himself too hard. It was just noisy and energetic.

Tommy looked him over once more before asking, “You play cards?”

"Yeah," Elijah nodded.

Tommy grinned.

“Good,” he said. “’Cause CJ is shit and I need a new partner.”

“Man, shut up,” CJ shot back immediately.

Tommy ignored him, clapping Elijah lightly on the shoulder.

“C’mon. We gon’ let the ladies talk.”

He motioned for Elijah to follow, leading him over to a small table tucked off in the corner of the room. Andrew and Sampson were already there, cigars in hand, smoke curling around them as they leaned back in their chairs. CJ followed behind, drink in his grip.

Elijah pulled out a chair and sat down, rolling his soulder to ease the tension in him just a fraction as the focus shifted away from him.

Across the room, the women gathered around the pool table.

“Let's play,” Monica said, grabbing a cue stick.

Michelle clapped her hands together lightly, already excited.

Annie stood with them, smiling as she picked up a cue of her own, glancing briefly over toward Elijah before turning back to her girls.

Things fell into an easy rhythm after they split off.

At the card table, Elijah settled in with the men. The game moved quickly with cards slapping the table.

“Don’t fold now,” CJ muttered, eyeing Elijah.

Elijah huffed quietly. “I ain’t worried.”

He was keeping up just fine, catching onto their way of playing like he’d been there longer than just a few minutes.

At the pool table, Annie had a cue stick in her hands, testing the weight of it.

“Let’s go,” Monica said, rolling her neck. “Me and Annie about to show out.”

Lillian scoffed. “Girl, you always talking.”

They had split into teams. Monica and Annie were on one side, Lillian and Michelle on the other.

The game hadn't even started yet, and Monica was already running her mouth.

“Y’all finna lose bad,” she said, pointing her stick between them. “I almost feel sorry.”

“You don’t feel sorry for nobody,” Michelle laughed.

They flipped a coin and called it. Michelle caught it, checked it, then smiled.

“My turn.”

She stepped up, bending over the table to line up her break, when there was a sharp, long whistle sounding through the room.

“You looking good, girl,” Tommy said, shaking his head.

Michelle glanced back at him over her shoulder, giving him a smile.

“Thanks baby,” she gave back, giving him a quick wink before focusing again.

The crack of the balls rang out as she broke.

Back at the table, the men chuckled, attention split between the game and the show across the room.

“So where you from again?” Drew asked Elijah, stacking his cards.

Elijah answered easy, giving them the same rundown of where he’d been, how he ended up here, and working with Ray.

“And how'd you meet Annie?” Sampson added, leaning back in his chair.

Elijah glanced down at his hand.

“Met her at church,” he said. “She helped me out a few months ago. We been cool ever since.”

“Cool,” CJ repeated, like he didn’t quite believe that.

Elijah gave a small shrug. “We just friends.”

But when he said it he looked up and saw her.

She was bent over the table, focused on her shot, her body angled just right as she lined it up. The overhead light hit her just enough to draw attention to every curve and movement as she adjusted herself slightly.

Elijah’s eyes lingered longer than a friend should’ve. He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat, trying to pull his attention back to the cards in his hand, but it didn’t stick.

Sampson noticed immediately. A slow grin spread across his face before he let out a short laugh.

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “They always say ‘just friends’…”

The other men chuckled.

“…but it don’t never stay that way,” he finished.

CJ laughed under his breath. “Never.”

Elijah didn’t join in. He just shook his head slightly, like he didn’t agree, but he didn’t argue it either. His eyes just drifted again.

Annie shifted her stance, trying to get a better angle on the shot, and Elijah dragged his gaze away this time, pressing his lips together as he leaned back in his chair. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, exhaling quietly before glancing at Tommy.

“I think I need a drink. Where can I get one?” he asked, nodding toward the table.

CJ snorted.

“Yeah, come on,” he said, pushing his chair back. “I’ll show you.”

Elijah stood with him, grateful for the break more than anything.

As they started toward the door, Monica glanced over mid-conversation.

“Where y’all going?”

“Getting a drink,” CJ answered.

“Bring me something back!” Lillian called out, handing her cup over.

CJ grabbed it without stopping.

Then Lillian pointed toward Annie. “And one for Annie too!”

Annie didn’t even look up from the table. She just shook her head lightly, focused on her shot.

CJ laughed, but nodded his head.

He and Elijah slipped out of the room and into the still thumping main space where bodies were still swaying too close to the music. They traveled through the house until they got to the kitchen where things were far less crowded.

CJ went straight to the icebox, pulled it open, and grabbed two bottles of beer. He popped the caps off with ease and handed one over to Elijah.

“Here you go,” he said.

Elijah took it with a small nod. “Appreciate it.”

CJ turned back to the counter, grabbing Lillian’s cup and poured something from a large pitcher.

Elijah leaned back against the counter slightly, taking a sip before glancing around the kitchen. “Whose house this is anyway?”

CJ didn’t look up as he poured. “Tommy and Michelle’s,” he said. “They the type to throw something every chance they get. Holidays, birthdays, random Saturdays,” He shrugged. “It don’t take much.”

Elijah nodded slowly, taking that in as his eyes moved over the space. It was lived in but nice and clean even if it was currently being overtaken by a party.

“It’s nice,” he said.

CJ smirked. “Yeah, Michelle loves this house.”

He set Lillian’s drink to the side and reached for another cup, grabbing a different bottle this time.

Before Elijah could say anything else, the kitchen door opened behind them and three women walked in. Two of them locked in on them almost immediately. The third hung back just a little to observe.

The one looking at Elijah was pretty and she knew it too. Her hair was done nice and her dress hugged her frame just enough. If Elijah had been a different man—or if his mind wasn’t already tied up somewhere else—he might’ve entertained it. But here he was, grip tightening slightly around the neck of the bottle in his hand.

The women approached with confidence in every step.

“Well hey there,” one of them said, her voice light. “We seen y’all walking through and had to come say something.”

CJ’s lips curled into a smirk immediately, instantly leaning into it.

“Oh yeah?” he said. “What y’all got to say?”

The woman laughed softly. “That y’all look real good.”

CJ chuckled. “I appreciate that.”

The woman who was focused on Elijah tilted her head slightly.

“You ain’t gone say thank you?” she asked, her tone teasing.

Elijah glanced at her, then down at his beer for a split second before looking back up.

“…Thank you,” he said simply.

Her smile widened just a bit.

“What's y’all's names?” the third woman asked, finally stepping in.

“CJ,” he answered easily, nodding toward Elijah. “That’s Elijah.”

“Elijah,” the woman repeated, like she was testing how it sounded.

Elijah didn’t respond to that, he just took another sip of his drink.

“I’m Renee,” she said, gesturing between them. “That’s Gloria, and that’s Denise.”

They exchanged greetings, and then slipped into an easy yet charged conversation. CJ fell right into it, joking while leaning against the counter, giving just enough attention to keep them engaged. Elijah stayed quiet, but not silent. They pulled him in little by little.

“So where you from?” Gloria asked him, her eyes not leaving his face.

“Mississippi,” he answered.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “I thought I heard it in your voice.”

He gave a small nod.

“You just get here?” she pressed.

“Yeah. I only been here for a while.”

CJ glanced over at him with a slight smirk, like he was surprised he was actually engaging.

“You don't seem like the type to be at a party like this?” Denise added.

Elijah shrugged lightly. “I came with a friend.”

Renee’s brow lifted just slightly.

“A friend, huh?”

Elijah didn’t elaborate. Instead, he took another drink.

CJ chuckled, shaking his head.

“Yeah, his little ‘friend,’” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough to be heard.

Elijah shot him a look, but CJ just grinned.

They jumped back into proper conversation. The women's interest only grew. The drinks sat on the counter, forgotten for the moment as the energy shifted.

Time slipped away from them all and next thing they knew the kitchen doors swung open. In walked Annie and Lillian.

“Now what is taking y’all so—” Lillian started, reaching for the counter where the drinks were, but her words trailed off when she noticed the scene.

Elijah stood angled toward one of the women, her hand resting a little too comfortably on his arm, her body leaned in like whatever she was saying was meant just for him.

Annie saw it instantly. Her eyes darkened for a second. Her face stayed smooth though, lips relaxed, and posture easy like she hadn’t noticed a thing.

CJ, oblivious or choosing to be, lifted his bottle slightly. “We just got caught up talking.”

Lillian sucked her teeth loud, already grabbing the cups off the counter. “Mhm. I see that.”

She handed Annie her cup without looking at her, eyes still scanning the women like she was deciding how much she didn’t like them.

One of the women, tilted her head with a small smile. “We didn’t mean to hold your men up.”

Lillian’s face twisted immediately, pure disgust. “That is not my man,” she said flatly, not even sparing her a full glance. “And I could care less what he does.”

Annie still hadn’t moved. She and Elijah were looking at each other, not blinking or speaking.

Lillian glanced over at Annie, brows pinching slightly, waiting.

Annie blinked like she’d just come back.

“Yeah,” she said, almost absent, lifting her cup slightly. “We’re all just friends.”

Her eyes slid, briefly, to the woman still standing a little too close to Elijah.

“So y’all can talk to them however you want.”

It was light and polite. Almost a little too polite.

Then, like a switch had been flipped, Annie smiled sweetly. “But y’all are more than welcome to come join us in the back.”

Lillian’s head turned fast toward her, confusion flashing clear across her face. They did not know these girls. But just as quickly, she smoothed it out, lips curling to match Annie’s tone.

“Yeah,” Lillian added, nodding once. “Come on.”

She turned on her heel, Annie right beside her as they walked out of the kitchen. CJ watched them go, a small smirk tugging at his mouth like he knew something was brewing but wasn’t about to say it.

He stepped to the side, gesturing toward the door. “After you, ladies.”

The three women exchanged quick amused looks, and then followed behind Annie and Lillian.

Elijah stayed where he was for half a second longer, watching Annie’s back as she disappeared into the crowd. His jaw tightened just slightly before he finally moved.

CJ fell into step beside him as they trailed behind the group, the noise of the party swallowing them back up.

They reached the back room and it was clear there was a different kind of energy with the new addition of the three women. Annie and Lillian slipped right back to their place beside the pool table trying to ignore it. But it clearly wasn’t the same.

The game slowed and the easy rhythm from before was gone. Lillian lined up a shot, glancing at Annie out the corner of her eye, but Annie was chalking her cue, eyes focused a little too hard on the table. Neither of them said anything about it.

Across the room, CJ and Elijah moved toward the corner where the rest of the guys were posted up.

CJ clapped his hands, loud enough to grab their attention. “Boys, we got guests, so behave yourselves.”

A couple of laughs broke out immediately.

Tommy looked over, catching sight of the three women, and then just as quickly raised both hands. “Oh nah,” he said, already backing up. “I’m tapping out. Y’all not getting me in trouble.”

The area laughed as he slipped away, making a beeline toward the pool table.

“Smart man,” somebody muttered.

CJ shook his head, amused, before pointing off to a nearby seating area. It was close enough to the group to stay involved, but still its own little pocket. “Y’all can sit right there.”

The women didn’t hesitate to sit. They settled in as if they belonged. They crossed their legs and angled their bodies just right.

Things started back up almost immediately, one of the women leaning forward as she spoke, her hand brushing CJ’s arm. Another tossed her hair over her shoulder, directing a comment toward Elijah with a teasing smile.

Elijah leaned back slightly, one hand resting on his bottle, watching for a second before responding just enough to keep conversation going.

Their sound carried across the room. Annie didn't look at them. She lined up her shot and took it, the sharp crack of the balls breaking up the sound of the laughter. Her eyes flicked up for half a second, then she looked back down like it didn't matter at all.

Annie tried to focus on her shots, trying to tell herself it was just a game, that it didn’t matter. But it had quickly become impossible not to notice.

Somehow, one of the women had ended up perched in CJ’s lap, completely at ease. The woman Elijah had been talking to had pulled her chair right next to him, close enough that Annie could see their shoulders almost touch. Their heads bent together as they debated cards, voices low, intimate.

Annie’s eyes couldn’t help but drift over. She’d finished her cup a while ago, and now she was on number three, the liquid warming her chest as her thoughts spiraled.

She shouldn’t feel this way. She wasn’t supposed to care. Elijah was just a friend. He was a good man who deserved someone just as good. Someone like these women, maybe. But still, watching him smile and laugh with her, made a strange knot tightened in her stomach.

Monica had instantly noticed because Annie’s normally sharp game was off. Her hands were shaking slightly as she tried to focus. A quiet irritation started building in Monica’s chest.

Annie lined up her next shot, trying to ignore the fluttering in her stomach, when her gaze flicked up, and she froze.

The woman was now standing behind Elijah. Her arms were wrapped around him, brushing over his chest as she leaned in close, whispering into his ear. She pointed subtly at his cards, guiding him with soft murmurs.

Annie thought she caught the faintest hint of a smirk on his face and her shot went completely off.

“Annie! What the hell is wrong with you?!” Monica groaned loudly, throwing her hands up in frustration.

From across the table, Michelle and Lillian cheered, celebrating their win, unaware of the storm brewing inside Annie.

Annie muttered a brief, distracted apology and didn’t even try another shot. She stepped back and moved toward the back door, her voice low, “I–I need some air.”

All at once, the group glanced at each other in silent question of who was going after her.

Michelle easily slid in. “I got her,” she said, pushing past the table and chasing after Annie before anyone else could even move.

Michelle stepped into the cool night air, the sounds of the party muffled behind the door. Annie was leaning against the side of the house, arms crossed and eyes distant. The moonlight touched her face, highlighting the tension curled in her shoulders.

Michelle approached slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You really like him, huh?” she said softly. It wasn't even a question, it was more of a statement.

Annie stiffened and jerked her gaze to Michelle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said quickly, voice a little too tight.

Michelle rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “I may miss a lot of things, Annie, but I’m not stupid.” Her tone softened. “I know you like that man. So why don’t you just tell him?”

Annie let out a long sigh, eyes flicking away to the dark yard. “I don’t think I like him that much,” she murmured. “We’re just friends and I want it to stay that way.”

Michelle tilted her head, exasperated. “Why do you always do this? Any man that shows even a little in you, you push them away. You never let yourself be anything more than friends.”

Annie looked at her then, and in that gaze, Michelle understood everything. All that Annie wasn’t saying. All the fear and the guilt. It was written across her face.

“You can’t let your mother’s decisions affect how you spend the rest of your life,” Michelle said gently, stepping closer. “You aren’t her, Annie. You won’t ever be. So you need to quit it.”

Annie swallowed hard, a lump in her throat rising like it wanted to choke her. She tried to hold it in, tried not to let herself break, but one single tear slipped down her cheek.

“I just feel like it’s all my fault,” she admitted in a whisper. “I should be punished for it. I shouldn’t let myself get too close to a man.”

Michelle exhaled slowly, shaking her head. “It’s not your fault, Annie. It won’t ever be. Stop saying that.”

She stepped forward and pulled Annie into a firm hug. “Stop crying and get yourself together. Either you tell Elijah how you feel or you let him go. That’s it.”

Annie leaned into her friend, letting herself absorb the warmth and certainty in Michelle’s words. Slowly, the tension in her body began to ease. When she finally stepped back, wiped her cheeks, and took a deep breath, Michelle reached for her hand. They laced their fingers together and walked back inside.

The moment they stepped back in, the energy of the party was different. She noticed right away that the women had disappeared…and so did CJ.

Elijah was scanning the room, eyes moving over the crowd until they locked on hers. He moved toward her with that careful, quiet urgency she knew so well, and she felt her chest tighten.

Elijah’s eyes searched hers, steady and insistent, silently urging her to meet his gaze. “You okay?” he asked softly, voice just above the hum of the party.

Annie swallowed, forcing a small nod. “Yeah,” she said, voice light but uneven. “I think I’ve had a little too much to drink.” She gave a small laugh she didn’t feel. “I’m ready to go.”

Elijah nodded, accepting it without pressing further. “Okay,” he said simply, but the concern never left his face.

Goodbyes were quick. Lillian, Michelle, and the rest waved and called their farewells, but Elijah stayed close, never leaving her side, always keeping an eye on her.

As they moved toward the door, stepping into the night air, he subtly brushed an arm against hers, guiding her gently through the crowd, making sure she was steady. Every step out of the house, he checked on her. He didn't have to say much, but his presence said everything his words didn't.

By the time they reached the car, Annie realized she hadn’t had to speak a word about how she was feeling. He just cared like he knew, and that alone made her heart both ache and swell at the same time.

Elijah settled into the driver’s seat, fingers brushing the wheel, but he didn’t start the car right away. Instead, he turned slowly to Annie, his gaze firm but soft.

“I know you’re not really okay,” he said, his voice low, steady. “What’s really wrong?”

Annie didn’t look at him. She turned her face toward the window, staring at the streetlights. Slowly, she shook her head.

“Just drive.”

So he did.

The car moved through the quiet streets, but heavy tension hung between them. That is until Annie finally spoke up after blocks of silence.

“If you want to go out with that woman,” she said, almost like testing the words, “I think you should.”

Elijah froze for a split second, then scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Why are you saying that?”

Annie kept her eyes on the passing lights, shrugging lightly.

“We’re just friends. You can see who you want. And she seems nice. The type of girl you like, considering how close you were at the party. So you should go out with her.”

He blinked, and his tone sharpened. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “I am. You should do it.”

The words hit him hard. Elijah’s jaw tightened. Her willingness to push this woman onto him was infuriating and heartbreaking at the same time. Frustration bubbled up, and before he could stop himself, he said what he probably shouldn’t.

“Well, I did get her number,” he said, voice low but trembling with exasperation, “so maybe you’re right. I should try.”

Annie’s head gave a small nod.

“That’s fine,” she said, voice flat like she was detached.

Elijah exhaled sharply, rubbing his face with one hand.

The rest of the ride was swallowed by silence. The hum of the tires on the road, the occasional streetlight, and the quiet thrum of the air conditioner were the only sounds.

Neither spoke again, but the weight between them lingered until Elijah pulled up in front of Annie’s house.

Annie sat there waiting. She didn't reach for the handle, expecting him to get out like he always did to open her door. But he didn't. Not tonight.

Elijah kept his hands on the wheel, jaw tight, eyes fixed ahead like if he looked at her again he might say something he couldn’t take back.

After a moment, Annie unbuckled her seatbelt. She reached for the door herself and stepped out, the night air cool against her skin. The door shut with a soft thud behind her. She turned back toward the car, hand still resting on the handle.

“Goodni—”

The car pulled off.

Annie’s words fell flat in her mouth. She stood there for a second, watching the taillights disappear down the street. She swallowed, her throat tight, and turned toward the house.

Something in his tone makes her chest tighten with nerves as she scrunches her face in confusion and immediately fixes it before her father notices. Moving slowly to the table, Sera takes a cautious seat across from her father before folding her hands like she was still a child in Sunday school.

“Who, Daddy?”

Still, he doesn’t look up. “Don’t worry bout’ the names, Seraphim. Just… men… come to talk men business.”

Her fingers curl anxiously into her palms. Sera is the picture perfect daughter and typically she doesn’t ask questions. She never does… Not since Mama left after she asked about—… But the set of her father’s jaw and the way his hands tremble slightly as he turns the page of his Bible, it told her enough.

The Klan has been circling their 5 acres of land like vultures lately. First, their sneering whispers at the general store. Then the burning cross not a mile from the chapel’s steps that sits on the western field of the land. They said the property didn’t belong to a Black man. Said God wouldn’t build His house of worship on stolen dirt with niggers dwelling on it.

But Sera knows her daddy didn't steal anything regardless of what the rumors say. After her mama left, Samuel made a deal with some mystery man and God helped him acquire the title of this lot. At least that’s the vague explanation he gives her any time she asks about it. Nevertheless, when he acquired the land the first thing he did was build a church with his own two hands. And now those hands grip the edge of the table as if it were all that kept him from crumbling.

“You’ll head down to Bo’s,” he said. “Pick up what we need. Chicken, potatoes, cabbage, buttermilk and flour for the biscuits. We’ll show them hospitality, like the Good Book says.”

Sera nodded silently and swallowed down the million questions that burn on her tongue. After three beats of tense silence her father finally looked up, and in his amber eyes that have started to develop a thin blue coating around the iris, showcases a tiredness deeper than age.

“And Seraphim?” he added gently.

“Yes, sir?”

“Comb that rats nest on your head and wear the pale blue dress. The one that don’t cling too close and goes to your ankles.”

Her cheeks heated with embarrassment as she nodded in agreement. “Yes, Daddy.”

Standing up from her seat and turning to leave, Sera’s steps are slow and heavy. As she gets dressed and stares at her reflection in the mirror she allows one singular tear to fall down her cheek before quickly wiping it away and closing her eyes to say a silent prayer. Protection for her father. Protection for the church. Protection for the land. And above all else, protect her body from overheating in this dress that was made with a little too much material.

As she adds the finishing touches to her braided updo and grabs the cash for her errands, the screen door creaks behind her like a warning. The walk to the store would be long in this heat, and every step would carry the weight of knowing that tonight underneath the fake smiles and polite prayers there’d be devils seated at her table.

And she’d be expected to serve them.

The road to Bo’s twisted like a long scar through the red dirt and brittle tall grass. Seraphim walked it alone, her steps measured with her basket swinging gently at her side. The morning sun was already fierce and burning through the brim of her hat while causing the pale blue fabric of her dress to stick to her back. No matter how conservative she wanted to appear today it seemed like the universe had other plans as dust clung to her skin like guilt.

Even with the possibility of a heatstroke on the horizon, Sera didn’t complain and instead she kept her head down and continued on her way as she let her mind roam.

Smoke and Stack have come back.

The words had been whispered like scripture behind cupped hands all across town.

It started with the undertaker’s boy, who said he saw them pull up in a shiny black car that didn’t belong to Mississippi dirt. Then the ladies at Sister Odetta’s beauty shop had gasped between hot combs and gossip and said the twins were dressed like city men, with gold chains and sharp suits. Their hands heavy with sin and the smell of Chicago money lingering on their skin.

Sera had barely known them as a child. They were already grown men when she was still being scolded for climbing trees in her Sunday shoes. Ten years her senior, they’d been the kind of men who lived in whispers and warnings. Men born on the wrong side of the tracks, raised on violence, and baptized in war before vanishing North with nothing but a reputation and a revolver.

She remembered seeing them once from the church window with their long limbs and sharp mouths, laughing at something no decent folk should laugh at. Her father had pulled the curtain closed and muttered, “Devil’s work.”

Now they are back. And no one knows the reason why.

Her steps slowed as she passed the old barn where she once caught her mother kissing a white man in the shadows. She hadn’t meant to spy. She was only seven. Her baby brother had just been born and Sera… too curious for her own good… had wandered too far from home one night looking for fireflies. What she found instead was the truth.

She remembered asking her mama, “Why’s he so pale? His hair same color as mine but he white like a peckerwood?”

Her mama had gone quiet. Two days later, she was gone.

Took her baby brother. Left the ring her father gave her in his favorite bible. And never came back.

Sera learned silence that year. How to swallow hurt without chewing. How to keep her eyes low and her voice lower. Her father never spoke her mama’s name again. Just preached harder and held her tighter.

The screen door to Bo’s creaked as she opened it, the bell above chiming like a warning. Inside, the air was thick with tobacco and the musty scent of aging wood. A few men loitered in the back as they sipped bottled pop and muttered low under their breath. They quieted when she walked in.

Sera could feel them looking. Could always feel when men’s eyes lingered too long on her like they had the ability to see beyond what she attempted to hide. She was 25 now. Unmarried, tall, full-figured and soft in the face but with too much knowing in her eyes. She tried to hide it all under cotton and decency, but men saw what they wanted. Even here. Even now.

“Mornin’, Miss Seraphim,” Bo called from behind the counter, his drawl friendly but laced with caution.

“Mornin’, Mister Bo,” she said politely, keeping her voice sweet and even. Something she mastered at a young age.

“Your daddy got you runnin’ errands today?”

“Yes, sir. Company’s comin’ for supper. Said I need ingredients to make fried chicken, mashed potatoes, sautéed cabbage… and biscuits too.”

Bo raised an eyebrow, nodding as he scribbled on a small notepad. “Hmph. Important company, I reckon.”

Sera didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

As Bo disappeared into the storeroom, she wandered toward the shelves of canned goods and piles of flour sacks as she pretended to browse. Behind her, the men began to whisper again.

“Smoke’s the one wit’ the gold tooth, right?”

“Nah. That’s Stack. Smoke’s the nigga that talk too smooth.”

“Did you hear what they did to dem boys up in Yazoo?”

Sera kept her back turned, heart thumping louder than the bell had.

“They say Stack got a scar down his side big as a muthafuckin’ butcher’s knife.”

“They say Smoke talk a man into givin’ up his mama’s land and thank him after.”

“They say they brought Hell back with ‘em, and they got money to burn it down. But I ain’t scared of them niggas.”

Sera gripped the handle of her basket tighter as she continued to listen. She knew it wasn’t proper to ease drop but she would ask God for forgiveness later. The SmokeStack twins were men of sin. Of smoke, flame, and ruin. They didn’t belong in her world of hymns dressed up in linen and bowed heads.

But for some reason… she couldn’t stop thinking about them.

Before more could be discussed, Bo returned with a paper sack filled to the brim with all the needed ingredients and a few extras. “Here you go, darlin’. Tell your daddy I said God bless him.”

Sera nodded, murmured her thanks, and stepped back out into the scorching sun. As she made her way back home, she tried not to imagine what it would mean if the SmokeStack twins crossed her path. She tried not to think about her mama and how the world could never make space for a woman torn between desire and duty. And she tried not to ask why, after all these years, something in her stirred at the sound of their names.

By the time Seraphim returned home, the sun had dropped just enough to make the sky blush. Her childhood home sat quiet on its vast land. An old two story farmhouse with peeling paint and wide porch steps that creaked like old grandma knees. She stood for a moment at the gate, looking up at it. Her home. Her father’s sanctuary. Her… prison.

Inside, she freshed up and tied on her apron and got to work. She moved through the kitchen with practiced ease and muscle memory passed down from ancestors she would never meet. She seasoned the chicken with salt, pepper, and a heavy hand of cayenne, just the way her daddy liked it. Rolled it in flour and dropped it into the cast iron skillet, where the oil hissed like a warning.

Next were the mashed potatoes she added cream and butter to until they were silk. Then she cut the cabbage thin and tossed it with smoked pork fat until it wilted. And finally she kneaded the biscuit dough, cool and soft beneath her fingers, like clouds in her palms.

Sera tried to quiet her noisy mind as she focused on making sure this meal was perfect. But her mind wandered back to the whispers in Bo’s store and to the heat in her chest that wouldn’t cool, not even with the open windows and the evening breeze coming through.

Her father was in his study, silent behind the cracked door. He hadn’t said who was coming. Just that it was “important.”

Important enough to fry a whole chicken? Important enough to cook a Sunday meal on Wednesday and be forced to comb my hair? Is Jesus coming?

Then a singular knock came just as she pulled the biscuits from the oven, golden and steaming. Pastor Samuel said nothing as he closed the book he was reading and left his study to open the door himself.

Her oven mitten covered hands froze over the skillet. Sera expected Deacon Haynes. Maybe old Mister Lockett from the train yard. But when her father opened the front door, the whole house seemed to still.

Two men stepped inside. One moved like a cautionary tale. The other, like trouble.

They were damn near impossible to tell apart at first glance. Both tall and standing at 6 '4, both dressed like Chicago royalty with midnight-black suits cut sharp enough to draw blood, gold cufflinks, shiny shoes that didn’t belong on Mississippi dirt, and different colored accessories. One dressed in a haunting blue and the other in a firecracker red. Their skin was a deep sultry brown and smooth, cheekbones high, eyes sharp beneath wide-brimmed fedoras.

But there was a difference. You didn’t see it. You felt it.

Smoke stepped in first. He moved like a closed casket… silent, heavy, and final. His expression didn’t shift. His eyes scanned the room like he was casing it. His face was like expressionless chiseled stone and Sera could’ve sworn his eyes never blinked.

Then Stack, right behind him with the same face, same build, same shine to his shoes, but grinning like he’d already kissed your sister and was thinking about your mama next. His smile was wide and wicked, white teeth decorated with gold flashing like a trap with sugar on it.

Sera’s breath caught in her throat.

“Well, well,” Stack said, tossing his red hat onto a nearby rack like he owned the place. “Didn’t know the preacher’s house came with a view.”

Pastor Samuel cut him a glare sharp enough to chip stone. “Mind your manners.”

“I am mindin’ ‘em,” Stack chuckled, eyes lingering on Sera. “Just admirin’ God’s work. Hallelujah!”

Smoke didn’t speak. He didn’t even look at Sera at first like she was a non interesting piece of furniture sitting in a corner. Instead he removed his hat and placed it on the rack next to Stacks. Something about him was fascinating to Sera. He was the kind of man who knew where a bullet might come from and how to send one back twice as fast.

Pastor Samuel cleared his throat. “Sera. Set the table.”

“Yes, sir,” she murmured, breaking herself from her trance and slipping into motion like her body was trying to protect her soul. The food went out hot and she moved quietly, with her eyes focused on her task, but she could feel Stack’s lingering stare sticking to her like honey on skin. Smoke finally looked at her. Just once and she couldn’t tell if his look was approval or disapproval of her appearance.

They all sat at the dinner table that was piled high with food as if it was thanksgiving. Pastor Samuel took a deep breath before bowing his head. “Lord, bless this table and guide our hands in the war to come.”

“Amen,” Smoke said softly. Stack said nothing due to his mouth already full of biscuit.

Dinner started civil. The knives scraped politely on china. Stack asked for seconds. Smoke barely touched his plate. And her father finally cut straight to the point. “The Klan wants this land but MY church sits on it. They plan to burn it or steal it, and I won’t have either.”

Finally getting into the grit of the meeting, Smoke leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes at Pastor Samuel before letting his hand linger over his pistol that’s tucked to the side. “You want protection?”

“I want justice,” the preacher corrected without missing a step. “But I’ll settle for peace. And peace only comes with fear, these days.”

Stack chuckled, licking the remaining food residue off his thumb. “So you brought in the big bad wolves?”

“I brought in men who make devils cross the street,” Samuel snapped.

Smoke went back to a relaxed position and finally picked up his fork again before taking another bite of cabbage. Sera didn’t mean to stare but she couldn’t help herself as she made a mental note on which food he ate the most of. “We don’t work for free.”

“I ain’t askin’ for charity… You can use the north field. Store what you want. Liquor, bodies, goods… I won’t ask what it is.”

Stack whistled low. “Damn. Preacher man got teeth.”

Samuel didn’t flinch. “I got a daughter who still believes in mercy. I’d like her to live long enough to keep believin’.”

That made Smoke pause. His eyes shifted back to Sera, who immediately dropped her gaze. She didn’t need to see the look to know it was heavy, not lustful like his brother’s, but something deeper and calculated.

Instead of sitting in the hot seat Sera busied herself with the plates. An excuse and a shield she knew would protect her during this tense moment. The dishes clinked gently as she stacked them, one by one, careful not to seem rushed, even as her hands itched to flee the room.

A quiet girl trying to make herself seem small in a world that wanted nothing more than to sing her praises like the church mothers during Sunday service. They always said she was “obedient,” “graceful,” “a woman raised right.” None of them knew how much it cost her to bite her tongue raw, how often she turned her rage into silence, her questions into prayers.

Stack leaned over the table, eyes gleaming with mischief and something darker. “Tell me, sweetheart… a girl like you ever get tired of bein’ good?”

She hesitated. Her fingers curled around the edge of a gravy bowl slick with fat. She kept her expression even and soft, almost dainty. Inside, something rattled. But she smiled faintly, like the perfect and polite southern belle her father raised her to be.

“No, sir,” she murmured, not looking at him. “Good girls sleep sounder at night.”

Stack grinned wider. “That so? Guess I wouldn’t know. Ain’t had a full night’s sleep since I lost my innocence—”

“Stack.” Smoke’s voice cut through the room like a blade dragged across glass. That single word, low and sharp, dried up all the amusement in his brother’s throat.

Pastor Samuel stood slowly. His eyes didn’t go to Sera. They never did when men looked at her too long. He spoke like a man reminded of the devil’s reach. “Dinner’s done.”

Smoke stood as well, deliberate and careful in every motion like a man who didn’t waste energy on anything unnecessary. He looked around the room once more, as if he was searching for something. “We’ll be in touch,” he said simply.

Stack bowed his head, eyes still locked onto Sera. “Thanks for the supper, pretty girl. You cook like a woman with a heavy soul. And look like a redheaded angel. Any man round’ here would be lucky to call you his wife.”

Sera didn’t respond. Just kept her eyes on the plates in her hands. She stayed quiet like a bunny cornered by a pack of wolves. Being quiet was the safest thing to do around wolves… especially wolves who smile so pretty they remind you that Satan was once an angel.

The screen door shut behind them with a lazy clap.

Only then did her shoulders fall before making her way back to the kitchen and standing in it alone as the lace curtains drifted over the open window. Outside, the twilight bled into the nearby fields, shadows stretching long like the hands of men reaching for things they didn’t deserve. Her father didn’t say a word to her, he just disappeared into his study, muttering about the Lord’s will, the price of peace and the weight of duty.

Sera washed each dish with hands that trembled just slightly. Not from fear but from curiosity.

She hated that part of herself, the part that wanted to turn around and ask Stack what it felt like to not care. The part that wanted to ask Smoke what lived behind his silence. The part that burned for something she couldn’t name without falling to her knees in shame.

She pressed her forehead to the cool windowpane and closed her eyes.

Smoke and Stack were back.

And the peace in her house was already slipping through the cracks.

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Well, well, well. Looks like we have another series on our hands. And guess what, chicken butt? I plan on actually finishing this one before we all die from old age. I’m a gen z boomer now so let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

Tags:

“I told you to make a left three miles back!” you exclaimed, crossing your arms in frustration. 

“I swear to god if you say that one more time, I’ll pull this car over. I’m literally an ex-marine, I know my way around a map,” Terry said, his voice taking on a rumbling growl. You roll your eyes, huffing as you turn away from him to look out the window. Your cybersecurity company planned a business retreat for you and your coworkers as a way to celebrate the huge account they just obtained and boost morale. Pairing you with your ‘least compatible match’, your boss thought it’d be a great way for you and Terry to try and get along.

FLASHBACK

“Nora please! Pair me with anyone but him,” you begged your boss. You knew it was a strong possibility that she’d pair you with Terry, that doesn’t mean that you weren’t going to fight it.

“Tatum, try and look at it from my perspective. I’ve got two team leads who don’t get along, which is making it really hard for me to conduct meetings. You two can’t be in the same room for more than 5 minutes without world war three happening.”Nora says, closing her laptop. 

“Look at it like this, if my top two performers of my team are constantly butting heads, what kind of example do you think that’s going to set for your subordinates? You and Terry either find a way to deal with each other or both of you will have to think of a change in departments.” She finishes, her tone signifying that there’s no room for discussion. 

With a sigh you say, “Fine, I’ll do my best. Just make sure you tell that meathead the same thing.”

END FLASHBACK

With a huff you say, “I can’t believe Nora actually though pairing us together would work. We still have 3 hours left on the road.”

“It’ll go by quicker if you shut up,”Terry grumbles, reaching forward to turn his playlist up. 

“Ugh! And do we have to listen to classic rock the whole way? Nobody wants their eardrums to bleed  24/7 like you do” You add, positioning your body to stare Terry down. Despite hating his guts, Terry was fucking hot, and boy did he know it too. 

“Well, it’s better than listening to your voice all day, or at all for that matter,” Terry glances over at you, a teasing half smirk on his face. He reaches  for the volume switch on his steering wheel, turning the volume up yet again. 

He wasn't exactly sure how your rivalry started but Terry knew that he couldn’t stand you. How you were always so warm and glowy. Flashing your grossly attractive smile around the office like those knuckleheads deserved to be graced by the sun each morning. Walking around in your stupid clothes that seemed to cling to every curve, his eyes would always be drawn to your annoyingly plump ass. Terry hated your guts, but he could appreciate a fine woman. 

You roll your eyes at Terry’s comments, not wanting to further this verbal sparring session. Sliding your eye mask over your eyes, “Just wake me up when we get there,” you said, reclining your chair back.  

Terry lets out a defensive snort, clearly unimpressed with your dismissive attitude. “Fine, princess. Don’t let me disturb your beauty sleep.”

You roll your eyes, sitting in silence at Terry’s harsh words. “You’re insufferable,”you mumble under your breath. 

Terry just smirks, he laughs,a deep mocking sound that echoes throughout the car. “Insufferable? That’s rich coming from you Tatum. At least I’m honest about who I am and what I want.”

You snatched the eye mask off your face, a gentle rage brewing under the surface. “Don’t pretend that you know anything about me, Terry.”

Another chuckle leaves his mouth, a cold and mirthless sound. “Oh, I know plenty about you, Tatum. More than you like probably. After all, it's not hard to figure out what makes you tick when you’re so transparent.” He reaches forward, turning down the volume slightly, “You’re a puzzle, sure, but not a particularly complex one. Jealous, insecure, and secretly craving validation from those you despise.”

You scoff, meeting his eyes, “Please remind me when I asked for your lackluster input. You know nothing about me Terry.”

He raises both hands in mock surrender, a teasing smirk adorning his infuriatingly handsome face,”You didn’t have to ask, it’s written all over you. I figured since we’re stuck on this drive together, I might as well entertain myself by analyzing your pathetic attempts at independence.”

“Why are you like this?” you ask with a shake of your head. 

Terry pins you with his piercing green eyes, “We don’t have enough time to go through all of that, princess.”

“Well whether we like it or not we’re stuck together for the weekend. Obviously it seems like we’re not going to make any progress so how about we don’t speak to one another unless it’s absolutely necessary,”you say your hands wringing together. All of this hostility was triggering you, and you didn’t want to have a full fledged episode in front of Terry. 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “If that’s what you want, then so be it.” He adjusts his hands on the steering wheel focusing on the road. Terry looked seemingly lost in thought, but the set of his jaw and the rigid line of his shoulders betrayed his true state. You got under his skin, and he couldn't put his finger on why. Terry just knew he had to get you out of his system one way or another. 

You however, were fuming inside. How dare Terry pretend to even know a thing about you. It pissed you off even more to know that he was right. 

“You’ve been avoiding me around the office,” you start. “Whenever we need to come up with a proposal together, you send someone else in your place. You always leave the room when I enter it. What did I do to you to make you dislike me so much?”, you ask, your eyes burning holes in the side of his head. 

Terry sighs, “Avoiding you implies that I care more than I should. That is not the case.” His words are dismissive, but the way he keeps glancing at you could indicate otherwise. 

You huff in frustration, you’re not getting through to him, “So if you’re not avoiding me, what would you call it?”you press, tilting your head to the side slightly. “Because it feels like you’ve been going out of your way to avoid me these past few weeks.”

Terry flicks on the blinker before exiting the highway, within the next six minutes you’re parked at a ‘Buc-ee’s’. You watch as Terry takes a deep breath, seemingly composing himself before saying, “I’m focused on my work, performing well and efficiently. I don’t understand why you can’t get that through your thick fucking skull.”

The deflection pisses you off, “So why me then? You’re perfectly pleasant with everyone else in the office, but when I’m involved it’s different.” 

Terry’s eyes drift over you, a mask of indifference painting his face. “Is this conversation going anywhere? Or are you going to keep whining about not being liked?” 

You sigh with defeat, turning to face forward you decide to keep your mouth shut, this conversation doing more harm than good. 

“I’m just going to fill up and grab something to eat, do you want anything from inside?” Terry asks, grabbing his keys and wallet. You shake your head, ready for a few minutes alone to screw your head on straight. 

“Suit yourself, just don’t bother me if you’re hungry in an hour,” and with that, Terry gets out of the car. Halfway into the store, Terry turns back and spots you wiping your eyes. Something in his chest tightens at the fact that he made you cry. Your verbal sparring sessions would always be the highlight of his day, you always had a witty comeback, giving him a run for his money. He’s so lost in his thoughts about you, he doesn’t even realize that he’s next up in line. Terry places his order, getting something additional for you, then heads out. 

Back in the car, you call your mom, needing a pep talk from her. “Baby, sometimes two people just don’t get along. Just keep being you, that’s all you can do. I’m sure he’ll come around, what’s not to like?”

You sigh, “But mama, you don’t get it! He’s so frustrating, nobody’s ever gotten under my skin like this. It’s like he knows where and how to press my buttons. It’s getting tiring, Nora said we need to get along or she’ll transfer both of us.”

Your mother stays silent on her side of the phone. She knows her daughter, and her daughter just might have a crush on her work rival. “Are you sure there’s no other reason why you two don’t get along?”

Her statement stuns you, your train of thought coming to a complete halt. “Mama be serious, he’s told me time and time  again that I’m not his cup of tea,”you say, wrapping your cardigan tighter around midsection. Looking up you see Terry come out of the Buc-ee’s, bags in hand, making his way to the car.

“Look mama, I have to go but I’ll call you once we get settled in. I love you , bye” you say ending your call. Terry watches as you hang up the phone and pull down the sun visor to wipe away any moisture gathered under your eyes. Guilt heavy like a rock sat uncomfortably in his gut. He never wanted to make you cry, or feel bad about yourself. The truth is, he admires you, how you never seem to let the pressures of the day get to you. How you had a smile for everyone in the office, including Greg, who obviously wanted to fuck you. Always smiling your perfect smile at these people who didn’t deserve it, him included. 

Walking to the passenger side window, Terry taps twice to grab your attention. With a start, you meet Terry’s gaze through the tempered glass. Rolling your window down, you look at Terry over your librarian-esque glasses, something he finds oddly cute. 

Passing the bags of food through the open window. “I wasn’t sure what you liked so I got chicken, beef and tofu in case that’s your thing,” Terry said, his eyes refusing to meet yours. This was uncharted territory for him, he wasn’t the ‘thinking about others feelings’ type.  He liked to avoid attachments, they slow him down. Terry didn’t need another person he cared about being ripped from his life, he couldn’t take that pain again. 

“Terry? Are you good?” you ask when you notice Terry’s eyes went unfocused and he was lost inside his head.

Terry nods his head, handing you the food, “Yeah sweet girl, hold these for me. I’m going to fill up so we can hit the road.” You barely have time to respond before Terry’s on the other side of the car filling up. 

Where the fuck did that come from? You thought. Reaching into the back you pull out a chicken sandwich. Reaching for your drink, you notice Terry bought your favorite. His thoughtfulness sends a shiver down your spine. Terry might not think you’re a puzzle, but he definitely is, infuriating and alluring in equal measure. 

Once the tank is full, Terry slides back into the driver’s seat. You can feel the energy shift as he settled in. You glance over at him and you’re startled to find he’s already looking at you. 

“Look, I don’t want to spend the rest of this retreat biting each other’s heads off. Believe it or not Tatum, I don’t want to fight with you. It’s clear we both are passionate and have strong viewpoints.  For the sake of our jobs, and a cohesive work environment, I think we should just pretend to get along for the duration of the trip.” Terry looks over at you apprehensively, hoping what he just said didn’t piss you off. 

You sighed before turning your body to face Terry, “I don’t want to argue with you either, but pretending isn’t going to help anything when we have to go back to the office next week. I’ll do my best to not piss you off, all I ask is that you do the same.” You state, finally meeting Terry’s eyes. He’s looking at you with apprehension, sizing you up. 

“You’ve got a deal,” he says, outstretching his hand. You place your hand in his, the familiar spark shooting up your arm. Terry quickly slides his hand out of yours, starting the vehicle, you both head back out on the road. 

3 HOURS LATER 

“Well, look who finally decided to show up!” Nora exclaims, as Terry rolls both your suitcases into the hotel lobby. Despite being a complete asshole at least Terry was raised as a gentleman.

“Ha Ha, very funny Nora. Those directions you sent sucked,” Terry grumbled, taking his room key from Nora’s outstretched hand, not noticing the devious smirk her face held. You follow behind Terry outstretching your hand as well.  

Nora’s face pinches with nervousness, “So, umm, little mix-up with the rooms.” Terry stops abruptly. You watch his head hang, shoulders sag, and you hear a deep sigh come from him. 

“Does this mean what I think it does?” Terry asks, turning to face Nora. 

“Well somewhere during the registration process, the amount of rooms needed got mixed up. And since you two were the last to make it in, you guys have to room together. And before you ask, the hotel is fully booked for some medical conference.” Nora finished. This was obviously an uncomfortable conversation for her to have. Her face was red as hell. 

The last thing you wanted right now is to be rooming with Terry. But, being the people pleaser you are, you give Nora a small smile. “It’s only a few days Nora, I’m sure we won’t burn the hotel down.”

You hear Terry scoff behind you, “Speak for yourself.” You roll your eyes at his comment before patting Nora on the shoulder. With the deepest sigh you can muster, you head toward the elevator. 

“Tatum, wait,” Terry says. You turn and Terry takes in your exhausted expression. “I don’t think anyone should be subjected to my snoring. That’s all I meant,” Terry said, with a shrug of his shoulders. A sheepish smile forms on his lips.

Another heavy sigh leaves  your lips, “This isn’t ideal for me either, Terry. Do you think I want to be trapped in a room with someone who would rather be anywhere else?” Your enthusiasm meter had finally reached E. All you wanted was a hot shower, a face mask, and a glass or three of wine. Now you’d be spending your evening undoubtably bickering with Terry over what to watch. 

Terry’s smile fades, replaced by a grimace of discomfort. “Look, Tatum, I didn’t ask for this anymore than you did.” He rakes his hand down his face, the action oddly attractive to you. 

“But let’s get something straight: this isn’t personal. It’s complicated.” Your gaze flickers away from him, unable to hold his stare for long. “We can figure out a way to coexist, can’t we?” he asked, the smirk returning. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s about fifty other things I’d rather be doing.” Terry turns, clearly dismissing you. 

An unamused chuckle leaves your lips as you stride past Terry toward the elevators. You may or may not have called him an asshole along the way. Terry scoffed, following behind you. A dark smirk rose on his face as he watched your ass move in the leggings you wore. Not that you needed it, but Terry could really see the difference the pilates classes were making. 

You two ride up the elevator in tense, annoyed silence. Terry insists on carrying both your luggage all the way to the room. “You can have the shower first, I’ll run out and grab us something to eat. So you can have privacy. Just text me when you’re decent.” Terry says, placing our luggage in a corner then heading to the bathroom. 

“Terry?” you ask, nervousness creeping its way up your spine. To your left there was one king bed. The indication is clear that you’d either be sharing a bed with Terry, or sleeping on a very unappealing loveseat.

A small sigh leaves Terry’s lips. He needed to put some distance between you two if he was going to keep his head in straight for the rest of this trip. “Yeah, Tatum?” he asks, you can hear the tiredness seep through the edges of his voice. 

With a deep breath you say, “I know this arrangement isn’t ideal for either of us. But, I appreciate you being a gentleman about everything. I think we’re both adult enough to manage sleeping next to each other for a few days. And don’t try to be coy about it, you can’t sleep on the floor for 3 nights. I won’t let you.” 

Terry opens his mouth to argue with you, but he sees the determination settled into your features and concedes. Usually, with anyone else he’d put up a fight,” Fine, fine, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

A triumphant smile blooms on your face, and Terry looks away. Your brows crease in confusion, until you see the tips of his ears begin to turn red. 

“Well, I’ll just go take a shower now. You don’t have to wait, I should be done in like an hour and a half.” You say, bending over to open your suitcase. You smirk deviously when you hear Terry’s sharp intake of breath behind you. 

“Right. I’ll see you in an hour and a half.” Terry says, and then he’s out the door. Before you have time to dwell on Terry’s abrupt exit, your phone rings. A small smile erupts when you see your sister’s contact appear on the tiny screen. Flipping open your phone, you press the green button, and put the phone up to your ear.

“Taryn, you always call when I’m about to do something,” you teased. You can practically hear your sister’s eyes roll through the phone.

“My timing is perfect then. I’m with mama we’re calling to check in on you,” your sister replies. 

You smile and shake your head, “We just got in. Apparently there was a mix-up with the reservation so Terry and I are going to be sharing a room for the next three days.” You say, pulling out everything you need for your shower routine. On the other side of the line your mom and sister are staring at each other, mouths hanging open. 

“Wait, you're going to share a room with someone you once called ‘green goblin’. And I don’t think you meant it in a nice way,” your sister said.

You sighed and rolled your eyes, “When is calling someone a goblin ever a term of endearment? Terry and I came to an agreement while we’re here, we’ll do our best to try and get along. Or we’ll fake it.” You finish with a shrug. 

“Riiight, an agreement. That hotel is going to burn down,” your sister finished with a cackle. 

You rolled your eyes, a dry chuckle leaving your lips. You’re sitting on the bathroom sink yapping with your sister and mom. Before you knew it you glanced at the clock and 30 minutes had passed. “Taryn I appreciate you and mama calling to check on me, but I need to shower before Terry gets back with the food. I’ll talk to y’all later. I love you.” Your sister, mother, and you all exchange goodbye’s and you hang up. 

Turning on the radio nestled on your nightstand, you start to gather everything for your extensive night routine. Landing on a random station, the sensual voice of Dru Hill floods your suite. Humming the melody, you begin to undress. Your body taking on an autopilot, the regular routine of cleansing yourself putting your stimulated mind at ease. It was nice to shut your brain off after spending all day at war with your emotions about your current predicament. 

You always admired Terry, his calm but loud presence, how self assured he was, and how he always seemed to know the answer before the question was asked. Searching through memories, you tried to find one that could pinpoint when the animosity started to take root, but you came up empty. Shaking your head, you try to ignore thoughts of Terry and focus on your shower. 

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

TERRY

“So, how was the drive up?” Maurice (co-worker) snickered, passing Terry a beer. 

Terry’s eyes were going to get stuck as much as he rolled them today. “Don’t even start that shit man, I came down here for a minute of peace.” Terry says, grabbing the beer and taking a large gulp. 

“So I take it you two didn’t solve your issues,” Maurice teases as he watches his usually calm, cool, and collected co-worker break a sweat. 

Terry scoffed, setting his beer down with a little more force than necessary, “No, Mo, we didn’t. In fact, she suggested that we just fake getting along for appearances.” Maurice studies his friend, the former marine usually never let anything get to him. Yet, here he was about to blow a gasket over their fine ass co-worker. His knee bouncing in irritation, the subtle but constant tick of his jaw.

“Aye, T, are you sure you’re good man? You just don’t usually get this rattled. Did Nora say something?” Maurice asked.

Terry shook his head, a grimace turning his face down. “Basically she told us if we can’t find a way to get along, then we’re both out.” Terry sighs, running his hand over his face in exasperation.

”I don’t know what it is, man. It’s like she found her way under my skin and is stuck there. Everything she does annoys me, c’mon man, you’ve seen how she is around the office.”Terry said, motioning the bartender to bring him another beer. 

“C’mon what? She’s a nice girl, cool to work with, really pretty, and has a great ass. What’s not to like?” Mo teases, hoping to get Terry riled up. 

Terry could feel his chest tighten at his friend’s obvious approval of your appearance. It was the same chest tightness he got when Greg would hold open doors for you and bring you your favorite Starbucks order.

“Aye, T, I’m going to say something. When I say this, just think, don't give me an answer. But have you ever thought that maybe you’re attracted to her?”

The question hits Terry like a ton of bricks, his beer frozen mid-air as Maurice looks at him with a knowing smile on his face. Was Terry attracted to you? ‘He couldn’t be’, he thought. But, deep down he knew the answer to Maurice’s question. Of course he was attracted to you. 

A knowing smile appears on Maurice’s face at Terry’s lack of answer,”You have three days to change her mind and think you aren’t the asshole you pretend to be. Look man, I get it, some people really just don’t like each other. But, I don’t think that’s the case here. Give Tatum a chance, she isn’t all bad. Figure it the fuck out, for everyone’s sake,” Maurice finishes. With two slaps to the back, Maurice leaves Terry in the hotel bar with his thoughts.

Was he attracted to you? Terry scoffed to himself, you were beautiful obviously. Intelligent, charming, funny as hell, and as much as he hated to admit it he loved working with you. The bickering arguments were the highlight of his day. Terry always made his coffee at 7:42am, because he knew 3-5 minutes later you would come strolling in, and he’d have the perfect view of your early morning strut, beaming smile, and a figure to kill for. 

The waiter comes out with a huge to-go bag full of foods that Terry thought you would like. With a deep sigh, Terry grabs his beer and the food, heading back up to your room.

The seductive sounds of Dru Hill filters through the bathroom door as Terry enters the suite. He tenses, muscles in his jaw ticking as he can hear you singing softly. 

He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose, an attempt to calm his suddenly racing heart. The image of you, naked and wet under the cascading water, flashes through his mind like abrupt bursts of light. He shakes his head, trying to banish his sinful thoughts of you. 

Walking over to the small kitchenette , Terry placed down the bag of food. Plating it, and setting out a glass of wine for you and beer for him. In the bathroom, you’re completely unaware of Terry’s presence. The cherry blossom scent of your shampoo fills your nose, its familiarity bringing you a sense of calm. 

Not to mention the radio station you picked was playing all your favorites. Detangling through your curls, you sang Mariah Carey’s ‘Obsessed’ damn near at the top of your lungs. Terry sat on the other side of the door with a small smile on his face at your carefree singing. Unable to sit any longer, Terry rises from the bed and begins to pace the room. His thoughts waging a war in his head. He stops in front of the window in your room, staring out at the city lights below without truly seeing them.

Whether he liked it or not, somehow you’d managed to worm your way under Terry’s skin. He had yet to decide if this was a good or bad thing for him. 

The bathroom door creaks open and Terry hears the startled gasp you let out behind him. “Oh, did I take too long? You set all the food up, thank you Terry!” You cooed, patting your hair dry with an oversized t-shirt.

You watch Terry’s tense shoulder as he turns to face you. You had forgone your contacts, black cat eye frames sat on your nose giving you an innocence that made Terry clench his fist. You looked so soft, not the office siren that strutted around and ruled her team with an iron fist. Just Tatum. 

You watch as Terry scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah, no problem. Think of it as phase one of my apology.”

Your eyes widen as you take in Terry's words, “Wait, did I transport to a parallel universe in the shower? You’ve never apologized to me before,” you say, skeptically. Your mind was reeling, there’s no way this is the same guy you arrived with. 

A bashful grin spreads across Terry’s face at your acceptance, “I’m turning over a new leaf here, now come please sit down,” he gestures to the sofa. “C’mon, sit with me,” Terry says, as he pats the spot next to him. 

You eye the food, then back up to Terry before saying, “Sure, just give me a minute, I don’t want my hair dripping all over you.” 

Terry nods, shooting you a small smile, “If your food gets cold, it’s on you,” he finishes, with a teasing tilt in his voice. You playfully roll your eyes as you try your best to soak up your damp hair with a t-shirt. 

“So what are we watching?” You ask, sitting next to Terry. The gentle brush of your bare thigh against his, causing goosebumps to bloom across your skin. 

Terry clears his throat before mumbling, “sports highlights.” He turns up the TV signaling that he wants silence.

A dry chuckle leaves your lips, “I see the asshole is back.” Reaching for your kindle and your food you settle into the couch completely prepare to tune Terry out for the rest of dinner, this was going to be a long 3 days. 

Okay y’all! Please Tell me what you guys think! I think this could be a 4 -5 part series. I hope you guys like it! I just wanted to get this out before I start flooding y’all with sinners/ MBJ fics. 

UNTIL NEXT TIME <3

"A little to the left, Phee. A little more. Okay, back to the right. Perfect!" 

Napheese breathed a sigh of relief as she released her hold on a Terry-sized cutout of his favorite super arachnid something-or-another around Diedra's living room. Patrice couldn't remember if it was Peter, Miles, or one of the others – all she knew was Terry loved the blue and red masked crusader. Whatever Terry loved, she vowed to bring to him in abundance. 

As party guests doubled as set-up crew members and buzzed about the Richmond family home, Patrice played project manager, wrangling pockets of confusion until they came together to produce the vision she'd had in her mind since Valentine's Day. In the backyard, Ken managed the tedious task of stringing up a paper-mache Spider-Man while Terry's old teammates carried folding tables to and fro under Zorah and Zanah's watchful eyes. 

Marvin and Leon stood at the grill, unloading freshly cooked meats and roasted veggies into aluminum pans, dancing along to Corey and June's partnered DJ set as they tested their speakers.

Napheesa's husband, Aaron, and Victoria's fiancee, Jonathan, manned a makeshift bar area, trying to find the right liquor-to-mixer algorithm for cocktail recipes Patrice had found online. From her spot at the kitchen table, Patrice could see them grimace and toss yet another drink over their shoulders to start fresh. 

Indoors, Patrice and her trusted set of ladies turned Terry's childhood living room into a blue and red wonderland, complete with decor rivaling any party planner's best day on the job. Comic books with a cartoon version of his adult form sat next to masks, noisemakers, and shot glasses to mix the childlike with a little adult fun. Streamers hung from the ceiling. Confetti decorated themed table cloths. Games sat waiting for the perfect time to pop them open and unleash all of the arguing that came with friendly competition. 

Huffing, puffing, and aching, Patrice had done her job. She'd deal with the soreness creeping up her legs and resting at the base of her spine once clean-up was wrapped, and Terry was grinning from ear to ear. 

Diedra looked up from stuffing colored cellophane treat bags meant to appeal to the inner child of 30-somethings. She smiled at her daughter-in-law and the swell of her growing belly showing beneath her sweatshirt. "You've done a good job, Patrice. Take your rest, sister girl." 

Rest was a foreign concept to an expectant mother hellbent on scaling a four-year-old's birthday party to something fit for a grown man. He couldn't quite put his finger on what had Patrice protecting her phone screen when he was around and hadn't gathered any details outside of the Publix order she tasked him to deliver for the month's supposed Sister Circle meeting. She'd sent him over 30 minutes away for a fruit platter and wings she swore up and down the closest supermarket could fulfill. He was off the trail for now. Just long enough to usher his closest family and friends into his parent's living room to sit in excited silence, anticipating the opportunity to wish him well in his next year of life. 

"Your brother's at the store, wondering which beer Terry likes most," Rosalyn relayed with the phone unnecessarily close to her face as she marched into the room from the backyard. "And those boys are tearing up all that liquor out there. I don't know if y'all are gonna have any left."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Ros. They always tearing something up. Can't take 'em nowhere," Victoria mumbled as she finished tying ribbons on her stash of treat bags, earning a hum in agreeance from Napheesa.

Patrice nonchalantly waved them off as she used one hand to stuff a piece of chocolate into her mouth and the other to rub her stomach. "Tell Junior it's alright. He won't drink anyway. He says he's sober until further notice. Just make sure he brings enough ice." 

"Terry won't have a beer on his birthday? He's been doing that since he was 18. You really are a magician, Little Richmond." Dee's compliment came in a sweet voice that sharply contrasted her expert precision in plucking Patrice's third bite-sized Snickers from between her fingers before tossing it in a nearby wastebasket. She ignored the small whimper and continued. "You know you're the only one that can surprise him, right? We've been trying since he was a boy, and he always sniffs out the plan. With you, he follows directions blindly. I wouldn't have ever been able to get him 'cross town for this long." 

"Did you ever try threatening him? That's usually what I do," Patrice added. 

Napheesa chuckled. "Girl, he listens because you also got something his mama ain't got." 

"Ain't that the truth. The vagina does amazing things, ladies. There's power between those thighs. Come to the real Sister Circle meeting next week, and we'll talk all about it!" Diedra agreed. 

"I know that's right, Auntie," Victoria exclaimed.

Patrice sat with a satisfied grin on her face, wanting to take exception to her mother's not-so-subtle assertion but knowing that the truth was simply the truth. She chose a joke as her rebuttal: "Y'all don't know what we're doing when we're alone." 

"Baby, we know. We can see you. Ain't no shame." 

All in the room laughed at Rosalyn's joke, compelling Patrice to join in, even at her expense. She ran her hand across her belly, dreaming of what her baby might think of all this fanfare unfolding mere inches from their safe space. 

She sighed and looked around, tears pricking her eyes. "Everything looks so good y'all. Thank you for helping me. Even if you did take all my snacks. I owe y'all first dibs on newborn photos." 

"As if I won't be in that house helping you the second you get home," Vick scoffed. She reached over to grab Patrice's hand for a quick squeeze. "We got you girl. Anything for you and that man of yours." 

"One day, you're gonna have to get over the breakup, Victoria," Napheesa laughed. 

Vick rolled her eyes. "Patrice forgives. The Lord is still working on me. Sometimes, I have flashbacks and just wanna…" Her voice trailed as she made a strangling motion and shook her hands. When she stopped, she looked over at Diedra, laughing at her animated movements. "No offense, Mrs. DeeDee." 

"Sometimes little traces of his daddy jump out, child. Blame it on that fiery, light-eyed Richmond blood. Lord knows I love it and hate it all the same damn time."

Wisdom and frustrations shared between generations of women connected through one man filled the room, pushing Patrice into a fit of giggles as she listened along and tried to quell the unfamiliar fluttering in her abdomen. Buzzing in the front pocket of her working overalls paused her participation in the conversation. It brought her attention to Terry's teenage face filling the screen. 

She lifted her hand to get the group's attention. "Sshh sshh, y'all. This is Terry. Let me put him on speaker." Talking ceased, and breathing stilled as they rushed to sit perfectly quiet and eavesdrop. Patrice put on her sweetest voice to answer. "Hey, Birthday Man. Everything okay?" 

On the interstate, Terry slowly switched lanes, growing frustrated by the unfathomable traffic on Saturday afternoon. He grimaced at the nickname. "Baby, I'm in my 30s. Birthday Man makes it sound like I never moved out of my mama's basement." 

"Excuse me for wanting to celebrate you. Guess I'll cancel the reservation too, then," Patrice sassed, earning stifled laughter around her. 

"I'm sorry, Piggy. Call me whatever you want. Don't cancel our time together. I'm excited." The genuine smile in his voice brought heat to Patrice's cheeks and a quiet swooning to the group. 

She smiled, though he couldn't see her. "I'm excited, too," she gushed. "You on the way back to me for a little while?" 

"Yeah, I should be there in fifteen minutes. You stayin' off your feet over there? I won't hear about you on no ladders, will I?" Terry knew the answer. He always knew the answer to whether his busy body of a wife had finally committed to following her doctor's orders.

"Duh, TJ. I know how to sit down," Patrice answered. 

Terry chuckled. "You know how to lie, too. At least sit down until I get back. Corey says he's running late anyway."

"Alright. I love you. We love you." Patrice's voice carried an innocent lilt mushy enough to make Zorah quietly roll her eyes in the background. She padded into the room. 

"I love y'all, too. See you in a bit, baby."

Air kisses shared from a distance, growing shorter by the second, capped off a nauseatingly sweet conversation so covered in newlywed confections that it was nearly responsible for new cavities in everyone's mouths. 

Patrice gave Terry's photo a final smile before looking up at the face carrying varying mixes of disbelief and shock. She rolled her eyes. "God forbid a girl is nice to her husband. Stop looking at me, and let's get this show on the road. My baby will be here soon!" 

Prison warden sensibilities helped corral a group of adults into Marvin and Dierdra's living room with enough time to spare for Patrice to toddle down the front porch steps like a damsel in distress and look for her "missing" cell phone charger. 

T.I.'s 'U Don't Know Me' rattled car windows lining the street as he barrelled down the quiet residential street. Terry's arm hung comfortably out of the window, allowing the rays of a blazing sun sitting high in the sky to ping off of his wedding ring once he raised his hand to wave at his first love. Patrice put on an unassuming smile and closed her back passenger side door to wait for him to follow his usual routine. 

The truck's engine shut off with an easy twist of Terry's wrist once he found a spot in front of the house, taking Urban Legend's bass-heavy third track with it. Bags rustled, and soft grunts of effort left newly moisturized lips. A heavy door slammed as a mountain of a man stepped out of his chariot and took long strides toward a woman dancing from foot to foot to welcome him in. 

"What you doin' out here," Terry asked as he approached. He gently placed the lightest bag in Patrice's outstretched hand before leaning down to peck her puckered lips. "Who let you come out here by yourself?" 

She shrugged, unwilling to place blame on anyone in particular. "The meeting hadn't started yet, and I thought I had left my charger in the car, so I came to grab it. But I guess it's in my bag? I don't know. This momnesia stuff is real." 

"Mhmm. How's your back?" A large hand came up to place light pressure in the spot she'd recently complained about, hoping to ease the pain. 

"It's better." For his sake, a lie slid off Patrice's tongue with minimal effort. "Dee's grabbing me a heating pad, and I get the good chair. Wish she'd let me have another chocolate instead, but whatever. Perks of getting disgusting in that hotel room, I guess." 

"I really hope you don't say that in front of these old ladies. Is that who all these cars belong to? You think they gon' eat all this food?" Terry questioned, taking stock of the unfamiliar vehicles. 

Patrice sighed in exasperation. "Oh hell, Terry, are you helping me or interrogating me? Come on and get this stuff in the house so I can talk about you behind your back in peace." 

Terry's chuckle and the audible pop of palm on her denim-covered backside rang out behind Patrice as he followed her into the house. Blissful ignorance carried him in the house. He blissfully smelt her perfume wafting in the wind, blissfully watched her spreading hips switch in front of him, blissfully listened to the sweet alto of her voice call out his presence as they rounded the corner—blissfully unaware.

"Surprise!" 

Bliss abruptly took a back seat to the reflex to shield Patrice from danger. The hair on Terry's arms stood attention, looking for the threat, and wild eyes surveyed the room. His father's smile disarmed him first. Then his mother, Corey, with his phone up to capture the moment, his sisters giving him identical middle fingers, and the hulking Spider-Man cutout masquerading like a member of his extended family, calmed him further. Confusion came for him next – a fleeting emotion but one that rocked him with so much force that he considered walking out of the house altogether. If not for Patrice grasping his arm to keep him in place, Terry would've hightailed it back to his truck and disappeared into the wind. 

But, as his fight or flight response dissipated and realization knocked the wind from his lungs, tears pricked the corner of his eyes. 

Spider-Man. The birthday party he never received. The superhero he spent hours dreaming of becoming in his boyhood. The character that kept him excited for something in his darkest times. His favorite interest to share with his father and the one he hoped to pass on to his child one day soon. A sea of red and blue engulfed him, sparking up more gratitude than his body knew how to filter into productive words or sounds. 

"Say hello to your people, baby. They came to see you!" 

Patrice's voice pulled Terry back into reality and broke him down, all in the same breath. He slowly set the fruit tray on the floor before pulling her into a hug packed with a heady amalgamation of wish fulfillment and unspeakable gratitude. A chorus of 'awws' rolled across the room in a murmur from people not used to a vulnerable Terry willing to cry in front of a crowd. 

Patrice ran her nails across his shoulder blades as she rocked them side to side. "Happy Birthday, Pookie Bear! We're all so proud of you and the man you are." 

"Thank you," Terry whispered against Patrice's neck. "I love you so much." 

"I know. I love you 3000." A short laugh sent warm hair fanning across Patrice's skin before Terry pulled back to look at her face with amused confusion. She smiled. "See, I pay attention sometimes!"

Whispered declarations of love and short kisses kept at bay with the strength of Christ himself produced more big feelings and bigger tears until the soft clearing of a throat nearby reminded Terry that not only was he at a birthday party, he was at his birthday party.

"Shit," he whispered to himself before quickly swiping moisture from his cheeks. Terry scanned the room for faces once more, taking in the full scope of all his wife had achieved. "My baby sisters are here. They never come home," he laughed through more tears. "Ken is here! Mike, Tim…what is goin' on here? Oh my God!" 

Corey hollered back behind his phone. "We here to party, man! We had to cut the guest list. Everybody and they mama was trynna get in here for you, boy!" 

"And the catfish. Mostly you, but definitely the catfish," Zanah added to scattered laughter. 

Terry's smile stretched from ear to ear as he reached out to snag two plastic Spider-Man masks from a nearby table. With careful precision, he slid one onto Patrice's face, adjusted it, and then did the same for himself. Childish whimsy compelled him to try shooting imaginary webs from his wrists. 

Patrice gave him a quizzical look. "Does that mean we're good to go, Spidey?" 

They were more than good. Like fresh champagne uncorked and sprayed to celebrate a championship win, Terry's imaginary webslinging cracked the seal on the afternoon. Adults ran around, stuffing their faces and dancing like children dropped off at a classmate's birthday party. Terry got the first crack at his pinata and hit it so hard dead center that Peter Parker nearly disintegrated into a heap of cheap paper and cardboard. Relay races stretched muscles, many of which hadn't been used in ions. Pictionary on the back deck quickly turned into a game of watching Ken flex how many things he could turn into awful stick figures. They presented the man of the evening with sentimental and gag gifts in equal measure and showered him in praise. 

"Okay, babe," Patrice exclaimed as she presented Terry with a slender box wrapped in red paper. "While you open that, I have to give a speech because you always have one for me. Terrence is nothing short of amazing. I've never met anyone so dedicated to serving his family and his community. You're a mentor, a dutiful son, an amazing big brother, and the only husband I want. I'm so happy to get a front-row seat to your next evolution as Daddy. I love you, Pookie Bear. Hopefully, this shows how much I look at you as a superhero. Our Friendly Neighborhood Terry, if you will!" 

A little online digging and a sketchy, at best, Etsy shop brought Terry's wildest dreams to life. He held a detailed figurine of his face and body contorted into a signature hero's pose. Thanks came in deep kisses, and a grown man showcased his new toy to all his friends as if he was transported directly back to age six.

By sunset, more libations and a deck of cards procured from thin air, turning innocent fun into a heated competition between teammates seeing each other for the first time in years and couples looking to put a hurting on each other's pockets. 

Terry existed in a permanent state of laughter. His shoulders shook with each chuckle, his abs flexed and relaxed underneath his shirt from every joke and story taking him on a trip down memory lane, and his cheeks burned from smiling with the full force of his facial muscles. 

As much as Patrice wanted to remain with the group and listen to a spirited retelling of Terry's infamous in-game trash talk and a nasty reaction to his taunting, she needed to listen to her little one's demand for an empty bladder. 

Terry watched her disappear into the house and half-listened to Tim's story, which was littered with exaggerations, for a few minutes before pushing back from the table and excusing himself. He slipped into the quiet, empty house and flipped on the kitchen lights in search of his mother's good cake knives. Methodical cuts produced a small sliver of contraband for someone special. 

Loud whooshing from the hallway powder room and the sink shutting on and off produced goosebumps pebbling across Terry's skin. Anticipation coursed through his veins. His smile grew as she came around the corner, rubbing her fluttering stomach. 

"Oh, hey," she greeted, exhaustion evident in her tired smile. Once they were within arms' length of each other, she reached out to caress his cheek with her thumb. He leaned into her touch, kissing her palm. "Having fun, baby?" 

He nodded. "Mhmm. I got something for you?" 

"Baby, this is your day. You don't need to get me anything," Patrice whined. 

"Shhhh," Terry answered, shaking his head. "Just let it happen. Close your eyes."

She did so reluctantly, expecting a silly kiss or something inappropriate until the soft embrace of fluffy buttercream and soft vanilla cake pushed past her lips into her mouth. Patrice hummed and chewed, savoring every morsel before opening her eyes. "God, I love you." 

"Not nearly as much as I love you," he answered while feeding her another, bigger bite she readily accepted. "I owe you the moon next month, okay? Name it, and you got it."

"A BMW. All white. Peanut butter insides." 

Terry scoffed and wiped the corner of Patrice's mouth free of debris. "Easy. I'm literally Spider-Man. Give me a challenge, Treecey." 

"Ooooh, I see you. Shut my mouth," she exclaimed, her laughter inviting Terry to join in. "Let's see, superhero. How about…"

Mention of fantastical things like trips to the moon and a purse made from rare stars fell from Patrice's lips in jest as Terry carefully balanced feeding and active listening. What she considered a silly little game was anything but for a man wholly invested in her happiness. If he had to fight crime by night to bring Patrice the desires of her heart, he'd do it with a smile under his mask. 

Superhero. He'd waited a long time to finally earn the moniker and party to boot. And he'd wait for 100 more, fight a never-ending list of villains, and jump across the multiverse just to love like this again.

------

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Silently, he prowled through the forest, crushing grass and twigs alike beneath his unsteady stride. His unseeing eyes flicked across the trees that passed in a blurry mix of greens and browns, searching mindlessly for his next victim.

He was only sixteen.

The evening sun had already started to set, casting the quiet forest in a haze of blood red hues. The forest was dead silent. His heavy steps were enough warning to send its usual inhabitants scurrying away to their hiding places. Even birds dared not to frequent the sky above his path, well aware of what consequences would await them. Instead, the forest remained hushed, as if every living thing was watching with bated breath as he trudged a path through the rich amber oak trees that shifted lightly in the crisp evening breeze.

He welcomed the numbing sensation in his sore, aching limbs when the crisp, winter air had grown colder and stronger.

Though he refused to look, he knew that bruises already painted the majority of his wretched flesh. Most of the pain had faded to haunting memories, however, his most recent mark still burned. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he continued on his path. One leg moved after the other in a steady rhythm. What little control he had left was slowly removed as the curse flowed through his bloodstream, igniting the beast.

There was nothing he could do now but watch the creature inside of him surface, taking full control to do it’s bidding.

Suddenly, he heard something.

A light, airy laugh rang out throughout the clearing. It was a jarring sound, bright, beautiful, and full of life, unlike anything he’d ever heard. Momentarily, he could feel himself surface, gaining control to savor the enchanting sound. However, the moment came and passed in a breath and the beast came forward, regaining control of his body and forcing him back to become a prisoner in his mind once more…

———

Present Day:

Nivea could almost taste victory as she sprinted along a winding dirt path towards the finish line. Her bohemian locs swept up into a ponytail oscillated across her upper back and the forest green GymShark matching set she wore felt more compressed from the amount of sweat that seeped from her pores. Heart pounding, ragged breaths unheard because of her AirPods, Nivea charged ahead, ignoring the burning in her glutes and thighs.

Beyoncé– America Has A Problem pounded her eardrums pleasantly. Her pink and green HOKA running shoes cushioned her size eight feet from the gravel and twigs. Running along Moon Seed Loop was an early morning ritual for Nivea. She’d been doing it faithfully since moving into her new Victorian style home with a wrap around porch.

Acadiana Park is a jewel in Upper Lafayette. It’s a beautiful place to wander with your kids, family and friends. An afternoon along the trails is more than just exciting—it’s an easy way to work in some exercise and learn a thing or two about the Park’s rich, natural landscape. Expect to see countless varieties of trees, fish and birds along the trails and beautiful waterways.

Nivea was hired as the sole Veterinarian for a pet clinic not too far from her home after moving to Louisiana from Phoenix, Arizona. She started out at The University of Arizona and after graduating she moved to the UK to study abroad and later received her doctorate. It granted her opportunities to spend time in Australia, South Africa, The Caribbean, and New Zealand. She’s in her early forties now, never been married, dated here and there, only having one long term relationship with a guy she knew from high school.

To be daring is to be bold, adventurous, and a little nervy. It’s a quality possessed by people who tend to take risks. Nivea had an audacious approach to life. Leaping off cliffs, skydiving, mountain climbing, swimming with sharks, even the little things like getting a tattoo or racing a motorcycle and even crowd surfing. Reckless and venturesome. Athletic and beautiful. She’d gotten those qualities from her late father. He was a veteran haunted by memories of the war.

Her mother, a free–spirited woman born in Trinidad and raised in New York, took a chance and moved to Phoenix where she’d met Nivea’s father who at the time still served in The Military. Nivea didn’t stay in one place for too long, a military brat who embraced a new scenery. Like her mother, Nivea didn’t have a problem with change. She embraced it.

Just like she embraced the burning in her lungs and the way her muscles ached. At the end of her run, Nivea slowed down and began smiling in victory. She placed her hands on her hips to catch her breath before pausing her music. Cracking her neck, Nivea perched her back against an old oak tree to settle her nerves before making the trip back to her car.

She licked her full, bottom lip, tasting the saltiness of her sweat. The sheen along her honeyed-skin gave her a glow similar to gold. The sun's rays tickled her melanin skin as she pushed her toned legs to the end of the forest and toward her parked vehicle. She dusted her edges with her fingers, reminding herself that she was in need of a hair appointment since it had been some months since her last one.

Her Toyota 4Runner in a desert sand color came to life with a click of a button on her key fob. Beyoncé’s mezzo–soprano voice could be heard from the speakers since her Bluetooth had connected. Nivea removed her fanny pack and opened her driver’s side door, flinging it in the passenger seat before taking a generous swig of water from her navy–blue Yeti cup. Keys in the ignition, Nivea didn’t waste time driving off, leaving her tire tracks and dirt dust behind.

_________

Sitting in his pitch black Dually, a sudden early fall rain showering it, his iridescent eyes were unwavering and intense beyond the boldness of his thick lashes as he watched his new obsession sprint through the forest. Like clockwork every morning, he waited to see her, an overwhelming sensation growing within his chest cavity so strong. Large, calloused hands grip his steering wheel firmly and his nostrils flare.

The first time he saw her, his heart fell. The second time he saw her, his heart fell. The third time, fourth time, fifth time, and every time since, his heart had fallen. He stared at her, and each time a sudden, overwhelming, and involuntary feeling of deep connection and devotion would consume him. It was immediate and intense. She’d thrown a wrench into his routine. Couturie Forest was one of the few areas he could escape and not feel as if he’d run into trouble.

She is the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her hair, her eyes, her lips, her body that she worked so hard on, the way she walked, the way she smiled and laughed and the way her cheeks dropped when she’s mad or upset. The way she dragged her feet when she was tired after a long shift. Every single thing about her is beautiful.

He stared at her, tracking her with his eyes, taking in every detail even from the distance between them. When he sees her the world stops. It stops and all that exists for him is her and his eyes staring at her. There’s nothing else. No noise, no other people, no thoughts or worries, no yesterday, no tomorrow. The world just stops and it is a beautiful place and there is only her. Just her, and his eyes never leaving her.

He stared. He traced with his eyes that flicker between a kaleidoscope of colors, sparkling with longing and his stomach tightening because of the powerful, almost gravitational pull that feels inescapable. She’d trapped him and he hadn’t even smelled her yet. Licked her. Traced his fingers along her skin. Filled her.

When she’s gone, the world starts again, and he doesn't like it as much. He can live in it, but he doesn't like it. He’d just walk around in it and wait to see her again and wait for it to stop again. He loved when it stopped. It’s the best fucking thing he’d ever known or ever felt, the best thing, and that, beautiful woman is why he can’t ever just leave.

A part of him wished he knew how to quit her. The strong sense of loyalty and dedication to her made it nearly impossible. Quite frankly, it is impossible. Once it happens…it happens. This wasn’t fate. Fated mates are predetermined or destined partners. No…this was sudden. Sparked immediately. An unbreakable connection that awakened his protective instincts. It was so instantaneous. He’s far from that. He needed to be in control at all times.

Turning the key in the ignition, his truck rumbled to life and suddenly his tires began to move him beyond the damp soil and onto the roadway. Jaw clenched, the sun began to peek out, his eyes appearing to have golden flecks in a sea of green. He tapped the brake pedal with his boot–covered foot until her 4Runner came into view. As soon as it came into view, his heart fell again. He waited and then he was off, trailing behind her.

The ride lasted twenty minutes and he found himself staring at her beautiful body swaying up the steps and toward her front door. He stroked his bottom lip with his thumb, staring at the home. He couldn’t get too close because she had surveillance. It wouldn’t look good showing up uninvited. He had to settle for watching her. Hoping that he would introduce himself to her. It’s been a long two weeks.

_________

Nivea took off her shoes within the foyer of her home. Her Great Dane with its square jaw and imposing size galloped up to her and stood on its hind legs to greet her. Nivea giggled at her dog, rubbing it before walking away. Before taking a much needed shower, Nivea made a quick stop into her uniquely decorated kitchen with its vintage appliances and greenery. She opened her Big Chill Retro Fridge in a canary-yellow color and grabbed a pitcher of filtered water.

Nivea proceeded to pour the water into a tea kettle on the front left burner of her 1950’s vintage oven. Flames ignited the pot and Nivea took that time to prepare her ceramic mug with some organic lavender tea. She scooped some tea herbs from a mason jar into the mug and retrieved her tea spoon. Coco, Nivea’s large yet gentile dog, followed her towards the kitchen table, earning a few scratches behind her ears.

Staring out of the large window overlooking her garden, Nivea thought about her date that evening. She’d agreed to go to dinner with a man named Ian who’s German shepherd she’d taken care of. Nivea was wary about Ian for a while, because he’s recently divorced. The man was persistent in asking her out, even when his legal troubles were ongoing. That charming smile and carob skin distracted her and she couldn’t help but smile whenever he’d come in with his dog. Ian with his salt and pepper locs, well–muscled frame, and charisma.

The whistle of the kettle had Nivea standing from her seat. She turned off the stove top and poured the water into her mug. Nivea allowed it to steep for five minutes before taking a small sip of the hot tea, shutting her eyes as the immediate calming and therapeutic effects wash over her. With her tea, Nivea left her kitchen and made her way up the stairs to her bedroom. On the second floor landing, she paused to sip her tea again.

What was she going to wear? A dress? Jeans and a cute blouse? Heels? Flats? The sound of the shower beyond the master bathroom filled her spacious bedroom as she combed through racks of clothes within her narrow walk–in closet. Multiple dresses were left discarded as she tossed them to the side. She still had hours to go before her date, but the thought of entering the dating scene again sparked her anxiety tremendously.

While nervousness is expected when meeting a new person, dating anxiety is more intense and long lasting. Nivea’s long term relationship caused her emotional and physical pain. Her ex fiance had been controlling and manipulative for years, one of the reasons why she’d left Arizona behind. While he moved on as if nothing happened, Nivea lived in fear of meeting someone new.

Nivea settled on a ruffled halter mini dress in red with a black moto jacket and distressed black heeled boots. She pinned her locs up and undressed herself, tossing her dirty athletic attire into her bin. She entered her bathroom and stepped into the shower. Nivea took her time cleansing, exfoliating, and moisturizing. Back in her room, she slipped on a thin, graphic T-shirt and loose sleep shorts with fuzzy socks. Locs in a messy bun, Nivea left her room with her mug in hand to enter her office for a bit of light reading.

Entering her office, she opened her window to allow a breeze in. The smell of rain and grass filled her nose as she curled up on her reading chair. Opening her smut book to where she left off, Nivea pursed her full lips to fight the urge to smile. She couldn’t wait to finish where she’d left off. Meanwhile, the black truck out front hadn’t made an effort to leave.

___________

“Table for two, please.”

The cool evening air transitioned into toasty coziness as they entered a semi–crowded Steak House. Pleasant, savory smells and the clatter of utensils against plates teased their senses. Nivea clung onto Ian’s bicep as her eyes swept over the restaurant in anticipation. The hostess, a pleasant Asian girl with long, shiny black hair and a pointy face, gathered two menus before leading them away from the booth and towards a table shrouded in a low ambiance.

“Thank you…”

Ian worked to pull out Nivea’s chair. She smiled at him with her ruby-red lips. Ian pushed her in closer before taking his place across from her. They locked eyes for a brief moment before staring down at the menus before them.

“I know I’ve said it before, but…you look beautiful.”

Nivea smiled, “Thank you, Ian. You look very handsome.”

Ian wore a black Lacoste polo shirt and khaki pants with black dress shoes. He had a fresh retwist, locs falling over his broad shoulders.

“Did you work today?” Ian asked.

Their waiter made his way over, a tall, white male with sandy brown hair and dark blue eyes that reminded Nivea of the Pacific Ocean. His name is Ben. Ben filled their water glasses and vowed to return shortly to take their orders.

“I had an off day. Went for my morning run in the forest and spent the remaining day inside. Something I cherish when I can since my schedule is full most of the time. You?”

“Detective work never dies. Working this case that’s taking a toll on me…”

Ian released a stressful sigh.

“…do you want to talk about it?” Nivea questioned cautiously.

“Nah. I don’t want to unsettle what’s supposed to be a romantic evening,” Ian smiled faintly, “Tell me a little more about you, Nivea. What does a Veterinarian do for fun?”

Nivea chuckled, “I make the most of life. I love to travel, I’m an adrenaline junkie…yes, yes. While I do love a good time, I have my moments where being alone with my Coco is enough. Reading, meditating, gardening…I do a little bit of everything.”

“Kickboxing? Let’s not forget that.” Ian mentioned with a smirk.

“Oh yeah, how can I overlook that,” Nivea replied sarcastically, “Didn’t mean to startle you with my high kick.”

“That leg is lethal,” Ian laughs, “I mean, seriously. We could use you on our team.”

Nivea giggled behind her hand, “How would I be of use to you? What would a kick do to take down an armed killer?”

“You’d be surprised.” Ian quipped.

“Sure,” Nivea’s dimpled smile increased, “Tell me about the case.”

“Eager, are you?”

“Let’s just say…I’m a true crime lover. It fascinates me.”

Ben made his way back over. Ian ordered a bottle of red wine and oysters.

“This case isn’t for the faint hearted, Nivea.”

“My heart isn’t a home for cowardice,” Nivea replied.

Ian looked upon her with a deep stare that seemed intrigued and surprised by her words. Nivea simply smiled, one brow arched.

“Okay. I’m sure you’ve heard about the missing hikers from Monroe?”

“I have. The two couples…”

“Yeah…well…they’ve been found. And…all four are dead. Bodies mutilated and buried beneath a slashed tent on Palmetto Island Campground.”

“Goodness…mutilated?”

“Disfigured. Large slash marks and bludgeoned.”

“You don’t think an animal had something to do with it?”

Ian shook his head, “We’ve looked into that. There’s no way. Their wallets and other personal belongings are missing as well. Someone did this. No eye witnesses.”

“Jesus,” Nivea accepted her filled glass of wine from Ben, “Any signs of a struggle? Defensive wounds?”

“Yes. You could tell they tried to escape. Two bodies were found away from the campsite. They received the worst possible attacks.”

“Scary…”

Ian nodded his head in agreement, “Shaken up?”

Nivea glanced over at him with a tiny hint of a smile, “A little. Maybe I should be careful running alone in the forest while a killer is at large in Lafayette.”

“Maybe you should run on a treadmill for a while instead.”

Nivea giggled.

“I’m serious, Nivea.” Ian said.

“I’ll be fine, Ian. I run along the Moon Seed Loop trail.”

“What difference does it make? You’d be better off in a gym.”

Nivea shifted in her seat. Ian sensed her unease.

“Sorry. I just…I want you to be safe.”

“I appreciate it. Really. I know it’s in your nature to worry. But I’ll be fine.”

Ian took a sip of his wine. Their oysters arrived and Nivea ordered red snapper.

“Fish at a steakhouse?” Ian teases.

“I’m pescatarian.”

“Oh–I didn’t know—”

“It’s okay. I used to love red meat at one point. That was ten years ago.”

“Next time, I’ll take you to my favorite seafood place.” Ian vowed.

Nivea smirked beautifully, “Next time?”

“Absolutely. I’m going to do whatever it takes to win your heart.” Ian confessed.

“Woah there, tiger,” Nivea said, “Still have to get through date number one.”

“I have a lot of work to do then.”

“Damn right,” Nivea replied.

“It’s worth it. You’re worth the trouble.” Ian said.

“Good trouble.” Nivea replied with a tilt of her glass.

They shared a look. One filled with excitement and anticipation.

“Why Lafayette? Phoenix is a great city.” Ian asked.

“Got tired of the desert.”

Ian laughs, “Seriously. Why the sudden change?”

Nivea shrugged a single shoulder, “I wanted a fresh start. My love life was at its end. They offered me a hefty salary here. I’ve always loved Louisiana. Didn’t see why not.”

“Ex boyfriend?”

“Ex fiancée,” Nivea dramatically enunciated.

“Oh? You were engaged?”

“To a narcissist. One of which scarred me for life. One I kept going back to even after he’d proven to me time and time again I meant nothing to him.”

Nivea drank some of her wine to conceal the tightness in her throat. So long ago yet so fresh.

“I’m sorry, Nivea. I know what it’s like.”

Nivea cleared her throat, “Your ex wife?”

“Shannon. We built a life together. Had two children. She had an affair with her personal trainer. Threw away almost twenty years of marriage.”

Nivea didn’t know what to say. She’d been cheated on in the past, but in the same breath, she’d done the cheating herself. New dick to numb the pain. That ‘we shouldn’t be doing this’ rump. She could recall how good it had felt to have another man make her cum on his dick and take his cum down her throat. Going back home to her ex fiance with the stench of another man on her.

“The divorce was amicable I guess?” Nivea asked after a long, awkward pause.

“It was. However, it left its mark on the kids. My daughter is taking it the hardest.”

“She’ll come around I’m sure.”

“I hope.” Ian responded in a solemn tone.

Nivea perked up, grabbed her glass of wine, and raised it.

“Let’s toast to new beginnings.”

Ian lifted his glass high and both of them clinked them. Ian watched Nivea down her wine in one sip. He chuckled into his glass.

“More?”

“Hell yeahhh! Whoops—”

Embarrassed by her outburst, Nivea giggled into her hands. Ian simply laughed.

“Sorry, I’m a bit of a wine–o.”

“No worries. I love when you let that side of you show.”

Nivea’s tawny–brown skin tinted beneath his gaze as she fought the urge to smile.

________

A Week Later:

Sitting in anticipation of seeing her again left him feeling anxious. It’s been too long since she’d entered his life without any real connection. He’d heard her voice through a window and as she was leaving work, but he hadn’t smelled her. Touched her. All of which he longed for. He occupied his usual parked spot hidden from view, dressed in a black T-shirt and Wrangler Jeans. One elbow propped up against the open window of his truck while his other hand gripped the steering wheel.

Checking the time, he should have expected to see her pass beyond the trees. However, an uneasiness settled in the pit of his stomach. She’d never missed a trail run. It was a part of her meticulous routine. Had she overslept? Did she decide to skip a run? Why would she alter her routine? Frustration and worry coursed through his body as he contemplated leaving his truck behind to search for her.

He kept a distance because he knew what it looked like stalking her. She’d be afraid, call the police, and he couldn’t have that. Not when he needed her so badly. Stroking his bottom lip with his thumb, his ever–changing eyes moved about, hoping to spot her. Minutes stretched on and so did his patience. His mind drifted to the worst possible scenario. One he was all too familiar with. Begrudgingly, he opened the door to his truck and climbed out. His heart hammered away behind his mended ribs as he walked along the gravel leading into the trees.

He made his way onto a trail, pausing his steps. Eyes searching from one end of the forest trail to the other, he allowed his sensitive sense of smell to pick up her scent. His keen eyes paid close attention to any disturbance in the forest before him. Trampled vegetation. Disturbed soil. As these can leave behind unique scent profiles.

He was far away from his truck now, the smell of lemon peel, oak moss, and mint burned his nose. A metallic smell made his muscles tighten and his tongue tingle. He picked up into a run, trailing off the beaten path, away from what her usual route would be. As he ventured into the wilderness, the metallic–like scent grew stronger, enough to make him lose sight of his destination. His footsteps paused a few feet away from a man-made ditch, and as his eyes peered into it, there, he’d found his latest obsession.

She was unconscious, filthy, and bleeding from a laceration on her head. He frantically jumped down into the ditch and scooped her into his arms. His nose crinkled as the smell of blood seeped in. He pressed two fingers against her neck, faintly making out a pulse. She’s alive. Relief washed over him. Standing, he cradled her limp body in his arms. He hoisted her up and onto the ground carefully before hopping out of the deep darkness of the ditch.

He couldn’t leave her there, she needed to go to the hospital immediately. As he made his way over to her, he caught a whiff of something unfamiliar. Something unwelcome. His eyes searched around him, fists tightly clenched. The trees lashed and crashed against each other like drumsticks in the hands of a giant. It was eerily quiet. He could sense something watching. A painful groan from her captured his ears and he immediately focused all of his attention on her.

She stirred on the ground, face frowned and her eyes moving beneath her closed lids. Terry held his breath as he crouched down to look at her. He placed one hand beneath her head for protection, his eyes staring down into her beautiful face. When she opened them slightly, his lips parted to speak.

Her soft locs in his calloused hands he adored. Her tawny skin was a work of art with her arms covered in tattoos. Lips plump and soft. She’s a goddess. Pools of brown peered up at his face with difficulty. She furrowed her brows, trying to make out who this stranger was as the sun above made him less distinguishable. She parted her lips to utter a few words, but it required energy she didn’t currently possess.

“It’s okay…you’re safe now. I’m gonna take you to the ER.” He spoke softly as her consciousness began to fade again, “Just hang in there…I got you.”

Her head lulled as he picked her up. Quickly and carefully, he made his way back to his truck. Once there, he flung his back door open and placed her on her side with her head reclined on a wrinkled flannel shirt of his. He slammed the door shut and rushed to the driver’s seat. Truck rolled to life and he took off with a quick burst of speed so fast he almost collided with a tree.

The nearest emergency room wasn’t too far of a drive. What would have been twenty minutes on back roads took him ten minutes or less on the I–10. As he drove, weaving his way through traffic, he would look back to check on her, making sure she was okay and not bleeding out. As his truck screeched to a stop in the visitor parking lot of the emergency room at Ochsner Lafayette General Medical Center, He quickly left his car to grab her.

Bystanders watched as he carried her through the automatic doors. Medical staff rushed over, surprising him with how diligent they were with getting her to a room. His heart thumped as he watched them place her on a gurney and secure the safety rails. Sweat doused his body from head to toe. The adrenaline was running through his body. He could make out someone trying to speak to him, but his eyes were glued to her distant figure as she traveled down the EMS corridor and towards the resuscitation area.

“Excuse me, Sir?!”

A woman in teal green scrubs shouted for his attention from the reception area. He allowed his eyes to sweep over her and then the reality of where he was and what he needed to do hit him. He took long strides towards the desk, bracing himself there as he tried to calm his nerves.

“Can you tell us what happened? Who it is you brought in and what’s your name and relationship to the patient?”

Another woman with ceil–blue scrubs and a scrub jacket with little faces of children printed on it sat typing away at a registration computer.

“Uh, yes…I’m not sure what her name is. I…I found her…”

His eyes glanced around him warily.

“Found her where, sir?”

“Unconscious. In a ditch. She’d fallen in.”

The two women shared a glance with each other, one that told him they weren’t very trusting of him.

“Where was this?—”

“Moon Seed Loop.” He replied abruptly with a deep voice.

“The trail?”

“Yes,” he stroked a large hand down the front of his hair, “I don’t know her. I just saw her laying there and rushed to bring her in.”

The woman asking questions seemed to relax after those words but still kept an eye on him.

“Did you try performing CPR?”

“No. She’d woken up at some point before going back out.”

“Okay, and what’s your name to put on file?”

“Terry Richmond.”

“Contact? Unless you wish to stick around.”

“I’ll stick around.”

Terry peered into the waiting area, not too thrilled with sitting amongst a bunch of people. But he refused to leave without making sure she was okay.

“Alright. We’ll keep you posted.”

“Thank you.”

Hands in his pockets, he made his way towards the waiting area filled with sick patients.

__________

Plain walls.

The beeping of a monitor.

Fluorescent lighting.

A whiteboard listing her information.

The name of the nurse taking care of her and the physician.

Metal side rails caging her in.

Stark white linens and pillows beneath her head while she lay in Fowler's position.

A hep–lock was placed in her arm and connected to an IV secured with tegaderm. She’s still wearing the GymShark pale blue set but it was covered in dirt stains. Her head pounded from an intense migraine as she tried turning her head.

The pulse–ox on her finger beeped as she moved. Suddenly her curtain had been pulled back and an older white woman with ginger hair and a freckled face appeared. She wore navy blue scrubs with a name badge that read Leslie.

“Hello, Miss. Douglas. I’m nurse Leslie. Glad to see you awake.”

Nurse Leslie sauntered over to check her vitals. Nivea touched the back of her head over a tender spot and felt staples.

“A pretty gnarly lac ya’ had there. Thank goodness the young man that brought ya’ in found ya’.”

Slightly disoriented, Nivea sat up completely in her hospital bed, “Young man?”

“Yes ma’am. Now, can you confirm some things with me, Miss Douglas? Dr. Laphaun would like for me to give you some Tylenol. Just tell me your name and date of birth please.”

She groaned In discomfort, “Nivea Douglas. March twenty first. Nineteen eighty two.”

“Thank you. Here’s your Tylenol and some water…”

Nivea accepted the medicine and washed it down with the water. Her mouth was so dry from dehydration.

“Fluids are nearly done.”

“Leslie,” Nivea placed her cup down and reclined back, “is the young man a detective?”

“I don’t think so. Doesn’t look it. Looks more like a handy man. Tall, muscles, pretty eyes…ring a bell?”

“No—where did he find me? I was out for my morning run and—”

It was cold. She felt her pulse accelerate as her sneaker–clad feet imprinted the dry grounds of Mount Seed Loop. The air thickened around her as she ran faster. Paramore kept her going as she mouthed the words Hayley Williams sang. As she crossed a bridge, an intense wind picked up, causing her to sway slightly. Nivea slowed to a stop, bracing herself along the bridge. Her dark brown eyes focused ahead, and there, staring her in the eyes, was a wolf. Its piercing amber eyes didn’t waver. Nivea took two steps back, and the wolf took two steps forward. A low growl sounded from its muzzle and all sense of animal awareness left her body and was replaced with a fight or flight response.

Nivea ran, leaving the trail and entering beyond the trees. It was behind her, darting between the trees after her to attack. She didn’t know where she was going or why she thought running into the forest was a good idea, but soon, the wolf stopped chasing her, possibly finding something else more interesting. Nivea tried to stop running, but she tripped over an uproot and fell into what appeared to be a perfectly concealed ditch. Nivea gasped, too startled to comprehend what was happening. Her head collided with a sharp stone and her world went black…

“Almost ready for discharge, Miss Douglas. Dr. Laphaun will be in again to check on you before we release you. I’m assuming the young man waiting is your ride home? If not, we can call you an Uber.”

Bemused, Nivea tried to recall if she could remember the man that saved her from an almost fatal accident. Visions of a figure looking down at her flashed across her eyes, and words she couldn’t discern before.

“It’s okay…you’re safe now…”

A man’s voice. A voice of resonant quality. Gruff and husky.

“Can I see this man?”

“Sure! I’ll go grab him for you…”

Nurse Leslie exited the room and Nivea watched her turn down a hall. The distant sound of voices and a ringing phone could be heard. Nivea didn’t know what to expect when that curtain opened. But whoever this man is, she’s forever grateful for his kindness.

A knock to the frame separating her room from the outside startled her.

“Miss. Douglas. It’s Dr. Laphaun. May I come in?”

“Yes,” Nivea sat up, “You can come in.”

The curtain opened to reveal a white male with a bald head and tired eyes. He approached her left side.

“Just doing one final check. Your vitals are stable. Let’s take a look at your head again…excellent. So, I see you’re a veterinarian! How exciting.”

“Yeah,” Nivea gave him a small smile, “Neurological exam good? MRI results?”

“All good. You’re a lucky woman. As I’m sure you know, rest is a crucial part of concussion recovery. Once your symptoms improve, a gradual return to normal activities is recommended. I suggest taking at least a week off from exercise. Maybe your practice as well to be sure.”

“I have a lot of appointments this week, Dr. Laphaun—”

“All that I’m sure can be postponed, Dr. Douglas. The dogs and cats would be grateful to have a competent provider taking care of them.”

“Okay,” Nivea replied with a sigh, “Tylenol, elevate the head, cold compresses if swelling occurs…anything worsens I’ll be back.”

“All the above.” Dr. Laphaun said.

Another knock brought Nivea’s attention to the curtain. A nervous tickle in her stomach.

“Looks like your knight in faded jeans arrived!” Dr. Laphaun jokes.

The curtain opened to reveal a man standing at 6’3 with a body mass index that took up most of the entryway. His eyes are indeed pretty. Hypnotizing. An array of colors that seemed to change whenever the light hit. Sculpted jawline, generous lips, tattoo–covered arms, skin a toasted brown from the intense sun of Louisiana. His black T-shirt stretched over what had to be a well–sculpted torso and the faded jeans Dr. Laphaun was referring to fitting his lower half snug in all the right places. He had a rugged look to him with dark, almost black hair that stood out boldly. Thick, dark lashes and brows with hair that Nivea could tell grew out of control if he didn’t keep it cut low.

Nurse Leslie worked to remove Nivea’s hep–lock. Dr. Laphaun made his exit after shaking the Adonis’s hand. Nurse Leslie informed Nivea where her things were and asked if she needed help out of bed and into a wheelchair.

“I’ll be back with a chair.”

Nurse Leslie left the two of them alone. Nivea locked eyes with the man who was staring back at her unblinking. She broke her eyes away as she tried to swing her legs over the edge. Immediately, the man was by her side, one hand on her back and the other reaching out for her hand.

“Woah, woah. Careful…”

Nivea cast him a wary glance.

“I’m Terry.” He finally introduced himself.

“Nivea.”

Silence stretched on as they locked eyes. Nivea didn’t know what came over her, but she leaped into his arms, circling his neck with her arms in a choking embrace. Terry quickly secured her waist with his hands so she wouldn’t fall. Nivea cried against his neck, the smell of his scent crowding her nose. It was earthy and warm.

“Thank you, Terry! You saved my life!”

Terry was rigid against her.

“Okay, oh!–I’m so sorry—”

Leslie turned beet red. Nivea moved away from Terry with a sheepish smile while rubbing tears from her eyes and snot from her nose.

“Giving Terry here a proper thank you for saving me.” Nivea giggled softly.

“What a lovely young man,” Leslie patted him on the back, “Think you’ll be okay to wheel her out to ya’ truck? If you want ya can pull up and I’ll take her out.”

“Good idea,” Terry patted his back pocket, retrieving his keys, “I’ll be out front.”

Leaping into action, he hurried out of the room. Nivea’s eyes never left his brawny back until he was out of sight. Leslie helped Nivea into the wheelchair and with all her things, they left the room and towards the emergency room exit. Terry’s pitch black dually truck sat high off of the ground. Leslie stuck around to make sure Nivea could be safely transferred.

Terry lifted her up into his arms and placed her on the seat. Leslie smiled before waving goodbye to Terry and Nivea, turning to enter the emergency room. Nivea kept an eye on Terry as he fastened her in. He shut her door and made his way around. Nivea did a quick sweep of his truck, finding it pristine and cozy. It smelled of Royal Pine. He entered the truck and started the ignition. Terry placed his cell phone on a magnetic phone mount, keying in his passcode and pulling up the GPS. Suddenly, he picked up his phone.

“Sorry,” he gave her an apologetic nod before placing his phone back on the mount, “Where to?”

Nivea elevated a brow at him in wonder.

“536 Sterling Grove, 70503.”

“Got it. Let’s get you home.” Terry said.

The digital display in Frank Byrd’s pick-up hadn’t worked for some odd number of years. With her phone stuffed deep in her pocket, the best Bailey could do was guesstimate the time. Knowing this, Frank still hesitated to check his wrist watch when she asked for the hour. 

He chuckled to himself from the passenger’s side.

“You think he’ll stand us up?”

“No…” Bailey sighed. “No, it’s just that the doctor’s office was slow today. I want to be sure we’re making good time.”

“He know we’re on the way. Ain’t no sense in all that worrying.”

The decision for her cowboys to meet was mostly impulsive, egged on by Frank himself. The morning had been full of appointments, and as they waited for his final physician Frank insisted she call Scottie and make lunch plans. They were already out, he reasoned, now was just as good of a time as any. 

Scottie seemed equally as eager when she made the call. He was the one that suggested barbecue, and both parties agreed on a small, locally-owned place that sold beef ribs by the ton. 

Deep down, Bailey knew there wasn’t anything to be concerned about, but it had been years since she introduced her father to a man, let alone one she liked as much as Scottie. 

As they drove, Frank shuffled loose papers in his hands: doctor’s orders for an oxygen machine he now needed to use more often than not. He groaned and adjusted his aging body in the front seat. 

“You, uh, you talk to your mama lately?”

The question caught Bailey off guard. She furrowed her brow in curiosity and eased on brakes at the stop light. 

“Uh, no. I ain’t talked to Miss Jenny. Have you?”

Frank nodded slowly. 

“She called the house phone the other night while you were at work. Said she was gon’ call you to catch up.”

“Yeah, well, you know how that goes. She say anything worth saying?”

Bailey’s hand lingered on the horn, prepared to honk at the car that was holding everyone up after the signal turned green. 

Her father shrugged and folded the papers into his sun visor. 

“Said she back in Houston for now with her sister. Tried getting married. Again. Didn’t work out — ”

“Again.” They repeated in unison.

“I guess I admire her for trying,” Bailey started, “but I think I would have gave it up by now.”

“Hm. You might get that quitter’s spirit from me…I don’t fault her for trying, though. Falling in love comes with its own thrills. You know how that is.”

“Do I?”

“Of course you do. That’s why you’re so shook up about lunch with your lil’ boyfriend.”

“Big boyfriend.”

“Oh, there you go!”

“And I’m not shook up!”

“You sure don’t look calm, baby.”

All Bailey could do was laugh. Falling was an idea she had been frequently entertaining. Something she would ruminate on between pouring beers. What she had with Scottie felt real. If she was indeed falling, he felt like a soft place to land. 

“William Frank Byrd, you think you know me.”

“Better than you know yourself.”

—

To the average passer-by, Scottie was sure he looked like a a Marlboro ad —denim shearling jacket buttoned close to his neck, hat tilted down to his brow, and a mint-flavored toothpick stood in for a cigarette, though something stronger than both would have been better for his nerves. 

When Bailey made the proposition, he assured her he was going to be there, early if he could help it, and on time if he couldn’t. He bargained with his own father for a little extra time in exchange for few more tasks on his workload. 

Scottie leaned on his truck as cars rolled in and out of the gravel parking lot of Hart’s BBQ. Their brown sacks were full of smoked chicken, pints of slaw, and pork that had been fired up since the dark hours of the morning. It was a hidden gem to outsiders, and a favorite to seasoned cowboys like Frank Byrd. 

If Scottie was going to make a first impression, he had to do it right.

Hell of a man, some of the old ranchers had told him. Loves that daughter of his to death. 

But would he let Scottie love her, too?

Before his mind could wander far, a green Ford slowly turned into the lot. 

He recognized Bailey’s face in the driver’s seat, focused on finding a parking spot. Scottie smiled wide when she finally noticed him and pulled the truck next to his. He hurried himself to the driver’s side to open her door. 

“Hey, Bailey Byrd…”

Her arms were wrapped around him before he could finish saying her name. Bailey greeted him with warm embrace and even warmer smile. A fast hand thumped his hat upward to show more face. 

“Hey, Sunshine…”

They shared a quick kiss as Frank rounded the truck bed. He cleared his throat to make his presence known, startling the two apart. 

“Oh, don’t stop on my account.”

Frank stood several inches taller than Scottie, though age had given him a slight slouch. Still a solid man, there was no doubt could Frank Byrd was strong and handsome in his prime. Every bit of the wavy-haired menace Uncle Alvin couldn’t compete with. 

“Daddy…this is Scottie Walker.”

Bailey stepped aside to let the two men approach each other. Frank led with his hand outstretched. 

“Good to finally meet you, Scottie.”

They had the same smile. Gentle, punctuated by a smile dimple in the left corner. 

Scottie shook his hand firm like all the Walker men had taught him. 

“Likewise, Mr. Byrd.”

“Frank…”

Scottie nodded and noted the preference.

“Nice to meet you, Frank.”

“Y’all young folks ready to eat? Or y’all need more time to kiss?”

Bailey rolled her eyes and gestured them all towards the door. 

“Let’s go, Mr. Byrd!”

The inside of Hart’s BBQ was always a little smokey. Scottie remembered how the atmosphere would burn his eyes as a child, but he’d suffer through it for a meat and three. 

The trio seated themselves at a small table with vinyl upholstered chairs. Scottie placed his hat on the empty seat and within moments, Ms. Gloria Hart herself was present to take orders. 

“Willie Frank, I thought that was you!” Frank winced when Gloria popped his shoulder with her ticket book. Her hands were as heavy as her portions. “Oh, there’s your babygirl and Lil’ Scottie…how y’all doing today?”

“Hey, hey, hey, Gloria! We’ll be doing great when we get some food on this table.”

“Sure thing!”

“And one ticket, Ms. Gloria,” Scottie inserted, nudging Bailey’s knee under the table.  “It’s on me.”

Bailey and Frank glanced at each other, then to Scottie, then back to Gloria Hart. 

“Y’all still got them honey butter biscuits?” Bailey asked with a slight twinkle in her eye. 

“Make ‘em fresh every morning!”

“Well, let’s get ‘em rolling over here!”

Scottie basked in the childlike glow of Bailey ordering her favorite meal: fried whole catfish, extra hushpuppies. Frank indulged in a more hearty plate, as did Scottie, paired with fresh glasses of sweet tea. 

A few moments of quiet passed as everyone settled with their drinks. Scottie chewed his lips before starting a conversation the best way he knew how. 

“Bailey told me you used to be a buck rider.”

Frank smirked and fiddled with a wedge of lemon. He squeezed the juice into his tea and tossed the whole of it into his glass. 

“That was a long time ago.”

“Were you any good?” Scottie teased. 

“The best to ever do it!” Frank gloated. “Ask Flip about me.”

“He already told me you were hell out there…”

“Took home a few titles in my day. Shit, I was ‘bout as big as the horse was anyway. It was more work for them to throw me off than for me to stay on. You ever thought about it?”

“That’s all I was ever able to a have: a thought. Mama wasn’t having that. Said it was too risky.”

“She’s right. That’s why I quit when I did.”

“Yeah? What happened?”

Bailey sat quietly with a mouth full of biscuit and prepared herself for a story she’d heard many times.

“What didn’t happen?!” Frank’s shoulders bounced as he laughed. “I swear to you, everything was going wrong. First horse came out backwards through the gate —“

“You got a re-do?”

“Right! Got a re-ride. New horse was young, a little smaller than I was used to, but I didn’t think too much of it. Hit my eight seconds, but I couldn’t get my hand out the grip to dismount! He ain’t like that.”

Scottie’s eyes widened, fully engaged. 

“I think I broke my wrist in there. When I couldn’t get loose, he bucked until he fell back on top of me. I blacked out after that.”

“Damn…”

“Knocked me out pretty cold. Woke up with the broken wrist and arm, had to get some pins in my hip and knee. Still got them motherfuckers, too.”

“I’m glad you listened to your mama,” Bailey whispered. 

Frank nodded in agreement. He waited for Gloria to drop off their hot plates before finishing his story. 

“My baby was only about two-years-old then. You don’t remember, but you cried when I was in the hospital. I couldn’t even hold you like I wanted to.” Frank directed back to Scottie. “I think that tore me up more than the injuries.”

Scottie glanced over to that baby, that was now a grown woman, nervously twisting the paper from her straw. He wouldn’t have wanted to see her cry either and would have made life changes just to hold her like he wanted to. 

“But enough about me, Scottie…What are your intentions for my daughter?”

Two sets of silverware hit the table in a clash loud enough to paused the room. Frank laughed out loud and scooped a spoonful of potato salad. 

“I’m just fuckin’ with you, son. Eat your food.”

—

The heavy lunch and an equally heavy dinner had the couple asleep on Scottie’s couch by 10:00 PM, disrupting whatever plans they had for a movie night. After agreeing they’d likely never finish Blade Runner 2049, they shuffled to the bedroom to get a proper night’s rest.

“I think I expected more action. That shit started to drag…Pretty colors, though.” Scottie stretched to turn down the ceiling fan while Bailey changed into night clothes. “I got some of that face wash you like, by the way.”

“You been using it? I thought you were glowing a little today.”

“That’s just because I got to see you.” 

A swift hand popped her on the ass before her shorts were fully on. She tried to hide her smile, slightly embarrassed by how easy he could made her blush. 

“You know you already got me. You don’t have to keep flirting.”

“You don’t like it? Hmm?” Scottie playfully reached for her legs. Bailey swatted away his grabby hands before he employed his full strength. “Come here, girl!”

With a shriek, Bailey crash landed on Scottie’s bare chest. Their limbs found familiar places to link and intertwine. Soft fingers found their way up baggy t-shirts and down pajama pants. 

“Can I ask you something?” Bailey posed between short kisses on his neck.

Scottie nodded, almost too distracted to speak.

“Yeah, baby. What’s up?”

“What makes you keep trying?”

Bailey pressed one last kiss to his collar bone before lifting her head. 

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been in relationships before, casual or whatever. You could have settled down with any one of them…You know what, never mind. I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

Scottie tightened his grip before Bailey could pull away in frustration.

“Yes you do. Ask your question.”

Bailey exhaled slowly and tried to gather her thoughts again.

“I don’t know, Scottie. I was young when my parents split, but I never saw my daddy even attempt to date. He made choice, a long time ago, to stop trying. He didn’t want to fall in love again.”

“From how he spoke today, I think he put whatever love he had into you.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Scottie pulled Bailey closer and let her settle on his chest. He rubbed slow circles on her back to ease the tension he felt in her body.

“You know, before we started talking I was fucking around just to fuck around. I wasn’t really trying. I knew what they wanted from me, they knew what I wanted from them, and it wasn’t love or commitment or whatever the fuck. Doing that for so long does jade a person...I didn’t think trying was worth it until I met you.”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not! I promise you I’m not. I ain’t know nothing about Bailey Byrd or what she wanted from me. But I wanted to find out.”

“You decided to try.”

“Yeah. I decided to try. And you did, too…”

“Was it worth it?”

Scottie smiled and brushed loose hair out of her face. It was only then that he noticed short streaks of tears that had pooled on her cheeks. He wiped them quickly and hugged her as tight as he possibly could.

“Absolutely, baby. I love you.”

---

Terry

Terry rubbed his goatee as he stared at the door to his office. Your appointment approached like the tick of the alligator from Peter Pan. His heart pounded in his chest the closer it became and he feared that you might not actually show up.

He wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. He had been awful to you last week. It was only natural for you to test your boundaries. That was the point of therapy; to get you to a place where you could find a man that gave you everything you wanted.

The problem was, Terry couldn’t separate that man from himself in his head. It was irrational, it defied all logic, and yet it was a fact. As simple as breathing, as warm as the sun, he belonged to you in whatever capacity you needed. He wanted you and he only wanted the chance to make you fall for him too. 

Try as he might, he couldn’t look away from the wooden door. He pictured it opening plenty of times. Wondered what you may be wearing or thinking. What new thing you had scribbled in your journal. Wondered if you would yell at him some more. 

A soft knock made him sit up straighter and arrange your notebook on his lap before he cleared his throat. “It’s open,” he called out.

You entered the office and peeked around the door. When your eyes met his, you gave him a shy smile. He hated to see it on your face. The hesitant way you shuffled past the door and then closed it behind you. The way you avoided looking at him as you made your way to the couch.

He took a moment to glance over every detail he could find. You wore an oversized denim shirt buttoned across a white shirt underneath. Your dark leggings showed off your beautiful thick legs perfectly and your tennis shoes brought the whole look together. You made it look effortless, casual, and sexy. 

You placed your purse on the couch and your journal on the coffee table but you didn’t sit down. You grasped your hands in front of you, fiddling with your nails. 

“I’d have lost if I was betting man,” he said. You glanced towards him but didn’t make any move to respond. “I’m glad you came back.” 

“I said I would. So…” you said and trailed off. 

Terry rubbed his goatee to keep from smiling. “If you want to yell, you can. Or scream. I crossed the line last week and you’d be more than right to,” he said. Better to rip the bandaid off now. He had to see how deeply he hurt you. How much work he’d have to put in to convince you to give him a chance. 

You placed your hands on your hips and twisted from side to side. “I just want to know why,” you said. 

Shit. He adjusted himself in his seat to give himself time to answer. He hadn’t exactly prepared for this so soon in the conversation. But it made sense. 

Terry looked away from you briefly. Sometimes your eyes were too open and sharp. Seeing right down to his soul without even realizing. It made him feel too exposed. Too…

“I hit a rough patch a few years ago. Naw, it was a really bad, shame and depression spiral that I used to ignore how much pain I was in. I lost my cousin. And that hurt. And I didn’t deal with it well,” he said. 

His thoughts tried to pull him back to that period in his life. When all he wanted to do was drink and fuck his way into an early grave. When he didn’t care if he woke up in the morning or who he went to bed with at night. He chased a phantom and it took him a long time to realize that he was only chasing his former self. The self before the pain. The self before the hurt and humiliation. The self that still had hope in this life.

You sat down on the edge of the couch and watched him. He’d give anything to know what you were thinking but he wasn’t a mind reader. He smiled to cover up his pause. “So once I cleaned up my act, got therapy, I still had all this pent up energy and nowhere to spend it other than on work. I tend to get a little…too invested in helping my clients. I want to see you succeed, almost more than you do.”

You snorted and shook your head. “Doubt that,” you said.

You had no earthly clue and that was part of the appeal. The fact that he stared at you like a bunny he caught the scent of upwind and you were none the wiser. He wondered how long it would take for you to realize that the seduction had already begun. 

“And selfishly, when you brought up Cole, I didn’t want to think therapy was working that well yet. There’s so much ground we haven’t covered,” he said. 

Your eyes snapped to his and he fought a smirk. “Selfishly?” You asked. 

He nodded. “I like our time together. There’s never a dull moment,” he said. You looked away from him and grabbed your journal from the coffee table. You dug your thumb into one of the corners and then lifted your eyes back to his.

Terry called your name and leaned forward in his seat. “Whatever my reasons or my excuses were, none of it made it okay for me to talk to you like that. I know you’re not a child and you don’t need to be coddled. I know you’re an adult capable of expressing your needs. I heard everything you said last week.

“My job is to help give you the tools you need to suceed. To find who and what you need and achieve sexual completion. That was the promise I made to you. And I still intend to keep that promise, I swear.”

You stared at him and he hoped he looked as sorry as he felt. “To prove it, I got you this,” he said. He reached down and grabbed the small red gift bag he picked up for you over the weekend. 

Your eyes widened. “You got me a present?” You asked. 

“Not totally within the rules, so keep it between us.” Terry chuckled. He stood up and passed the gift to you. At his height, you looked even smaller to him sitting on the couch. The view gave him the perfect angle to imagine you on your knees. Looking up at him just like this. With your lips slightly parted, your eyes nice and wide. 

When you grabbed the bag from him, you didn’t immediately move away. There was a moment, a brief moment, when it felt like you both wanted to close the distance and feel each other. 

Terry broke away first. It was a seduction, not a sprint. He returned to his seat and gestured for you to open the present. 

You gently yanked at the plain red and white tissue paper, placed it on the couch, and then dug in the bag. You gasped and chuckled, running your hands over the leather of the journal he picked out for you.

It was nothing extremely fancy or expensive. He had visited a stationary store and browsed until he found one with a soft leather cover and plenty of lined pages within it. Your face went soft when you found the accompanying pen that was smoother to write with. 

“I noticed you really took to journaling so I wanted to contribute to your budding writing career,” he said. 

You giggled and sniffled a bit. There were no tears in your eyes when you glanced at him though. “I truly am sorry,” he said. He’d say it a thousand times and it would never feel like enough.

You waved your hand. “I already forgave you,” you said. You lifted the journal higher. “Thank you, really.” 

You

He got you a journal? What kind of twilight world were you living in? So…maybe it hadn’t all been in your head. Did Dr. Richmond like you? Had he been jealous last week?

When you debriefed with Brooklyn afterwards, she laughed and told you that Dr. Richmond was jealous than a motherfucker about Cole. You denied and denied. There was no way, you said. It couldn’t be, you said. He was too gorgeous and mature for the likes of you. 

But what else could have explained his behavior last week? And now, getting you a gift…you couldn’t help but want to stare at him. Watch for any signs of his interest. But as he explained his reasoning, it only planted doubt. It poked holes in the boxes you were trying to shove him into. 

You were confused. He was confusing. You flip flopped like a kid pulling flower petals. He likes you…he likes you not…he likes you… 

You placed the journal back in the bag and busied yourself with folding the discarded tissue paper. Anything to keep your hands busy. Anything to take attention away from his too-knowing eyes. 

“Now, we can move forward. I didn’t give you homework last week, so let’s do a check in. What happened this past week?” He asked. 

You bit the inside of your cheek as you thought back over the past week.Truthfully, the whole ordeal had torn you up inside. You knew you shouldn’t have told him a damn thing about Cole, but part of you wanted to throw it out there. Wanted to see how it would stick. See if the vibes you were picking up over the past few months were actually something and not just your imagination.

It was like you gaslit yourself whenever you saw, plain as day, Dr. Richmond show signs that you weren’t just a patient to him. But you’d find reasons to tamp that thought down. Push it away. Shove it into its own little box to be examined later. 

With all of the work you’d been doing so far, you were a day late but you weren’t a dollar short. You finally caught on to some of the things Terry would say or do that made you question if there was something deeper. Now that you noticed, it became clearer that Dr. Richmond was interested.

You digested the information as you recounted some things that happened in your life. You avoided the topic of Cole all together, not wanting to poke that bear again. A vicious chill tore through you thinking of Dr. Richmond being so quick to fight over you. You’d never been fought for before. It could get addicting. 

“So I brought up some questions last week that were unfair but remain. I want to explore how you came to these conclusions about yourself. How you realized you’re a submissive,” Dr. Richmond said. 

You nodded your head and dug the end of your notebook into your thumb. “Like…? From the very beginning?” You asked. 

Dr. Richmond nodded. “We discussed it before but I’d like to explore it a little further. Like did your family ever talk to you about sex?” He asked.

You looked down at your notebook and took a deep breath. “Nope. They treated it like a sensitive subject. My mom practically plugged her ears whenever it came up.”

“They treated it like it was taboo,” he added.

You nodded. “Pretty much. Couldn’t ask about it, couldn’t talk about it. If it showed up in a movie we watched together, it always got hella awkward,” you said. 

“Why do you think it was awkward for you, specifically?” He asked. 

“Because it made me feel things watching it. Really good things. But they always told me that sex was bad and I had to try to ignore it,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond leaned back in his seat and rubbed his goatee. He was likely filling in the puzzle, understanding that your parents were just fucking weird. And ill-equipped to raise someone like you. 

“Did you ever question it? What made you ultimately decide to go against that thinking?” Dr. Richmond asked.

He was too damn smart. Too damn insightful. It scared you how those ever-changing eyes were like soul-seeking missiles, shining a light on everything you wanted to stay buried. You sighed and rolled your eyes to the ceiling. 

Truthfully, no. You didn’t really question it. Your parents were your first introduction to the world. They were larger than life figures that birthed you, raised you, forgave you, and punished you. They decided what justice meant. Why would you ever argue with that? Their word was law and growing up. Besides God and your parents, no other person mattered. 

But you would think about it. You felt urges like any normal person would but because they were bad urges, you fought like hell to control the uncontrollable. And got upset when you managed to fail time after time. 

You would fantasize and day dream inside your mind, safe and secure away from your parents ever present eyes. You’d still feel like you were being watched though. As if your parents could read your filthy thoughts on your face and tear down the house beating you from now until kingdom come. It was where you learned to read toe-curling smut with a straight face at 7am in the morning.

“My mom likes to tell this story to anyone who will listen. That I used to play a booty tag game with other kids in the class, boys and girls. Harmless, stupid playground fun. She saw a boy tap and grab my butt and I giggled. My mom beat the Black off of my ass. She demanded to know if I ever let him put his hands down my pants or if he was my boyfriend or whatever else she fucking concocted. But she always brings it up.

“And one day, one really random day, after hearing this story for the hundredth time and hearing her talk about my greatest fucking trauma like it’s the latest gossip, I woke up. She’s always going to tell that story. She’s never going to feel any shame for how she reacted. She actually finds it hilarious and I’ve tried pretending I don’t remember, hoping she would go ahead and stop telling it. But either she’s that clueless and mean or she knows that I’m lying. Because she hasn’t stopped.

“And that one day, I just…said fuck it. What if I did touch myself? What if I did start thinking of what sex meant, what I liked? She already hated me enough to tell my trauma to strangers, I may as well do what she’s accusing me of. At least then she’ll have an actual reason to hate me. I felt like a freak because I was already like…in college by the time I first started touching myself. Like who the fuck waits until they’re adults to do that, you know? 

“And you know the truly hilarious part? She’s the one that bought me my first adult book when I was in high school. She knew I liked fantasy books so she picked one randomly and whew, I still have the book and the cover is well-loved,” you said and giggled. God, it hurt to lay it all out there. 

But it was needed. You felt lighter with each sentence you spoke. As if you had carried that shameful secret with you like a chain around your throat, choking you from time to time whenever you desperately wanted to be intimate but your body outright rejected it. Or perhaps it was the other way around.

Perhaps your body knew exactly what to do, letting you feel good and accept that it felt good. But then your brain would retreat. Fly away to safer lands in your mind. You’d think of any un-sexy thing to take you right out of the mood. 

Then your mind would spin, quick with examples for why you just weren’t like other people. Surely this had to be a lonely experience. Some cosmic joke for waiting so long to explore this sexual side of yourself. And then the mood was ruined, your partner just wanted to get off, and you were too embarrassed to say otherwise. 

“What was the book about?” Dr. Richmond asked, pulling your thoughts away from spiraling. He scribbled a bit in his book but it wasn’t a lot. In fact, the entire time he listened attentively, his eyes never left yours. Times like this, you believed that he was invested in your therapy more than you were. Working through what held you back. 

“It was about a dream demon-like creature from Greek mythology. He would feed off of human’s negative emotions while they slept to help them rest and function in the real world. He had one month to redeem himself on Earth or be sentenced to eternity in Tartarus. The woman is a medical examiner who can see the dead. She and the man have to work together, traveling to an Atlantean hell-realm to fight demons.

“The entire time, they’re griping at each other, banter back and forth, tension. And I’m pretty sure she got hit with like…sex pollen or something. Like she was horny to the max. Like begging this alpha-asshole to fuck her. And he’s resisting because deep down he has a good heart, but he can’t resist her begging him. So they have sex and he’s just in control and powerful and protective. Talking dirty in her ear and talking her through it,” you paused, getting yourself worked up. 

You had felt so naughty reading that book, mind bugging from the fact that had your mom known what was in it, she would have burned it in the backyard. Weirdly, your mom wasn’t one for censorship. She allowed you to explore your own interests outside of anything to do with sex. 

But you couldn’t stop flipping the pages, staying up late at night to read and re-read. You stopped short of adding flags to your favorite passages and highlighting your favorite parts. You didn’t dare call attention to how much you loved the book. Didn’t dare show interest so your parents wouldn’t catch on. 

“Was it her begging or him not able to resist that turned you on more?” Dr. Richmond asked. You jumped, forgetting for a second that you were still in session.

You sat back in your seat and thought through the question. “Him not able to resist,” you answered. 

“Do you want to be irresistible?” Dr. Richmond asked.

Was it…he intentionally made his voice lower, right? You squinted, knowing full well that he was playing with you like a dog with a bone. 

“I want to be wanted. So yeah, I want to be irresistible to somebody. I want to know that I am the only one they want. I want someone to be for me and only me,” you said and sighed. 

Terry smiled with you and it only brought his lips to your attention. So delicious. So cute. They looked pillowy soft and you couldn’t help glancing at him whenever he licked his lips. He didn’t have his signature cup of tea with him today so you wouldn’t have the treat of watching his arms bulge and strain against his tight navy sweater. 

“You want the power of knowing that if you crooked your finger, your man would come running,” Dr. Richmond supplied. He leaned forward, notebook and pen dangling in his large hand. 

You took a deep breath and shook your head. Was that it? Not necessarily. “More like…I crook my finger and he’s so down bad for me, he come running,” you said.

“But will you believe him when he gives you all of this? Will you accept that you’re a desirable person?” He asked.

And I oop – you nearly snorted. He did not have to do all that. “Well now I need two journals, Dr.,” you said. Your jaw clicked shit with an audible click. You hadn’t meant to make that flirty or not use his full name.

However, his attentive listening was working on you. No one ever truly looked at you when you talked. They were too busy looking at your lips to hear your mumbling, trying to decipher a hidden meaning in your direct speech, and figuring out a natural pause to interrupt your lengthy story. 

His eyes never left yours, even when you had to look away. Give yourself a tiny break. And he killed you whenever he licked his lips and nodded, silently encouraging you to keep going. To dig deeper. To reach that root, wrap your hands around it, and yank. 

Dr. Richmond smirked but didn’t say anything. You inwardly groaned and stood up from the couch. You couldn’t look at him when you had truths to face. You didn’t want to get distracted by the liquid pool of his eyes while you worked this out in your mind. 

Terry

Terry studied you as you paced. No longer compelled to look into your eyes, he was able to take in more information. The way your lips quirked to the side as you puzzled this out. The soft patter of your shoes on the carpet as you paced. 

He’d learned so many things about you and through it all, his heart ached for you. The seeding you had as a kid emotionally stunted you in a lot of ways. Your foundation was built on sand. Stubborn sand, but sand. Every beautiful thing that you were supposed to experience was snatched by overbearing, strict, God-fearing parents who made you believe that something so fundamental was wrong and abhorrent. 

He didn’t like that you kept referring to yourself as a freak. There was nothing wrong with you. Your parents tried to snuff your light. And nothing made him happier to know that they failed.

“It’s hard to accept it, dammit. I know it’s because of self-esteem. I know it’s because I let all those bullies whisper an ear worm about how fat and gross I was. I listened to my dad’s snide comments about my weight. My mom with how disappointed she always is. I fought my way to loving myself. I did the work. 

“And yet it seems like I take two steps forward and end up six steps back. I thought I loved myself but clearly not. ‘Cause you bring up all these good points. Like…I’m never satisfied. Guys don’t kiss me right, love me right, or they’re not romantic enough. I know I have high standards but dammit, why shouldn’t I? It’s my fucking body.

“So if a guy tells me that he loves me, wants to take care of me, or will give me the moon, I automatically think he’s lying. Even when he does everything right like opens doors and walks on the outside of the sidewalk, I’m just not satisfied. And like, fuck, how arrogant, y’know?” You threw up your hands and Terry watched you like a lazy tennis match. 

Back and forth, back and forth, it was a wonder you never ended up dizzy. You were so damn sexy as you talked mostly to yourself, revealing how your mind worked. How quickly you made decisions and acknowledged both sides of the argument.

Fuck, he was getting hard just watching you. He pictured getting you riled up on something you were passionate about while he fingered you. How much would you struggle to surrender to his fingers? How strong was your need to win? 

Terry cleared his throat and adjusted himself in his seat. He moved your notebook over his lap, hoping to hide his thickening dick. You were none the wiser as you chewed on your lip, one hand on your hip, and slowed down your pacing. 

“I want to believe he’ll be everything I want him to be. But I don’t think I could survive if I let my guard down and let in a Trojan Horse. I already feel everything too deeply. Clinging onto anything I can call mine because I never grew up with privacy. And it hurts when it’s taken away. When I can’t do anything to stop it. 

“Finding the man of my dreams and he gets taken away would crush me. And I mean that. It would destroy me,” you said and finally turned to him. 

The raw pain in your eyes almost made him tear up. Your heart was not something to be played with nor disrespected. Your feelings weren’t a game and he couldn’t treat it like that. But there was still his medical license and practice to think of. He had multiple patients to help. 

In a similar way, he couldn’t allow just anyone to get under his skin either. Yes, he was attracted to you. Yes, you turned his head with just a look. Yes, he would drop everything if you told him you wanted him. Still, in the back of his mind, he knew that this could very well end up a local scandal. 

He could have misjudged your looks, your curiosity, your teasing and flirting. He could have read this entire situation wrong and all of his efforts would have been for nothing. But the look in your eyes…there was no way to fake that. 

You were telling him in your own way that this couldn’t be for jokes. This couldn’t be because he just wanted to get his rocks off. This couldn’t be because you were anything other than just you. You that he wanted. 

Terry nodded slowly. Loud and clear. 

You blew out a deep breath and then collapsed on the couch. As if you reached the end of your presentation and you were good and spent. Terry glanced at the clock, you had some time but it was nearing the end of the session.

Terry let the room grow quiet while he jotted down some notes. Quick words and phrases he wanted to circle back around to next week. Thoughts you prompted and ways for him to help you. 

“The purpose of this therapy is to remind you that you are in control. Always. And what you can control is your thoughts, your actions, your moods. It is also to remind you that while you’re busy looking for that invisible goal, wondering if you have what it takes, you’ve already achieved it and surpassed it. 

“I’m not gonna say it won’t hurt. Hurt is life. Hurt is how we grow. But it doesn’t define you. It does not define your life. You’ve survived all of the bullshit up until now. You will survive the bullshit after. But it’s how you look at it that determines if you let it break you down. 

“We have to build a stronger foundation. One built on grace, self-love, and self-acceptance. A foundation that nothing can shake. Yes, you did the work to love yourself. Now it’s time to accept that love. Your homework for the week is to get two jars, no matter the size. For every compliment you give someone, write it down and place it in a jar. For every compliment you give yourself, unbidden, you put it in the jar. 

“If your jar is less than the other jar, you need to do the work to fill your jar up too, get me?” He asked.

You took a deep breath and nodded. “Got it,” you said. You smiled at him, perhaps for the first time all session, and his heart skipped. In a minute, he was going to need therapy for his twisted obsession with you. 

Terry stood up, confident that he no longer sported an erection. He stretched his limbs out, purposefully raising his arms to lift his sweater. Your eyes zeroed in on his stomach and he suppressed a smirk. He was going to have so much fun with you when he finally got his hands on you. Once he got you away from Cole. 

He went to his desk to fish out a cloth for his glasses. He took them off and cleaned them while he leaned against his desk.

“I can understand being afraid of not knowing what’s on the other side of an orgasm. There’s four steps to it. And I’m telling you this, but I do not want you to think it’s a checklist you have to get right when you’re intimate, okay?” He glanced at you. You were blurry without his glasses, but he still got the shape and color of you. 

“Fineee,” you whined and giggled. He chuckled with you and shook his head. 

“There’s excitement, plateau, climax, resolution,” he said and snapped his fingers after each word. He repeated himself and he watched your lips move to remember it. 

“We know what excitement is. You start breathing faster, your body feels good, you start getting wet or getting hard. Then there’s plateau where your blood pumps faster, all rushing down south. Climax, the big moment, things start contracting, pleasure and the whole nine yards. Finally, resolution where the blood returns to normal, heart rate lowers, and you’re left feeling satisfied,” he explained, replacing his glasses back on his face.

He wished he could take a picture of your unfocused eyes. Your parted lips and your rapid breathing. You blinked as if coming out of a trance and nodded. Your tongue darted out to lick your lips and you nodded again. 

“You managed to make that sound like the most unsexiest thing ever,” you said. 

Terry chuckled and walked back to his seat. He stood behind it this time, leaning forward to place his elbows on the back of the chair. “The steps aren’t the point. They’re boring, scientific facts about what goes on in your body during sex. There’s nothing bad about it. The world isn’t going to burn if you have an orgasm. Let your body do what it was intended to do,” he said. 

You gasped but your eyebrows drew together, taking him seriously. “You can control your words, your thoughts, and your actions. But you cannot control your body. What do you hear me telling you?” He asked.

You pinched your lips and playfully fluttered your eyes but you answered. “I control my words, thoughts, and actions but not my body. I have to accept my body and accept that I’m capable of having an orgasm. That I’m capable of letting someone in even if I’m scared shitless,” you said and giggled as Terry sighed and tilted his head.  

You only giggled more at his expression and waved your hand. “No, I’m serious. I hear you. It’s not a bad thing to want to feel and it’s not a bad thing to accept I’m a desirable person,” you said. 

Terry nodded and glanced at the clock. Regretfully, right on time. “I’ll see you next week,” he said. 

You gathered your things and threw your purse over your shoulder. You smiled at him and crushed the gift bag to your chest with a grin. “Thank you, Dr. Richmond. I’ll see you next week,” you said.

You left the room and Terry genuinely hoped that you wouldn’t obsess. But as he was learning, obsession was damn near your middle name.

You

You tossed in bed for the hundredth time that night, unable to sleep and drowned in the memory of Dr. Richmond’s voice. The deep way he spoke turned your insides to mush.The slight accent as he said certain words turned you into a burning inferno. 

You tried to get the image and words out of your mind, tried to shove it to the far back. Back like chomping demons nipping at your heels, refusing to let you be. He did all that shit on purpose. And somehow, him doing it on purpose only drove you more wild.

You wanted him, he wanted you. But it was a toss up on who would be brave enough to cave first. Which was worse? Living in ignorant bliss or hyper focused on your sex therapist? It was the start of a bad joke and yet it was your reality.

You knew that he had a reputation to uphold. Ethics. All that boring jazz. But there had to be a way. Because you couldn’t live like this anymore. And his stupid rule made it all the more cruel. 

Your body felt alive in a way it never had before. Tingly all over. Electric. Your thighs rubbed together in the most shameless way. Sweat covered your body even while laying in nothing but your panties. 

Your pussy ached, lower belly feeling empty. “Shit,” you muttered, wiping your brow and groaned as it came away wet. You wiped your hand on your comforter and tossed it off of your body. 

But it was a little too cold in the room, the air making you shiver. You brought your comforter back over your body and hunkered down, willing sleep to come and put you out of your misery. 

“We know what excitement is. You start breathing faster, your body feels good, you start getting wet or getting hard.” 

Umm, check and check. Your panties were soaked from how turned on you were. He definitely used some kind of spell on you because his deep voice sang directly to your vagina as he listed the steps to an orgasm. You had to stop yourself from drooling, falling to your knees right then and there and offering yourself up. 

“Then there’s plateau where your blood pumps faster, all rushing down south.”

Your clit throbbed remembering that he deliberately spoke slowly and carefully, his voice slow like honey. 

Hell it was your body, right? That was all his big talk was about? It was your body and you were in control? 

Guilt tore your ass in half, but you couldn’t help flipping onto your stomach. You rubbed your hardened nipples against the fabric of your sheets. You moaned low in your throat, your lips dragging against the pillow case. 

“Fuck,” you moaned. 

“We know what excitement is. You start breathing faster, your body feels good, you start getting wet or getting hard. Then there’s plateau where your blood pumps faster, all rushing down south.”

Your hand slid beneath your body, sinking beneath your panties, right to the wet core of you. You didn’t have time to tease or play with yourself. His voice echoed in your mind. Syllables sharp and seductive. That accent burrowed into your skin and wrapped around your veins. 

You gasped with a moan, shivering for entirely different reasons. Your blood rushed in your ears, pounding, throbbing in your slippery heat. You dipped your fingers into your pussy and moaned. Fuck, you were so wet. Dripping. Aching in a way you never experienced before. 

Yess, it felt too good. Your body jerked and twitched. You humped your hand, pulling your fingers out to rub furiously at your clit. You bit your pillow, held on with pathetic whimpers. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you screamed. Fuck, you were close. Almost there. Belly twitching and thighs shaking. You pictured Dr. Richmond talking you through it. Fantasized about riding his fingers while he told you how pretty you were. Kissed your neck and told you all about how obsessed he was and would never let anyone, not even Cole, look at what’s his. 

“Ouueee,” you moaned, your body getting closer and closer. And…nothing. Your mind retreated as it always did, so close and yet too fucking far. You groaned and deflated, dropping your face into your pillow and silently wished for it to choke you.

Still couldn’t fucking cum. And you broke his rule of not touching yourself so what was even the point if you couldn’t finish? You groaned once more, pulling your fingers out of your panties. 

“Fuck,” you grumbled.

The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

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