The Tides Between Us part 5
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 |
Pairing: dbf!Joel x fem!Reader | dbf!Tommy x fem!Reader
SUMMARY: Day five at the Millers’ beach house. After what happened last night, how are you supposed to act around Joel now?
WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, dry humping, no outbreak au, no ellie, dbf!joel, dbf!tommy, age gap, no use of y/n, angst and tension, forced proximity.
A/N : I apologise every time, but I’m sorry for taking so long and thank you for sticking with this story!! :) hope you all enjoy it, and as always, let me know what you think. Your comments mean the world ♥
Here on AO3 | Wc : 12 k
“What about him?”
You follow Sarah’s not-so-subtle stare. A man is running along the shoreline not far from where the two of you are stretched out on your towels, propped up on your elbows, openly watching him pass. You couldn’t look more cliché if you tried. You love it.
“Not my style,” you say simply.
“You barely even looked at him. Come on, he seems athletic. Tall. Nice hair, too.” She turns slightly toward you, fixing you with a pointed look. “Do you know how rare a nice hairline is these days?” You chuckle, but she barrels on. “No, no, don’t laugh. Don’t you want someone with hair you can actually play with?”
A flash of salt-and-pepper hair is the first thing that comes to mind.
“No, but like,” she continues, undeterred, “it’s getting rare. I’m a freshman in college, and half the guys in my class are already balding. I’m telling you, it’s becoming a scarcity.” She pauses, then adds quickly, “Obviously, no hate to guys without hair. It’s not like they can help it, and some of them pull it off. Some even look better bald. But I like a nice haircut. I want to run my hands through it, you know?”
The sound he made when you tugged at his hair. The way he reacted when your nails scraped gently against his scalp.
“Yeah,” you say, after a beat too long. “I agree.”
“So you should run after him and ask for his number while his hair is still hanging on. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
You shake your head, laughing softly at her persistence. “I am not doing that.”
“Whyyy?”
“Because,” you say patiently, “I’m not asking a guy out just because he has nice hair, no matter how nice it is. He probably lives around here, and I’m leaving tomorrow. And I am definitely not running after a man.” You wish you could say you would never run after any man, but you know that isn’t true. “Also, he looks younger than me. Not my style.”
She watches the runner for another second, as if reassessing his age. “True, true…” Then her attention snaps back to you. You wish she weren’t wearing her sunglasses because you’d like to know exactly what that look means. “So… are you planning on seeing the guy from the gym again?”
“Michael?” You pause, as if genuinely considering it. “No. I don’t think I will.”
“Aww. Come on. I was hoping for more gossip.”
Oh, Sarah. If only you knew.
You both keep watching as the runner’s silhouette grows smaller, fading farther and farther down the shore.
“Damn,” Sarah hums appreciatively. “Nice ass, too. Your loss.”
You laugh with her, and the two of you keep watching the people around you. It’s approaching late morning now, but the weather is perfect, the kind that makes everyone want to squeeze every last drop out of the weekend. You try to quiet your mind; too many thoughts have been crawling around since last night. You focus on the rhythm of the waves instead, but a familiar pang of guilt slips in as you glance at Sarah beside you.
“You know I love you, right?”
“Where the fuck is that coming from?” she snorts, turning to look at you.
“What? We said the exact same thing last night,” you point out.
“I was drunk,” she shoots back. “What’s your excuse? This is so out of the blue.” She grumbles, but you both know the irritation is just embarrassment in disguise.
“I just need you to know,” you say softly. “And I wanted to say it back when you’re not drunk as fuck.” You nudge her shoulder, and she shoves you right back. “Also,” you add, “how are you not hungover right now? It honestly baffles me.”
“I’m a college student now,” she says proudly. “It takes more than that to defeat me.”
“You were dead the second you hit the mattress last night.”
And you were glad she was. Because she was still fast asleep when you finally made it back to the room after—
“I’m hungry,” Sarah announces suddenly. “Should we head back?”
“Sure,” you say, standing up and gathering your things, a flush of anxiety creeping in before you can stop it.
Because going back to the house means seeing Joel. It means facing what happened last night. You’d been lucky this morning, Sarah dragging you out of bed and straight to the beach, determined to enjoy it at least once before heading back to college. And who were you to argue? Joel hadn’t seemed to be up when you left.
Either way, you weren’t sure you were ready to face him. To face whatever emotion might be waiting in his eyes. What if the night had sobered him up in the worst way, clarity hitting hard, turning everything into a mistake? What if it had only been a spur-of-the-moment thing for him? What if he didn’t want to talk about it at all? And what if he did?
Last night, when you’d finally caught your breath again and realised you couldn’t stay in the car forever, it hadn’t been awkward exactly, but something adjacent to it. The two of you fumbling quietly with your clothes, neither quite looking at the other.
When you stepped out of the car, you’d been surprised to feel Joel’s hand searching for yours, threading his fingers through it like it was the most natural thing in the world. He held on as you walked back toward the house quietly, as if you were wrapped in some fragile bubble. Words would have burst it, and neither of you wanted to be the first to do that.
Inside, the two of you stopped at the foot of the staircase. You hesitated, then finally looked up at him, half-expecting him to say something. He didn’t. He just looked at you for a beat, an expression so soft on his face it almost undid you. He squeezed your hand gently before letting go, then nodded toward the stairs. You missed the warmth of his hand immediately.
As you walked up, you glanced over your shoulder. He was still watching you, his eyes soft in a way you couldn’t quite explain. After a quick trip to the bathroom, you slipped back into Sarah’s bedroom. You were relieved to see her still asleep, sprawled across the bed, blissfully unaware of you coming and going. You slid back under the covers and closed your eyes, trying to will yourself into sleep. But your thoughts wouldn’t slow, spiralling back to Joel, much like they were now.
You try to focus on what Sarah is saying as the two of you walk back to the house, but with every step, your heart seems to beat louder, heavier. Your breath hitches when Sarah opens the door and steps inside.
Joel is in the kitchen, his back to you.
God, he’s beautiful—your first, unhelpful thought. The same one you always have, only sharpened now, intensified by last night. You let yourself take him in for just a second: the broad line of his shoulders, the familiar fall of his hair, all the places your hands were lucky enough to touch hours ago.
“Morning, Dad,” Sarah calls as you walk in.
Joel turns around, coffee mug in hand, and something tightens painfully in your chest. Butterflies, mixed with apprehension and the lingering heat of memory.
His eyes find you. And then—
He looks away.
Oh.
Your stomach drops instantly. You’d dreaded this, rehearsed it in your head all morning, but facing it hurts more than you thought it would. Your fear transforms into something sharp and ugly. He regrets it. He can’t even look at you.
You want to disappear. To crawl out of the room. But you can’t, Sarah’s right there, oblivious, so you pull your cover-up tighter around yourself and grab a mug, turning toward the coffee machine as if you belong there.
You force yourself to breathe. It’s okay, you tell yourself. You knew this was a possibility. You spent half the night preparing for it. You’ll be fine. It’s not the first man to break your heart. But it’s Joel, and your heart has never followed the usual rules when it comes to him.
You hear Joel and Sarah talking behind you while you silently beg the machine to hurry up. They move easily through logistics for Sarah’s flight tonight, and what time they’ll need to leave for the airport As if your chest wasn’t tight enough already, the reminder lands heavy that Sarah is already leaving.
Your coffee is only halfway done when Sarah announces she’s taking the first shower. She disappears down the hall, her footsteps fading toward the stairs, leaving you alone in the kitchen with Joel.
The silence is deafening.
You keep your back to him, watching the last drops of coffee fill the pot, willing your face to stay neutral. You focus on the sound of Sarah’s footsteps overhead, clinging to it like an anchor while your emotions bubble dangerously close to the surface. You refuse to be that girl, the one who cries because she misread something, because she didn’t understand what it was. What was it, anyway? You’re still not sure.
You take a steadying breath. Then you turn around.
Joel is right there in front of you.
You don’t have time to say anything before his hands cup your face, eager and yet impossibly gentle, and his lips press to yours.
You barely manage to set your mug down on the counter before your hand slides into his shirt, gripping the fabric to pull him closer. If last night’s kisses had been rushed, all heat and want, this one is different. He kisses you like he has nowhere else to be. His lips linger, tasting, his tongue brushing your lower lip without pushing further, as if he’s giving you time to breathe, to set the pace if you wanted to.
Then he pulls back, just slightly and steals one last, brief kiss before letting you go. His hands come to rest on the counter on either side of you, caging you in without touching, and he smiles.
“Hi.”
He’s looking at you like this is normal. Like this, being close to you, kissing you, is the most natural thing in the world.
“Hi,” you breathe back. Your mouth opens to say more, to ask something, to say anything, but the words don’t come.
Joel notices immediately. “You okay?”
You can’t stop the small hitch of breath that escapes you. Instead of answering, you let your forehead fall against his chest, hiding your face where he can’t see the tears threatening to spill.
“Hey—hey,” he murmurs, one hand coming up to soothe your back in slow, grounding strokes. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”
“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his shirt, too embarrassed to look up. “I—I thought you were going to say it was a mistake.”
“What?” His hand stills slightly. “Why would you think that?”
“You looked away when I came in,” you admit quietly. “And I thought it was because you were… I don’t know. About to let me down.”
He says your name softly, the sound of it alone enough to steady you. His fingers slide under your chin, gently coaxing you to look up at him. When you do, your breath catches. His eyes are fixed on you, intent and warm, like he can’t help but take you in.
“Baby,” he says, and the nickname makes you melt instantly. “I looked away because I was tryin’ to be a gentleman and not show you exactly what the sight of you in that bikini is doin’ to me.” A small, self-aware smile tugs at his mouth as his cheeks redden slightly. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? How hard it’s been not to look at you these past few days? I feel like a damn teenager all over again.”
Heat rushes to your face at his words.
“Oh,” you breathe. “So… you don’t regret it?”
“I—” He pauses, just long enough for your heart to tighten. He must see it, because his thumb immediately begins to stroke your jaw, slow and reassuring. “I’m not going to pretend what happened is… ideal.” He waits until you’re really looking at him. “But no,” he says firmly. “I don’t regret it.”
He presses a quick kiss to your lips, as if to prove his point. It’s over too fast, and you instinctively lean after him, chasing the warmth. He smiles at that, keeping his mouth just out of reach for a second before finally giving in and kissing you again.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly. “Do you need me to—” He hesitates, clearly unsure, a hint of embarrassment creeping in. “I mean… do you need me to run to the pharmacy or somethin’?”
It takes you a second to understand what he means. He is asking if you need the morning-after pill. Because he came inside you. Because you asked him to. Heat coils low in your stomach at the memory.
You shake your head. “I’m on the pill.”
“Okay,” he nods quickly. “Okay.” Then, more seriously, “Still, I shouldn’t have— It was irresponsible to—”
“I asked you to,” you interrupt gently, a bit flushed.
He exhales slowly. “I know. Still, we should have talked about it—not that I didn’t like it. I did.” His eyes dip down your body for just a second, darkening before he pulls in a steadying breath, visibly forcing himself back onto firmer ground. When he looks at you again, his expression is serious. “Like I said last night—before we… we need to have a real conversation. About this. About us.” He hesitates, then adds more quietly, “I’m not goin’ to pretend it didn’t happen. I don’t want to.” He gestures loosely between the two of you. “But I think we both know this isn’t simple.”
You let your hand rest on his chest, feeling his heartbeat; quick, but steady beneath your palm. His words are calming, grounding, and you’d be lying if you said that was what you expected. After the past few days, you hadn’t known what version of Joel you’d get.
You tell him as much, a smile tugging at your lips. “Joel Miller, communicating?” you tease. “What’s happening? Who are you?”
“Shut up,” he mutters, pinching you lightly and making you laugh. His hand settles at your waist, thumb tracing slow circles against your skin, and the shiver it pulls from you doesn’t go unnoticed. “I’m trying to do things right, okay?” He says quietly. “For you.”
He looks at you with soft eyes, and the warmth that blooms in your chest should surprise you, but it doesn’t. Your body has always known how to react to Joel Miller.
You rise onto your toes and kiss him, less gentle than before, nipping at his lower lip until he gives in. You press him closer, welcoming the weight of him, the counter cool against your back. It feels good. It feels right.
“We should—” Joel murmurs between kisses. “Stop.” Another kiss, lingering. “Anyone could come downstairs.”
You feel his restraint as much as you feel the hard line of him against your hips, and you’re grateful when he finally forces himself to step back, because the way he feels against you is dangerously intoxicating. You know, that if he’d asked, you would’ve let him bend you over the counter without hesitation. His thoughts can’t be far from yours; his eyes trail slowly over your body, and you find yourself developing a renewed appreciation for this green bikini.
“Sweetheart…” He scrubs a hand down his face and exhales. “Go take a shower before we do somethin’ stupid.”
“All by myself?” you can’t help but ask, wiggling your eyebrows.
He scoffs, but you catch the faint blush creeping up his neck, and the sight of it sends a thrill straight through you. You did that. “Go,” he says, giving your ass a light slap, and you have to fight the instinctive moan that rises at the sensation. Joel definitely notices; you see it in the way his eyes darken before he reins himself back in.
You leave the kitchen with a smile, your skin buzzing, alive with the weight of his words and everything left unsaid. When you reach the staircase, you can’t resist one last look over your shoulder. You half expect to catch him staring at your ass—you know how good it looks in that bikini—but instead you find his eyes already on yours, like he knew you’d turn back. He lifts his chin slightly, mouths go, and you disappear up the stairs, your heart swelling in your chest.
Twenty minutes and a shower later, you and Sarah are sprawled in her room, half-dressed and still finishing getting ready, her laptop balanced between the two of you. Some let’s-play of a horror game is playing from one of her favourite creators. You’re not really watching, only reacting when the girl cracks a good joke or shrieks at a perfectly timed jump scare. Your mind keeps circling back to Joel; to his voice, his hands, the way he looked at you in the kitchen. You catch yourself smiling at nothing. Eventually, Sarah flops backwards onto the bed with a dramatic groan.
“I don’t wanna go back,” she whines. “It’s not fair. I don’t even get a full weekend with you guys.” She punches the mattress beside her, then throws an arm over her eyes, fully committing to the tantrum. “I hate college.”
“No, you don’t,” you say fondly, shifting to sit on the bed next to her.
“I do,” she insists. “I don’t wanna go back to that fuckass roommate. I wanna stay here forever.” She drops her arm and looks at you with sudden seriousness. “You should enrol in college again and become my new roommate.”
You snort. “As sweet as that sounds, I don’t think I’d survive dorm life a second time. I’m way too old for shared rooms and communal bathrooms.” The thought that you might also be getting too old to still live with your dad lingers.
Sarah groans into her pillow, muffling her frustration. You reach out and gently rub her back. “Your flight’s at nine, right?”
“Yeah,” she says, lifting her head just enough to look at you. “Dad said we’ll leave after an early dinner. God, I’m gonna get back to campus so late.”
“What time’s your first class tomorrow?” you ask. “Are you even going to get enough sleep?”
She grins, already guilty. “There is no way in hell I’m going to class tomorrow. I’ll be too tired. Too sad. Tomorrow is a date between me and my bed.” Then she fixes you with a pointed look. “Don’t tell my dad.”
You lift your hands in surrender, laughing. “Hey, I’m not snitching.” Even if you know Joel would absolutely want her rested more than anything.
“Still, we’ve got time before tonight,” you remind her. “What do you wanna do?”
There’s a brief pause, then she suddenly jumps to her feet and bolts for the door.
“Sarah?” you call, hurrying after her as she flies down the stairs.
She’s already in the living room by the time you catch up. Joel and your dad are mid-conversation, both of them lifting their heads when she bursts in. You catch the briefest flicker of Joel’s gaze on you before he shifts his attention back to his daughter.
“Can we go out for lunch?” she asks him immediately. “Like, outside outside. The sandwich place near the beach, the one we used to go to?”
“Oh, I love that place,” Tommy pipes up from the kitchen doorway—you hadn’t even noticed him there. “Hey, girls.” He gives Sarah’s arm a quick squeeze, then does the same to you before flopping onto the couch with his coffee like he owns the place.
“We have leftovers,” Joel says firmly, shooting his brother a look. “That was the plan for lunch.”
“Oh, come on, Dad,” Sarah protests immediately. “Have you seen the sun outside? We need to get out.”
“It is beautiful weather,” Tommy agrees easily.
“And it’s my last day,” Sarah adds, piling it on. “You wouldn’t deny your only child joy in her final hours of freedom, would you? You know I love that place.”
“They make Italian paninis that are to die for,” Tommy tells you and your dad, ignoring his brother.
“Dad,” Sarah presses. “Don’t you want a nice panini? You loved them.”
“I don’t even know if that place is still open,” Joel counters.
“It is,” Tommy says without hesitation. “I passed it on the way to the bakery yesterday.”
Joel turns to your dad, clearly searching for backup.
Your dad shrugs. “I mean… I could absolutely go for a panini.”
Joel sighs, long and dramatic, and then his eyes find yours again. Those soft brown eyes you like far too much.
“Please, Joel?” you add, smiling sweetly.
He doesn’t even try to fight it. Just exhales, shaking his head like a man accepting his fate. “I’m surrounded by traitors.”
Sarah lets out a victorious cheer. “And we should get ice cream after!”
Sarah is nothing if not persuasive. After a delicious lunch, the five of you somehow end up at an ice cream shop near the beach, standing in line with sand in your shoes and the sun warm on your backs. Sarah is beaming by the time she gets her cone, cookies and cream piled dangerously high, already starting to melt down her fingers. She doesn’t even care.
When it’s Joel’s turn, he takes his time. Studies the board. Reads the flavours once. Then again, like he’s making a life-altering decision. Everyone already knows his choice.
“Coffee please,” he finally tells the vendor.
There’s a collective chuckle around him.
He frowns, looking between all of you. “What? It’s a great flavour.”
“No, it’s boring, Dad,” Sarah says, licking her ice cream pointedly.
“You only say that because you won’t be able to steal any of mine,” he shoots back.
“Me?” she gasps, clutching her cone like she’s been gravely insulted. “I would never.” She takes another exaggerated lick. “Coffee is just boring. And disgusting.”
“It’s an acquired taste,” you interject. “You just have the taste buds of a five-year-old.”
“Says the girl who hates mushrooms,” Joel shoots back immediately, unable to resist teasing you like he always did.
“I’m trying to be on your side, old man,” you say, laughing as you make a half-hearted attempt to shove him.
He catches your wrist before you can, fingers closing around it easily. The contact sends a small, traitorous shiver up your spine. His thumb shifts, sliding just slightly along the inside of your arm. The touch lingers a fraction too long, before you remember—not alone. You step back just as Joel clears his throat and turns to the counter, accepting his cone, thanking the vendor, and paying as if nothing happened. Thankfully, no one seems to notice.
“It’s not my fault, I don’t like it,” Sarah continues, utterly unfazed. “It’s just how I am, okay? I was born this way.”
“Don’t bring Lady Gaga into this,” Tommy says, a little too seriously, his mint chocolate chip cone already halfway gone. “You just have poor taste, my dear niece.” He pauses, studying Sarah like he’s had a sudden, terrible realisation. “Wait.” His eyes narrow. “You’re a grown-up now. And a Miller. You’re supposed to like coffee.” He turns slowly to his brother. “Are you sure she’s yours?”
Sarah spins toward her father, utterly affronted, clearly waiting for him to defend her honour.
Joel straightens, putting on his most solemn expression. “Sarah… It’s time I tell you somethin’.”
“Shut up,” she snaps instantly, elbowing him before he can finish. She’s always been quicker than him. Joel laughs as he tries and fails to grab her and steal her ice cream, and the rest of you break into laughter along with them.
As if Sarah could be anyone else. It’s funny, really, how much she looks like her dad. The same dimples when she smiles. The same expressive brown eyes that can say so much without a word. The same mouth, too. Watching them together, it’s impossible to miss it.
Sarah turns to your dad, who’s been far too busy eating his ice cream to get involved. “I think you should become my new dad,” she declares solemnly. “Mine is being mean. You up for it?”
Your dad doesn’t hesitate for a second and swings an arm around Sarah’s shoulders like it’s a done deal. “Sure,” he says easily. “But I don’t think it’s fair that I get two amazing daughters while the poor guy gets none.” He points at you, then at Joel. “Wanna trade?” he asks.
Joel freezes mid-bite—because of course he bites his ice cream. You try very hard not to let your thoughts wander to all the other things he could bite. He looks from your dad… to you. His mouth opens like he’s about to say something, then he hesitates. If you weren’t so focused on him, you might notice Tommy’s barely contained smirk, or the look he shares with Sarah behind your back.
“I’d rather not,” Joel finally says, turning back to your dad. “I think I’m okay with Sarah.”
Your dad gasps dramatically. “Are you saying my baby isn’t great?”
“Oh, she’s great,” Joel replies without missing a beat. “I just don’t want her as a daughter.”
Your dad laughs, then ruffles your hair affectionately. “Sorry, kiddo. Joel doesn’t want you.”
You put on an exaggerated pout, and everyone laughs. You join in until your eyes meet Joel’s. The look he gives you says the exact opposite. He does want you. Just not in a way he can say out loud.
You lift your ice cream and take a slow lick, mostly just to cool off, but you notice immediately the way Joel’s eyes follow the movement of your tongue. His jaw tightens ever so slightly before he looks away and starts walking down the beach, Sarah trailing beside him, still ranting passionately about how coffee shouldn’t disqualify her as a Miller. Tommy falls into step next to her, attempting to steal a bite of her ice cream when she’s distracted. She shoves him away with a loud protest, and he laughs, entirely unapologetic.
You and your dad follow a few steps behind them. The sun is high now, the beach far busier than the quiet stretch near the house, but it feels good; warm sand under your feet, salt in the air, laughter all around. Your gaze drifts to Joel’s back, and a smile pulls at your lips before you even realise it’s there.
Your dad notices.
“What’s got you smiling?” he asks lightly.
You quickly turn your head toward him, hoping he didn’t catch exactly where—or rather who—your attention had been lingering on.
“Just had a really great weekend,” you say lightly. “That’s all.”
He smiles, biting into his cone, which somehow already looks like it’s lost an entire scoop. He eats ice cream like it’s on borrowed time. “You’re right,” he says around the bite. “It’s been great.” He breathes in deeply, eyes drifting toward the water. “God, I love the sea breeze.” A contented sigh escapes him. “I could actually see myself getting old here.”
You smile at that. “I could see it too. You always seem more at peace near the ocean.”
“Retired by the sea…” he nods thoughtfully. “Yeah. I see it. I really do.”
There’s a small pause, the sound of waves filling the space between you.
“I have been thinking,” you start, and his eyebrow lifts immediately.
“Uh-oh,” he says. “Dangerous territory.”
You snort. “Ha. Very funny.” Then you slow, turning serious as you look at him. “You know I love living with you, right?”
“Yes?” he says, cautious now, sensing the shift.
“I really do. I love spending time with you, but…” You hesitate, choosing your words. “I think it might be time for the next step. Would you be okay if I moved out? Like—got my own place?”
He says your name softly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
You swallow. “I just… I know you felt lonely when I left for college. And I don’t want you to feel like that again.”
He stops walking and turns fully toward you, expression warm and impossibly gentle. “Oh, my baby,” he says, cutting you off. “You are so sweet.” He reaches out, squeezing your shoulder. “Of course, I’ll feel lonely if you leave. That’s normal. How could I not, when I have such an amazing daughter?” He smiles, eyes shining just a little. “If you wanted to stay home with me for years and years, I’d be delighted. Truly.” Then his tone shifts, still loving, but steady. “But we both know that’s not how life works. I love living with you. It’s a gift getting to see your beautiful face every day. But you shouldn’t stay just for my sake.” He meets your eyes. “If you feel like it’s time, then it’s time. That’s how you feel, isn’t it?”
“Right,” you say, your voice catching despite yourself.
“And I won’t pretend I won’t miss you,” he continues, pulling you into a hug that’s warm and familiar, the kind that instantly steadies you. “I’ll miss your cooking. I’ll miss having to kill spiders for you.” He chuckles softly, then sighs. “I’ll miss you like crazy. But it’s not like you’re moving hours away.” He leans back just enough to look down at you, suddenly serious again. “You’re not, right? We’re talking Austin?” You nod, and the relief on his face is immediate. “Good,” he says. “See? Same city. And you’ll still come see your old man—I know you.” A smile tugs at his mouth. “We can make it a thing. Dinner once a week, maybe. Standing date.”
“That sounds perfect, Dad,” you say, meaning every word.
He squeezes you once more before letting go. “So. Have you started looking at listings yet?”
“Not yet,” you admit. “I just… realised it might be time, and I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Well,” he says easily, “I’d be more than happy to help you find somewhere nice.”
Your face lights up at that, excitement blooming in your chest. With a steady job and a couple of years of saving thanks to living at home, you could actually afford a cute little place. Maybe closer to work. Something cosy, where you could finally adopt the cat your dad never wanted because of his allergies. The thought makes you smile even wider. Apartment hunting with him will be fun.
“And we’ll have Joel if we need help,” your dad adds, already thinking ten steps ahead, about leaky faucets, busted locks, furniture that refuses to cooperate.
“I don’t want to be a bother,” you say quickly, waving it off, even if the idea of Joel in your own place sends an entirely different kind of warmth through you. Because Joel wants to talk. Because he doesn’t want to pretend. And that has to mean something, a future maybe? Still, this isn’t about him. This is a step you’re taking for yourself. If he’s there too… well. That’s just a bonus. A very good one.
“A bother? To Joel?” your dad laughs. “Honey, Joel likes to pretend he is a grump, but we both know he’s got a soft spot for you.” Heat creeps up your neck, and you hope the sun is bright enough to blame. “Sometimes I think the man hangs out with me just to see you.”
You stop short. “What? No. Dad. He’s your friend.”
“I’m joking,” he says gently. “Mostly. Joel’s a great friend—I’ve never doubted that. I’m just saying I know he enjoys spending time with you. And that matters to me.” He glances at you, softer now. “A man who cares about my daughter only earns more respect in my book.”
“I care about him too,” you admit, watching his face carefully.
His smile widens, unsurprised. “I know.” He gestures ahead, where Joel, Tommy, and Sarah are walking, laughter carrying on the breeze. “That’s what makes moments like this so good, don’t you think? All this love, crossing back and forth. That’s all I ever wanted—for you to know there are people who’ll be there for you, even when I can’t.”
He pulls you into a hug, ice cream be damned, holding you close like he always has. You sniff, laughing softly. “You’ll still come over if there’s a spider at my place, right?”
He kisses your forehead without hesitation. “I will kill spiders for you forever.”
The clock seems to tick louder as Sarah’s departure creeps closer, the end of the weekend hovering over all of you like a shared, unspoken thought. Maybe that’s why no one wants to be alone. You end up piled into the living room for the rest of the afternoon, just like years ago, when Sarah digs through the cabinet under the TV and triumphantly pulls out board games and a battered deck of cards. She talks everyone into playing with such ease that you briefly consider telling her that with that power of persuasion she should look into law school.
After several evenly matched rounds, your dad declares himself retired from active duty and takes up the far more important role of observer and provider, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with coffee and snacks—tea for Sarah, obviously.
That leaves you and Sarah teaming up against the older Millers, a decision made less out of strategy and more out of instinct. Together, you’re ruthless. You beat Tommy and Joel again and again, and with every loss, Tommy’s swearing grows more creative, while Joel just groans deeper into the couch. Each sound makes you shift in your seat despite yourself, your thoughts traitorously flashing back to similar sounds he made against you last night. You keep your eyes carefully on the cards, determined not to stare, but every time you glance up, Joel is already looking at you. There’s always that faint, knowing smile on his lips, like he can read you too easily. You look away first every time, heart thudding, forcing your attention back to the game.
That’s when you catch Tommy trying to sneak a card up his sleeve. You call him out immediately, and Sarah piles on with dramatic accusations, demanding a full confession. Joel, meanwhile, only shrugs, all innocent, like he has no idea what’s going on. You narrow your eyes at him, suddenly wondering if a few of his cards didn’t mysteriously vanish under his leg earlier—he has been winning more than before. He meets your stare without flinching, grin turning downright smug, daring you to say something. And for one dangerous second, all you want is to lean across the table and wipe that look right off his face with a kiss.
It’s dangerous, knowing that if you were alone, Joel would let you kiss him and would kiss you right back without hesitation. Just the certainty of it makes your heart pick up speed. It’s been harder than you expected, spending the entire afternoon not touching him, barely even speaking to him, stealing moments instead of taking them. There hasn’t been space yet for the conversation you both know needs to happen, not when you’re both trying to soak up every remaining second with Sarah. You tell yourself it’s okay. There will be time in Austin, just the two of you. The thought of having him to yourself sends a quiet thrill through you. You push down the small, insecure voice that wonders if this only exists because you’re away, wrapped up in the softness of a vacation that feels different from real life. Instead, you cling to Joel’s words, to the steadiness of them, reminding yourself that spiralling won’t help.
A little later, when the living room has slowly filled with the warm, comforting smell of the early dinner your father is cooking in the kitchen, another game comes to an end, with Tommy losing again. He grumbles under his breath and reaches for his phone, scrolling absently, until his expression shifts, the joking ease fading into something more focused.
“Everything okay?” Sarah asks, immediately catching the change.
He looks up and smiles, quick and reassuring. “Yeah. Just work.” He leans toward Joel, turning the screen so he can see. “Castillo finally accepted the latest terms.”
Joel squints at the phone, reading carefully. “Really? He ain't askin’ for any more changes?”
“Looks like it. I’ve been waiting on this contract for weeks.”
“It’s a big one,” Joel says, his tone turning serious.
“Yeah.” Tommy leans back in his chair, running a hand over his face. “I’ll start on it right away. Bring the guys in Tuesday morning, figure out what kind of timeline we’re dealin’ with.” He sighs, sinking deeper into the cushion.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” you ask, genuinely curious.
“It is,” Tommy admits. “Great money. But also back-breaking. I was kind of hopin’ for a few more quiet days before I had to work myself into the ground again.” You offer him a sympathetic smile just as he tilts his head toward you. “What about you? When are you headin’ back to work?”
“Wednesday,” you reply. “I took the whole week off, actually.”
“Sweet,” Sarah says immediately. “So how are you gonna spend your last few days?”
You grin. “I’m gonna sleep. Binge-watch my shows. Eat every single thing in the cupboard.”
“I heard that,” your dad calls from the kitchen, and you snicker. A moment later, he appears in the doorway, wiping his hands on a towel. “Dinner’ll be ready soon. Set the table, please.”
You stand, Sarah popping up right beside you without hesitation. As you head out of the living room, you feel it again. You glance back just in time to catch Joel watching you, his expression different from earlier. It makes your stomach flip, but you force yourself to look away and focus on plates and cutlery instead of whatever that look meant.
A few minutes later, everyone’s seated, eating with enthusiasm.
“This is so fuckin’ good,” Tommy says around a full mouth. “How are you such a good cook?”
Your dad shrugs. “Had a kid to feed something other than frozen meals. Comes with the job.”
Tommy smirks. “Then how come Joel doesn’t know how to cook anythin’ except barbecue?”
It earns him a quick smack to the back of the head for that one. “Hey—shut up. I can cook.” Joel looks to his daughter for backup. “Right?”
Sarah hesitates, tilting her head. “I mean… you make a great breakfast?”
Joel huffs. “That’s the most important meal of the day anyway.”
You laugh, hiding it behind your hand. Joel shoots you a look, mock-offended, and you answer with your most innocent smile. He’s sitting next to you this time—close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that every small movement makes you painfully aware of how badly you want to touch him.
Then he glances at his watch, his expression shifting, and turns to his daughter. “We’ll have to leave in about thirty minutes. Your bag ready?”
“Yep.” She turns to her uncle. “You coming with us to the airport?”
Tommy sighs. “Wish I could, kiddo. Gotta get to bed early—leavin’ even earlier tomorrow.”
“That’s okay.” She nods, understanding, then looks at you. “What about you?”
“Uh—yeah, I’d love to,” you say, then add, a little softer, “if Joel doesn’t mind.”
She scoffs. “Of course he won’t.”
You look at Joel. He just smiles, easy and warm, and it hits you all at once that the ride back will just be the two of you. The thought alone makes your pulse jump. You clear your throat and turn to your dad. “And us? When are we leaving?”
“Tomorrow morning,” he says. “Not as early as Tommy, but maybe eight or nine?” He catches your face. “I know. But I need to be back in the afternoon. Office stuff.”
“That's fine—”
“You could stay one more day.”
Everyone turns to Joel. He keeps his expression casual, unbothered, taking another bite of his food.
“I’m heading back to Austin Tuesday mornin’,” he adds easily. “I could drive you back then.”
When he finally looks at you, his hand slides under the table, brushing lightly against your thigh. It’s brief, nothing anyone could notice, but intentional. It’s an invitation.
“Oh. Yeah. That would actually be great,” you say, hoping your tone sounds steadier than your pulse feels. You turn to your dad. “Would that be okay?”
He raises an eyebrow, amused. “You sure, Joel? She can be a handful. Don’t you want one calm day to yourself?”
Joel huffs a quiet laugh. “I’m sure. House feels better when there are people in it anyway.”
“Well,” your dad says with a grin, “guess I’ll try not to be too jealous while I’m stuck at the office, knowing my daughter’s still enjoying the beach.”
“Sorry,” you say, though you’re not sorry at all. You can’t stop the smile spreading across your face, your mind already racing ahead. One more day. Just you and Joel. You don’t notice the knowing look Tommy shoots you from across the table, the corner of his mouth tugging up.
Once dinner’s done, Sarah disappears upstairs to grab her bag while you start stacking plates. Your dad waves you off, insisting he and Tommy will handle the cleanup. You grab a jacket and meet everyone by the front door. Tommy has Sarah pulled into his chest, one arm wrapped around her as he tells her that he will come to her campus and drive them back for Thanksgiving, make it a road trip, just the two of us. From the way Sarah’s face lights up, it’s clearly the best idea she’s heard all day. After a loud kiss to the top of her head, he finally lets her go. Sarah turns to your dad, hugging him tight, thanking him for the food, the drinks, everything.
Tommy shifts to stand beside you. “So,” he says casually, “guess this is goodbye for us too.”
You blink. “Wait, why?”
“I’m heading out early tomorrow,” he explains with a shrug. “Figured I’d say it now. Wouldn’t want to wake your sleepy head and all.”
You shove him lightly. “Idiot. I’ll be up before you leave.”
He lifts his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Just sayin’—it’s okay if you’re not.”
“Of course I will,” you say, softer now. “See you tomorrow, Tommy.”
He nods, satisfied, then grabs Sarah’s bag. The group drifts toward Joel’s car, the night air cool and calm. Tommy tosses the bag into the trunk, Sarah hops into the passenger seat, and you slide into the back.
Joel turns the ignition, then glances at you in the rearview mirror, offering a quick, easy smile before pulling away. Sarah waves wildly out the window at Tommy and your dad, and soon the beach house grows smaller, then blurrier, until it’s just a shape in the distance. You catch Sarah watching it in the side mirror for as long as she can, her smile slowly fading. She sighs when it finally disappears from view.
“We’ll come back in the summer,” Joel says gently.
“Please, yes,” she brightens immediately, then twists in her seat to look at him. “You think I could invite some friends?”
Joel chuckles. “Sure. As long as you still let your old man be here.”
She laughs. “Obviously.” Then she turns fully toward you. “And you’ll come too. That’s not a question. Right, Dad?”
“Obviously,” he echoes, catching your eyes in the mirror again. You grin back at him, something warm settling again in your chest.
Sarah turns back around, already launching into an enthusiastic pitch about spring break plans and why those friends would be perfect, her voice filling the car as the road stretches ahead.
The drive to the airport flies by, the three of you talking over one another, laughing, filling the car with noise. Joel mostly listens, chiming in now and then, but you catch him smiling at you in the rearview mirror more times than you can count. Each one makes your stomach flip, that light, giddy feeling settling in your chest. You hadn’t realised how much you’d missed this, being the three of you, until you were right back in it. In a way, when the airport finally comes into view, it feels unfair. Like the drive was far too short.
Joel parks, and for a brief moment, the car goes quiet. Then Sarah opens her door, plastering on a smile that’s just a little too bright. You follow her out as Joel grabs her bag from the trunk. She doesn’t hesitate before wrapping her arms around you.
“It was so nice to hang out with you,” she says into your shoulder.
“Same,” you reply, hugging her back. “Good luck with college. And please—keep me updated about the TA.”
“Who?” Joel asks immediately.
You and Sarah ignore him completely.
“And if you need to murder that roommate,” you add solemnly, “you know I’m only a phone call away.”
“Did I hear murder?”
“Dad, shush,” Sarah says, tightening her grip on you. Then, softer, “Thank you. And…Take care of him, please.”
You don’t need to ask who she means. You just nod, pressing a quick kiss into her hair before letting her go.
Joel hands you his car keys. “I’ll walk her in,” he says gently.
You slide into the passenger seat, tucking your feet underneath you, watching through the windshield as they head toward the terminal together. Just before disappearing inside, Sarah turns around and cups her hands around her mouth.
“I love you!” she yells, grinning like a kid.
You laugh, waving until she’s gone.
Alone in the car, you pull out your phone to pass the time. You answer a few messages, brainstorm gift ideas for Dina, then open an apartment listing app. You scroll, imagining each place as your own: the light, the space, where you’d put a couch… until you see the rent and immediately swipe to the next one.
Almost twenty minutes later, you lift your head when you spot Joel walking back toward the car. You’re not surprised it took that long. You can picture it easily: him soaking up every last minute with Sarah, talking with her, holding her close until there was no choice but to let go. Watching her disappear through security, lingering even after she was gone, like she might turn around and come back if he waited long enough.
When he catches you looking at him, he gives you a small, tired smile.
“Should have locked the car,” Joel says gently as he opens the driver’s door. “Could’ve been anyone.”
“But you’re not.”
He hums noncommittally and settles into his seat. His hands rest on the steering wheel, but he doesn’t start the car. Instead, he stares ahead at the terminal for a long moment. You let him have it.
“She’s gonna be okay,” you say softly.
He finally looks away, meeting your eyes with a smile that’s warm but edged with ache. “I know. Doesn’t mean I won’t miss her.”
It feels natural to reach for his hand, to draw it into the space between you. He watches the movement, eyes following your fingers, only looking back up when you squeeze gently. The silence that settles isn’t awkward; it’s a pause, a quiet pocket where everything else fades away. His thumb starts tracing slow patterns across the back of your hand, absent and tender, and you wonder if the contact steadies him the way it does you.
Eventually, he lets go and clears his throat. “Alright,” he says, turning the key in the ignition. “Let’s head back.”
You nod, and as he pulls back onto the road, you reach for the radio, flicking through stations until something fits the mood. Joel lets you, watching you with that same amused, fond look he always gets when you take over his dashboard like it’s second nature. Soon enough, music fills the truck, and the silence between you turns easy instead of heavy.
You watch the glow of the airport fade in the side mirror, the lights thinning the farther you get. You don’t want to be the one to break the quiet, aware that Joel’s thoughts are probably still with Sarah. Thankfully, you don’t have to. His hand drifts over, grazing your arm just enough to pull your attention back to him.
“I saw a milkshake place on the way earlier,” he says. “You wanna stop?”
There’s something tentative in his smile, something almost shy, and it’s disarming. It’s easier to read him like this, when he’s not trying so hard to keep everything tucked away. You recognise the offer for what it is: a pause, a soft landing before heading back.
“Yeah,” you say, smiling. “That sounds great.”
A few minutes later, you’re at the drive-through, placing your order. You expect him to pull into the lot afterwards, but instead, Joel keeps driving, a few extra miles slipping by until he turns down a quieter road. The city lights are dimmer there, the sky opening up above you, stars brighter out here. He cuts the engine and climbs out of the truck.
You blink at him, milkshake still untouched in your hands.
“You comin’?” he asks, nodding toward the back of the truck as he grabs his own shake.
You follow him to the back of the truck and sit as soon as he drops the tailgate. Joel stays standing beside you at first, leaning against it, head tipped back as he looks up at the night sky. The air is cooler here, quieter. You finally take the first sip of your milkshake, caramel and sugar and something indulgent that feels perfect. You hum without meaning to. That makes Joel smile.
“Good?” he asks.
“Perfect.” You watch him try his, the way he nods in approval. You can’t help it. “Joel Miller, ice cream and a milkshake in the same day?” you tease softly. “So much for not having a sweet tooth.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, well. You know, what happens on vacation—”
Your breath catches weirdly. You look away, fixing your eyes on nothing in particular.
He realises his words a second too late. You see it in the way his shoulders tense, the way he turns toward you fully. “No—hey. Not like that.”
“It’s okay,” you say quickly. Your chest aches.
“No, it’s not.” He sets his milkshake down beside him with a quiet thunk. “That’s not what I meant. Shit.” He steps closer, close enough that you can feel his warmth again. “Sweetheart,” he says gently, “look at me.”
You try to smile when you do, but it feels brittle, wrong. Joel sees it instantly, and his expression tightens, as if it hurts him to see you like this.
“Really, Joel,” you say, forcing the words out. “You don’t owe me anything. If this is just… a vacation thing, it’s—”
“It’s not a vacation fling for me.” The words come out fast, rough, like he couldn’t stop them if he tried. Like the idea itself bruised him. He searches your face, eyes dark and earnest. “Is that… is that what this is to you?”
You shake your head immediately. “No.”
His hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing gently along your jaw as he looks at you like he’s trying to make sure you understand just how serious he is.
“Okay then,” he whispers.
A relieved breath leaves both of you at the same time, and you’re not even sure who started it. A slow smile spreads across his face, soft and a little amazed, and you feel yourself mirror it without thinking. He leans in and presses a quick, tender kiss to your lips.
“That’s why I wanted us to talk,” Joel murmurs as he pulls back slightly, his hands sliding down to rest on your arms. “I don’t want you thinkin’ this is just… somethin’ casual to me. You’re not.” His voice firms. “You’re not somethin’ that happens and then fades when we leave this place.”
“It’s just… I could understand if you didn’t want it to be anything else. We kind of… acted on impulse last night.”
“We did,” he admits.
“And like you said this morning, it’s not simple. So if this was just something that happened here, I’d understand. It’s not what I want,” you confess, “but I would understand.”
He studies you for a moment. “And what is it that you want?”
You don’t look away. “You, Joel.”
The way he exhales your name is almost reverent. “You have me,” he says quietly.
A shiver runs through you, nothing to do with the cool night air. “Really?”
“Yes.” He leans closer, forehead nearly touching yours. “If you want me… You have me. Please.”
This time, you’re the one who pulls him back in for another kiss. Your lips meet easily, slipping into a rhythm that already feels so familiar, like something you’ve always known how to do. Neither of you tries to deepen it, to turn it into something more. It isn’t about that. It’s about the closeness, the reassurance, the certainty of being here, together.
When you finally pull away, his eyes stay closed a second longer than yours, as if he’s trying to hold on to the feeling. Your hand rests at his neck, thumb tracing softly along his jaw. When Joel opens his eyes, he’s smiling.
“I do,” you say quietly. “Joel, you have no idea how much.” You smile back at him, then hesitate. “But what about…?”
“Everythin’ else?” he finishes.
You nod. You almost don’t want to say it out loud, afraid that naming it will make it more real: the age difference, the complicated relationships, the ways this could affect everyone around you, all the ways it could go wrong.
He’s quiet for a moment. Then he steps back slightly, creating a little space between you, rubbing at his chin as he thinks.
“I think Sarah knows,” he says slowly.
“What?!”
“I’m not sure,” he admits quickly. “Not exactly. But she said somethin’ earlier. About how I seem to be… better. Like I’m doin’ okay. And that she’d been worried about me, about her leavin’ and me bein’ alone.” His voice carries a hint of frustration, mostly at himself. At the idea that his daughter has been carrying that worry. “She said this weekend made her feel better. I thought she just meant… in general. You and your dad being around. Us spendin’ time together.” He pauses. “But then she said somethin’ about me being allowed to be selfish.”
“Selfish?” you repeat softly.
“This kid…” He lets out a quiet breath, shaking his head. “She knows me better than I realise sometimes. Because I do. I mean—I wanna be selfish.” His eyes lift to yours, open and vulnerable. “Because I want you.”
“How… how is that selfish?” you ask.
Joel lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “Because wantin’ you is selfish.” He looks away from you, jaw tightening, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance as if saying it out loud has stirred up too much all at once. “Because I should know better. Because I was supposed to be content with what we had. With those moments we shared. With that being enough. That’s all I was supposed to want. All I was supposed to have.”
He pauses, jaw tightening. His shoulders rise with a slow breath, then fall again, like he’s trying to steady himself.
“To want more… the rest of it was just—fantasy. Something I only let myself think about when I was being weak.” His voice drops. “And I was so weak around you. Then…then you kissed me. And you let me feel what it would be like if I stopped pretendin’ I didn’t want it. If I stopped doin’ what I’m ‘supposed’ to do. I’m selfish because I always want more with you,” he continues quietly. “It’s never enough. No matter how much time I get, I always want more. And that scares me.”
His gaze travels over you before he meets your eyes again. You swallow hard, chest tight, as he keeps going.
“Because if it was just attraction—if it was just me thinkin’ you’re beautiful—I could get over it. I could move past it. But it’s not. It’s me wantin’ to see you every single day. It’s me findin’ excuses to hang out with your dad when I know you’re home. It’s me waitin’ for movie night all week, especially now that Sarah’s gone.”
You barely realise you’ve stopped breathing. Your heart is pounding too loudly in your chest as you see the way his hands flex at his sides.
“It’s selfish because I want you to call me when you go out,” Joel admits. “I want to be the first person you think of. The first person you call. I want to be your first choice. And those nights you don’t ask me to come get you…” His voice roughens. “Do you know how much restraint it takes not to call you? Just to make sure you’re safe? I lose sleep wonderin’ if you made it home okay. Or…” His eyes flicker with something raw. “If you’re at someone else’s place. With someone who gets to be there when I can’t. I’m selfish because I get jealous when I’m not allowed to be. Because I’m not supposed to feel that way.”
It’s overwhelming—the way everything crashes into you. The weight of his words. The raw honesty in his voice. The way his eyes reflect the sincerity of all those feelings. All this time, while you’ve been fighting the urge to cross that invisible line… Joel has been standing on the other side of it, doing the exact same thing. Struggling. Holding himself back. Wanting you just as badly. He takes back the step that had been separating you, closing the distance until he’s standing right in front of you. You have to tilt your head up to keep his gaze; neither of you willing to look away.
Joel exhales sharply before he continues. “Hell, sweetheart… you’re all I think about. I’m out there on my couch like some lovesick teenager, waiting for you to text me. Just so I know you’re safe. Just so I can hear your voice. Just so I can have that little moment where it’s just us—and you smile at me like that. But I don’t want just little moments. I want all of them. So yeah,” he finishes softly. “I’m selfish.”
You grab his collar before you can even think about it. It’s like your body, your heart, acts on its own, tugging him toward you as if being apart from him for another second is impossible. Maybe you should be answering him with words, but right now, you need to feel him against you.
Your lips meet his without hesitation, and Joel responds instantly. One hand cups the back of your neck, the other settles at your waist, pulling you closer. His mouth moves against yours with purpose, chasing every taste, every breath, nipping softly at your lower lip until you part for him without even realising it. This kiss isn’t gentle or tentative this time. It’s full of everything you’ve both been holding back, everything you don’t know how to say out loud. You kiss him for every moment you’ve wanted him, and he kisses you like he’s been waiting his whole life to finally be allowed to.
You shift closer, instinctively parting your legs for him, and he steps between them like it’s exactly where he belongs. His hands slide from your waist to your hips, and you hum softly, melting into his touch. You feel his smile against your lips when you press even closer. When his hand drifts lower, skimming the outside of your thigh, you inhale sharply and open yourself to him even more, a silent invitation to go further.
But he doesn’t.
“Joel…” you whimper, barely louder than a breath, opening your eyes when he still doesn’t move.
You need to understand why he’s holding himself back when everything in you is begging him not to. His gaze is dark when you meet it, heavy with want, with emotion, with something that almost looks like awe. He’s looking at you like you’re something unreal, like he can’t quite believe you’re here, in his arms, wanting him just as much as he wants you.
Joel just smiles, soft and utterly undone. Then he leans in and kisses his name from your lips. His hand remains on your thigh, warm and possessive, but unmoving.
You rock your hips against his without thinking, chasing friction, chasing relief. The reaction is immediate; you feel how hard he is, feel the proof of everything he’s been trying to control. The knowledge sends a rush straight through you, intoxicating, and you can’t help the quiet sound of satisfaction that slips from your throat. You revel in it.
A rough sound leaves his chest, a bit helpless, and his hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to betray him. For a moment, you think you’ve won. That he’s about to give in. So you try again, but before you can, he pulls back just enough to steal the contact away.
“Hey—” you protest, breathless.
Joel doesn’t let you finish and leans in, pressing slow, gentle kisses along your jaw, your cheek, your neck; anywhere he can reach without losing control completely.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice strained, “I’m not gonna fuck you here.”
“Why not?” you whine immediately, need spilling into your voice without shame. Any other time, you’d be mortified by how desperate you sound.
He exhales against your neck, a shaky, heated breath that makes your toes curl. When he speaks again, it’s even lower, rougher, soaked in restraint.
“Because you deserve better than that baby,” he says quietly. “Better than a damn truck again.” He nips gently at your skin, “Next time I have you, it’s gonna be in a bed.” He soothes the same spot with his tongue. “Where I can take my time.”
You’re pretty sure you’ve never been this turned on in your life. Does he know what he does to you? Does he know how powerful he is when he looks at you like this, touches you like this, speaks to you like this? You’re convinced you could fall apart right here just from listening to him talk like that. You want to test it.
So you try to move again, subtly, trying to bring his hips back against yours, trying to feel the way his cock strains his pants again.
It’s not fucking if it’s dry humping, right?
“Uh-uh,” he murmurs, stepping back just enough to ruin it.
You groan softly in protest. When you look at him, he’s breathing just as hard as you are. His jaw is tight. His chest rises and falls too fast. A slow, smug smile curves his lips, devastating and far too pleased with how badly you want him.
“We should go back,” he says at last, not even trying to hide the amusement in his voice.
You let out a frustrated huff. Part of you wants to curse him out, to tease him mercilessly. To be dramatic and prove a point by touching yourself right there, just to show him what he’s missing.
But you don’t because you know that anything you could do to yourself would be nothing compared to what he can do to you. And now that you know exactly what he’s capable of… the memory alone is enough to make your stomach flutter. You watch him subtly shift in his place, trying to rearrange himself in his jeans, and your thoughts immediately drift to last night. To the way he filled you so perfectly. To the way he held you like he never wanted to let you go.
Yeah, the wait will be worth it.
He catches you staring, and a quiet chuckle escapes him, but you notice the faint blush spreading across his cheeks. He leans in and presses a quick, soft kiss to your lips. Too brief to satisfy you, but sweet enough to make your chest ache. Then he places something cold in your hand.
Your milkshake. You blink at it in surprise, having completely forgotten it existed. You are surprised it didn't tip over at some point.
“Come on,” Joel says, already rounding the truck with his own drink in hand.
You follow him, letting out a dramatic sigh of frustration that makes him laugh under his breath. Once you’re back in the passenger seat and the engine starts, you immediately begin squirming. No position feels right. After a few minutes, Joel reaches over and rests his hand on your knee. Instantly, you still. When you look at him, he gives you a look that clearly says behave. But his hand doesn’t stay still. It slides just a little. Barely an inch, just enough to be maddening, not enough to do anything useful. Only enough to tease you. You bite back a smile.
Bastard.
It’s obvious he has no intention of taking things further, but you still part your legs slightly, just in case. With a soft groan, you turn your attention to your milkshake instead, grateful for the cold. It helps a little against the heat still trapped in your body.
You take a slow sip. Then another. Unaware, at first, of the way Joel keeps glancing at you from the corner of his eye. The way he watches your lips close around the straw. The way your tongue brushes over your bottom lip when you pull away. You notice his grip tighten slightly on the steering wheel. His breathing grows just a bit heavier. That’s when you realise. You’re not even trying to rile him up, but apparently, you’re doing a fantastic job anyway.
You smile to yourself. At least two can play this game.
A moment later, he removes his hand from your leg, as if physically restraining himself. He clears his throat and focuses stubbornly on the road ahead, but his smile never leaves his lips.
The drive settles into a comfortable quiet, filled with soft music from the radio. Joel hums along absentmindedly, completely unaware of how much you love hearing him like this. You turn your head toward him, resting it against the seat. Passing headlights and streetlamps paint his profile in shifting light and shadow. And you just… stare.
The way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. At his patchy beard, streaked with the same salt-and-pepper grey as his hair. At his mouth, at those beautiful lips you’ve spent far too long thinking about, fantasising about, dreaming about. Lips you now know well. The thought still feels unreal, like some kind of dream you haven’t quite woken up from.
“So…” you start, trying to distract yourself from the simmering need that refuses to fade, your voice sounding far too casual even to your own ears. “We’ll have the whole day to ourselves tomorrow,”
Joel glances at you, his gaze lingering just a beat too long before he returns his eyes to the road. “Yes.”
“Cool… cool… anything you wanna do?”
“I’m sure I’ll think of a couple things…” he says, a teasing lilt in his voice. His gaze flicks across you again before drifting back to the road. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes. Anythin’ particular in mind?”
You both know there’s only one answer, so instead you say, “I want to go to the beach.”
He frowns, amused. “You say that as if you haven’t gone already.”
“Not just with you.”
“Oh,” he pauses. “Yeah… okay. We’ll go to the beach.”
Your grin spreads uncontrollably. “Perfect. I wanna make my father crawl with jealousy.” You wonder for a fraction of a second if mentioning your dad—or anyone else—will change the tension in the air, make Joel stiffen, but he just laughs.
“Oh, believe me, your old man is already seething. He needs to leave Austin more often.”
“You’re saying that? Mister ‘I never leave Austin’?”
“I leave Austin,” he counters, shooting you a look.
“Joel, the neighbouring town to work or go see Tommy doesn’t count.”
“It does!” He pauses, then add. “And what about when I took Sarah to college?”
“Doesn’t count either. When’s the last time you went somewhere… for yourself?”
“Well… I’m here,” he says, as if that alone proves the point.
“What about somewhere new?”
“Don’t need that,” he answers, and his eyes find yours. “Got everythin’ I need here.”
You tilt your head, teasing. “There’s nowhere you actually want to go?”
“Don’t know. Ain’t really thought about it much, honestly. What about you?” he asks suddenly. “Anywhere you’ve been dyin’ to see?”
“So many places,” you admit, smiling at the thought. “I’ve had this thing for Vermont for a while. I know, it’s like… an old rich people cliché, but I saw pictures of it during autumn, and it’s gorgeous. I actually applied to the university in Burlington.”
“Did you not get accepted?”
“Oh, I did,” you clarify quickly, “but they didn’t have the exact program I was interested in. Have you ever been?”
“Nope. Never travelled that far north.”
“Never wanted to?” you press gently.
“It’s not that,” he continues quietly. “I love Austin. I love Texas. You know, Tommy and I grew up here.” You nod, listening closely. “But I always wanted to see other places too,” he goes on. “Just… never really had the time. First, it was looking out for Tommy. Then it was Sarah.” There’s no bitterness in his voice. No regret. Like he’s stating facts he’s made peace with a long time ago.
“Well…” you hesitate, unsure if you should say it. Then you do anyway. “You kinda have more time now.”
“I do,” he admits after a second, like the thought is only just sinking in. He taps the steering wheel lightly, thoughtful. Then his expression shifts. “Did I ever tell you about that time Tommy and I did a cross-country ride for his birthday?”
You straighten in your seat immediately. “What? No! How have I never heard about that?”
Joel laughs at your outrage, the sound warm and easy, and starts telling you about it: about their two Harley-Davidson motorcycles, cheap motels they stayed in, and the time they almost ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. You listen to every word like it’s something precious, storing it away in that quiet place in your heart where all your favourite things about him already live.
You interrupt him with questions, and he answers every single one, smiling. You tease him, and he fires back without hesitation. The conversation flows so naturally, you barely notice how close you are to home.
By the time he pulls into the driveway next to your father’s car, you’re still laughing at something he’s just said. You expect the moment he parks to bring silence, maybe awkwardness, but it doesn’t. He keeps talking as he shuts off the engine, and you keep answering as you both step out of the truck.
For a second, it almost feels like before, before everything changed. Then he glances at the house. All the lights are off. Everyone’s asleep. Without a word, he takes your hand. You look down at where your fingers are laced together, then up at him. He’s smiling softly, like this is the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t even let go when he reaches into his pocket for his keys.
Inside, you both go quiet, listening. No voices. No movement. Just the faint hum of the house settling for the night. He slips your jacket off your shoulders and hangs it up beside his. The second he’s done, his hand finds yours again, like he doesn’t even think about it.
You climb the stairs together quietly. Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re half-convinced he must hear it.
When he stops, you expect it to be in front of his bedroom. Instead, it’s Sarah’s door, and you can’t stop the small, disappointed sound that escapes you.
“Really?” you whisper.
“Really.” Joel opens the door for you with a fond, amused smile. “Go. Get some sleep.”
“I could sleep in your bed,” you try weakly.
He shakes his head, brushing his thumb once over your knuckles before letting go.
“Tomorrow,” he murmurs, like a promise.
Then he leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. When he pulls back, he stays close, his forehead almost touching yours. His eyes are full of too many emotions to name.
“Tomorrow,” he repeats quietly, “you’re all mine.”
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