living in boring southern suburbia

“Thank you.” Jess preened. “I’m glowing. Look at me. Post-orgasmic radiance.” She tilted her face toward the neon Bud Light sign like it was a mirror. Then her expression softened into something more pointed. “Speaking of which… you still having your little problem with men?”

You froze mid-wipe. “Jess—”

“What problem?”

Eddie’s voice cut across the bar, casual as anything. He didn’t even turn around at first, just kept lining up the Jack and the Jim like he hadn’t been listening the entire time. When he finally glanced over his shoulder, one dark brow was already arched high under the messy fall of his hair. He always looked unfairly good—black band tee stretched across his shoulders, silver rings flashing every time he moved, that perpetual half-smirk that made it hard to tell if he was about to roast you or flirt with you. Probably both.

Jess didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, you know. Her problem.” She jerked a thumb in your direction. “She’s never came from a dude before.”

The bottle of whiskey in Eddie’s hand paused halfway to the shelf.

You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. “Jesus Christ, Jess—”

“What?” she said, all wide-eyed innocence. “It’s not like it’s a secret. You’ve told me like six times. And he’s right there. He’s basically part of the furniture at this point.”

Eddie set the bottle down with deliberate care and turned fully, resting his forearms on the bar. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Never?” he repeated, voice low and amused and way too interested. “Like… ever? Not even the accidental ones? The ‘oops I moved wrong and something happened’ variety?”

Heat crawled up your neck. “Can we not—”

“Nope,” Jess said cheerfully. “We’re airing it out. Self-awareness is in bitch.”

Eddie tilted his head, studying you like you were a particularly fascinating puzzle. The long hair, the rings, the faint scar through his eyebrow—everything about him was unfairly magnetic, and he knew it. He’d always known it. The way his eyes lingered a half-second too long when you reached for the top-shelf bottles. The way yours did the same when he stretched to change the lights over the pool table.

“Huh,” he said eventually. “That’s… tragic. Actually tragic. Like Greek tragedy levels of tragic.”

You glared at him. “It’s not tragic.”

“It is,” he insisted, deadpan. “You’re twenty-one. Peak prime. And you’re walking around out here unsatisfied like it’s some kind of personality trait. That’s criminal. Someone should fix that.”

Jess grinned. “See? He gets it.”

“I get nothing,” you muttered, scrubbing harder at a non-existent spot on the wood. “And for the record, it’s not like guys haven’t tried. They’re just… bad at it. Or distracted. Or weirdly determined to go for the Olympic gold in thrusting while forgetting the rest of the body exists.”

Eddie made a soft, wounded sound. “Ouch. Collectively roasting half the male population. Bold.”

“Deserved,” you shot back.

He leaned in a little, elbows sliding closer across the bar. The metal of his rings clicked against the wood. “So what you’re saying is… every single guy who’s ever had the privilege has been mid at best.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“And none of them managed to, y’know—” he made a vague, elegant gesture with one hand, rings flashing, “—get the job done.”

Jess was delighted. “God, this is better than daytime TV.”

You pointed the rag at her. “You started this.”

“And I’m thriving.”

Eddie ignored her completely, eyes still locked on yours. There was something sharp and curious under the teasing now. Something that made your stomach pull tight.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “Very interesting.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that. Like you’re taking notes for later.”

His grin spread slow and wicked. “Baby, I’ve been taking notes for months. This is just the first time the subject’s come up in conversation.”

Jess actually clapped. “Oh my god.”

You felt your face go hot. “Eddie—”

He straightened up, palms raised in mock surrender, but the smirk never left. “Hey. Just saying. If the bar’s this dead every afternoon, maybe we should start a support group. I can lead the hands on portion of the presentation.”

You threw the wet rag at his chest. He caught it one-handed without even flinching, laughing under his breath as the damp fabric slapped against his shirt.

“You’re the worst,” you told him.

“And yet,” he said, tossing the rag back onto the bar between you, “you keep looking.”

Jess made a delighted little noise and stage-whispered, “I live for this shift.”

Eddie just winked at you—slow, deliberate—and turned back to the bottles like he hadn’t just set the entire afternoon on fire.

The next two hours crawled by in that special brand of dead-bar purgatory where every glass you washed felt like a personal insult. A couple of regulars drifted in, ordered cheap beer, and left again. Jess kept shooting you meaningful looks every time Eddie got within ten feet, which was constantly, because the universe had decided you two were stuck on the same side of the bar for the rest of the shift.

He waited until Jess disappeared into the back to change a keg before he started.

“Alright,” he said, voice low and conversational as he dried a pint glass with unnecessary care. “Pop quiz time. You ever come from oral? Like, someone actually knowing what they’re doing down there.”

You nearly dropped the bottle of vodka you were restocking. “Eddie.”

“What? Scientific inquiry. I like to learn.” He tapped his temple with one ringed finger. “Answer the question.”

You glanced toward the empty booths, then back at him. “No. Not really. It’s usually… fine. Then they get bored or their jaw starts hurting and they switch to something else.”

He made a soft, wounded sound like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “Christ. The bar is in hell. Next question—missionary. Ever gotten there that way?”

“No.”

“Doggy?”

“Eddie—”

“Answer.”

You exhaled through your nose. “Once I thought I was close. Then he asked if I was okay because I went quiet and the whole thing died.”

Eddie actually stopped drying the glass. He stared at you for a second, then set it down very carefully. “I’m going to need a list of names. Ban them from the bar. They're never allowed in your presence again.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m invested,” he corrected, leaning a hip against the counter. The afternoon light caught on the silver at his knuckles. “Okay, reverse cowgirl. Ever tried that one?”

You gave him a flat look. “You’re just listing positions now.”

“It’s a thorough survey. I’m a thorough guy.” His mouth curved. “What about when you’re on top and you actually get to control the angle?”

Heat crawled up the back of your neck. “Still no.”

“Against a wall?”

“No.”

“Bent over something?”

“Eddie, oh my god.”

He held up both hands, rings flashing, but he was grinning like a man who’d just found a new favorite hobby. “Okay, okay. Solo work. You can get yourself there, right?”

You hesitated, then nodded once. “Yeah. That’s… the only reliable method, honestly.”

Something shifted in his expression—still playful, still teasing, but there was a new sharpness underneath it. Like he’d just filed that particular answer into a mental drawer labeled Important.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “So the equipment works. The operators just suck.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

He reached past you for a clean stack of coasters, close enough that you caught the faint scent of leather and stale tobacco. His voice dropped even lower. “How do you do it, then? Fingers? Toys? Pillow humping like a teenager?”

You shoved a coaster into his chest. “I’m not answering that.”

“Coward.”

“Voyeur.”

“Guilty.” He caught the coaster before it fell and spun it between his fingers. “Fine. Keep your secrets. I’ll just have to hypothesize.” He tilted his head, studying you with that same intense focus he’d given the whiskey bottles earlier. “I’m guessing fingers. Two, maybe three. Slow at first, then faster when you get close. You go quiet. Bite your lip. That soft little sound you make when you’re frustrated with the register? Probably the same one.”

Your face went hot enough to fry an egg. “You are unbelievable.”

“I’m observant.” He flicked the coaster onto the bar with a soft clack. “And currently constructing a very detailed theory about what it would take to fix this tragic situation.”

You turned away to grab a new bottle of well tequila, mostly so he wouldn’t see the way your mouth wanted to smile. “You’re plotting.”

“Obviously.”

“You’re thirty-six. Shouldn’t you be plotting, I don’t know, retirement or something?”

Eddie barked a laugh. “Baby, I’m in my prime. And right now my prime is extremely focused on the fact that you’ve never been properly ruined by another person and that is a personal offense to me as a man who takes pride in his work.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “Your work.”

“I’m a multi-talented individual.” He winked, slow and filthy. “Bartending is just the day job.”

Jess chose that exact moment to reappear from the back, wiping her hands on her apron. She took one look at the two of you—Eddie’s smug expression, your flushed face—and grinned like Christmas had come early.

“Oh, this is gonna be a great closing shift,” she announced.

Eddie just hummed, turning back to the glasses with the air of a man who had all the time in the world and a very specific plan forming behind those dark eyes.

The night stretched on like it had a personal grudge.

By eight the place finally woke up—college kids with fake IDs, regulars who lived three stools down from alcoholism, a table of guys who kept trying to get Jess’s number and failing spectacularly. You and Eddie moved around each other like you’d been doing it for years, hips brushing when the space got tight, fingers grazing when you both reached for the same bottle. Every time it happened he shot you a look that said noted, and every time you pretended not to notice.

He waited until you were both stuck behind the bar during a rush to lean in close, voice low under the music.

“So when you’re alone,” he said, pouring three shots of Jameson without looking, “how long does it usually take?”

You nearly over-poured the vodka in your hand. “I’m not answering that while I’m making someone a vodka soda.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Eddie.”

He slid the shots down the bar with a practiced flick of his wrist and turned just enough that his mouth was near your ear. “I’m building a timeline. Important data. Is it a ten-minute situation or a ‘I’ve got the apartment to myself for an hour’ situation?”

You shouldered him back an inch. “You’re exhausting.”

“And yet you’re still answering.”

“I’m not.”

“You will.”

By eleven the crowd thinned enough that Jess could handle the floor alone. That left the two of you restocking the back bar, bodies close in the narrow space between the ice well and the speed rack. Eddie handed you bottles one by one, rings clicking against glass, and every time your fingers touched he held on a second longer than necessary.

“Okay, new category,” he said, passing you the triple sec. “Toys. Yes or no.”

You set the bottle down harder than you meant to. “I’m going to kill you.”

“That’s not a no.”

“It’s a none of your business.”

He grinned, slow and sharp. “So yes. What kind? The little bullet ones that die after six months or the fancy ones with remote controls that costs like two weeks pay?”

You stared at him. “How do you even know about those?”

“I have lived a full and varied life, sweetheart.” He leaned past you to grab a fresh stack of napkins, chest brushing your shoulder. “Also I have internet access. Shocking, I know.”

“You’re still this much of a menace. That’s actually impressive.”

“Thank you. I try.” He paused, then added, quieter, “You go quiet when you’re close, don’t you? Even by yourself. I’ve seen the way you bite the inside of your cheek when you’re concentrating on the register. Same energy.”

Your face went hot again. “Stop studying me like I’m a lab rat.”

“Can’t. You’re the most interesting thing in this entire shitty bar.”

Midnight came and went. The last wave of drunks stumbled out around one-thirty. Jess clocked out early with a pointed “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do” and a look that promised interrogation tomorrow. That left just the two of you closing—chairs up, floors mopped, registers counted in the weirdly intimate quiet of a bar after hours.

Eddie wiped down the last section of the counter while you counted the till. He waited until you were halfway through the twenties before he spoke again.

“Last question of the night. Promise.”

You didn’t look up. “You’re a liar.”

“Probably. But still.” He tossed the rag into the bin and came to lean against the register, arms crossed, watching you. “If someone actually knew what they were doing—knew exactly how to get you there and refused to stop until it happened—do you think you could?”

You paused with a stack of bills in your hand. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Somewhere in the back the ice machine kicked on with a loud clatter.

“I don’t know,” you said finally. “Maybe.”

Eddie’s mouth curved, soft and dangerous all at once. “Good answer.”

You finished the count in silence after that, the weight of his attention sitting warm against the side of your face. When the drawer finally balanced you locked it and straightened, rolling your shoulders. Your feet ached. Your lower back ached. It had been a long-ass day in every possible way.

Eddie was already shrugging into his leather jacket, hair a mess from running his hands through it all night. He held the door open for you as you both stepped out into the cool 2 a.m. air.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, like he hadn’t spent the last nine hours conducting a very public interrogation about your sex life.

You locked the door behind you and turned to face him under the streetlight. “You’re not done with the questions, are you?”

He smiled—slow, crooked, full of intent. “Not even close.”

The next day Eddie walked in looking like he’d made an actual effort, and it threw you off so hard you nearly dropped the stack of clean glasses you were carrying.

He’d clearly showered. The usual faint haze of cigarette smoke and bar soap that clung to him was gone, replaced by something warmer, cleaner—like cedar and maybe sage? underneath. His hair was still long and messy, but it looked deliberate this time, pushed back from his face like he’d actually run a comb through it. Black jeans, a soft worn black shirt that fit a little too well across the shoulders, and those same silver rings. He looked… intentional.

Jess noticed first. She mouthed what the fuck at you from across the bar the second his back was turned.

You just shook your head and tried not to stare.

He didn’t launch into the interrogation the second the shift started. That was the weirdest part. No pop quiz. No filthy little comments under his breath every time you bent down for a bottle. He just… worked. Smooth, quiet, efficient. When the bar got busy he moved around you like he’d memorized the shape of your body in the space, hand settling briefly at the small of your back when he needed to slip past, voice low and easy when he called out drink orders.

It should have been a relief.

It felt like standing too close to an open flame.

You floated through the night in a strange, charged quiet. Every time your eyes met across the bar something tight pulled low in your stomach. He caught you looking more than once and just smiled—small, private, like the two of you were sharing a secret no one else was in on.

Closing came faster than it should have.

Jess clocked out with a pointed look and a whispered “text me if you die” that made you want to throw a lime at her head. Then it was just the two of you again, stacking chairs in the low light, the jukebox finally silent.

Eddie wiped his hands on a towel and glanced over.

“You wanna come smoke?”

The question was casual. The way he said it wasn’t.

You usually said yes. Half the time after closing the two of you ended up on the back steps sharing a joint and talking shit about customers until the sky started getting light. Tonight the air between you felt thicker. Like the question meant something else entirely.

You still said, “Yeah. Okay.”

He nodded once, like he’d expected that answer, and grabbed his jacket.

You followed him out to the employee lot after locking up. His van was the same beat-up black thing it had always been, but even that felt different under the streetlights. He unlocked the passenger side for you without a word, then climbed in himself. The engine rumbled to life. Neither of you spoke for the first few minutes of the drive.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was loaded.

Eddie’s place was a small rented home ten minutes from the bar, the kind of place that looked like it had seen better decades. He parked in the cracked driveway and killed the engine. For a second he just sat there, hands on the wheel, staring at the dark porch like he was deciding something.

Then he looked over at you.

“You good?”

You nodded. Your pulse was doing something stupid in your throat. “Yeah.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, almost to himself. “Cool. C’mon.”

You followed him up the steps. The porch light was out. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside so you could walk in first. The living room smelled like him—leather, weed, stale cigarettes. A couple of amps in the corner. Records stacked in uneven piles. A couch that had definitely seen better days.

Eddie tossed his keys on the side table and shrugged out of his jacket. The clean scent of whatever he’d put on earlier drifted toward you again.

He glanced over his shoulder, that same small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You wanna sit outside or in here?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavier than it should have been.

You met his eyes.

You nodded toward the dark backyard. “Outside.”

Eddie grinned like you’d given him the exact answer he wanted and jerked his head for you to follow. The backyard was small and overgrown, a couple of mismatched plastic chairs near the fence and a milk crate that clearly doubled as a table. He dropped into one of the chairs with a satisfied groan and pulled a little tin from his pocket.

“Got some really good shit tonight,” he said, already breaking up a dense little nug between his fingers. “Friend of a friend. Sticky. Smells like a forest fucked a skunk and they both loved it.”

You snorted and took the other chair. “Poetic.”

“I try.” He packed the bowl with practiced ease, silver rings flashing under the porch light that barely reached this far. When he lit it the first hit made him cough once, sharp, then he laughed and held it out to you. “Careful. This one sneaks up.”

You took it. The smoke was thick and sweet and immediately made your head feel softer around the edges. You passed it back and watched him take another hit, the way his throat moved when he held it in.

A few quiet exhales later you tipped your head, studying him.

“What’s up with the get-up today, by the way?”

Eddie blinked, all faux innocence. “What get-up?”

“Don’t play dumb. You smelled different. Looked different. Like you actually owned a bottle of real cologne instead of just rolling in whatever was on the floor of the van.”

He waved a hand, smoke curling around his fingers. “I showered. Revolutionary concept, I know. Sometimes the hair gets washed. Sometimes the shirt isn’t the same one I wore three days in a row. It’s called being a functional adult.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious. Zero effort. Pure coincidence.”

You took another hit and exhaled slowly, watching him over the rim of the bowl. “Well… I liked it.”

The change was instant. His whole posture shifted—shoulders loosening, that slow, pleased grin spreading across his face like you’d just handed him a trophy. He sat up a little straighter, eyes bright even in the dark.

“Yeah?” he said, voice warmer. “You noticed.”

“Hard not to. You walked in smelling like you had somewhere better to be.”

Eddie laughed under his breath, low and a little giddy, and ran a hand through his hair like he couldn’t help himself. “Shit. Okay. Noted. I’ll keep that in the rotation then.”

You passed the bowl back, lips curving. “I like normal you too, though. The regular version. The one who smells like your van and talks too much and leaves guitar picks in the tip jar.”

He went quiet for a second, turning the bowl between his fingers. When he looked at you again the playfulness was still there, but something heavier sat underneath it.

“Yeah, well,” he said, voice rougher now. “I just wanted you to notice the effort. Because if I ever get my hands on you…” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on yours. “I want you to know there’s gonna be full effort there too. No half-assing it. No getting bored halfway through. I’m talking dedicated. Thorough. The kind of focus that makes you forget your own name for a little while.”

The air between you went tight.

You raised an eyebrow, slow and deliberate, and let a small, challenging smile pull at your mouth.

“That a promise or just talk?”

Eddie stared at you for a long second. Then he laughed—quiet, almost disbelieving—and shook his head like you’d just dared him to jump off a roof.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice full of dark delight. “You’re gonna regret asking me that.”

Eddie set the bowl down on the milk crate with a soft clink, still grinning like you’d just handed him the best idea he’d ever heard. Before you could even process the shift in his expression he was out of the chair and in front of you, hands already sliding under your thighs.

“Wait—Eddie—”

Too late. He hauled you up in one smooth, practiced motion and tossed you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. The world tilted. Your hands flew to his back for balance as he started walking toward the house, one arm locked firm around the backs of your legs.

“Eddie, put me down—” you laughed, smacking the solid muscle of his shoulder. “You’re such an asshole, oh my god—”

“Mm. Keep talking. It’s cute.” His free hand settled on the back of your thigh, fingers spreading possessively as he carried you up the porch steps and through the open door. “Been thinking about doing this since you told me no one’s ever gotten you there properly. Figured I’d start with the logistics.”

You twisted, trying to push yourself up enough to see where you were going, still laughing. “Logistics? You’re manhandling me—”

The sharp, open-handed smack landed right across your ass.

The sound cracked through the quiet house.

You went completely still.

The laughter died in your throat. Heat flooded low and fast, a sudden, traitorous pulse between your legs that made your breath catch. Your fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt. You didn’t make a sound.

Eddie stopped walking.

You felt the way his whole body went alert underneath you—the slight pause, the way his hand stayed right where it had landed, palm warm against the sting he’d just left.

“…Oh,” he said, voice dropping into something darker and deeply pleased. “There it is.”

He adjusted his grip and kept walking, slower now, like he was savoring every step. You could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke again.

“You went quiet real fast, sweetheart. That little problem of yours just get a whole lot more interesting?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your face was burning and the ache between your legs had gone from nothing to urgent in the span of one single slap.

Eddie carried you down the short hallway and into a bedroom that smelled like the real him. He bent and deposited you onto the mattress with surprising care, letting you slide down his body until you were sitting on the edge of the bed looking up at him.

He stayed close. Close enough that you had to tip your head back. One of his hands was still resting on your waist like he hadn’t fully decided to let go yet.

His eyes were darker than they’d been outside. The playful edge was still there, but it was sharper now. Focused.

“Yeah,” he murmured, thumb stroking once over your hip. “I saw that. Felt it too. You clenched up the second my hand landed.” He tilted his head, studying your face with open, hungry curiosity. “Interesting reaction for someone who’s never come with another person. Almost like your body already knows something your brain hasn’t caught up to yet.”

He leaned in just enough that his next words brushed warm against your mouth.

“We’re gonna fix that.”

Eddie stayed right there between your knees, looking down at you like he’d already decided how the rest of the night was going to go. His hand was still warm on your waist, thumb tracing idle little arcs against the fabric of your shirt.

“Alright,” he said, voice light but serious underneath. “Before I do anything irreversible—you got a safeword?”

You blinked up at him, then huffed a soft laugh. “Jesus. You’re old. I’ve never needed one.”

His mouth twitched. “Charming. Really making me feel great about the age gap right now.”

“I’m just saying. Never came up.”

“Well it’s coming up now.” He reached past you, grabbed a pillow, and tossed it further up the bed like he was already planning ahead. “Pineapple. That’s the word. You say pineapple, everything stops. No questions, no attitude, I back off immediately. Clear?”

You stared at him for a second, then broke into a genuine laugh. “Pineapple? That’s the best you could do?”

“It’s memorable. And you’re not gonna forget it when you’re—”

You didn’t get to hear the rest of the sentence.

His hand slid up the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, and he closed them in a firm, controlled fist. The pull wasn’t rough—just deliberate enough to tip your head back so you had no choice but to look straight at him. The sudden shift in control sent another low pulse of heat straight between your legs.

Eddie’s eyes dropped to your mouth, then back up. His voice came out quieter. Rougher.

“How do you like it?”

The question sat heavy between you. You swallowed. Your scalp tingled where he held you.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. Honest. A little breathless. “No one’s ever… asked. Or stuck around long enough to figure it out.”

Something dark and satisfied moved through his expression. He leaned in closer, the grip in your hair keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“Then you’re getting the whole experience,” he murmured. “Every version. Hard. Slow. Filthy. Whatever makes that pretty little problem of yours finally give up.”

He closed the last inch and kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It was deep and immediate, mouth open, the kind of kiss that felt like a claim. His free hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting you further into it while the one in your hair stayed locked, holding you in place as he licked into your mouth like he’d been thinking about it for weeks. You made a small sound against his lips and he answered it with a low hum, pressing closer until your knees had to part wider around his hips.

When he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, his voice was wrecked already.

“Yeah,” he said against your mouth. “We’re gonna take our time with this.”

Eddie kissed you down into the mattress like he’d been holding himself back and finally ran out of reasons to. The weight of him settled over you. His mouth never left yours for long, only breaking long enough for both of you to drag in air before he was back, deeper, hungrier.

Your hands found the hem of his shirt at the same time his found yours.

Fabric got shoved up between frantic kisses. You both laughed once against each other’s mouths when your arms got tangled, then the shirts were gone—his tossed somewhere toward the floor, yours pulled carefully over your head so he didn’t catch it on your hair. The second your bare skin met the cooler air of the room, Eddie went still.

His eyes dropped.

The tattoos you’d kept hidden under work shirts and bar aprons sat dark against your skin—delicate lines and soft shading that only showed when the fabric came off. He stared like he’d just been handed something private and important.

“Fuck,” he breathed. One hand hovered, then settled lightly over the ink on your ribs, thumb tracing the edge of a design. “You’ve been walking around with these under those little black tanks this whole time and never said a word?”

You felt heat climb your throat. “Didn’t come up.”

“It’s coming up now.” His voice had gone lower, almost reverent. He leaned down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the center of your chest, right between your breasts, then another a little higher. The metal of his rings was cool against your side as his hand slid up.

He paused there, mouth still brushing your skin, and looked up at you through his lashes.

“Can I take this off?” His fingers rested at the back clasp of your bra, waiting. Not moving until you answered.

You nodded.

Eddie kissed the same spot on your chest once more—soft, almost grateful—before he reached behind you. The clasp gave easily under his fingers, like he’d done it a hundred times and still treated it like it mattered. He drew the straps down your arms slowly, letting the fabric fall away, and sat back just enough to look.

The way his expression changed was quiet and thorough. No teasing. No smirk. Just open, focused appreciation as his gaze moved over you.

“Look at you,” he murmured. One hand came up to cup the side of your breast, thumb stroking once beneath it like he was learning the shape. “Hiding all this under work clothes every night. Perfect fucking girl. Trying so hard not to let anyone see.”

He leaned back down and pressed a slower kiss to the soft curve of one breast, then the other, voice still gentle against your skin.

“Gonna take my time looking at every single thing you’ve been keeping to yourself.”

He stayed right there, mouth and hands devoted to your breasts like he had nowhere else in the world to be. Soft, open kisses trailed across the full curves, lingering under the weight of them where the skin was most sensitive. His tongue flicked once over a nipple before he closed his lips around it and sucked—gentle at first, then deeper when your back arched. The whole time he talked, voice low and warm against your skin.

“So responsive,” he murmured, switching to the other side. “Look at the way you push up into my mouth. You’ve been starving for someone to just… stay here and worship these for a while.” Another slow suck, a quiet hum of approval when you made a soft sound. “Perfect tits. So fucking perfect.”

You were soaked.

You could feel it—heat and slickness gathering between your legs until your underwear clung uncomfortably. You didn’t think you’d ever gotten this wet before. Not from kissing. Not from anything. Every drag of his tongue, every quiet, filthy-sweet word made the ache worse.

Eddie kissed lower, across the soft skin just beneath your breasts, then lifted his head. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, but his voice stayed careful.

“Can I take these off?” His fingers rested at the button of your jeans, waiting.

You nodded.

He popped the button and drew the zipper down slowly. You lifted your hips so he could work the denim down your legs and toss it aside. The second the cool air hit you, his gaze dropped—and locked onto the dark, obvious wet patch soaking through the center of your underwear.

His whole body went still.

You watched the thick outline of his cock twitch hard against the front of his jeans, straining against the fabric like it was trying to get to you on its own.

Eddie exhaled a rough, almost pained sound. “Jesus Christ.”

You swallowed, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “Fair is fair. Take yours off too.”

He didn’t argue. He stood just long enough to shove his jeans down and kick them away, leaving him in dark boxer briefs that did almost nothing to hide him. The outline was obscene—long, thick, heavy against his thigh, the head clearly defined where it pressed against the cotton. Even confined like that he looked massive.

Your mouth went a little dry.

“Holy shit,” you breathed before you could stop yourself.

Eddie glanced down at himself, then back at you, a slow, knowing smile tugging at his mouth even as his voice stayed soft.

“Yeah,” he said, climbing back over you. “We’re gonna take this real slow, sweetheart. I’m gonna need you nice and open for me.” His hand settled on your hip, thumb stroking the edge of your soaked underwear. “But first I’m gonna make sure this pretty little problem of yours never stands a chance.”

Eddie kissed you again—deeper this time, slower, like he was trying to pour every filthy intention he had into your mouth. You couldn’t help the way your hips rolled up against him, seeking friction, grinding the soaked center of your underwear against the hard line of his cock. The second you did it he groaned into the kiss, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh and hold you there for a second longer.

Then he pulled back.

“Greedy,” he murmured against your lips, almost fond. “Alright. I hear you.”

He started kissing down.

Your chest first—lingering again on the soft undersides of your breasts, tongue tracing the curves he’d already learned—then lower, across the plane of your stomach. Every open-mouthed press of his lips made your muscles jump. He nuzzled the soft skin just above the waistband of your underwear and exhaled like the scent of how wet you were was doing something to him.

You lifted your hips without being asked. Together you worked the soaked fabric down your legs until it was gone. The second you were bare, Eddie went quiet.

He sat back on his heels between your thighs and just looked.

His hands settled on the insides of your knees and slowly pushed them wider, eyes locked on the slick, flushed mess of your cunt. You were so wet it was almost embarrassing—glistening along your folds, dripping down toward the sheets. He stared like he was trying to memorize every detail.

“Fucking perfect,” he said, voice low and rough with sincerity. “Look at you. All pretty and shiny and soaked just from me playing with your tits. You’re beautiful like this.” His thumbs stroked higher along your inner thighs. “I’m gonna take such good care of you. Promise.”

Then he dove in.

No teasing. He flattened his tongue and dragged it through your center in one long, filthy stripe, collecting everything you’d made for him. The sound he made was almost pained—hungry and relieved all at once—before he sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked.

Your whole body arched.

Eddie hummed against you like the taste of you was exactly what he’d been after all night, and settled in like he planned to stay there for a very long time.

He started slow—long, flat strokes of his tongue from the bottom of your cunt all the way up to your clit, gathering every bit of slick that had already collected there. The sound was wet and filthy every time he dragged through you. He hummed low in his chest like the taste of you was something he wanted to memorize.

“Fuck, you taste sweet,” he murmured against your folds, voice already rough. “So wet for me already. Been dripping since I smacked that pretty ass, haven’t you?”

His hands stayed firm on your inner thighs, holding you open exactly how he wanted. When he focused on your clit he did it with devastating patience—soft, circling licks that barely gave you pressure, then firmer ones that made your hips twitch. Every time your thighs tried to close he just pressed them wider and kept going.

You were already shaking.

Eddie noticed. Of course he did. He lifted his mouth just enough to speak, lips shiny, eyes dark and focused.

“That’s it. Let me feel it. You’re allowed to get loud, sweetheart. Nobody’s here but me.” He dipped back down and sucked your clit between his lips, gentle at first, then harder when your back arched. “Good girl. So sensitive. I can feel you throbbing on my tongue.”

He worked you in waves. Soft and teasing until you were rolling your hips up against his mouth, then deeper—tongue pushing inside you in slow, filthy thrusts while his nose pressed against your clit. The wet sounds filled the room. Your hands found his hair and twisted, not sure if you were trying to pull him closer or survive it.

Eddie groaned like he loved the sting.

“There you go,” he praised, voice muffled against you. “Use me. Grind on my face if you need to. I’ve got you.” He sealed his mouth back over your clit and sucked in a steady, relentless rhythm while two fingers finally slid inside you—curving, searching, pressing up into that spot that made your vision blur. “Fuck, you’re squeezing me already. So tight. So needy. Gonna make this little cunt come so hard for me.”

He didn’t rush the build.

Every time you got close he eased off just enough to keep you hovering—switching to broad, messy licks, kissing the insides of your thighs, murmuring soft filthy things against your skin about how pretty you looked spread open and dripping for him. Then he’d return to your clit with single-minded focus, fingers working you open, tongue relentless.

Your stomach started tightening. The pleasure turned sharp and overwhelming. You could hear how wet you were—slick sounds every time his fingers moved, every time his mouth sealed over you again.

“Eddie—I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” he said immediately, voice low and certain. He doubled down, sucking harder, fingers curling in steady, perfect strokes. “You’re right there. I can feel it. Let it happen. Give it to me.”

The orgasm hit like a wave you couldn’t stop.

Your whole body locked. A broken, high sound tore out of you as the pleasure crashed through—your cunt pulsing hard around his fingers, slick gushing out of you in warm, uncontrollable pulses that coated his mouth and chin and dripped down onto the sheets. Eddie moaned like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted and kept going through it, licking you through every spurt, every tremor, drinking you down like he was starving for it.

He only slowed when your thighs started shaking too hard to stay open.

Even then he didn’t pull away completely. He pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to your oversensitive clit, your folds, the dripping mess he’d made of you, voice wrecked and reverent.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured against your cunt. “Look at that. Fucking beautiful. You came so hard you made a mess of me.” He licked a slow stripe through the wetness still dripping from you and groaned.

Eddie sat up just long enough to shove his boxer briefs down and kick them off the bed. His cock sprang free—a heavy thump against his stomach. After everything he’d just done to you, he looked almost painfully hard.

He crawled back over you and kissed you deep.

You tasted yourself on his mouth immediately—sharp and sweet and filthy. The knowledge that he’d just had his face buried between your legs made your stomach flip all over again. He licked into your mouth like he wanted you to taste how hard you’d come for him, one hand braced beside your head, the other stroking slowly along your side.

When he pulled back, his voice was quieter. Careful.

“Still sure you want this?” His eyes searched yours. “I already made you come. We can stop here if you need to. No pressure.”

You didn’t answer with words.

You reached up, grabbed the back of his neck, and pulled him down into another kiss—harder this time, open-mouthed and certain. Your other hand slid down between your bodies and wrapped around the thick length of him. He was so hot against your palm, so heavy, the skin soft over the rigid hardness underneath. Eddie groaned into your mouth like the simple touch of your hand almost undid him.

“Okay,” he rasped against your lips. “Okay. I’ve got you.”

He reached down and wrapped his own hand around his cock, guiding the broad head through the soaked mess of your cunt. The first drag of him against your oversensitive clit made your hips jerk. He did it again—slower—slicking himself up with everything you’d already given him, the fat head catching against your entrance every time he passed over it.

You were so wet the sound was obscene.

Eddie braced himself on one forearm and looked down between your bodies, watching the way the blunt head of his cock pressed against you. His breathing had gone uneven.

“Gonna go slow,” he promised, voice strained. “You’re tight as hell and I’m not exactly small. Tell me if it’s too much.”

He pushed.

The stretch was immediate and intense—thick pressure that forced you open around him inch by careful inch. You could feel every ridge, every vein, the way your body had to give to take him. Your mouth fell open on a broken sound. Eddie’s forehead dropped against yours, a low, punched-out groan spilling out of him as the head finally slipped inside.

“Fuck—look at that,” he breathed, hips trembling with the effort of holding still. “Taking me so well already. You’re soaking my cock baby girl.”

He gave you another inch. Then another. The burn of the stretch mixed with the leftover sensitivity from your orgasm until your thighs were shaking around his hips. You could feel how deep he was already getting, the heavy weight of him filling you in a way nothing else ever had.

Eddie kissed the corner of your mouth, sweet even as his voice went filthy.

“That’s it. Just like that. Let me in, sweetheart. Gonna fill this pretty cunt up until you forget anyone else ever tried.”

“Move,” you whispered.

Eddie exhaled like he’d been waiting for permission. He drew his hips back slowly—just an inch or two—then pushed back in just as carefully. The thick slide of him forced another soft sound out of your throat. You felt everything. Every ridge. Every subtle pulse of his cock as he sank deeper. The way your walls had to stretch and flutter around the heavy girth of him just to take it.

He kept the pace almost gentle.

Long, controlled strokes that let you feel the full drag of him pulling out and the slow, relentless push back in until he bottomed out against you. His forehead stayed pressed to yours. His voice never stopped.

“That’s it,” he murmured, breath warm against your mouth. “Feel how full you are. Taking all of me like you were made for it. S' tight. S' perfect around my cock.” Another slow thrust. Your fingers dug into his shoulders. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Letting me open you up.”

The sweetness of it almost undid you more than the stretch.

Every praise landed low in your stomach. Every careful roll of his hips sent sparks up your spine. You could feel how wet you still were—slick sounds filling the quiet room every time he sank back in. But the longer he stayed that measured and deep, the more something restless started building under your skin.

You needed more.

Deeper. Harder. Something that matched the ache he’d already put in you.

Eddie must have felt the way your hips started chasing him, because he pulled back just enough to look at your face. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, but his voice stayed soft.

“I know,” he said. “I can feel you getting greedy again sweetheart.”

He sat back on his knees, still buried inside you, and hooked his hands behind your knees. In one smooth motion he pushed your legs up and open, folding you nearly in half until your thighs pressed against your own chest. The new angle made him sink impossibly deeper on the next slow thrust. You gasped—sharp and high—as the thick head of him pressed against something that made your vision spark.

Eddie groaned low in his throat and held the position, hips rolling in the same unhurried rhythm, only now every stroke dragged against that deeper, more intense place inside you.

“There we go,” he praised, voice rough with restraint. “That’s what you needed, huh? Deeper?” He thrust in again—slow, deliberate, grinding against the end of you. “All folded up and still sucking me in. Perfect girl. Just keep breathing for me. I’ve got you.”

He never sped up.

He just kept fucking you deep and steady, sweet words spilling out of him the entire time, like he had no intention of stopping until he’d ruined you completely.

Your voice broke on a high, frustrated sound.

“Eddie—please—harder. I need it harder, I can’t—”

He didn’t make you beg twice.

The second the plea left your mouth his whole demeanor shifted. The careful restraint he’d been holding onto snapped. His grip on the backs of your thighs tightened and he started fucking you properly—long, powerful strokes that drove him deep enough to punch the air out of your lungs every time his hips met yours. The wet, filthy sound of it filled the room. Your body jolted up the mattress with every thrust until he dragged you back down by the hips and kept going.

“Anything,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Anything you want. You need it harder? It’s yours. Need me deeper? Take it.” He snapped his hips in harder, the thick length of him dragging against that spot inside you on every stroke until your eyes rolled. “Fuck—listen to you. Whining for my cock like you were made for it. I’ve got you. Gonna give you everything.”

The intensity crashed over you too fast to stop.

Your second orgasm hit with almost no warning—sharp and overwhelming, your cunt clamping down around him in hard, rhythmic pulses as pleasure ripped through you. You cried out, nails digging into his arms, thighs shaking violently in his grip while you came on his cock alone. The wet rush of it made every thrust louder, messier. Eddie groaned like he could feel every flutter and kept fucking you through it, never slowing, praising you the whole time in a broken stream of words.

“That’s it—come on my cock, just like that. Fucking beautiful. You’re soaking me. Squeezing me so tight I can barely move. Good girl. Perfect fucking girl.”

He only eased up when the aftershocks left you trembling and oversensitive.

You could still feel how hard he was inside you—thick and throbbing, nowhere near finished. The realization made something determined spark low in your stomach. You reached up and pushed weakly at his chest.

“Want to ride you,” you managed, voice hoarse. “Please. Let me.”

Eddie went still. His eyes searched your face, dark and concerned even as his cock twitched deep inside you.

“You sure?” he asked, already breathing hard. “You just came twice. You’re shaking. We can slow down—”

“I’m sure.” You held his gaze, stubborn and flushed and still pulsing around him. “I want to. Let me.”

Something hungry and soft moved through his expression all at once. He carefully pulled out of you—both of you hissing at the sudden emptiness—then rolled onto his back in one smooth motion. His cock lay heavy and glistening against his stomach— pulsing.

He looked up at you, hands already settling on your waist as you straddled him.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and rough with restraint. “It’s yours. Take whatever you need.”

You braced one hand on his chest and reached down between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around the thick base of him. He was still soaked from you—slick and hot against your palm. You lined him up and sank down slowly.

The stretch punched a broken sound out of your throat. Even after everything, taking him from this angle felt deeper, heavier. You had to work yourself down inch by inch, thighs trembling, until you were finally seated flush against him with his cock buried to the hilt. Your head dropped forward. Eddie’s hands settled on your hips, thumbs stroking soft circles like he was grounding you.

You swallowed, voice already shaky.

“What do you like?”

His eyes were almost black looking up at you. A breathless little laugh left him.

“Anything that makes this pretty cunt of yours cream all over me,” he said, rough and honest. “You want to grind slow and deep until you’re shaking? I’ll lie here and take every second of it. You want to bounce on my cock like a desperate little slut until your legs give out? I’ll hold you up and thank you for the privilege. Use me. Ruin yourself on me. I’m yours.”

So you did.

You started rolling your hips—slow at first, grinding him deep so every movement dragged against that spot inside you that made your stomach tighten. The wet sound of it was filthy. Eddie groaned under you, head tipping back against the pillow, hands sliding up to cup your breasts as you moved. You found a rhythm and stuck to it, lifting up until only the thick head remained inside you before sinking back down and taking every inch again.

“Fuck—look at you,” he growled, voice strained and filthy. “Stretching that tight little hole around my cock. I can feel you fluttering every time you bottom out. So wet you’re dripping down my balls. That’s it. Fuck yourself on me. Show me how badly you needed to get filled.”

Your thighs started burning sooner than you wanted. The deeper angle made every bounce more intense, the stretch relentless, pleasure building sharp and overwhelming all over again. You kept going anyway—determined—until your legs began to shake so hard you could barely lift yourself. A frustrated little sound slipped out of you.

Eddie felt it immediately.

“I’ve got you,” he rasped.

His hands locked hard around your waist. In the next breath he planted his feet on the mattress and started fucking up into you—powerful, upward thrusts that drove his cock deep enough to punch broken moans out of your mouth every time. The new rhythm was relentless. Wet, filthy sounds filled the room as he slammed up into your soaked cunt, using his grip on your hips to pull you down to meet every stroke.

“That’s it—take every fucking inch,” he snarled, eyes locked on where he disappeared inside you. “Sit on my cock and let me ruin you. This greedy little cunt is sucking me in so deep I can feel it in my spine. Dripping down my stomach like a slut who finally got what she needed.” He thrust up harder, the force of it making your tits bounce. “You feel that? That’s me splitting you open. This is what was missing every time some useless asshole couldn’t make you come. A real cock. A man who knows how to use it.”

Your arms gave out. You collapsed forward onto his chest, face buried against his neck, while he kept pounding up into you without mercy—praise and filthy encouragement spilling out of him in a continuous, wrecked stream.

“Come on. Squeeze me. Cream all over this cock while I fuck you stupid. You’re taking me so well I can barely think. Perfect fucking girl. My perfect fucking girl. Gonna keep this up until you forget how to walk straight.”

Eddie kept fucking up into you in hard, relentless strokes, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. Your body jolted with every thrust. He was so deep it felt like he was rearranging you from the inside.

His voice came out rough against your ear.

“Touch yourself. Play with that pretty clit while I fuck you. I want to feel you gush on my cock again.”

Your hand slid down between your bodies without hesitation. The second your fingers found your clit—swollen and oversensitive—you cried out. The dual sensation was almost too much: the thick, brutal drag of his cock splitting you open on every upward thrust and the tight circles you rubbed over your clit. Slick coated your fingers immediately. You were so wet it was obscene.

Eddie groaned like he could feel the way your cunt fluttered harder around him the second you started touching yourself.

“That’s it. Good girl. Rub that clit for me. Make a mess. I want to feel you soak my cock.” He snapped his hips up harder, the force of it punching broken, high sounds out of your throat. “Fuck—you’re gripping me so tight. This greedy little cunt doesn’t want to let me go. Come on. Give it to me. Third time’s the charm, sweetheart. Ruin yourself.”

The orgasm tore through you violently.

Your whole body locked up. A broken sob left your mouth as you came hard—cunt clamping down in strong, rhythmic pulses while a fresh gush of wetness flooded out of you around his cock. It was messy, uncontrollable, soaking his stomach, his hips, the sheets beneath you in a warm rush that just kept coming with every thrust he forced through it. The wet sounds turned filthy and loud. You shook apart on top of him, fingers still moving weakly over your clit as the pleasure dragged on and on.

Eddie cursed low and filthy, fucking you through every spurt until your thighs were trembling too hard to stay upright.

He didn’t stop moving, but his rhythm turned slightly more erratic—hips stuttering as he chased his own edge. His hands gripped your waist hard enough to bruise.

“Where do you want it?” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Tell me. Mouth, tits, stomach—where?”

You lifted your head just enough to meet his eyes, still pulsing around him, still dripping.

“Inside me.”

Something raw and hungry flashed across his face.

“Fuck—okay. Anything you want.”

He pulled you down flush against him and buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep as he finally let go. A long, guttural groan tore out of his chest as he came—hot, thick pulses flooding your cunt in heavy spurts. You could feel every throb, every rope of it painting you deep inside. He kept you locked there, hips pressed tight, cock twitching as he emptied everything he had into you with broken, filthy praise spilling from his mouth.

“Take it—take every drop. Filling this perfect cunt up. Made for this. Made to take my cum.” His forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard. “Fucking perfect. You’re perfect.”

He stayed buried deep as the last aftershocks faded, still pulsing weakly inside you, holding you like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

You collapsed onto his chest like every bone in your body had given up at once.

Eddie stayed inside you for a few more long seconds, one hand stroking slowly up and down your back while the other cradled the back of your head. His heartbeat hammered under your ear. When he finally moved, he did it carefully—rolling you both onto your sides, then easing out of you with a soft, wet sound that made you flinch. You felt the immediate rush of his cum starting to leak out of you and made a small, incoherent noise against the pillow.

“I know,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and slipped out of bed. You heard the soft sounds of him moving around the dark room—drawer opening, water running in the bathroom—before he came back with a warm washcloth. The mattress dipped as he climbed back in.

Eddie was gentle about it. He wiped between your legs with slow, careful strokes, cleaning up the mess the two of you had made without any teasing. When he finished he tossed the cloth toward the hamper and stretched out beside you, pulling you in until your head was on his chest and one of his arms was locked securely around your waist.

You were barely able to form words. Your body felt heavy and loose and thoroughly used. Every muscle hummed with leftover sparks. You managed a soft, exhausted sound against his skin and that was about it.

Eddie let the quiet sit for a while, fingers tracing idle patterns along your spine. Then, eventually, the familiar edge of amusement crept back into his voice.

“…So.”

You made a questioning noise that didn’t quite become a word.

“I’m just saying,” he continued, clearly trying and failing to sound casual, “for someone who claimed she’d never come from a dude before, you just came two times on my cock and gushed all over my face like it was your job. I’m feeling pretty fucking proud of myself right now.”

You managed a weak, breathless little laugh against his chest.

“There she is,” he said, sounding deeply satisfied. “Thought I broke you for a second.” His hand slid up to cup the back of your head, thumb stroking behind your ear. “You good? Need water? A trophy? I’m open to suggestions.”

You pinched his side weakly. Your voice came out rough and quiet.

“Shut up.”

“Can’t. I’m having a moment. Do you understand the historical significance of what just happened in this bed? I should call Jess. Let her know the little problem has been thoroughly, scientifically solved.”

You groaned into his chest. “If you call Jess I will actually kill you.”

Eddie laughed—low and warm and completely unrepentant—and pulled you closer, tucking the blankets up around both of you.

“Fine. No phone calls. But I reserve the right to be unbearably smug about this for at least a week.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, voice dropping softer even as the teasing stayed. “You did so good for me. Seriously.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue.

You just let him hold you, the steady rise and fall of his chest under your cheek, while the last of the aftershocks faded and the witty, insufferable version of him settled back in like he’d never left.

Two days later the bar was dead again—same sticky counters, same half-hearted jukebox, same mid-afternoon quiet that made the whole place feel like it was holding its breath.

Eddie had been insufferable since the second he walked in.

He didn’t say anything outright. He didn’t have to. It was in the way he moved around you—closer than usual, hand lingering at the small of your back every time he slipped past, that permanent little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he was replaying the entire night on a loop. Every time you caught his eye across the bar he just raised an eyebrow, slow and filthy, and went back to polishing a glass like he hadn’t just rearranged your entire understanding of sex in his shitty little bungalow.

Jess lasted maybe forty minutes before she cracked.

She leaned across the bar while Eddie was restocking the back, voice low and delighted. “Okay. What the fuck happened.”

You kept wiping the same clean section of counter. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit. He’s been floating around like he invented the orgasm and you keep turning the color of a stop sign every time he looks at you. Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill.”

Eddie chose that exact moment to reappear, carrying a case of beer like it weighed nothing. He set it down, glanced between the two of you, and the smirk widened.

“Talking about me?” he asked, all faux innocence.

Jess pointed at him. “You. Explain why you’re walking around like— like that."

Eddie leaned his elbows on the bar right next to you, close enough that his arm brushed yours. He smelled like the same cologne from the other night. “No idea what you’re talking about. I’m just in a good mood. Weather’s nice. Tips were decent yesterday. Life is beautiful.”

You shot him a warning look. He ignored it completely.

Jess’s eyes narrowed, bouncing between the two of you. Then something clicked. Her mouth fell open.

“Oh my god.”

“Jess—” you started.

“You didn’t.”

Eddie examined his rings like they were suddenly fascinating. “Didn’t what?”

“You fixed the little problem,” she said, voice climbing with glee. “You actually fixed it. Look at her face. Look at your face. Holy shit.”

You dropped the rag and pointed at both of them. “We are not talking about this.”

Jess clasped her hands under her chin. “I need every detail. Immediately. Was it good? Was it life-changing? How many times did you—”

“I will quit,” you said flatly.

Eddie made a thoughtful sound, tilting his head. “Y’know, I’m happy to provide a full report if she’s too shy. In the interest of science. And friendship. And the betterment of women everywhere who’ve been suffering under subpar—”

You shoved his shoulder hard enough that he laughed and had to catch himself on the bar.

“Do not.”

He held up both hands, still grinning like the cat that got everything it ever wanted. “Offer stands. Jess, you just say the word and I’ll give you the entire play by play. ”

Jess looked like Christmas had come early. “I’m listening.”

You grabbed the rag again and turned away, face burning, but you couldn’t quite hide the smile pulling at your mouth.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said, loud enough for only you to catch the undertone, “I’m available for follow-up research whenever you want.”

The bar stayed dead for the rest of the shift.

Somehow that felt exactly right.