carol

He was lying face down, his cheek resting against your chest just beneath your collarbone. His arm draped heavily over your ribs and the rest of his body followed that same diagonal line as yours.

You shifted slightly, extending your legs and reaching both arms over your head, but you had no intention of moving further; you were far too cozy. Joel’s weight was a welcome pressure and his body heat radiated like a furnace. He was wearing nothing but his pajama pants, leaving nothing but bare skin against you, while you remained covered in his shirt.

After one last stretch, you lowered your left hand to his back, letting it rest there for a moment. You leaned into him, just a fraction, and finally allowed your fingers to climb toward the nape of his neck, disappearing into his hair. Joel didn't stir in the slightest; he was out like a light.

Without a second thought, you hugged him, letting your chin rest on the crown of his head. Even with your mind still foggy, you knew the feeling washing over you was overwhelming; he was in your arms, alive.

No. Don't think about that.

You pushed the thought aside and let your breathing sync with his, surrendering to a long while of drifting in and out of sleep as the sunlight through the window climbed higher and higher.

Sometime later.

At some point in the middle of your idyllic dream, Joel climbed out of bed. You noticed immediately because, obviously, his weight disappeared from on top of you and suddenly you felt far too exposed.

Half asleep, you heard him shuffle to the bathroom; the toilet flushing, water running from the sink, and then, a couple minutes later, he was back beside you. He slipped under the sheets and blankets and, with one rough tug, hauled you against him again. You stayed there for a while, tucked against his chest, but you could only hold out for so long.

You seriously, seriously had to pee.

You shifted a little, trying to pry yourself loose; Joel pulled you right back against him. A quiet laugh slipped out of you.

Again, you started wriggling away.

“What’re you doing? Where d’you think you’re goin’?” he mumbled. His voice was low and gravelly with sleep and his eyes still completely shut.

“Gotta use the bathroom,” you whispered through a laugh.

Without another word, he let go of your waist, and you pushed the blankets off yourself too.

Oh, it was cold. The air wasn’t nearly as warm as it had been a week ago, and the floor beneath your feet felt freezing. That, and the fact that you were barely dressed. Your legs were completely bare, every inch of your skin prickling from the temperature.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered as you shut the bathroom door behind you. Sleep was making the cold feel twice as bad.

You rushed through everything as fast as possible, washing your hands and splashing warm water on your face afterward.

Jesus, your hair was a disaster. You fixed it as best you could with your fingers while staring into Joel’s tiny mirror, and the second you were done, you hurried back out.

On your tiptoes, you rushed back to bed and practically launched yourself onto him.

“It’s so freaking cold,” you whispered as you crawled beneath the blankets again, pressing your chest against his, sprawled on top of him.

Joel wrapped both his arms and half the blanket around you. The warmth of his chest seeped into yours almost instantly.

A sudden rush of happiness climbed from your stomach to your chest and burst right beneath your collarbone; you slid your hands along the sides of his head and pressed your lips to his jaw. You scattered little kisses there, trailing them up his cheek, then just beside the corner of his mouth.

His lips pulled into a smile that you kissed too.

“Gettin’ warm?” he asked, tightening his arms around you as his hands slipped beneath your shirt. On the way there, he hooked a finger under the elastic of your underwear.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

You kissed him again, but this time it was slower and deeper. Gradually, your right hand cupped his jaw, your thumb pressing against his chin and tipping it down, coaxing his mouth open wider for you.

You slid your tongue slowly into his mouth, grazing his lower lip with a lingering stroke before deepening the kiss; the lower part of your belly tingled at the taste. The sound that left him was a low soft moan.

The shift in Joel was instantaneous. His breathing hitched and his grip tightened until there was no space left between you. One of his hands slid down from your waist and his palm squeezed your hip, then moved lower to cup your ass. And driven by pure instinct, you shifted too, parting your legs to hook them around his hips.

You pressed yourself firmly against the lower part of his stomach, seeking more friction, and the contact drew another ragged breath from his lungs. Every point where your bodies met felt like it was suddenly sparking to life. Every point, wich basically was… every part of your body.

Your tongue keep exploring the heat of his mouth, sweeping against his in a slow, languid dance. He met you with the same unhurried hunger, his tongue tangling with yours as he tasted you deeply, because there was no rush, no world outside the four walls of this room; no one waiting for you, no one needing you, no looming shadow of duty. In the quiet safety of this room, the only urgency that existed was the pull of your own skin.

The kiss remained sensual and low, a long drawn out luxury you were totally entitled to.

Then, you pulled back just enough to graze your teeth against the soft swell of his lower lip, nipping it once, softly. The small bite broke his composure.

Joel’s breath hitched, and he brought his other hand down, both palms now heavy and big and commanding as they anchored to your ass. He squeezed firmly, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp against his mouth. And with a possessive grunt, he hitched you higher, dragging your body down against his as he ground his hips upward. The movement was precise, so precise, pressing exactly where you needed it most.

As he pulled you flush against him, you felt it; the unmistakable, rock hard weight of his erection through the soft fabric of his pajamas, pressing big and hot right against your center. The friction was enough to turn your knees weak even as you clung to his shoulders and the mattress under him.

You began to shift against him, a slow and rhythmic glide up and down, grazing yourself against his hard cock through the thin cotton. But you didn't break the kiss; you were too desperate to drink in the sound of the ragged groans catching in his throat.

Your body felt like it was nearing a boiling point. Skin to skin and heart to heart, your pulse was thundering in your ears; frantic, heavy and delicious beat that matched the insistent aching throb between your legs.

Joel’s hands abandoned his grip on your hips then, reaching up to fist the hem of the oversized shirt. He began to bunch the fabric upward as you straightened, sitting up to give him access and raising your arms to help him pull it off. He tossed the shirt blindly to the side, leaving you bared to him, wearing nothing but your underwear.

Suddenly, the cool morning air hit your skin, sending a visible shiver through you as your nipples peaked and goosebumps blossomed across your chest. But the chill was short lived; Joel’s hands were immediately back on you, his warm palms searingly hot as they settled on your waist.

You remained seated over him, looking down as you resumed that torturous, slow movement.

From this vantage point, you felt a surge of pure unfiltered power. What a beautiful sight Joel was, a beautiful wreck beneath you; his salt and pepper hair disheveled against the pillow, his cheeks flushed a deep, rugged red, and his eyes... they were blown wide, dark and glittering like black diamonds in the night. And scattered across his cheeks, forehead, chin, and chest, the cuts and bruises remained vividly visible as a reminder of just how fragile he could be. But not right now, not under your hand.

It was a feeling nearly impossible to put into words. You had never known yourself to be capable of this kind of intensity, or this kind of hunger. With him, and only with him, you felt like a version of yourself you’d never met before. A reclamation of your own body. It wasn't just lust; it was a vivid, electric sense of being alive, a hunger for life that burned brighter than the morning sun creeping across the floor.

You kept moving your hips, and even through the layers of fabric, his cock felt massive; a hard and pulsing weight that throbbed in perfect sync with the wet heat between your legs.

You leaned in, pressing your palms against the broad expanse of his chest, being mindful to keep your fingers away from the dark bruises on his skin. He was burning up, his body like a furnace radiating a heat that seemed to melt you so easily.

As you angled your body over him, Joel let out a wrecked sound and one of his hands traveled upward, his calloused palm sliding over the curve of your ribcage until it found your breast. He traced the swell before settling his thumb over your peaking nipple, rolling it with agonizing pressure until your back arched.

A broken moan escaped you, but he didn't let it fade. His hand drifted higher, until his fingers wrapped around the column of your throat for a fleeting second, just enough to feel the vibration of your next gasp, before his thumb pressed into the center of your jaw, coaxing your mouth open.

He slid his thumb inside, past your teeth, and you took him in without hesitation. You swirled your tongue around the pad of his thumb, tasting the faint salt of his skin and the heat of his touch, all while your hips never stopped their desperate move against him.

Looking down at him through hooded eyes, you watched the way his expression fractured into desperate need as you sucked on him. And then, he slowly withdrew his thumb, replacing it with his index finger. You took it into your mouth without hesitation, swirling your tongue around it until he slid his middle finger too; you sucked on them greedily, letting the wet, slick sounds filling the space between your heavy breaths.

Just after a few moments of watching you, he pulled his glistening fingers from your lips. He didn't let the moisture go to waste; he dragged his damp fingers down the length of your throat, then over the swell of your breasts, the cool air hitting the wet trails he left behind. His hands eventually settled on your hips, digging in with a possessive strength that anchored you to him.

"You're so beautiful," he rasped. "Just perfect."

A deep blush crept up your neck as you smiled down at him, but the sweetness of the moment shifted into something more commanding as he began to nudge your hips upward, sliding you further up his body toward his chest.

"Grab the headboard," he ordered.

You obeyed instantly, eyes locked on his as you reached to grip the wood of the bedframe. Joel adjusted you, dragging your body exactly where he wanted you, before he shifted himself downward until you were positioned right above his face.

"Joel," you whispered, letting out a shy breathless nervous little laugh. "Whare are you doing?"

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he leaned in to press lingering, warm kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you down firmly, silently demanding that you sit heavier against him. Then, he reached for the edge of your underwear, hooking his fingers into the lace and sliding them to the side until you were completely bared to him.

Joel went still for a moment, his gaze intense as he took in the sight of you, wet and swollen just for him.

"Perfect," he murmured, his breath hitching as he stared. "Look at you... look how ready you are for me."

The sound of his voice sent a jolt straight to you. You could feel the warmth of his exhales puffing against your folds, making you ache.

You lowered one hand from the headboard and brushed the curls off his forehead.

“Just for you,” you whispered softly. “Only for you.”

Joel went still for a few seconds, his eyes locked on your face. Gently, he turned his head and pressed soft kisses to the inside of your thighs. Your hand sank a little deeper into his curls, feeling the anticipation build as his mouth moved closer and closer to where you needed him most.

And then, finally, Joel leaned forward and let his tongue touch you. It was a slow, agonizingly long stroke from the bottom to the very top. He started at a crawl, tasting you with a flat tongued pressure that made your hips buck instinctively. He followed the line of your body, swirling his tongue around your clit with a gentle teasing flick before burying his face against you to drink in the taste of you. Every lap was steady and unhurried, a masterpiece of patience that had you whimpering his name into the quiet morning air within seconds.

But he didn’t break the rhythm. If anything, your soft and broken whimpers only anchored him deeper between your thighs. His tongue continued its steady kiss, flattening against you to drag another slow soaking stroke from bottom to top.

You couldn't stay still. Your hips began to roll in a slow, desperate circle against his face, chasing the pressure of his mouth and trying to sink yourself fully onto him. And the moment you moved, Joel’s warm hands slid down from your hips, cupping the meat of your ass. His fingers dug into your flesh with a possessive soft grip, pinning you down and silently forcing you to take every bit of it.

It was dirty, the slick heavy sounds of his mouth eating you, but there was an overwhelming tenderness to the way he was doing it. His mouth was so hot, so incredibly wet; he swirled his tongue right over your swollen clit with a teasing flick that made your entire body shudder against his face.

"Joel—" your voice broke, a strained sound as your fingers white knuckled around the wooden headboard behind you.

He let out a low vibration of a growl against you and his thumbs pressed hard into your bottom, lifting your hips slightly just to angle you better for his tongue. He began to lap at you faster now, his patience clearly fracturing into something a little more desperate as he drank you in.

The heat inside you was coiling tight, pulling into a heavy ache right where his mouth was working. You were so close; the friction of his flat tongue and the hot puffs of his breath against your folds were pushing you straight over the edge. Instinctively, your spine snapped taut as you leaned back, your head falling back as your neck strained. One of your hands pressed against his stomach to steady yourself, your fingers splaying as the first waves of the climax began to tighten violently around your core, leaving you completely at the mercy of his mouth.

The moment you broke, you broke completely. You clamped down in violent, desperate pulses against his mouth, a sharp, choked cry tearing from your throat as you rode the peak. Your hand buried hard into his stomach, your fingers digging in as your hips bucked helplessly into his face, forcing him to take the thick, soaking heat of your climax. Joel didn't pull away; he held you there with that bruising grip on your ass, drinking you in, his tongue catching every heavy tremor until the ripples finally began to slow.

Your chest heaved, every breath a ragged, costly struggle that rattled in your throat. Slowly, the possessive tension in his hands softened. He let out a low, satisfied exhale against your wet skin, pressing one last, lingering kiss right over your swollen center to seal his work, before sliding his lips to your inner thigh. You shifted your hips back, letting out a weak whimper as the cool air hit the slick trail he left behind.

His large hands began a slow soothing path, stroking up and down the length of your trembling legs, before sliding over your hips to rest heavily at your waist. Joel tilted his head back against the mattress, wearing a breathless smirk on his lips as he looked up at you.

"You okay, honey?" he rasped, his voice rough and incredibly deep.

You managed a breathless smile, your hand leaving his stomach to wipe at your flushed cheek.

"Give me a second," you whispered, feeling your poor little heart hammering like a trapped bird against your ribs.

Joel let out a soft chuckle and you felt the sound against your thighs.

You bit your lip, tilting your head back for a moment as you tried to catch your breath, before carefully shifting your weight. You slid your knees backward, moving off his chest and unstraddling his face.

That’s when your eyes fell on his lap.

Even through the soft fabric of his pajama pants, his cock was tenting the material so fiercely it looked ridiculous. It was massive, a thick rigid ridge pointing straight up toward his torso.

A purring sound escaped you. Crawling back up his body, you leaned over him, pressing a slow kiss to his mouth, tasting yourself on his lips. Your hand drifted down the broad expanse of his chest, tracing a path down his flat stomach until your palm cupped the hard length of him right through the cloth.

"And are you okay, Mr. Miller?" you whispered against his wet lips, your fingers tightening around the thick shaft.

Joel's thighs parted instinctively at your touch and a low hiss escaped his teeth.

"Take everything off," you commanded.

Without wasting a single second, Joel pushed himself up onto his elbows. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pajamas and dragged them down his long legs, kicking them off the edge of the bed. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. He fell back against the pillows, completely bare, his chest rising and falling as you sat back on your heels and your gaze traced every inch of him.

Hooking your fingers into the lace of your underwear, you slid them down your thighs and tossed them carelessly to the floor before immediately moving over him again, knees framing his hips.

Looking down at him, you pooled a thick layer of saliva into your palm and shifted your hips slightly back to give yourself room, and wrapped your wet hand around the heavy head of his cock. You smeared the slick moisture over the crown before sliding your palm all the way down to the base.

Oh god.

He was stone hard, his shaft scorching hot and silky smooth under your wet grip. Along the side, a thick vein throbbed violently against your palm, pulsing with his heartbeat. You began to slowly stroke him, wearing a friction that coated his entire length in your spit, while you leaned slightly forward, teasingly rubbing him right against your soaking wet folds.

Joel’s eyes snapped shut and his head slammed back into the pillow; a deep groan ripped from the center of his chest, his jaw straining as your hand and your body drove him crazy.

Seeing him completely undone brought a wicked smile to your lips. You knew he was fighting with all his might not to grab you by the hips and sink into you right then and there. So while he stayed there, eyes closed and at your mercy, you guided his cock to your opening. You tilted your hips forward, aligning him perfectly, and began to sink down.

Slowly. Agonizingly slowly.

The sensation was so full of him, so intensely sweet, it made your vision blur. He stretched you completely wide, breaking you open millimeter by millimeter as you swallowed him inches at a time. Every internal muscle you had coiled up tight, wrapping around his thick pulsing width like a glove, gripping him impossibly close as you took him all the way in.

You froze, adjusting to the sheer size of him stretching you open from the inside, plugging you so completely that there wasn’t a single millimeter of empty space left between you. Joel let out a heavy, bottomless groan that seemed to echo from the pit of his stomach, his chest expanding as he took a ragged breath. And a long relieved sigh slipped past your lips; you leaned slightly forward, fixing your gaze on his face.

That was when his eyelids fluttered open and his dark eyes locked onto yours. Your expression instantly softened and your eyes filled with sugar and honey; unfiltered devotion as you took him in. His cheeks were flushed with heat, and his gaze was beautifully weighed down by the lingering remnants of the night; his eyelids were just a little heavy and swollen from sleep. His peppered hair was ruined, exploding in messy and wild peaks, little chaotic horns pointing in every direction where your fingers had gripped and tugged at the curls only minutes before.

And then, he smiled. His hands slid up from the mattress, tenderly stroking the curves of your hips and the smooth skin of your thighs. You smoothed your palms flat against his chest, caressing the warm skin as you began to lower your torso toward him, letting your hands slide up his chest until they wrapped around his shoulders. You leaned down and pressed your lips to his.

The moment your mouths met, Joel wrapped his arms around you, locking you against him with a squeeze at your waist. And then, he began to move.

He tilted his hips up, sliding out of you with agonizing slowness; he held himself there, teasing you for a suspended heartbeat, and then buried himself back inside you with one single, deep thrust.

You let out a muffled whimper straight into his mouth.

He pulled back again, dragging his cock nearly all the way out; paused for a agonizing second, and then rammed back in another sudden, deep thrust.

Another broken cry escaped you, but this time, the torturous pace was too much to bear.

Impatient and burning for a steady rhythm, you broke the kiss and pushed yourself up. Arching your spine, you planted your palms against Joel’s chest for leverage and took control.

You began to roll your hips in a slow tilt, rising up and sinking back down, feeling every ridge of him slide out and slide back in, filling you to the brim only to empty you again, over and over. But the slow torture was suffocating; the sheer hunger and raw need for more overtook you almost instantly.

Your pace quickened, your movements growing deeper, the friction escalating rapidly until the wet hard strike of your thighs crashing against his skin sounded loud and scandalous in the quiet room. Joel’s hands immediately clamped onto your ass, his fingers digging into the meat of your hips to help anchor your new found rhythm.

You looked down and completely melted into his gaze; his pupils had blown so wide his eyes looked entirely black, glittering with intense unvarnished lust, while a dark sudden flush crept rapidly up his neck and across his face.

Behind his head, the wooden headboard began to rattle, thudding against the wall with every frantic downstroke.

Overwhelmed by the sensation of him bottoming out inside you, you let your eyelids slide shut, throwing your head back into the morning air as you rode him.

Your hands stayed locked onto his chest, your fingers digging into his warm skin as you kept setting the pace, driving yourself down onto him with unyielding hunger. You were entirely in control, riding him with a desperate rhythm that had your head spinning from the delicious heat radiating from your core. Every single stroke was pure pleasure, a throbbing sensation that started deep between your thighs and rushed like wildfire all the way up your spine, leaving your skin tingling and your senses completely overwhelmed.

Joel was losing his mind beneath you too. His large hands clamped onto your hips, his thumbs digging into the bone to steady you, but he couldn't keep still. His hips began to roll upward, bucking his groin against yours with every stroke, using his own strength to shove his massive length as deep as it could go so you wouldn't have to work as hard for that agonizing depth.

"Ah... fuck," he whispered, a broken curse slipping past his lips. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscles in his face strained, his neck completely flushed as he looked up at you through those beautiful eyes.

You looked straight down at him from your height, your chest heaving, refusing to break eye contact even as a ragged whimper tore from your throat. Joel stared back, his teeth grinding together.

"Look at you," he rasped, his voice dropping into a whisper that was dripping with an overwhelming sweetness. "Taking every single inch... such a good girl. Ride it, baby, take whatever you want from me."

The adoring words sent a shiver through you, but before you could even gasp out his name, Joel’s right hand flew up from your hip.

Crack.

The sound of his palm striking the meat of your ass was loud and sharp in the quiet room.

A loud, shocked gasp ripped from your lungs, your hips freezing for a split second as the sudden, stinging heat of the slap bloomed across your skin. It didn't hurt; it was a delicious possessive claim that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight up your back, making your interior muscles squeeze around him in a tight desperate clench.

Joel’s eyes flared, a dark, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he felt you react. He immediately brought his hand down again, landing another stinging slap on the other cheek.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" he growled. He squeezed your hips tight, tilting you perfectly before his hips bucked upward once more, burying himself to the absolute root. "Keep going, don't stop, just…"

"Joel, oh my God—please."

You leaned down, your face just inches from his. The stinging heat on your ass and the thick stretch inside you made you completely shameless.

"Look at what you do to me," you whimpered, right against his lips as you ground your hips down. "You're fucking me so good, Joel, I’m so full of you."

The effect was instantaneous; a deep crimson rushed up his neck, staining his cheeks as a tight, guttural sound ripped from his chest. His hands clamped onto your hips with a bruising desperate strength, and driven by his reaction, you shifted your weight, changing the angle. Instead of just the steady up and down, you began to move your hips forward and backward, sliding your slick warmth right against his root. The friction was so intense, so devastatingly good, that your eyes rolled back under your hooded lids.

Your body was boiling, sweat slicked and heavy, and you could feel him hitting every sensitive, swollen internal muscle with a terrifying precision.

"Tell me how it feels," Joel rasped, his voice breaking as he bucked his hips upward to meet your grinding slide, shoving himself deeper. "Let me hear you, baby. Tell me how good you take it."

"It's too much," you cried out, your voice fracturing into a desperate sob as you quickened the pace. "It feels so good, Joel... you feel so good."

"Yeah? You gonna come for me?"

You nodded.

He squeezed your hip, releasing your skin for a fleeting second before another sharp slap landed against your ass. A devastating desolate moan tore from your throat.

"Use your words, c'mon," he rasped, weak. "Let me hear it from that pretty mouth."

The headboard began to crash with violent erratic thuds against the wall as your movements turned frantic. Joel’s thumbs pressed hard into your bottom, helping you rock against him, his teeth bared as his own breath rattled in his chest.

"Joel, I'm gonna come," you gasped out desperately, your eyes snapping shut as a single bead of sweat rolled down the valley of your breasts.

Your fingers balled into tight fists against his chest, your nails instinctively scratching deep into his warm skin as the tension coiled into an intolerable knot. A moan tore from the absolute depths of your throat as the climax finally broke over you; your entire body shuddered, your legs trembling so violently that your rhythm shattered completely, leaving you helplessly riding the explosive waves.

As your strength gave out, you fell forward onto his chest like dead weight, your chest heaving against his. But Joel didn't let you rest. His grip on your ass never loosened; he simply took the control you could no longer maintain.

Shoving his hips up with a raw, relentless hunger, he began to move your limp trembling body to his own liking; driving you up and down his thick cock while you buried your face into the crook of his neck, letting out helpless, broken whimpers and wet sobs against his heated skin.

He was moving you however he wanted, penetrating you hard and incredibly deep, his own breathing fracturing as his groans grew louder, sounding more and more desperate with every heavy thrust that bottomed out inside your soaking warmth.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned into your skin, as he felt your interior muscles pulsing around him in the aftershock. "You're squeezing me to death, baby... I'm right there."

Desperate for the taste of him, you forced your torso up just enough to find his mouth, capturing his lips in a messy kiss. Joel met you instantly, his hands sliding up your back, wrapping his heavy arms around you with crushing strength to lock you tight against his chest. He was fucking you like an animal now, his hips snapping upward in a fast, brutal way that had you gasping for air against his tongue.

You wanted it so badly—you wanted him to fill you completely to the brim, to release everything inside you and feel his thick cock pulsing against your interior walls as he came, wanting him to stay buried deep inside you long after it was over.

But the explosion caught Joel by surprise.

Just as he reached his peak, a rough almost pained groan ripped from his throat. He abruptly tore his mouth from yours, his eyes flying wide with a wild dark light, and before you could even realize what was happening, his hands flew down to your hips, his fingers dig in with an iron grip, and he lifted your body up and off him.

His thick cock snapped out of your tight cunt just as he broke.

"Fuck—!" Joel choked out.

Without the tight seal of your body, his release shot high and heavy thick white ropes splattering across the lower part of your thighs. He stayed frozen beneath you for a few seconds, his chest heaving violently, his hands still trembling where they held your hips.

Your eyes scanned his entire face; his closed eyelids, flushed cheeks, lips swollen from your kisses, and the thin sheen of sweat coating his skin.

You reached a hand to his cheek, holding him still just long enough to press a kiss against his jawline. Smiling softly as he blinked his eyes open and locked them onto yours, you spoke.

"You okay, honey?"

Joel huffed a laugh, his hand sliding up your back. His palm was sweaty, matching the curve of your spine and likely the rest of your bodies. It was a gorgeous disaster.

You rested your head in the notch of his neck.

The heat in your body lingered for about ten more minutes. While Joel got out of bed to grab something to clean you up, you lay face down in the open air, feeling the sun on your skin. It was warm and comfortable, lying there naked in the sunlight on top of his sheets, but the moment your body temperature began to drop back to normal, the chill returned.

Your body was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but at the same time, you felt sweaty and sticky. That was why, when Joel came back and climbed into bed with you, you resisted a little as he tried to pull you back under the covers.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Can I take a shower?"

He gave a lopsided smile, his eyelids heavy with sleep. He stretched his arms over his head and rested one hand against his forehead. "Sure. Right now?"

"I won't be long," you said, starting to get out of bed. You felt a sudden wave of shyness being completely exposed, so you yanked the top sheet off the bed and wrapped it around your body.

Joel laughed. "Hey, what're you doin'?"

Walking toward the bathroom, you looked back at him. "I'm naked!"

"Nothin' I haven't seen before, from every angle."

You pressed your palm against the door and started to push it open, but not before looking back at him one last time.

"Yeah, through the lens of lust!"

You rolled your eyes and stepped into the bathroom, feeling the cold floor beneath your bare feet. Unwrapping the sheet from your body, you carefully folded it in half and hung it on the hook behind the door. Then, you leaned half your body into the shower to turn on the water, adjusting it to the perfect temperature to take the chill out of your hands and feet.

Once you were fully inside with the hot water cascading over your head, you let your sore muscles relax. Your thighs and hips burned a little, and your abs felt pretty tender too. That was a hell of a workout you’d just had with Joel; you knew it was going to hurt a bit more in a few hours.

You washed up at your own pace, cleaning your neck, legs, thighs, back, arms, shoulders and everything. You ran your fingers through your hair and over your scalp, breathing in the scent of the shampoo you always smelled on him. You were just washing your face when the bathroom door opened.

You heard a few short steps approaching the shower, and a second later, the curtain was drawn back.

Joel’s face appeared through the steam. "Need a shower too."

You smiled. "Okay, come on in. I was just about to get out."

He slid the curtain open further and stepped carefully onto the wet floor. Moving forward, he walked right under the stream of water, trapping you against the wall. The cool metal handles pressed softly against the skin of your lower back.

Joel looked down and closed his eyes, water dripping from the wet strands of hair on his forehead straight onto your face. He shook his head, sending a spray of droplets over you.

Laughing, you lifted both hands and placed them over his brow. He smiled, and for a split second, you swore he looked completely different; a light transparent smile that brightened his entire face appeared on his lips. But a second later, your focus shifted to the bruises on his cheek, the cut on his forehead, and down toward his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. Joel had plenty of old scars there, but your eyes lingered on the fresh bruises, the scrapes along his ribs. It looked like it had to hurt.

Carefully, you reached out and grabbed the soap and the soft sponge next to it, working it between your hands until you had a good lather before you began to clean and massage his shoulders.

"You know," you started, running your palms over his collarbones, "if you wanted to shower with me, all you had to do was ask."

Joel closed his eyes. "Was fallin' asleep. But I got cold cause you stole my sheet."

"What about your comforter?"

"It's on the floor. But I was cold, and I heard the water, and I got tempted."

You moved your hands down his stomach.

"Mhm. Your skin is really soft."

Joel’s hands settled on your waist. "You think so?"

"Yeah. Which is funny," you said, gently touching just below his ribs, "because you wouldn't think so. Your hands are rough, but everywhere else is soft."

He opened his eyes. "They feel rough when I touch you?"

"Not really. They just feel… warm."

"Hmm."

Your hand settled over the bruise on his ribs. For a second, you remembered sinking your fingers into that exact spot just a few minutes ago.

"Does it hurt a lot? Did it hurt earlier?"

Joel shook his head. "Didn't feel it then. But it hurts now, that's for sure."

You crinkled your nose. "I'm sorry."

"No, ain't your fault. It's been hurtin' since before. Always hurts worse after the body relaxes."

"That's true," you said, sliding your hands back up to his shoulders. "You know what? I'm gonna go grab those oils I brought you. When you get out, I'll give you a massage."

Carefully, you nudged Joel aside a bit and squeezed past him. He turned toward you, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as he let the hot water wash down his back.

He sighed. "You're gonna turn me into a puddle."

Smiling and feeling a sudden wave of tenderness for how exhausted he looked, you stepped closer and wrapped your arms around him for just a moment, pressing a delicate fleeting kiss to his chest. His hand slid up to the nape of your neck, his thumb resting just under your jawline to tilt your face up. There, beneath the falling water, he gave you a brief kiss on the lips.

A minute later, you reluctantly stepped out of the hot shower. But it had to be done. You knew that if you stayed in there with Joel, you’d both end up leaving the bathroom at the same time, and by the time you finished getting dressed, he’d already be completely passed out on the mattress.

You found the t-shirt of his you’d slept in tossed to the side of the bed, along with your underwear, and changed while you listened to the shower still running. After drying your hair the best you could, you slipped back into the bathroom to run a comb through it. Joel was just stepping out of the shower as you headed downstairs.

The morning sun was pouring bright through the kitchen windows, and the early air carried that delicious fresh scent you loved. You took in the view through the glass for a quiet moment before grabbing the oils, then poured yourself a massive glass of water, drinking it down as if you’d spent days stranded in a desert. You poured a fresh glass for Joel and made your way back upstairs.

When you walked into the bedroom, he was already sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing his pajama pants. He’d gone ahead and changed the sheets for clean ones, and the comforter was no longer crumpled on the floor.

"Here," you said, holding the glass of water out to him.

He took it immediately, murmuring a soft "'Thank you" before draining the whole thing.

"You ready?"

He furrowed his brow. "For what?"

You smiled, climbing onto the mattress. "Lay down."

He eased himself down onto his back, and you settled in right beside him. Opening the small bottle of heartleaf arnica oil, you poured a tiny amount into the palm of your hand.

"Just a little bit of this, you'll see," you murmured, rubbing your palms together to warm it up. "You're gonna feel much better."

You gently began to work the oil into the bruised and battered parts of his chest and ribs, taking extra care around a few open scratches. You kept your touch light near those spots, massaging the skin around the scrapes to make sure you didn't press on anything that might sting. Joel let out a sharp breath just once, right as your hand passed near his breastbone. When you paused to ask if he was okay, he muttered:

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it."

You smoothed your flat palm over the spot, barely applying any pressure at all.

"Okay, roll over."

He complied right away, letting out a soft groan as he turned over. You repeated the whole routine, pouring a bit more oil into your palms and working your way across his entire back, focusing heavily on his lower lumbar area. You’d noticed that was the spot he reached for most often whenever he sat down or moved a certain way; a familiar ache you felt yourself from time to time. And as you worked out the tension, you knew you were doing something right; Joel was making soft relaxed sounds he probably didn't even realize he was letting slip.

Next, you focused on his shoulder blades and shoulders, applying a bit of steady pressure with your thumbs. That was right when you caught the first faint sound of him snoring. Your movements softened into a light soothing touch, until you finally decided he was out for the count and that you were getting pretty sleepy yourself.

You tucked the bottle of oil back into its small pouch and left it on the nightstand, where the little clock caught your eye: 8:23 AM.

So many more hours left to sleep. You had absolutely nothing to do all morning but rest, and Joel’s bed looked so incredibly comfortable and warm, like a field of clouds.

You snuggled in right beside him, pulling the covers up over both of your bodies. Stretching your arms up over your head, you let out a long yawn, and a minute later, you drifted peacefully back to sleep: utterly exhausted, perfectly comfortable, and completely relaxed.

Still morning, close to noon.

It was a place you didn't recognize. Cold, with tall dark canopied trees that blotted out the meager light in the pale grayish sky. Ruins surrounded you; broken walls eaten away by a pervasive dampness that claimed everything, with green moldy vines bleeding into the old cracks.

Your heart hammered violently as your legs moved with frantic speed, trying not to trip over the clutter covering the ground. Rubble, branches, old trinkets, and fragments of machinery that looked like computers or something similar; you couldn't fully tell. You didn't really know what to do, only that you had to run and run and run, because something terrible was happening.

You could feel that sensation in your chest, that painful hollow that nothing can fill once it's already too late. Your bare arms were freezing, just like your cold neck and cheeks. Your entire body felt numb, and no matter how hard you ran and ran, you couldn't seem to make headway fast enough.

No, just the opposite. Your body could barely move, and you wanted to scream with all your might. But you couldn't stop, because you could hear it the entire time: thuds, noises, voices laughing and suffering. Louder and louder and louder, your legs straining until every muscle synthetic ached, until your body plunged forward and your palms struck the splintered ground.

You scrambled up, getting back on your feet however you could, and plunged into the dark room where the sounds and noise were coming from. A hallway to the right; you ran more, and more, and more, and more into the pitch black, letting yourself be guided solely by the small rings of light filtering through the cracks in the ceiling, until at the very end of the hall, your aching bloody hands slammed open the door and—

"No!"

A gut-wrenching scream tore from your throat like dozens of thorns piercing you from the inside out.

Men —so many men, you couldn't tell how many, only that there were man— filled the room, their faces hidden behind black cloth, and right in the middle of them lay Joel, unconscious.

No, not unconscious. Dead. His face was covered in blood, his clothes soaked through with it, and a massive wound tore through the flesh of his neck. Beneath him, a pool of blood expanded outward, swallowing up more and more of the old wooden floor, quickly reaching all the way to your feet.

You fell backward, unable to stand, and the pooling blood reached your scraped palms, his blood mixing with yours inside your trembling fists.

"No, no, no, no… Joel …" your shaky voice repeated, trying to get a better look at him, trying to reach him, but your knees kept slipping, and so did your hands and elbows. You couldn't…

You couldn't.

"Hey, hey, wake up."

A hand nudged your shoulder, rolling you over at the exact moment your eyes flew open and locked onto the ceiling.

"Hey, you're okay. You're okay."

You snapped your head toward him. Joel was sitting up, leaning his body over yours, his hand resting gently against your cheek.

You were in his room.

"Joel."

"It's okay. Breathe."

A shaky breath hitched in your throat. Your cheeks were soaked, and your chest physically ached.

He lay back down beside you and pulled you close. You buried your face into the notch of his neck, clinging to his body like a frightened helpless creature while a few lingering tears continued to track silently down your cheeks.

His arms wrapped tightly around you, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"What happened?" he murmured, rubbing his hand up and down your back.

You closed your eyes, not wanting to talk about it.

Your hand drifted up his chest. "Nothing. Just a nightmare."

He squeezed you a little tighter against him. "You said my name. Scared me, thought it was somethin' else."

You opened your eyes and tilted your head back slightly, looking into his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't go apologizin'. It's okay."

You tucked your face back into the notch of his neck, feeling your heart still hammering away, erratic and loud against your ribs.

"What time is it?" you asked.

He shifted slightly to check the clock, then quickly settled right back into place.

"Ten to eleven."

"Mhm. We should get up."

"You hungry?"

You nodded. "Starving. You?"

"My stomach was growlin' a little bit ago."

You let out a soft laugh, noticing how the sunlight was no longer focused right on the bed, but had spread out to wash evenly over the entire room.

He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Five more minutes. How's that sound?"

You pursed your lips. "Sounds good to me."

Joel's kitchen. Noon & afternoon.

Concerned that you’d get cold wearing nothing but a t-shirt, Joel insisted you put on a pair of pajama pants from his closet. They were huge, but they had a drawstring at the waist that let you tie them tight enough to fit. Then, he handed you a fresh warm pair of cotton socks.

Today was noticeably colder than yesterday. You could feel a crisp breeze drifting through the open kitchen window while he made breakfast (or was it lunch?) and you sipped a hot cup of coffee, sketching out a list of prep work for school. Joel was frying up bacon and scrambling eggs, having just dropped some bread into the toaster less than a minute ago. The kitchen smelled incredible.

On the notepad resting on the kitchen island, you had a brief breakdown of the material for the first few weeks, along with your reading plan and curriculum for the kids.

Classic fables. The Jackson library and the homes of a few townspeople held a solid collection of all kinds of stories, mostly the foundational ones. You figured it was the perfect starting point for the first group, who were right around five to seven years old. They had been born entirely into a different world, and you believed literature could provide a safe haven for them; a good way to spark their imaginations and give them the words to express them.

The morals could be incredibly useful, too. Lessons on survival, cooperation, cleverness, and above all, fear. As a community, Jackson felt like a safe place, but these kids had fear woven right into their DNA. Many of them had witnessed terrible things before arriving here, and many others had never set foot outside the walls. Fear was deeply rooted in both perspectives.

"And what're you gonna do about the books? Ain't exactly a lot of copies lyin' around," Joel asked, looking over at you for a moment as he pulled the toast from the toaster.

"Well, some of them don't know how to read yet. I'll read aloud to them. It's great for building listening skills," you smiled, "and really fun too. And if the stories aren't too long, we can make handwritten copies. I already talked to a couple of people who volunteered to help transcribe."

"That's great," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah. What about you? Would you like to help?"

Joel looked up at the ceiling, his mouth dropping open slightly. "Uh… I—I mean, sure. My handwriting's awful, though."

"That's not true. You have nice handwriting, it's perfectly legible."

"You think so?"

"I do. Besides, the copies need to be written in block capital letters," you said, looking down at your notepad to jot something else down. "I was also thinking it would be a cute idea if every kid brought in an object, and we came up with a story for each one. What do you think? Think that'd be fun?"

"Somethin' like, if a kid brings in a teddy bear, you make up a story for it?"

You nodded.

"Yeah," he replied. "That'd be fun. Mostly 'cause I imagine they're gonna show up with all kinds of strange objects."

You laughed. "Yeah, just imagine the possibilities."

Joel began removing the bacon from the skillet, placing it on each plate alongside the eggs, before grabbing another dish for the toast.

"And what about the older kids?" he asked, setting one plate down in front of you and the other right beside it. You murmured a soft Thank you. "Fables for them, too?"

"Oh, no. I have much bigger plans for the older kids," you said, raising your eyebrows.

Joel gave a lopsided smile and went to grab the toast, placing it in the center of the island before turning toward the fridge. "Is that so? Like what?"

A spark of excitement flared in your chest. While you were looking forward to working with the little ones, you knew the pre-teens and teenagers in Jackson were going to make for a much more interesting group when it came to discussions and deeper perspectives.

"Well, we're gonna read books too, but I was thinking it'd be a great idea to introduce the concept of diaries and chronicles. There are three copies of The Diary of Anne Frank and a few about the Lewis and Clark Expedition. They also brought in The Giver and Frindle. I think it's a good way for kids to learn a little more about what the world used to be like. Have you ever read that one? Frindle?"

Joel smiled faintly, pulling a tub of butter from the fridge and shutting the door.

"Yeah. Sarah liked Frindle."

It took you a moment to find your voice after that.

"Oh."

He sat down next to you, letting out a quiet sigh as he settled in.

"Called pens Frindle for a whole year," he added, shifting his gaze over to you. "I think it's a good idea."

You smiled. "Thank you."

"What else?" He reached out and grabbed the butter knife, digging it into the tub to scoop out a generous amount.

"Maybe they could write their own chronicles? Or diaries, just as an exercise. And they wouldn't necessarily have to read them aloud or show anyone," you said, lifting your mug to take a sip of coffee. "But it might be a nice way for them to express themselves or blow off steam, as long as it's not hurting them, of course."

"Think they'll all want to do it?"

You smiled and shook your head. "I doubt it. I don't know."

Joel hummed, bringing his mug to his lips.

You popped a piece of bacon into your mouth, and it was so delicious your eyes nearly closed. You tried the eggs right after. Then, after a moment of savoring, swallowing, and giving yourself a little more time to think, you asked:

"You think they'll like me?"

Joel had his mouth full and raised his eyebrows at the question. While you waited for him to finish chewing, you took a bite of toast.

"They're gonna love ya," he said finally.

"And how are you so sure? Teenagers can be..." Your eyes drifted up the walls and across the ceiling before landing back on him. "They can be complicated. And these kids, these kids have been through things. Maybe I show up with diaries and chronicles, and they just think, 'Who does this nobody think she is and what the hell is she doing'?"

He huffed a laugh. "Don't go lettin' them walk all over you. Let them know you're the one in charge."

"Okay, and how do I do that without being bossy in the process?"

"You gotta be bossy, but that don't mean you can't still be nice to them. You can pull it off, I've seen it," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Saw you orderin' the guys around on some of the construction sites before. Even me."

You furrowed your brow. "I am not bossy."

"Yes," he said, looking right at you, "yes, you are."

You frowned. "I'm—"

"And when you're in a bad mood?" He brought his mug to his lips and rolled his eyes.

Your eyebrows shot up in pure disbelief, your lips twitched into a tight smile.

"Excuse me?" You tilted your head. "And you're the one telling me this, Mr. Uncle Grumpy?"

Joel smiled and shook his head.

"That's literally what Benji calls you, isn't it?"

"That don't change a thing," he grumbled, furrowing his brow. "You are what you are. Might as well make use of it."

"Oh," you nodded, "okaay. I will. But don't you go complaining later."

He poked his fork into the eggs and brought them to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Ain't complainin'," he said.

You ducked your head, hiding a smile.

Joel and you ate in comfortable silence for a while, occasionally making notes and chatting about your lesson plans.

The whole thing excited you for different reasons. The little ones had you looking forward to it because you just liked little kids in general; they were adorable and sweet, and their minds came up with a hundred interesting things. That was why you’d loved chatting with Sophie when she was that small; the conversations were always unpredictable and fun, and her imagination was endless. But of course, you’d always made a point to show her all kinds of books and stories, so she had a rich source of inspiration. You didn't know what some of the kids here would be like, or how much they’d interacted with the world, but you were eager to find out and, if possible, be useful to them.

The teenagers were a different story, since you hadn't had much contact with kids that age. But it was just as exciting, and you wouldn't hesitate to ask for help if you needed it. You had no intention of pushing past their personal boundaries and you kept a firm reminder in your mind to be careful with everything you wanted to teach them.

Overall, it was exciting.

After eating, you cleared the table and washed the dishes even though Joel insisted you shouldn't. And while you were doing that, he stepped out through the kitchen's back door, returning a few minutes later.

"Ellie's not out there," he said as he walked back in. "Don't know what she's up to these days."

The moody tone in his voice made you look up immediately. You were drying your hands with a dish towel as you turned around to face him.

"Have you asked her?"

He sighed. "She ain't exactly talkative lately."

"Well, I've seen her around with Dina," you said, resting both palms against the counter. "Just hanging out, nothing weird. They spend a lot of time together, maybe she's with her."

He nodded slowly, pursing his lips. "Keep an eye on her if you can, alright? She really likes you. Maybe... maybe she'd rather talk to you than me, about certain things, you know."

You nodded. "Of course, I will."

He ran a hand over the back of his neck and you watched him hesitate for a second before he moved toward the fridge and pulled it open. He took out a glass bottle about half filled with water and grabbed a clean glass from the drying rack.

You checked the clock on the wall, mounted right above the window next to the table. It was already a little past noon.

It was probably about time for you to head out, wasn't it? You didn't want to overstay your welcome, and you doubted Joel would ever be the type to tell you to leave. So, pushing yourself away from the counter, you walked to the other side of the room and stretched your arms behind your back.

"I think I should probably get going."

Joel turned toward you, the glass of water still at his lips. He swallowed and set it down carefully on the counter.

"Yeah? You got somewhere to be?"

You mentally scrolled through your imaginary schedule: no, you had absolutely nothing to do.

"Uh, not really."

He nodded and pursed his lips, shifting them to one side. "We could watch a movie if you want."

The offer caught you off guard, and it was briefly reflected in the few seconds it took you to answer.

"A movie?"

"Yeah," he said, stepping away from the counter and taking a few paces toward you. "Got a decent collection, if you wanna pick one out."

You smiled, lacing your fingers together behind your back. "I get to choose?"

"I'll give you some recommendations," he said, ducking his head slightly, "but yeah, you get to choose."

Joel's living room. A couple minutes later.

In Joel’s living room, tucked beneath the TV stand, were two players: one DVD and one VHS, both functioning and in perfect condition. Right below them were two small cabinet doors, and when you opened them, there was his collection.

His DVD collection was smaller than his stash of VHS tapes, but that didn't mean it was small by any means. Discs were harder to keep intact over time; most of the ones out there in the world were scratched or cracked, but Joel had stumbled upon a massive stash of DVDs in mint condition at an apartment complex near Jackson a while back. Good Will Hunting, Magnolia, Drop Dead Gorgeous, Seven, Wayne's World, Thelma & Louise, Fargo, Pretty Woman, The Green Mile… and more. There were so many options it was hard to choose. A lot of them you’d never even seen. Most of them, in fact. So, you asked him to give you a quick rundown of each one and which he thought was best for right now. He suggested The Truman Show and Pretty Woman.

"It's got romance and all that," he said, sitting on the couch as he held up the plastic case of his second suggestion, using the romance angle as his main selling point.

You inevitably remembered his harsh words about romantic comedies from many, many weeks ago.

"From the first damn second I saw you," he continued, "half-dead out there in the snow—I felt sorry for you. Everythin' I've done since then's been outta pity. That's all it was. I can't even look at you without thinkin' you're broken. And it makes me sick."

Your throat tightened, something forming behind your eyes. You blinked, hard, and swallowed down the heat rising in your chest.

"If that's what you think, then—"

"And that night? That was a mistake. A fuckin' embarrassment. I hate thinkin' about it. It won't happen again."

"Good. I hated it."

Joel looked at you, jaw clenched, eyes sharp.

"Yeah. Good for you. Cause this ain't one of those fuckin' pathetic romantic comedies you like so much. So give it up."

You took the movie from his hands and looked at the cover, running your thumb over Julia Roberts' face.

"We can watch something else if you want."

Joel’s eyes scanned your face. "No, it's fine. I think you're gonna like this one."

"You sure?" You gave a slow, lopsided smile. "Isn't it just another pathetic romantic comedy?"

His brow furrowed in a confused look, mixed with a faint smile. "What?"

A beat. You sighed.

"A while ago, after what happened at my place that first time, remember? You said this wasn't like one of those pathetic romantic comedies I like."

The expression on Joel’s face began to soften piece by piece, his furrowed brow relaxing as the memory clearly came back to him.

"Right," he said, ducking his head a little. He laced his fingers together for a moment, looking down at his hands for a second before looking back up at you. "I said that, huh?"

You nodded, pursing your lips slightly. "Yeah. You said a lot of things."

He looked at you in silence.

"Can I ask you a question?" you asked after a moment.

"I don't think romantic comedies are pathetic."

"Don't worry about it," you smiled.

"It was mean. I'm sorry. I know you and Sophie liked 'em."

Your eyes locked onto his in complete silence. He looked genuinely ashamed.

"It's okay. And I know we talked about this, but," you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, "did you really mean it? What you said that day? Be honest."

Joel leaned back a bit and looked toward the coffee table, where several DVDs were piled up.

Maybe, maybe he didn't even remember it.

"Did you feel sorry for me?" you prompted him. "You said that every time you looked at me, you just thought I was broken and—"

"No." He shook his head. "I don't feel sorry for you, and I didn't back then, either."

A tight pressure gripped your chest. He looked back up at you.

"I needed to push you away," he confessed.

A beat.

"I know that. But… why?"

His eyebrows twitched. His eyes dropped down to your lap for a brief moment before tracing back up to your face.

"Because I ain't like this. Snow, I," he shook his head, "I don't do this. Not in a long time, I… For me, this is, this is new. That night at your place, things got out of hand pretty quick. I lost control."

You sat up a little straighter, your mind parsing through everything that had happened between you over the last few months.

You knew he wanted to keep his distance; you knew he had a tendency to shut down. But you had never considered it was about physical intimacy. It hadn't even crossed your mind that that would be an issue for him. He certainly hadn't made it seem like one.

"There wasn't anyone else before?" you asked. "I mean, in these last few years."

He squeezed one hand with the other, his brow furrowing slightly.

Yeah. There had been. He didn't have to say it out loud; you could read it plain as day in his body language.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me."

Joel bit his lower lip, a rare hint of nerves, and watched you as you shifted further back into the couch until your spine met the cushions.

He hesitated for a moment, and you instantly resented yourself for throwing out such a blunt question without thinking it through.

"Tess," he said.

You froze. Tess. You turned the name over in your mind. Speaking felt risky right now.

"She was by my side for a long time, before I came to Jackson," he continued, keeping his eyes away from yours. "But it wasn't like this."

"How do you mean?"

He looked up at you. "Don't know. It was... We kept each other company for a lot of years, did a lot of things where we used to live. They weren't necessarily good things, but they were what was needed."

"Where did you live before?"

"Boston."

"Oh, right."

He rubbed his hands together, a nervous habit. "Yeah. Anyway."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you something like that."

Joel gave a gentle shake of his head. "It's alright. Don't worry about it."

You dropped your gaze to your hands. "Well, if it's worth anything, this is all pretty new and strange for me, too. I've never really done this with anyone before. Not like this."

"And what're you thinkin' so far?"

You smiled little by little, lifting your eyes to meet his. "It's been pretty nice."

Joel nodded, a soft smile spreading across his lips as he reached out and took the Pretty Woman DVD case from your lap. He held it up next to his face.

"We're watchin' this one."

Unable to help yourself, you grinned and slid over toward him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips against his. Joel seemed caught off guard for a fraction of a second, but his arms came around you immediately, pulling you flush against his chest.

You weren't going to tell him, but that tiny glimpse into his past meant everything to you. You knew he wasn't one for big words, and you knew how hard it was for him to open up about certain things, but he had done it in his own way, and that meant so much.

"Want somethin' hot to drink?" he murmured against your lips.

You hummed. "Yeah."

"Tea or coffee?"

You thought about it for a second. "Whatever you're having."

The sun poured warm and bright into Joel’s living room, even with the curtains drawn. At least with the fabric blocking the glare, the harsh rays weren't striking you directly.

It wasn't even two in the afternoon yet. Resting on the coffee table in the center of the room were your two empty coffee mugs and a plate scattered with crumbs from the blueberry pie you’d brought over yesterday, which you’d both finished off a little while ago.

With your stomach full and the quiet peace of the early afternoon settling in, your eyelids were growing heavier by the minute, even though you’d already slept for hours last night and earlier this morning. It didn't help that Joel was right there beside you; you were tucked into his side, wedged comfortably between the back of the couch and his outstretched body, your head resting on his chest while your eyes stayed glued to the TV screen.

You could tell he’d been drifting in and out of sleep because the second you asked a question or made a comment, he’d snap awake to answer before instantly passing out again.

"She is so gorgeous," you murmured at one point, watching Vivian appear on screen in that stunning red dress with the white gloves and her hair elegantly pinned up.

Joel’s eyes flew open. He stared blankly at the screen for a split second and muttered:

"Yeah."

A second later, his breathing went heavy again. He was already fast asleep.

By the time the movie neared its final act, you had formed a definitive opinion on it: you absolutely loved it. You deeply envied anyone who had gotten to live out their adulthood during that era. You would have loved to see a movie like this in a real theater, to let Vivian inspire you in a few ways; her hairstyles, maybe, or that radiant smile. Or maybe you'd have gone out to find your very own Richard Gere. Then again, right now you had a handsome older man of your own right beneath you. That had to count for something, didn't it?

Carefully, you slipped off the couch, trying not to disturb Joel, and walked over to the TV to take out the DVD. You tucked it back into its case and left it on the coffee table, where the other stacked discs caught your eye.

Inevitably, you ended up sliding another one into the player. The Bourne Identity. A man who can't remember who he is but possesses a lot of inexplicable skills. It caught your attention simply because it sounded interesting, and you remembered having a crush on Matt Damon back when you were little and your dad used to watch movies in the living room.

You took the disc out of its case, popped it into the player, and the moment the movie started, you hurried right back to your spot next to Joel, being careful not to press too hard against his chest or any of his sore spots.

As you rested your face against his chest, your eyes locked onto his neck, just inches from your face. He had that prominent mark running around his throat, purple and slightly greenish at the edges; the clear evidence of an act of violence you didn't even want to picture. It looked like exactly what it was: someone had bound him, choked him, or tried to do something worse.

Yesterday, the mark had been much more vivid, and while it still looked bad, it had softened just a fraction.

You let out a quiet sigh, your eyes continuing to trace his face and the marks left behind while Joel remained fast asleep. His breathing was steady, his chest rising and falling in total relaxation, while a hundred different thoughts and questions raced through your mind. Above all, you wondered: what on earth had happened to him in Ridgeway?

It wasn't like you were going to ask him, and it wasn't like he was going to tell you, but just thinking about it brought a dull ache to your chest.

Instinctively, you draped your arm across his chest, holding him gently as you closed your eyes.

The movie was barely ten minutes in when you drifted off to sleep.

A nap later

At some point in the afternoon, a few knocks at the door jolted you out of your comfortable nap.

Joel woke up instantly, and the sudden movement of his body jolted you awake too. You were still draped over him with your arm resting across his stomach, but you quickly pulled back as the knocking came a second time. The TV was still on, but the movie had already finished and the main menu had been looping for God knows how long.

Joel rubbed his face with one hand, giving your arm a gentle squeeze before he began to sit up.

"What time is it?" he asked, his eyes half-lidded and covered with sleep.

"I don't know."

He sat on the edge of the couch and looked back at you. His hair was a bit messy, his eyes glossy, and a faint smirk lingered on his lips as he stood up with a quiet groan.

"Be right back."

Lying back down, you watched him walk away and stretched your arms over your head. Then, you sat up on the cushions and grabbed the remote, muting the TV and leaning back to stretch your body one more time.

From where you sat, you heard Joel walk to the door and swing it open.

Were you even supposed to be here? Should you hide? Was he going to let whoever it was inside?

You didn't know. You weren't sure how careful you both needed to be with all of this; you’d never stayed over at his place for this long before. You’d already had that slightly awkward encounter with Ellie a while back, though of course, that was different. Joel trusted her, and you trusted her, too.

"Emily." Joel’s voice sounded flat and tinged with surprise as he said her name. You froze on the couch.

"Hey. Sorry, were you sleeping?"

"Uh—"

"I came by earlier this morning but I figured you were sleeping then, too. Just came to drop this off."

Footsteps, a few of them. Emily stepped inside the house. You pressed yourself harder against the back of the couch, though it was mostly pointless; it was positioned right in front of the archway separating the living room and the hallway.

"You didn't have to do that," Joel said. "Here, I'll take it."

Quick, get up and move to the other corner.

You shifted immediately and the hardwood gave a slight creak beneath your feet.

Emily laughed. "No, it's fine—Oh."

Her laugh stopped short.

You looked up toward the hallway, feeling a sudden wave of heat rush up your spine to the back of your neck and your cheeks, feeling completely exposed for a split second. She was looking at you.

And just like that, the cozy safe bubble you’d been sharing with Joel since last night had been abruptly shattered by the eyes of an outsider. Well, not an outsider. Emily. She stood there frozen, holding a glass baking dish with a white plastic lid. Inside, you assumed, was food. Obviously.

Standing entirely still, you became painfully aware that you probably looked like a creature caught red-handed; wearing Joel's t-shirt, Joel's pants, Joel's socks...

Not that she explicitly knew they belonged to him, but she could easily piece it together seeing how everything was completely oversized on you. And either way, everyone knew what pajamas looked like, or what someone looked like when they'd just rolled out of bed.

"Snow," she said, her smile turning tight. Her eyes scanned down and up your body, flicked over to the paused TV screen, and then landed right back on you.

Beside her, Joel stood just as still and caught red-handed as you were, wearing a white t-shirt and sweatpants with no underwear underneath.

But Emily didn't know that. You did.

"Hi," you said, smiling like an idiot. You crossed your arms over your chest to cover yourself up.

She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't seem to find any useful words.

Turning back to Joel, she held out the dish. "Anyway, this is for you. And Maria said you can take tomorrow off too, if you want."

Joel’s eyes were fixed on you. He took the dish from her. "No, it's fine. I'll be there."

"Alright," Emily said, nodding as she stepped past Joel toward the front door. "Well, see you tomorrow." She glanced back at you, lifting her hand in a brief wave. "Bye, Snow."

"Bye, Emily."

She gave a faint smile and, in less than three seconds, turned and walked out the door. She left Joel standing in the middle of the hallway clutching the baking dish, and you, standing in the middle of the living room with your arms tightly crossed and an expression you weren't even sure how to label.

You looked over at Joel as a nervous, slightly baffled smile began to tug at your lips.

He raised his eyebrows. "Didn't know she was comin' by."

"Yeah, no shit," you said, shaking your head. "She saw me like this."

Joel’s eyes drifted down your body before he shrugged a single shoulder, completely dismissing your worried tone.

"She ain't gonna say nothin'."

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and started walking toward the kitchen. Your mouth dropped open at the sight of him, and you followed right behind without a second thought.

"How do you know that?"

"Ain't none of her business."

You huffed a laugh. "And?"

"Eh, I don't think Emily's the type to go gossiping around."

Once inside the kitchen, he set the baking dish down on the counter.

You stopped right beside him. "Oh, because you know her so well."

Joel tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, as if to say of course I do.

You felt your cheeks flare up again. "And now she's bringing you food?"

Joel hummed.

You furrowed your brow. "Does she always just walk in like it's nothing? I could have been naked or something."

He snorted a laugh. "Naked, huh?"

"You know perfectly well that was a possibility."

"Yeah, well," he dipped his head, "good thing you weren't."

Without blinking, you stared him down and crossed your arms tightly over your chest.

"Yeah, lucky us," you said, pressing your lips together. "Next time, tell her it's rude to just barge into a house that isn't hers. Unless you don't mind it, of course."

"It's the first time she's ever come by here."

You raised your eyebrows in pure disbelief. "Worse then."

Joel laughed softly and leaned both palms against the counter. He shook his head gently, his eyes bright with amusement, and asked:

"You don't like her, then?"

You clenched your jaw slightly before forcing yourself to relax, letting out a sigh as your gaze drifted down toward the fridge and the magnets on it. Your eyes lingered on the photo of Joel.

Uh-uh. "No. No, I don't."

"No? Why not?"

You shrugged a shoulder and looked back at him. "I don't know. I know she isn't mean or anything, I just don't like the way she deals with people."

Joel furrowed his brow. "How's that?"

You searched your mind for the right words, but the only ones you could find were simple and honest.

"She can be a bit cold. Or dismissive," you said, raising your eyebrows. "Sometimes I've seen people go up to her to ask a question or request something, and I just don't like the way she treats them. She isn't mean," you lifted a hand, "but she's just a bit indifferent and detached."

He gave a slow nod.

"And I had that completely confirmed this past week," you continued. "Every single time I asked her if there was any news about Ridgeway, she wouldn't tell me anything, she wouldn't even look me in the eye. She just kept saying there was no news," you tilted your chin up a bit, "and then later I'd find out they'd gotten a radio call or something. Even Eliza didn't know about half of it because Emily just wouldn't tell her anything. And it's not like it was confidential information or anything like that. She needed to know, her husband was out in Ridgeway too."

Joel let out a slow breath through his nose. "Didn't know that."

"Yeah? Well, I'm not surprised. She seems plenty nice and attentive with you," you said, raising a single eyebrow. "Maybe she's just selective."

He narrowed his eyes slightly, and you bit the inside of your cheek when you caught the faint smirk on his lips.

"I just don't think it's right for someone in her position to look down on people or act like she can't be bothered," you continued. "Because I’ve been there too and I know people are constantly asking questions and looking for things they need. So, okay, it's her job," you crossed your arms again, "then she should do her job. I swear I cannot stand people who get the tiniest bit of authority and immediately turn their backs on everyone else. We're all in the same boat here in Jackson, anyway, even the ones making the calls."

Suddenly, he stopped blinking. He just stared at you, nodding slowly as he began to straighten up, leaning his hip against the counter. Mimicking your posture and never breaking eye contact, he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well, you're right," he said. "And I believe you, 'cause you're gettin' so fired up you're actually blushin'."

You clicked your tongue. "I am not fired up."

"Really?"

"Really," you said, opening your eyes wider. "Just… just tell her to do her job. I know you can do that because you used to do it to me all the time."

He frowned. "That ain't true."

"Joel," you smiled, "come on."

"I never—"

"Yeah."

"I never told you to do your job because you did your job," he said, pointing a finger at you. "What I did tell you was to stop botherin' me with everything else."

You snorted, knowing he had a point. "That is not true. You used to get annoyed even when I was just in silence."

He pressed his lips together. "You weren't exactly in silence, properly speakin'."

"Why? Because I was breathing?"

"And those little sighs you'd make every few pages while you were reading," Joel said, gesturing with his hand. "Always made me wonder what the hell was happening in that book to make you react like that."

"Oh Jesus," you rolled your eyes. "How many more times are you going to bring up the sighs? Get over it, man. You were annoying too."

Joel furrowed his brow, but a lopsided smile broke through. "Was I? Not anymore?"

"I'm not so sure about that."

"What was it you called me once?" He narrowed his eyes, trying to recall. "The most insensitive, proud, arrogant man you've ever met?"

Mmm. Something like that. If you remembered correctly, he was actually leaving out a few choice adjectives.

You're the most insensitive, thoughtless, proud, arrogant man I've ever met. And believe me, I've met a hell of a lot of assholes. It was something along those lines, if your memory wasn't failing you.

"Yeah, well," you shrugged, "you told me I was the most unbearable, incoherent, reckless, and delusional woman too. But who's counting, right?"

A low laugh broke from his chest.

What was so funny, huh?

Uncrossing your arms, you turned back toward him and said,

"Why don't you use some of that attitude on Emily, huh?" You tapped his arm. "Maybe that way she'll actually do her job right."

Without waiting for an answer, you spun on your heel and turned your back to him, your legs moving with determination toward the hallway as you planned to head back to the living room. But before you could even take five paces, Joel caught you by the elbow. He arrested your movement, pulling you gently backward and anchoring you flush against him with one large hand wrapped just above your belly button.

He brought his chest right against your back, his mouth dipping down close to your ear.

"Well, I got a better idea. Why don't I just tell Emily we need her help somewhere else and you put that pretty little ass of yours back at the desk across from mine?"

Your mouth dropped open, completely caught off guard by the words. "Joel."

"What?"

You clicked your tongue. "I can't, and you know it."

"I know. And I get the school thing, but Erin’s got plenty of help from Fabrizio and everyone else, and you could still keep doin' your work at the greenhouse either way."

"I do patrols now, too."

He hummed. "Only two days a week."

The way he was talking (like a little red devil perched right on your left shoulder) was pretty manipulative. But you knew exactly where his insistence was coming from.

You were having a good time, and you were getting along well too. You’d be lying if you said you didn't want to spend more time with him. But that was exactly where a clear sharp line needed to be drawn. Because what kind of relationship would you even have if you saw each other almost every single day, and during the nights, too? Didn't he think about that?

Since this whole arrangement had started, you really did enjoy being with him. To be fair, you’d always enjoyed his company, even back when you got along terribly, and you’d actually told him that. You didn't know why, just that you felt comfortable around him. But now, there was a much deeper layer to it, because you were genuinely getting along.

You’d told him just last night: how long could a good streak like this really last if you saw each other every single day, and how long would it take before you or he completely got sick of each other again?

"We already talked about this last night," you said.

"I know, and I get it, alright?"

"Do you?" You turned your head a bit to get a better look at him.

He pressed his lips together, puffing out the top one the way he always did.

"It's just a suggestion. Think about it."

You bit your lower lip slightly, your eyes scanning his face as Joel leaned forward; you could feel him hanging heavy against your lower back.

Averting your eyes from his face, you leaned back, pressing harder against him until you could feel his outline perfectly defined against your backside. You felt him let out a soft huff against your ear.

"Talk to Emily," you said, placing your hand over his on your stomach before brushing it away and stepping away from him.

Joel chuckled low behind you, letting out a rough sigh.

Without looking back, you made your way to the living room.

The clock above the fireplace read half past four in the afternoon, and the light filtering through the curtain and the window was still bright, though just a fraction paler than before.

You sank into the couch and folded your hands in your lap, wondering if this was the right time to leave. You weren't entirely sure. Joel wasn't giving anything away, but then again, you couldn't really rely on his cues. Maybe he wanted you to go, or needed some time to himself and didn't know how to say it. But then again, had he ever actually held anything back?

"What're you doin'?" he asked, appearing through the archway a second later and dropping down beside you. Shifting his hips forward slightly, he took your outstretched legs and rested them across his lap.

A soft laugh escaped you.

Jesus, he truly could act like a needy man.

"Nothing."

"Watch Bourne Identity?"

"Only a few minutes. I fell asleep right away."

He nodded, looking at the screen where the menu was still looping on mute.

"Want to watch somethin' else?" he asked, looking over at you.

You stretched your legs out further across his lap, and he gave your knee a squeeze.

"Do you?"

He pursed his lips. "Sure. Choose somethin'."

You smiled faintly and straightened up a bit, resting your hands between your knees.

He clearly noticed your hesitation; his eyes locked onto your face, waiting for you to speak.

You gave a slightly uncertain smile, feeling your heart flutter with a touch of nervousness.

"You know, I was wondering just a minute ago," you swallowed, dropping your gaze down his chest, "is it really okay for me to stay here this long?"

"What's that mean?"

You looked at him in silence for a second, wondering if he genuinely wasn't understanding the question.

"Well, I mean, is it okay? Or, you know, maybe it's too much?" You frowned, frustrated with how you were phrasing your thoughts.

He lowered his gaze to his hand on your knee.

"You wanna leave?"

"No," you rushed to say, and his eyes snapped back up to your face. "It's not that. I just thought that maybe, I don't know, maybe you wanted some time to yourself? Or something."

Joel let out a soft, lopsided smile, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

Gradually, he turned his head toward you, taking you in completely.

What could he tell you? He certainly couldn't tell you that he didn't want to be alone. Though that was a bit limiting; Joel didn't want you to stay just because he didn't want to be alone. He wanted you to stay because he wanted to be with you.

Was that wrong? Was it too much?

Every time he asked himself that (and it had been several times between yesterday and today), he answered himself in silence with the memory of the last seven days. Those five days of the journey to and within Ridgeway had nearly drained the life out of him completely. His body had been beaten and cut; his eyes had seen more violence in a span of days than during his last year in Jackson.

He really thought that was it. The first few times they pressed a gun to his temple, he was sure they would pull the trigger, and that time they wrapped a rope around his neck and pulled and pulled until he thought his bones would snap, he swore that was it.

But it wasn't, somehow. And he thought of Ellie, of the last hug she’d given him before he left the house; he thought of Tommy, of Benji perched on Maria’s lap. But he thought of you too, and how he’d only left a simple letter. Because he’d thought it wasn't necessary to wake you—what for? He figured he’d be right back. Two days at most. But the time dragged on, and so did the suffering.

Upon his return, his body began to ache. It was as if every muscle and nerve had stayed rigid and numb right up until he crossed the gates into Jackson. He didn't even know how he’d managed to make it all the way back without collapsing. But the moment he arrived, and after settling everything with the guys (even after Hale checked him over and patched him up) his body remained tense.

He didn't feel anything, just a strange ache that ran through him like a massive bruise, one so constant it had already gone unnoticed.

But when he saw you outside Hale’s place, he knew he must be broken. Because on your face, he found the pain he was feeling. You looked at him like he was a ghost; your glassy eyes pierced right through his chest, and he felt the urge to touch you. But before he could do much of anything, you left.

You left, and he didn't see you again until that afternoon, when you made him understand in a rather direct way that you wanted him to leave you alone.

And he wasn't gonna tell you, but he saw right through you. It didn't hurt that you pushed him away. Well, maybe a little; it was hard for him to admit he'd been excited to see you. But he knew your attitude under that weeping willow was a normal reaction. You were angry. And you’d probably been scared, too. So, in situations like these, he just had to give you space; that was a lesson he’d learned many, many decades ago.

The next day, when he ran into Zach at the dining hall and Zach told him you were heading over to his place, he wasn't surprised. He’d been waiting for it, though he felt a wave of relief knowing the wait had been short.

The night before, he hadn't been able to sleep much, but with you here, he’d slept so deeply his eyes were still a little puffy. You tangled yourself around him like ivy; arms, legs, fingers, every part of you intertwined with his, keeping him warm after so many cold and cruel nights.

And it might be selfish, this need to want you here. Surely you had other things you wanted to do, other people to see. Or maybe you didn't, but you had to leave anyway. Joel didn't care; selfishly, he wanted you all to himself, just for today.

So yeah, he wanted you to stay. Just a bit longer. Because he needed and wanted the tenderness of your presence. And the wasn't anything he could do against it.

"Don't need no time to myself," he assured you then. He swallowed. "Stay here tonight."

Your eyes widened just a fraction. Joel knew what he said had caught you by surprise.

"You sure?" you asked softly.

He nodded. "Yeah. And tomorrow mornin' we both go back to our own things, how's that sound?"

You smiled. "Sounds good to me. Though I don't have any clothes," you raised your eyebrows slightly. "I should go grab something to wear tomorrow."

"Alright."

You nodded. "Okay."

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure we'll find somethin' to keep us busy later."

That surprised a chuckle out of you.

You placed your hand over his on your knee. "You really are a dirty old man."

Joel rolled his eyes, feigning exasperation, and shook his head.

"I meant watchin' movies or cookin'. You're the one with the dirty mind."

You hummed, not buying it. "Yeah. Well, you're probably already tired anyway."

He clicked his tongue. "Don't be so sure about that. That nap was pretty revivin'."

Hours later

"See you in a bit." Stretching up on your toes, you gave Joel a quick peck on the lips.

A second later, he opened the front door and you stepped across the threshold, wearing the dress you’d arrived in, your boots, and one of his jackets. Today was much cooler than yesterday, and if you walked back to your place with nothing but what you'd brought, you were going to freeze.

Joel watched you walk away for a moment, closing the door only when you disappeared from his line of sight. Immediately, the house felt quiet again.

For a while, he distracted himself by tidying up and cleaning. He went up to his bedroom and made the bed, straightening things here and there, and left the pajamas he’d lent you neatly folded on the mattress. He dusted the dresser in front of the window, arranging the picture frames on top, and swept every corner of the room as best he could.

Downstairs, he wiped down the already clean kitchen counter. He cleaned the cabinets, then the windowpanes and the backyard door, and just as he was drying the glass, he noticed Ellie arriving at the garage.

She opened the door and slipped inside right away, and Joel didn't hesitate for a single second to seize the opportunity.

He stepped out into the yard, feeling the cool air raise the hairs on his arms, and hesitated for a second before knocking on the garage door.

From the other side, he heard a few muffled noises, and a moment later, the door swung open.

"Hey. What's up?" she said. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was a bit a mess.

"Out early today," Joel said, stepping inside. The girl moved aside to let him pass. "Where'd you go?"

"Had plans with Jesse."

"Ah, Jesse," he rested his lower back against the desk and crossed his arms, smiling. "What kind of plans?"

Ellie frowned and shook her head. "Don't start. It's not like that. What're you doin' here anyway? Don't you got company?" She raised her eyebrows.

In a split second, the smile vanished from Joel's face, and he went completely still.

Ellie tilted her head and waited a beat. "Look, I know Snow's here. I saw you guys earlier."

Joel frowned but didn't say a word.

"I was hungry," she tossed her head back, "so I went into the kitchen to grab some food and heard the TV. You were wiped out."

He stepped away from the desk. "Ellie, look—"

"Please, just don't say anything," she said, holding up both hands and shaking her head. A faint smirk tugged at her lips. "I already knew. I mean, I knew there was something, I just didn't think it was so... you know—"

"We're just friends."

"Yeah, right," she rolled her eyes. "Great friends."

Joel hesitated as he tried to speak again, suddenly feeling really nervous. He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a sigh.

"Snow and I... we're gettin' along, and—"

"Joel, chill, you're not my dad," she cut him off, waving a hand. "You don't gotta give me some speech like you're tryin' to convince me to like my new mommy or whatever—"

"Ellie."

She stopped talking, and her eyes softened, but Joel still had his brow furrowed, his thoughts tangled up in his head.

"I like Snow," she said. "And I like that you guys are... friends."

Joel pursed his lips and watched her for a brief moment; the look on her face and the softness in Ellie's eyes held no lie or forced reassurance.

He knew she liked you. He knew the two of you had formed a bond while he was away. And suddenly, he wondered if his relationship with you would affect yours with her. Lately, Ellie hadn't been very expressive with him, but he’d seen how she was around you. He hoped that wouldn't change.

"I'm fixin' to make a good dinner tonight. Snow's stayin' over too," he rested a hand on his hip. "How's about you come on over and join us?"

Ellie smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Sounds great. But… maybe another time? I'm pretty wiped, and I still gotta go see Dina."

"Yeah? What for?"

"She found a few parts we were missin' to finish some traps," she leaned back, dropping onto the couch. "We're headin' out early tomorrow to test them."

Joel nodded. "Rabbits?"

"Hopefully."

"Right. Well, I'll leave a plate out for you anyway, alright? We'll have dinner around eight, just in case you change your mind," he nodded. "I know Snow'd like to see you."

Ellie nodded. "Okay. Did you give her the portrait?"

Joel nodded. "And how're you comin' along with the herbs and all that?"

"Almost done with a few of them," she smiled. "I'm headin' to the greenhouse tomorrow to show Snow what I got."

"You could show her now, you know. She'll be back in a bit."

"Nah, I'm good. Don't wanna interrupt whatever's about to go down in there," she said, holding up a hand.

Joel clicked his tongue.

"What?" She raised her eyebrows. "I didn't know you were the type to cuddle up on the couch like that. Ugh," she shuddered, faking a chill.

Joel let out a chuckle, Ellie echoed it.

"Alright. Take care of yourself then," he lifted his chin. "And tomorrow, let's get some dinner, just you and me. How's that sound? Whatever you want."

She pursed her lips. "Can you make that meatloaf you do?"

"Course. An extra large one."

"Alright," she nodded.

Joel smiled and took a few steps toward her. Reaching out, he gave the crown of Ellie’s head a quick affectionate rub. She ducked her head, immediately clicking her tongue.

"Watch yourself out there, alright? And don't be gettin' back late," Joel said, moving toward the open door. "Don't go doin' anything reckless."

Ellie snorted. "You neither, Casanova."

Joel hid a chuckle as he turned around to head back inside the house.

Your house. Ten minutes later.

You got home around half past five in the afternoon. Stepping inside, you caught the scent of the flowers on your coffee table and the entryway stand, mixed with the soap you used for your laundry.

You didn't linger. You went straight to your bedroom, tossed your dress onto the small couch in the corner and kicked your boots to the side, wrapping your arms around your bare body.

The closet doors stood open, and your naked reflection stared back at you as you stepped closer to find something to wear.

Your cheeks were flushed from the walk, and your hair was a bit a mess. But there was a particular shine in your eyes that made you pause and just look at yourself for a moment. It was as if your skin were glowing, as if the expression on your face had suddenly softened.

On your neck, there were two small marks, faint and nearly invisible, that Joel had left either last night or this morning, you weren't entirely sure. But your fingers brushed up to touch them, and it was as if you could feel his mouth there all over again.

You smiled like a fool, your eyes drifting down your body; they passed over the scar on your jawline, the scars on your collarbone, just beneath your ribs, and further down on your right thigh, where several small but distinct marks barely revealed themselves.

You tilted your head, observing yourself and suddenly seeing a difference. As you did, a lock of hair fell across your face.

You caught it between your fingers and breathed it in, then gathered a handful more. Burying your nose in the strands, you closed your eyes.

You smelled like him. From the strands of hair between your fingers to your very skin; his soap, his shampoo—him. The same clean scent of his fresh sheets, the exact same scent that was woven into his skin. You carried it now, and the feeling brought a flutter to your stomach that made every hair on your body stand up.

Well, that, and the fact that you were naked and your house was freezing.

Jesus, stop being so corny, what's the point?

The more time you spent staring at yourself in the mirror, the longer it would take to get back to Joel. So you finally turned away, moved along, and headed into the bathroom.

You took a quick shower without getting your hair wet, since you'd washed it just that morning, and went through your usual routine. With your skin soft and clean and your body much warmer than before, you stepped out of the shower wrapped in a towel. Your feet weren't cold anymore, and neither were your fingers.

Back in the bedroom, you misted yourself with rosewater and put on a little bit of everything you owned, smelling like a dessert all over again and feeling like one, too. You ran your fingers through your hair, brushed it out a little, and reached for the small wooden box inside your nightstand. From it, you took your necklace and fastened it around your neck.

Opting for comfort and practicality, you pulled on a pair of straight-leg jeans that hugged you perfectly up top, thanks to some alterations Isa had done, along with a cropped white tee and a slightly loose black sweater. You were right on the verge of putting on sneakers, but you chose your boots again. There wasn't much use fighting against something both cozy and cute.

Okay, what did you need to bring for tonight?

You grabbed a tote bag and tossed in clean underwear, your hairbrush, and a few other small things. Carefully, you folded the jacket Joel had lent you earlier and slid it inside as well.

You didn't waste any more time. You bundled up in his other jacket (which, technically, was already yours) and went into the kitchen to grab the blueberry pie you’d left in the fridge yesterday. You’d only tried a tiny slice to make sure it tasted right. You packed it into a plastic container and carefully settled it into your bag, strategically arranging everything underneath and around it so it wouldn't shift in any way.

Giving yourself one last look in the mirror and knowing that at Joel’s place, nothing but a tiny little hand mirror awaited you, you stepped out of your house just as the sun in the sky began to turn that sea of blue into a field of orange and pink.

Joel's house. Late afternoon.

The second Joel opened the front door, a delicious aroma hit your nose.

"Mmm," you breathed in, stepping into the entryway. "What am I smelling?"

Joel took the bag from your hand and closed the door behind you. With a smile, he lifted his chin and nodded toward the kitchen.

He’d changed his clothes and wasn't in his sleepwear anymore, but in jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt.

He look so good.

"Go on and look," he said.

Smiling, you walked over as the scent grew even richer. Your eyes instantly locked onto the pot on the stove. You stepped closer while he carefully took the container with the blueberry pie out of the bag and set it on the counter.

Inside the pot, vegetables were simmering away, releasing a thick sweet steam, covered and surrounded by a dark glossy sauce.

"Is there wine in this?"

He nodded, and your mouth watered instantly.

"Started a good while ago," he came up beside you. "Seared the venison, took it out, cooked down the veggies with the wine, and threw the meat back in. It's been stewin' for a while now. You real hungry?"

Smiling, you looked at him out of the corner of your eye. "I didn't know you knew your way around a kitchen like this."

"I don't know that much," he shook his head. "Just a few things I'm fixin' to stick with forever."

You laughed. "Is this one of your specialties?"

"Yeah. This, and the meatloaf I'm makin' for Ellie tomorrow."

"Oh, did you see her? Is she here?"

"No, she left a while ago. But we talked for a bit," he nodded. "Said she was headin' to the greenhouse tomorrow to see you. Wants to show you what she’s done with the herbs."

You were genuinely excited to see what Ellie had been working on. You thought it was incredibly sweet of her to want to help you out with all of this, and you were sure you’d find a way to thank her properly. Favors are favors, and they ought to be repaid right.

"I can't wait to see what she's done."

Joel smiled. "You're gonna like it."

It was only fair that you set the table. While Joel cooked, you arranged the plates, silverware, and everything else, though you still felt like you had too much time on your hands. But you distracted yourself by picking something to listen to; Joel had a box full of cassettes and handed over the authority for you to choose the music. You picked a Fleetwood Mac compilation and spent the rest of the time keeping yourself occupied with the glass of wine he had left on the table for you.

You had rarely ever had wine. Looked like almost never before arriving in Jackson. But here, they had a decent amount of alcohol, both produced by the community and brought in from the outside. Cider was pretty common, as was whiskey, but wine was a much trickier thing to come by for some reason. Joel, being who he was and knowing the people he knew, had a few bottles tucked away in a small cabinet in his kitchen.

He wouldn't let you help with the cooking, insisting he had it under control. That left you with only one job: sitting at the kitchen island with a glass of wine, just watching him. It wasn't like he had a whole lot to do after a while anyway, since the meat pretty much cooked itself, only needing a quick check every now and then. During that stretch of time, he pulled up a stool next to you with his own glass of wine, and the two of you talked about everything and nothing, mostly just casual drift.

"Pet Sematary," he said, bringing the glass to his lips.

"Never read that one."

He raised his eyebrows. "You ain't ever read Pet Sematary?"

You shook your head. "No. I only read Carrie, and honestly it didn't really make me feel any better."

"You gotta read Pet Sematary. Reckon it’s one of the few books I actually finished cover to cover when I was a kid."

"Weren't you big on reading?"

"Preferred doin' other things," he said, tilting his head. "But I got that book for Christmas one year, and then I caught the flu and spent a week in bed. Read the whole damn thing. Let me tell you, havin' a fever dream after readin' somethin' like that wasn't nice."

You laughed. "Is it really that terrifying?"

"Well, I was eleven. Doubt it’d scare me none now."

"I remember my parents watching the movie once, but I didn't pay much attention. I wasn't really into horror. Either that, or it scared me and I just didn't want to look." You suddenly sat up straighter. "You know what book I know you’d love?"

He frowned just a fraction.

"Lonesome Dove, by Larry McMurtry," you said. "You ever read it?"

"Not that I recall."

"It's about two old Texas Rangers who decide to drive a huge herd of cattle all the way from the Mexican border up to Montana. But they run into just about everything along the trail. It’s a Western, so you can picture it. Storms, bandits, different towns. I loved it when I read it, it's incredibly entertaining and," you raised a finger, "deep. It’s not just about the adventure, you know? It’s about the fact that the whole world around them is changing. It's the end of the Old West."

He nodded. "Modernity."

"Exactly. And they’re old men from a generation that spent their entire lives chasing outlaws and living in places where the government had no control. But everything’s becoming obsolete, you know? Their whole way of life."

"Yeah," he smiled, "it happens."

"I've got it on my bookshelf if you'd like to read it," you raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I'd like that. I gotta give you my notes or somethin' afterward?"

You laughed. "Only if you want to."

Dinner turned out to be an absolute triumph. You sat with him at the table by the window, savoring every single bite. The venison was incredible; the meat was so tender it practically melted in your mouth, to the point where you didn't even need a knife; you could cut it with just your fork. The vegetables were delicious and just as tender, their rich flavors almost making you want to roll your eyes in pure bliss.

Joel, of course, got a little cocky about it. There was a smug smirk playing on his face that he was clearly trying to hide. Still, you secretly suspected the man hadn't even realized it was going to turn out this damn good.

Between the waiting in the kitchen and the dinner itself, the two of you finished the first bottle of wine without even noticing. Midway through the meal, Joel cracked open the second one, which turned out to be just as delicious. You were really starting to get a taste for it; the flavor paired so well with the food that you couldn't bring yourself to turn down another glass, and then another, and maybe another.

And you weren't sure if it was the alcohol or something else, but you’d gotten so hot you shed your sweater before your third glass.

By the time you finished your second helping, you knew the alcohol was starting to do its thing. You felt it first in your feet, in that pleasant buzzing warmth around your skin, and then in the floating lightweight feeling warming up your chest. But most of all, you knew it because your eyes started losing their modesty.

You caught yourself tracking the movement of his lips every time he spoke or took a sip from his glass, your gaze lingering without a shred of hurry. You got completely pulled in, watching his profile under the soft light; the sharp line of his jaw, the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled. Your eyes drifted down to his hands, tracing the veins standing out against his rolled up sleeves, and you couldn't stop a clumsy wine addled thought from taking over your mind: oh wow… his fingers are really, really thick.

But there wasn’t a thing you could do about it; the wine had already hijacked your filters, and your eyes stayed exactly where they wanted to be. You knew you were being obvious, taking way too many seconds to meet his gaze whenever he spoke, like a woman suddenly turned shy.

And Joel, of course, wasn’t any fool. He noticed.

You caught the shift almost instantly. He stopped talking so animatedly, and his rhythm eased into a lazy drawn out cadence as his voice dropped a register, turning deeper and huskier.

His posture in the chair relaxed, leaning just a little closer to your side of the table, cutting down the distance between you. His eyes, which had been fixed on yours, began making their own unhurried sweep across your face. They lingered on your wine flushed cheeks, dipped for a split second to your mouth when you bit your lip, and drifted back up. He held your gaze for a long stretch of time, sending a tingle straight down the back of your neck.

When he picked up his glass, his fingers traced the curve of the crystal. A tiny, barely there tug pulled at the corner of his mouth; he knew exactly where your attention was anchored.

Oh, Jesus... you wanted to tear him apart.

But not here.

Dinner having ended quite a while ago, you got up from your chair and gathered your plate and his. Joel was up right after you; he cleared the glasses and the rest of the table, tucking the used napkins between his fingers while balancing the wine glasses and the empty bottle in his other hand.

Weaving your way into the kitchen, you placed the dishes into the sink with extra care, trying to let the clatter of the stoneware drown out just how hard your heart was thumping, and turned on the faucet. The rush of running water filled the room for barely a second before you felt his heat right behind you.

Joel stepped up right against your back. You felt the solid pressure of his chest nearly brushing your shoulder blades a moment before his arm shot past your side, planting his palm firmly against the edge of the counter, trapping you completely against it. His other free hand reached up without a hint of rush, gripping the handle and shutting off the faucet, cutting the water dead.

"Later," he said.

You felt his breath hit your neck, and your head tilted back on instinct. Understanding the invitation, Joel pressed his entire weight against your back. The solid unyielding feel of him felt so damn good you squeezed your eyes shut and smiled shamelessly.

His hand shifted from the edge of the counter, sliding down to your lower stomach. He flattened his palm there, pressing gently into the soft heat of your belly, before his hand began a steady inching crawl upward. At the same time, his lips found your exposed throat; he kissed you right there while his hand kept drifting up, caressing your chest. And as his palm brushed over your chest, his thumb grazed your nipple through the fabric of your shirt, catching a quiet sigh in your throat.

Your eyelids felt too heavy to keep open. Joel’s mouth kept tasting your neck with short nipping kisses and soft suctions, his hand traveling higher until his long fingers and broad palm wrapped around your throat, squeezing firmly from the sides.

A muffled groan tried to break free, but his grip trapped the sound against your skin, making the vibration rattle right in your vocal cords.

With a tug, Joel pulled your head back, forcing your spine to arch as he locked his hips tight against yours.

His other hand traced down your side, mapping the curve of your waist and hip, squeezing your flesh with a hunger that was driving you out of your mind. The wine and the friction of your bodies sparked a desperate ache between your thighs, and you didn't know how much longer you could go without tearing his pants off.

Sensing your restlessness, Joel nudged one of his legs between yours. With a firm shift of his thigh, he forced your legs apart and hitched his knee right into your center. You let your weight drop, desperate for the pressure, grinding down against him, but the thick denim of your jeans blocked the full sensation and the partial friction only fueled your frustration.

Joel caught onto your desperation and surged even harder against you, and you could feel him fully hard, a rigid ridge pressing into your backside through the layers of clothes. Unable to hold back, you reached a hand blindly behind you until you found the front of his pants, and wrapped your fingers around his crotch, squeezing firmly through the fabric.

The sudden boldness caught him off guard; Joel let out a low groan right against the skin of your neck as his grip on your throat tightened just a little more.

With a sudden jerk, he hauled you away from the counter. His hands dropped to your hips instantly, digging firmly into your flesh as he started steering you out of the kitchen.

A breathless nervous laugh slipped from your lips, cutting through the silence of the house as the two of you moved toward the hallway. And before you could even plant a foot on the bottom step of the stairs, you slapped his hands away, spun around, and bolted up the flight.

Halfway up, curiosity got the better of you, forcing you to glance back over your shoulder. Joel was already tracking you; his posture was stiffer, his eyes so dark and locked on yours. You let out a soft amused gasp and scrambled up the rest of the way.

As you cleared the final steps, your fingers hooked the hem of your shirt, yanking it cleanly over your head and dropping it behind you like a breadcrumb on the trail. Right before hitting the doorway of his bedroom, your hands flew to your back, unhooking your bra and letting it fall, too.

Joel trailed you without missing a beat. You heard him pause for a split second below to scoop your shirt off the floor, and then he kept coming, completely unhurried, stopping to grab the bra next. He was giving you a head start. He was granting you the exact window you needed to slip into the bedroom, kick off your boots, and shed your pants.

Hearing his heavy tread approach the threshold, you padded silently on bare feet into the bathroom. From inside, you caught the low huff that rumbled from his chest when he stepped into the room and found the bed empty.

The cool night air drifting through the bathroom window instantly prickled your skin, making your nipples harden and the hair on your arms stand up, but you didn't give a damn about the chill. You planted both hands flat and firm against the edge of the marble sink, arching your spine completely and tilting your ass toward the doorway; right at the perfect angle for where he was bound to appear in less than a heartbeat.

And yeah, just a heartbeat later, Joel filled the bathroom doorway. He stopped dead in his tracks, going completely still, frozen under the frame.

A thrill shot through you just from watching his reaction. Joel held your clothes in one hand, his eyes locked onto your bare skin, tracking the curve of your hips and your exposed ass. His jaw was clenched so hard the muscle bunched, and that sudden paralysis of sheer awe and desire on his face let you know you had him exactly where you wanted him.

Joel tossed your clothes onto the bathroom counter without a shred of care, while you stayed completely still, watching him. He tightened his jaw and brought his hands down to his waist.

Slowly, he unbuckled the metal latch of his belt; the leather creaked and the metal clinked in this quiet bathroom as he whipped it through the loops in one clean yank. Your pussy throbbed just looking at him; so mean, so serious, so intensely focused as he popped the button of his jeans and dragged the metal zipper down with a harsh rasp, never taking his eyes off you for a single second.

As he began to close the final few inches between you, an intense flutter turned your stomach over. Joel settled right behind you, planting one of his big heavy hands flat against your hip, digging into your skin to anchor you in place, while his other hand went straight for your center, hooking the fabric of your panties to the side.

Your breathing was already ragged and heavy, and your throat felt so dry you could barely swallow. Trying to hold onto that thread of control from the game, you tried to look back at him.

"You should get yourself a mirror," you murmured.

Joel huffed a laugh.

His thick warm fingers parted your wet folds. "Yeah," he said.

You shut your eyes instantly, letting out a low moan as you finally melted into his touch. His fingers were soaked in you immediately, sliding top to bottom. He brought the pad of his index finger up until he found your clit, pressing and rubbing in firm circles that made you flinch and arch your spine even deeper against him.

The wet obscene sound of his fingers moving inside you filled the bathroom instantly. But Joel took his time to torment you, sliding his middle finger along your slit and stretching your wetness before pushing a single knuckle inside your pussy. He went in easy, stretching you open, and a choked moan escaped your lips. A second later, he slipped a second finger in, opening you up from the inside, and began to thrust into your depths, curling his fingers upward to hook the exact spot that made you lose your mind.

"Shit, baby... you're fuckin' soaked," Joel growled in your ear, and the sound of his dirty voice only deepened the spasms already starting to ripple through your walls.

Your hands gripped the edge of the sink so hard your knuckles turned white.

The wet sounds of friction between his hand and your pussy were loud, giving away just how ready you were; every time he buried his fingers to the hilt, your eyelids grew heavier.

You started to lose all sense of rhythm, rolling your hips back on pure instinct, begging for more and more and more. But Joel didn't give in; he kept his hand steady, pumping inside you, catching your dirtiest, most shameless whimpers right out of the air.

"Joel, please," you stammered, letting your head drop forward. "Fuck me already, don't make me wait."

He cut his movements instantly. With a dragging touch, he slid his fingers out of your wetness. You lifted your head and licked your dry lips, desperately trying to catch your breath.

"You gettin' bossy on me now?" he asked.

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you glanced back over your shoulder. Joel already had his cock in his hand, stroking it up and down, using the same hand that was coated in your own slick. The sight of his size and the heavy veins tracing his shaft made you swallow hard.

"Over the sink, now. Put your hands further out and lean down," he ordered.

You obeyed instantly. You stretched your arms across the surface, planting your palms firmly against the cold marble that clashed sharply against the heat of your body. You slid further forward, arching your spine to the absolute limit and pushing your backside out, offering yourself to him completely.

Joel stepped forward, erasing the space between you. You felt the burning tip of his cock hunt for your entrance, pressing right where the ache of your need was loudest. Easy, he broke into you in one controlled heavy push, burying himself deep, inching further and further until he filled you to the brim.

He stretched you so wide you choked back a cry against the marble. He went dead still, granting you a few agonizing seconds for you to adjust to his thickness and squeeze tight around him. Feeling his pulse throbbing inside you was pure heaven.

Then, he started to move. At first, they were short testing thrusts, but as the rhythm leveled out, a whimper of pure relief slipped from your lips.

Joel took you at your word; he fucked you with relentless consistency, driving deep into you with every single stroke, making the wet echo of his hips slamming against your cheeks ring out through the bathroom. The moans spilled uncontrolled from your mouth, impossible to hold back.

Bit by bit, any trace of patience melted from his movements, turning harder. Joel reached a broad hand up to your shoulder and, with a firm yank, forced your upper body back, arching your spine flush against his chest. And without giving you a second to catch your breath, he shifted that same hand straight to your throat, squeezing with just enough pressure to pin you tight against him while he kept hammering into you from behind.

The shift in the angle made him sink even deeper, ripping cries and sobs of pure pleasure that vibrated right against the flat of his palm.

And just when you thought you couldn't open up any wider, Joel used his boot to nudge your foot, forcing your legs further apart. With a quick heavy grip, he hooked his free hand under your thigh and hoisted your leg up over the edge of the sink, splitting you completely wide open.

Locked in that vulnerable position, he started fucking you hard and fast, a pacing that completely stole your balance. Desperate, your hands scrambled to find a handhold on the wall or the counter, but you couldn't reach a damn thing; the sheer speed of his thrusts was rattling your entire body.

Joel had you pinned so tight against him that the only thing you could do was cling to his arms, burying your nails into his skin. You held onto him, feeling your one steady foot on the floor nearly lift with every strike, suspended in the air by the force of his hips.

To say you didn't recognize the sound of your own voice was an understatement; you didn't think you’d ever made noises as broken as the ones Joel was ripping out of you with every single thrust. It was a completely new sensation, being entirely undone, unable to do a damn thing but cling to him so you wouldn't shatter completely.

Slowly, his movements began to lose their speed, turning heavier. You felt his chest heave hard against your back as he dialed back the pace, locking you tight in his arms. He let your dangling foot finally find the floor, easing the strain on your muscles, and softened his grip on your body, though he stayed buried deep inside you.

Driven by the lingering slip of pleasure, you reached an arm back over your shoulder, searching for the touch of his skin. Your fingers found the nape of his neck and sank right into his curls, tangling in that soft hair you loved so much.

You tilted your head back, offering your lips in a silent plea, and Joel caught your jaw gently and planted a deep dragging kiss on your mouth.

While kissing you, his free hand carefully guided your leg down from the sink, helping you find your footing. He steered you away from the marble counter, backing you up toward the bathroom door.

Only when you hit the threshold did Joel pull out of you all at once, leaving a choked whine on your lips at the sudden cold absence. Before you could even protest, he brought his palm down in a stinging smack against your flushed ass.

"Bed," he ordered.

You moved toward the mattress immediately, your legs shaking and a delicious ache pooling between your thighs. You collapsed flat on your back against the mattress, sinking into the sheets, and hooked your fingers around the waistband of your wet panties, yanking them off and tossing them onto the floor. All while you watched him shadow over you from the dim light.

Your eyes, completely blown out, tracked Joel’s body as he stripped down under the faint light. He yanked his shirt off in one motion, revealing that broad torso, then kicked off his boots, and finally shed his pants, letting them pool on the floor.

God, he was so big. Huge everywhere; the width of his shoulders, the thickness of his ribcage, his massive arms, and that tremendous length pointing right back at you, glistening and heavy with thick veins.

You spread your legs wide on the mattress, begging him back, utterly unable to look away.

Joel climbed onto the bed, making the springs groan as he settled immediately between your open thighs. He gripped your knees, pushing them back toward your chest to split you open even wider, and lined his cock up with your pussy.

He slid in inch by inch, savoring the fit, stretching your already sensitive walls, but the second he was buried completely inside you, he gave you no quarter. He picked his rhythm right back up.

You held onto him with everything you had, wrapping your arms tight around his neck and digging your nails into his broad back while he fucked you hard, deep thrusts making you bounce right against the mattress.

The wet friction of your bodies took over the room again, mixing with Joel’s pants directly in your ear and your own shameless moans.

"Joel, please," you cried out, squeezing him tighter. "Put all your weight on me."

He lifted his head, locking his eyes onto yours.

"Put all your weight on me," you repeated.

"I'm gonna crush you."

"No, you won't," the heavy impacts chopping up your voice. "Please."

Joel let out a rough pant and buried his face right next to yours as he slowly let his body drop over you. You felt his weight gradually press you down into the mattress; his chest flat against yours, his stomach against yours, blanketing you in sheer heavy man.

"Yes, yes, yes," you started to babble, letting your eyelids flutter shut as your arms wrapped around him and your fingers buried deep into the hair at the nape of his neck.

You were right on the edge, suspended in that eternal second where the pleasure gets so sharp it almost hurts. Your legs were wrapped tight around his waist and your nails were dug into his shoulders, feeling the coiled tension in every single muscle.

Then you felt it. You caught that subtle unmistakable shift in the vibration of his body; the way his cock went even harder, pulsing and throbbing inside you, expanding to its absolute limit. Joel let out a guttural grunt, a purely animalistic drawl of a sound that drowned in the crook of your neck as he completely lost his rhythm and his grip on control.

Knowing you had him right there, that he was about to fall apart for you, was the final push that shattered your gravity. Your own orgasm hit you all at once, a hot burst that clamped your internal walls in violent desperate spasms around his length.

Joel roared against your skin the second he felt you clamp down on him, completely trapped by your climax. He delivered a few brutal frenzied thrusts, driving so deep you felt like you were splitting in two, before cursing loudly and dragging himself back with desperation.

You unlocked your legs from his hips to let him clear, and he grabbed his cock, letting go right over your belly. He was so flushed, his face so raw and undone, that your eyes could do nothing but watch him, panting and silent, while your own muscles kept riding out the tail end of your release.

He leaned forward, planting one forearm beside your head, and brought his face down to yours.

You cupped his face; your fingers pressed gently against his jaw as you pulled his mouth down to meet yours.

Joel's room. Half an hour later. Night.

You flicked off the bathroom light and shut the door behind you.

The effects of the wine were still floating through your system, but now it was pure exhaustion weighing you down. You knew you were gonna sleep like a baby tonight, so before climbing back into bed next to Joel, you went straight for the alarm clock on his nightstand.

"Six thirty sound good to you?" you asked, turning the clock around to set the dial.

"What time is it now?" he wanted to know. He was lying back with his hair still a little damp from the shower, wearing a dark blue cotton t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Quarter to ten."

"Ain't as late as I thought."

You smiled. "Right. I figured it was at least eleven."

"Six thirty's fine."

You set the alarm and slipped the clock back into its spot.

Carefully crawling over Joel’s legs, you slid under the covers as he pulled the sheet and the comforter up over you. You dug your toes into the mattress, stretching out on pure instinct just from the happiness of being comfortable, warm, and knowing you were in for a perfect night of sleep.

You draped your arm over Joel’s chest, and he leaned into you, shifting onto his side to blanket you with his body heat.

"Oh," he murmured, pulling back for just a second to click off the lamp on his nightstand before wrapping his arms right back around you.

The bedroom fell into darkness, but the moonlight streamed through the window; pale, soft, and soothing. It was a full moon tonight.

"Goodnight, Joel."

He let out a low sigh. "Goodnight, Snow."

divider by: omi-resources

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“Here, hold on to me.” He takes your hand in his, helping you out of his truck. "You good?” 

You look up, kissing his cheek as he closes the passenger door behind you. “Always the gentlemen.”

He grins, looking up at the old diner. “Sorry we couldn't go anywhere better.”

“I don't mind; a quiet dinner with you is all I need tonight.”

"How are the cramps?"

"Still there."

You’re both tired, but tonight is probably the last chance for a date night before the twins arrive, and when you're this heavily pregnant and he’s had a long day on horseback, driving into town to the only diner for miles is the best you’re both going to get. 

“Hey Mr. and Mrs. Miller, what can I get ya?" the waitress asks. 

Mrs. Miller. You’re still getting used to that, pinching yourself every time you hear it on someone else's lips because you never thought you’d get your happy ending, especially not with him. 

*Flashback*

“So, where are you taking me?”

“Up there.” He nods straight ahead towards the top of valleys that surround the ranch. "In a couple week those tops will be covered in snow, so I figured we should take the chance while it’s still safe.”

“Shall we take the horses?” You smile, knowing that’s a stupid question. 

“Nice try, you know I'm not letting that happen. Now go grab some warmer clothes; it can get cold up there once the sun drops. I’ll wait in the truck.”

You nod and head inside. He’s been acting weird today, all week actually. There’s a nervous energy about him, like he’s waiting for something. Last week you had a minor scare with the twins; it wasn’t serious once the doctors figured out what was going on, but maybe that’s what's got him acting all uptight.

As he drives up the valley, his eyes stay locked on the road, his shoulders tense, his hands gripping the wheel so hard. his knuckles are white.

“You okay?”

He doesn't respond. 

“Baby?”

He clears his throat, finally hearing you. “Yeah.” 

“Here,” you reach over, take his hand, and rest it on your bump. “You feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“Just wait.”

The second you feel one of the twins kicking, he instantly relaxes, his face lighting up, and he pulls the truck to a halt on the side of the road. 

“They’re kicking?”

You nod, "One of them for sure.” 

He turns as best as he can, resting his other hand on your belly too. “Hey boys, it's Daddy!"

You feel another kick, and he begins to laugh excitedly. 

“They hear you, Joel." 

“Yeah? You hear us boys? We can't wait to meet you; better be looking after each other in there, no fighting, alright?”

Joel doesn't cry, it’s rare you ever see it happen, but after he leans down to kiss your belly, he looks up at you, tears building in his eyes.

"you ok?"

"Just so fuckin' happy, darlin'."

Later that night your cuddled up in the bed of his truck watching the stars glimmer above you when he shifts, digging into his pocket to pull out a small piece of woven leather in the shape of a ring. 

“What’s that?”

“I love you so much, I love our sons, and I love this life we're building together, and I want you to be mine forever.”

“You have me.” You giggle, furrowing your eyebrows a little confused. 

“I’m serious, darlin’. I want you to carry my name."

“Joel…” your voice trails off, your heartbeat increasing rapidly at his words. 

“Be my wife. be my wife before the boys arrive. We’re going to be a family, and we should do it right.”

“I don't know what to say…”

He chuckles nervously. “Say yes? Say you’ll have me.”

“But I thought you hated the idea of a wedding?”

“Of a wedding, yes. But not marriage. I don't need some pretentious ceremony that just caters to our friends and family to prove I want to spend eternity with you. Although if you would like that, hell, I’ll make that happen, believe me. " He takes a deep breath. “I don't care how we do it; I just want to know that when I wake up beside you every morning, you’re mine in this life and in whatever comes afterwards.” He tilts your chin up to look at him. “So what do you say?”

“Yes, Joel.” You smile through the tears. “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot.” 

“Yeah?” he’s beaming now. “Gimme your hand.”

You notice his hands shaking as he starts to slide the handmade ring onto your finger. “I’ll get you somethin' better, I promise. But I found one of Shadow's old bridles in his stable; it took a little work to make it into this, but I thought it could work as a temporary one."

“Are you kidding? This is perfect!” You don't need anything else; he took the time to think about this and to make it, and therefore it holds more meaning than anything else ever could.

“Well, you can have two, because I'm getting the ring you deserve.”

You shift, moving into his lap as you snake your arms around his neck, your palms holding the back of his head as you kiss him. 

“So we’re doin’ this?” he asks between kisses. 

“Mmmh,” you bite your lip. “Let's get married, cowboy.”

The very next morning, you wake to him watching you, his sleepy face all smug as you reach up and brush your fingers through his messy curls.

“How about today?” he croaks.

“Today?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Well, we could get the license this morning while I get Tommy to find an officiant, and then we could pick a spot somewhere here on the ranch, and by tonight it could be official.” He shifts until he’s on all fours, hovering above you. “Afterwards we could go dancin’, party…totally sober, of course… and then I'd bring you back here and carry you over the threshold of our front door and all the way back to this bed where I’d make love to you all night.”

You‘re unsure what to say; the idea is crazy but also perfect.

“I know your parents aren't here, or your friends, so we can wait if you want—"

“Today.” You cut him off.

He smiles. “You sure?”

You nod eagerly. “Let's not wait a second longer.” The excitement fills you with butterflies and you could squeal uncontrollably at the thought that today you’ll become Mrs. Miller, but then the panic starts sets in.

“What's wrong?”  

“I don't have a dress!”

He pauses for a minute before an idea enters his mind. “I’m on it.” He crawls off the bed and takes his phone off the nightstand to make a call. “Baby girl? I’ve got some big news to tell you, and then I'm going to need your help.”

Following Joel out on the front porch, you see Tommy approaching the house on his horse and Sarah’s truck in the distance coming down the road. 

“Tommy, I need you to find an officiant for me. Oh, and go dig that suit out; you’re going to need it later.”

“Huh?” Tommy looks down from his horse, confusion written all over his face. “An officiant? Why?” 

“There’s going to be a wedding today.”

“A wedding? Who’s getting married?”

“I am, brother.”

His face lights up. “Wait… are you serious?”

Tommy looks up to you, the smile on your face telling him all he needs to know.

“Holy shit!” Tommy laughs, “I’m on it, brother.”

As Tommy rides off, Sarah pulls up in her truck and rushes over to you, both of you uncontrollably giddy as as she wraps her arms tightly around you. 

“Woahhhh, careful! Don’t forget she’s carrying the most precious cargo.” Joel calls over.

Sarah brushes her dad's comment off. “I can't believe this is really happening!” 

“Me neither. And… you’re really okay with this?”

“Stop! Of course I am. You're growing my baby brothers. You're basically already my stepmom anyway.”

“Nooo please don’t call me that; that’s too weird.” You laugh. 

“Okay, okay! But we should get going if we’re gonna find you a dress in time!”

As you pass Joel on the way to Sarah’s truck, you intertwine your fingers with his and he leans down to kiss you. When you pull away, his hand snakes around your waist, pulling you back into him, kissing you more as you feel Sarah watching on behind. 

“Uh guys, this is cute and everything, but if you want to get married today, we have to go now.”

He hums against your lips, kissing you for a moment longer before you reluctantly pull away. 

“See you soon, handsome.”

He tilts his hat. “I’ll be waiting." 

As the night draws in, you follow closely behind him as he rushes up the steps. You reach out instinctively to support him as he almost trips as you both giggle your way to the front door. He’s tipsy, and you’re simply high on happiness. 

He fiddles with the lock for a while until you take the key and do it for him and he smirks down at you as the door swings open. “May I?” 

“Be careful mister, don’t drop me.” 

“Never.” 

He bends down and scoops you up into his arms, holding you close against his chest. He nuzzles his head into your neck, peppering eager kisses on your skin. “Woah, Joel. Let’s get safely in the house first, you’ve had a drink remember.” 

By some miracle, he manages to successfully carry you inside and up the stairs all the way to the bedroom, where he places you gently on the bed.

Dressed in his best shirt and jeans, and still wearing that damn hat that will always stir something deep inside you, he lets his eyes travel up and down your form with hungry eyes.

“Mmmmh. You sure did well with this dress, darlin’."

“You like?” 

He nods. “Fuckin’ divine, my love.” He takes a deep breath and when you look down, you notice the bulge in his jeans. “But as much as I’m enjoying this sight, I think it’s time we took it off you, Mrs. Miller.”

You giggle. “Say that again.”

He moves over you, snaking his way up your body, breathing you in desperately as he hums in approval. “What? Mrs. Miller?” he stops once he’s level with your face, his lips just above yours as he stares into your eyes. “My wife?”

You whimper at the sound of those words on his lips. “Mmmmh. I’m your wife.”

Present day

“What?” you ask, noticing that naughty look in his eye as he sits across from you in the booth, watching you eat.

"Nothing, I just like looking at ya" 

You blush, looking away from him. He tilts his head to the side. “Don’t shy away from me.”

“Just eat your damn food, mister.”

Pregnancy has been hard on you, not just physically, but mentally. Getting used to the way your body was changing at each stage had taken its toll, even if you did have Joel telling you every morning just how beautiful he thought you were, or showing you exactly what it did to him when he’d get home after a long day and find you naked in the shower waiting for him.

He’d always be extra careful, taking it slow to ensure he was never going to hurt you or the babies, but he’d always give you exactly what you needed to reassure you in all the best ways that he still wants every ounce of you. 

And then there were his small, tender touches like when he’d lie in bed beside you and rub cream over your tummy to ease the tight skin, or help you wash your hair when you didn’t have the energy. Or just the simple reminders to make sure you’d eaten plenty and hydrated enough. These were the things that made you realized how lucky you were to have a man like Joel by your side and how lucky the twins were to have him as their father.

“Ahh, Marcus, haven’t seen you around here for a while!” you hear the voice of the diner owner, your eyes immediately flicking up to Joel. Surely not. 

Joel drops his fork onto his plate with a loud clang. He slumps back against the seat as he glances just past you towards the counter, his jaw locked, his eyes wide like he’s seeing red. You don't need to look over your shoulder to confirm your suspicion; judging by the way Joel isn't taking his eyes off the man tells you all you need to know. Great, that’s the quiet date night officially over. 

“Joel?”

He hums in response, but he isn't listening.

“Joel, can we go? The cramps are getting worse.”

“Alright, just gimme a minute, darlin’.” He stands, leaving you alone in the booth. 

“Joel, please don’t.”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, so you sit there, refusing to look behind you, instead carefully listening out in anticipation of what might happen next. 

“Shit. Joel," you hear that familiar irritating voice behind you, the sound of it making you cringe.

“Whatcha still doing round here, boy?” Joel asks. 

“I'm not; I'm working down south now; just passing through.”

"Ah, yeah?”

“Don’t want no trouble, Miller," the owner of the diner warns, picking up on the tension.

"Oh, I don’t want any trouble either, but it seems someone in this damn place does, showing his face around ‘ere.”

“Alright, relax, I just wanted a drink after a long day; I'm going.” Marcus sighs, his chair scraping along the floor as he stands. He pauses then; and you can feel his eyes at the back of your head. “Heard she married ya.”

“Where’d you hear that?” 

“I got my sources.”

“Sure ya do.” He scoffs. “Well, if you heard that, you’ll also know she’s carrying my sons too.”

The room goes silent then. Maybe he didn't know that. “Shit.” Marcus laughs. “Well, congrats, I guess. You both got it all figured out, don't ya? Must be nice.”

Joel smirks, taking out his wallet and flicking through the wad of bills sitting in there; he’s being an ass now, simply because he can. “Drinks on me.”

“Don’t want your money, man.”

“Take it. But I promise you kid, if I ever see your ass in this town again, I won't be so polite.”

“Fuck you, and fuck her too.”

You stand then; you couldn't care less about your ex, but you don't want to have to split up a fight when you're this heavily pregnant. So you turn and look into Marcus' eyes for a second with a blank expression before you take Joel's hand. “Joel, come on, let's go home.”

He doesn’t budge. Rolling your eyes you give up and leave. “I’ll be in the truck.”

As you climb into the passenger seat with a clear view into the neon-lit diner, you notice the sheriff pulling in and an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach then.

It all happens too fast. Joel’s head connects with Marcus’s face making him fall backwards onto the bar, and unfortunately for both of them, the fight then erupts exactly as the sheriff walks.

Pissed, you open the door and climb out of the truck in an attempt to go inside and defuse the situation, but the moment you stand, you feel an intense rush down below and you realize your waters just broke. 

You stand frozen in place unsure what to do. The entire pregnancy you thought you'd be calm when this moment came; all the classes, books, and videos made you think you’d handle going into labor pretty well, but not one of those things mentioned your waters breaking as your husband got dragged out of a diner in handcuffs.

You call out for him but he doesn’t pick up on what’s happening to you as he’s pushed forcefully towards the sheriff's vehicle. “I’m sorry, baby. Go get Tommy; he’ll know what to do.”

“Joel, my waters just broke.”

He frowns. “I can’t hear ya, just go get Tommy." 

“The babies are coming!” 

His eyes go wide as your words register. Pure panic reverberates through his body then as he starts yelling, trying like hell to free himself from the grip of the sheriff, but of course he can't. Both men stumble onto the ground Joel’s elbow collides with the sheriff's nose, instantly drawing blood. 

The deputy steps in then, helping to secure Joel on the ground, both men yelling at him as you look into your husband's helpless eyes as his face squishes against the asphalt. This can’t be happening. 

You plead and plead with the men like it’ll make any difference, but they don’t listen. Joel might be liked and well respected around here, but he isn’t above the law. 

Once Joel’s secured in the vehicle, the men come over to you, and the sheriff sighs with a pitiful look. “My deputy will drive you to the hospital, ma’am, but I’m sorry; your husband has to come with me.”

———

The entire night felt like you were in somebody else’s body watching this nightmare happen to you. You were scared, pacing the hospital room between examinations and contractions, wondering why hell Joel had to go and get himself arrested tonight of all nights.

But when Sarah and Maria arrived, they helped you realize that anger wasn’t going to help. Tommy was dealing with Joel, and you had two tiny humans relying on you right now, so you had to be strong and try to forget about him in a jail cell for the sake of the twins.

Labor had lasted hours. You were exhausted, highly emotional and honestly terrified. But just as you notice the sun starting to rise, the midwife helps you back up on the bed to examine you again. 

She looks up from between your legs, and the look she gives you tells you it's time.

“I don’t think I can do this; this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I can’t do this without him.” 

Sarah grabs your hand tightly then. “You can. You have to.” 

“When the next contraction comes, I need you to push for me, okay?” 

You don’t know how long you’ve been pushing; you don’t know if this is even real; you just know the pain feels overwhelming.

But at some point between pushing, the door bursts open and you see that face you’ve been desperate to see. He’s here.

Your head falls back against the pillow as you pant hard, feeling relieved that despite the pain, you don't have to do this without him no longer. The tears start to fall then. “How? How are you here?”

“It doesn’t matter; I just know I’ve got a lot of sweet talking to do after this.” He smiles.

“I hate you for leaving me like that!” 

He chuckles, dabbing your sweaty forehead. “You can hate me; that’s okay. You do whatever you need to do to get through this.” 

You shake your head, anticipating the next contraction. “I’m so tired, Joel.” 

“I know, sweetheart, I know. But you're so close now.” He leans down, kissing your forehead. “Take my hand; you fuckin' break it if you need to.” He looks deep into your eyes then. “You’ve got this, my love. Let’s meet our sons, yeah?" 

A few weeks later…

“You’re home.” You sigh in relief as he steps into the bedroom. 

“I’m home.” He checks on his son in the crib before walking over to you in the rocking chair, bending down to lay a soft kiss on top of your head. “How are our sons?”

“It’s been a long day; I think they’ve been missing their daddy.” 

You hand him his other son, watching him cradle the tiny bundle in his huge arms. 

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, my day was pretty rough too. The auction didn’t go great, and your dad definitely still hates me.”

You smile. "No, he doesn’t.” 

“Didn’t say a word to me the entire day. Maybe it was a mistake taking him with me; now he’s seen me failing as a cowboy as well as a husband.”

“Joel, please stop beating yourself up about that. I promise you, he was over you getting arrested the second he saw his grandsons. I think he just likes to keep you on edge.” 

“He does that, alright.” Joel grins, a mischievous look in his eye. “Anyway, I got you something today."

“Yeah?” You narrow your eyes suspiciously. 

“I mean it’s more for the boys, but I don’t think they’ll quite appreciate it just yet.” He places his son into the crib beside his brother and leaves the room.

“It’s not a horse is it, they’re a little young still.”

When he comes back, he’s smirking and holding a small box. You open it and two tiny pairs of cowboy boots sit there. 

“Oh my goodness! Joel!” 

“You know I don’t part with my money unless it’s to buy a horse, but not this time. I saw ‘em and couldn’t resist getting the boys their first pair.”

With your hormones still all over the place, this might just send you over the edge. “They’re so cute.” 

“Well, my sons are gonna be cowboys one day, they gotta look the part.”

Your son’s babbles turn into cries and you slump back into the chair with a quiet groan, feeling deflated.

He smiles. “It’s alright, you should go eat something, daddy’s got this.” You smile, kissing his shoulder as you pass him. 

You weren’t naive; both of you knew having twins wouldn’t be easy, but the reality of having two newborns, running a ranch, and having your parents stay with you for the first few weeks of the twins' lives was often challenging. The house was also a mess and the post natal effects on your body were rough.

But it was the overhwelming love you felt for them as well as those small, soft moments of watching Joel as a father all over again that made the stress and the worry of adjusting to being parents so worthwhile. 

Like when he’d been unable to get away from work and he’d come home late tired and filthy, but the moment his eyes caught you sitting on the porch, the twins bundled in your arms as you all waited for daddy to come home, it would give you both a new energy that made the long day just disappear in an instant. 

Or how he'd refuse to miss bath time, knowing the twins loved it; he’d never want to miss a moment of their infectious smiles. Watching him read the boys their bedtime story as they fell asleep was always your favourite though, the little funny voices he'd create as he sent them off into their dreams would make you burst with joy. he was the best daddy, and you were so grateful to be on this crazy ride of parenthood alongside him.

“Are they down?” You ask, sitting on the kitchen counter as he walks towards you. 

“Finally. What ya got there?” He leans against the counter, trapping you.

“Open up.” 

You feed him a spoonful of ice cream, and he hums, licking his lips. “We really have to eat something more substantial.”

“The wonderful joys of having newborns, huh?”

“Any chance your mom put leftovers in the fridge?”

“Uh-uh, that’s a risk I’m not willing to take.”

“Don’t be mean," he chuckles as you feed him another spoonful. 

“You smell like horses.” 

"Hmmm, and you love it.”

Your eyes scan down his frame. “Maybe, but really you should take a bath." 

“Alright, but only if you join me and bring the ice cream too.” 

His strong arms wrap around your waits as he pulls you back into his front, peppering kisses along your shoulder. “Now this is more like it.”

He digs the spoon into he tub of ice cream on the side, collecting the biggest amount before taking a bite.

“You think the boys are gonna like this life?” you ask.

Through the mouthful of ice cream he responds, “It’s in their blood, baby; of course they will.”

“But what if they don’t want to be cowboys?"

“They ain't got a choice.”

"Joel—"

“okay, okay, I’m joking. We’ll be there for them no matter what they want to be, just as long as they don’t want to move to the city," he laughs. “Look, all we can do is try our best to raise two beautiful and healthy boys. The rest is out of control.” 

“But what if they become criminals like their dad, getting arrested—"

“Heyyy shut up!" He squeezes you playfully then, tickling your sides and making you squeal as the water splashes around. “I ain't no criminal, it happened once, alright?”

“Alright! Please stop!” you giggle as he digs back into the ice cream. "Can i have some?"

He brings the spoon to your mouth and as you go to take a bite he pulls it away quickly, drawing a trail of it along the back of you neck instead. Instantly his tongue comes out to draw along the trail then making you sigh into him.

"That's not fair."

"No? How about this?” He discards the spoon, his hand instead stroking up your front until he reaches your tits, his thumb flicking over your nipple, teasing you as you start to feel him getting hard agaisnt your back.

“Or this?” He brushes his knuckles down your body before dipping into the water and between your thighs until he reaches your folds, making you moan softly into the room. It’s been too long, and even though you're still healing, having him tease you like this feels so good. 

"Is this okay?” He mumbles.

"Yesss,"

“You need to tell me if it's too much, darlin’. I don't wanna hurt ya.”

“No, don’t stop; it feels so good.”

He takes his time and he’s so gentle in his touch, but it’s enough to drive you crazy, enough to have you withering against him and enough to have you completely surrender yourself to his control.

———

It's still dark and silent when you stir the next morning and when you turn in the sheets, you find the bed cold and empty next to you. Sitting up, you check the crib, and it’s empty too. Naturally as a mom, you panic but then your phone lights up and see the message from Joel telling you that he’s taken the boys down to the barns. 

Curious, you dress and go downstairs; you take Joel’s coat, loving the way it smells of him and wrap it around your body as you stroll down the hill in search of them.

A soft voice draws you in, and when you peer around the door, you see him, the twins bundled protectively inside his thick flannel as he introduces them to the horses. “This one’s daddy’s. He's the biggest and he’s the best boy I’ve got, although I hate to say it but he’s getting a little old now, just like me I s’ppose." 

He walks over to the other side where shadow stands watching him. “And this is Mommy's horse. There’s a little story about him and how she got him and I’m sure she’ll tell ya when you’re older.” He looks down to his sons snuggled against him. “And, one day when you're both a little bigger, I’ll get ya both have your own and maybe, just maybe you might wanna help run this place alongside your big sister, huh?” He sighs. “Yeahhh, you don’t have any idea what Daddy's talking about, do ya?”

“Morning.” You interrupt softly so as not to startle him. 

He gasps. “Who’s that? "Is that Mommy?" 

“What’s going on in here?” 

“Just letting ‘em meet the team.”

You chuckle. “It’s super early; they usually sleep a little longer?” 

“Not today; I guess they're going to be early risers like their old man.”

“Hmmm. I wonder how long that’s going to last.” 

A few years later…

The sun is only just rising, but the summer heat is already starting to settle in now, and it gives you that giddy feeling because you know it means long days in the saddle, warm family nights by the camp fire, and days off watching the boys play with their father, uncle and cousins in the river.

You check the boys' room, and sure enough, their beds are empty. School might be out for the summer, but that just means the boys get to learn alongside their father instead.

You dress before heading down the hill where like always you spot the group of cowboys along with Tommy and Sarah saddling up their horses, ready for yet another day out on the land. 

You lean against the corral fence, watching the cowboys when you spot Joel. He’s saddled up like he means business, except this time your sons are sitting up there with him, their little smiles lighting up from the excitement of being on their dad’s horse. They’re growing up so fast, and seeing them like that, with their little boots and hats looking just like their father makes you a little emotional.

When Joel spots you, he gives you that irresistible miller smile and rides over and dismounts. “You hold him steady now while I go talk to your mama.”

He comes to the fence, lifting the brim of his hat a little to capture your lips in that way that will forever make your tummy feel fuzzy. "Morning, darlin’.”

“Heading out?”

“Hmmm. Gonna take them with me today.”

“You sure they'll be okay?”

“Of course, they're so eager to get out there; they were down here with the horses even before I was.” 

That makes you smile, they’re just like their father. “Of course they were. Just be careful, please.”

"Always," he pauses, an idea running through his head. “You wanna come with us?”

When you were pregnant with the boys, you’d spent a lot of that time finalising your second book. And to your surprise but not to Joel’s, it was big success, but that meant now you had a team of people working for you, eagerly anticipating the second draft of your third novel so you were busier than ever. Yet today, the idea of taking Shadow out and riding alongside your three boys is just an opportunity too perfect to be missed.

“Okay!”

He smiles. “That’s my girl. Go saddle up; we’ll be waiting for ya."

“Yes sir.”

You walk away from him, feeling his eyes on you as you do.

“Hey,”

You turn to his call. “Yeah?”

He comes to you, removing his hat from his head and placing it on yours. “That’s better. I love you, Mrs. Miller.”

“I love you too, cowboy.”

Your friend ignores you completely and drops into the nearest chair in the coffee shop like he owns the place, setting his drink down with purpose. He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, then folds his hands together on the table, posture straight, gaze locked on you. You know that look. It’s the same one he uses on his students; the one that makes teenagers confess to cheating or homework they haven't done. His piercing blue eyes don’t waver, patient, unblinking. Waiting.

You roll your eyes, already annoyed. “You’re unbelievable.”

He doesn’t react.

“Come on, I want to know too,” Cate chimes in, sliding a chair out for you before sitting down herself. Her long locs fall over one shoulder in a thick, dark cascade, and she casually sweeps a few back with practised ease, already halfway through the pastry she just bought. She hums softly, clearly pleased with her choice, before looking back up at you with a grin.

“Sit,” she insists. “We haven’t seen you since you moved in with those boys. Of course, we want the gossip.”

You sigh, but sit anyway, dropping into the chair and setting your drink down in front of you. You take a sip of your vanilla latte. It’s… fine. Not great. Not like the one from the little café near your old apartment. The one where they knew your order before you even spoke. You haven’t found anything like it near your new place yet.  Another thing to get used to, you guess.

“Okay, first of all,” you say, pointing between them, “you’re both ridiculous.”

“Answer the question,” Patrick replies instantly.

“Yeah,” Cate adds. “We deserve to know. You haven’t even sent us one picture of them.”

“Yeah, because I’m not about to take secret pictures of my roommates like a fucking stalker just to satisfy you two,” you shoot back.

“A selfie, then?”

“I’m not close enough to them to just go, hey, let’s take a random selfie either,” you argue. “That’s weird.”

“Excuses, excuses…” Patrick mutters, unfazed. He leans forward slightly, eyes locked on you again. “So. Are they hot or not?”

Both of them are staring at you now, expectant, relentless. You take another slow sip of your drink, just to annoy them. Patrick’s eye twitches, and Cate kicks your foot lightly under the table.

You sigh.

“…Fucking hot,” you admit finally.

Cate slaps the table with a burst of laughter. “Hell yes!”

A few people glance your way at the noise, and you wince slightly, but your friends don’t care in the slightest.

“Like—all three of them?” Patrick presses.

You nod without hesitation. “Yeah. You’d think at least one of them would be a little bit ugly, you know? Statistically. But no. They’re all… annoyingly good-looking.”

“Wow,” Cate breathes, leaning back in her chair like she’s processing life-changing information. “The universe really said compensation.”

“Lucky you,” Patrick adds. “And you said they’re nice too, right?”

You nod again.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Do you realise how rare that is? A girl moves in with three random guys and doesn’t end up in a horror story? When you told us, I was this close to staging an intervention.”

Cate nods emphatically. “Same. Like, this never happens—best case scenario? Weirdos. Worst case? Full-on creeps. So lucky.”

“I mean…” You shrug, wrapping your hands around your cup. “I don’t know how lucky I am, considering I only ended up there because my fiancé cheated on me.”

The words come out lighter than they used to a few weeks ago, but they still land a bit too emotionally for your liking.

Patrick’s expression shifts immediately, his mouth tightening slightly. “Fuck that guy,” he mutters. “Luke was never good enough for you anyway.”

Cate hums in agreement, her expression softening.

You let out a small breath, staring down into your drink. “Yeah, yeah. I know. At least it happened before the wedding, right?” You repeat it easily now. You’ve said it enough times over the past few weeks that it almost sounds like you believe it.

There’s a small pause before Cate leans forward again, gently bumping your arm. “Okay, but seriously,” she says, tone lighter now, pulling you back up with her like she knows exactly where your mind went, “tell me everything. Names. Personalities. Who’s the funniest, who’s the weirdest, who’s secretly in love with you already—”

“No one is secretly in love with me,” you snort.

“Yet,” Patrick corrects immediately.

You don’t even dignify that with an answer.

“So,” you start instead, shifting in your seat, “I’ve been there for… a week now? We’re Thursday, so yeah—one week.” You take another sip, thinking it through. “And honestly? They’ve been really good roommates so far. They all work during the day, and with my shifts at the bar, we haven’t spent that much time together yet. But they’re nice. The place is always clean—which, I know, sounds stupid, but I’ve lived with a man for years, and he was messier than those three guys combined.”

“Because Luke was a fucking child,” Patrick mutters.

You wave it off quickly, not wanting to go into it. “Yeah, well. I think it’s mostly because of Will. I told you about him, right? The one who showed me the place? He cleans. A lot. Like… a lot. I try to do my part, but he’s always like ‘don’t worry about it, I don’t mind.’ I think he actually likes it. He just puts on his headphones and starts cleaning when he’s bored.”

“Oh my god,” Cate breathes, leaning back dramatically. “A man who enjoys cleaning? Girl. That’s not a roommate, that’s a miracle.”

“It is,” you admit, “until you have to sprint to get your laundry the second it’s done, so he doesn’t decide to fold it for you. And I’m sure he wouldn’t be weird about it, but I am not ready for any of them to accidentally handle my underwear. Absolutely not.”

Patrick and Cate both nod immediately.

“Valid,” Patrick says.

“Deeply valid,” Cate agrees, raising a hand like she’s in class. “Okay, but important question…What does this Will look like?”

You huff a small laugh. “Tall. I mean, they’re all tall, honestly. But his brother—Ben—is the tallest. They’re both blond, short hair. Ben’s is a bit longer, I think. And Will has a beard.” You pause, then add, almost as an afterthought, “Also, random detail, but he has, like, insanely smooth skin. Like… suspiciously good. I’m pretty sure he has a full skincare routine.”

Patrick smiles immediately. “Sounds hot. I’m still gonna need visual proof, though.”

“And the last one?” Cate presses. “The one who helped you move in?”

“Frankie?” you say, a little too quickly, before taking a sip. “Yeah. He’s… good-looking too.”

There’s a beat of silence. You look up from your drink and find both of your friends staring at you.

“What?” you ask, already suspicious.

“That’s it?” Cate says slowly.

“Yeah?”

Cate and Patrick exchange the same look at the exact same time, like creepy twins would in a movie, and you already hate it.

“Oh my god,” he says. “You think he’s cute.”

“What? No.”

“Yes, you do!” Cate jumps in. “You totally do. Oh my god, you have a crush!”

“I don’t,” you snap, too fast. “I barely know the guy!”

“So what?” Patrick shrugs. “That’s how it starts!”

“I don’t, okay?!” The words come out sharper than you meant them to. 

It’s just…You can’t help but hate how they make it sound so easy. Like you could just… move on so quickly. Like your heart didn’t get ripped out of your chest, what feels like five minutes ago. There’s still a part of you, stubborn and fucking humiliating, that hasn’t caught up with reality yet. A part that still reaches for Luke in your mind like he’s still yours. Like he didn’t choose someone else. Like he didn’t make that choice in the most brutal, undeniable way possible. You still think about him when something funny happens. Still catch yourself wanting to text him before remembering you can’t. Still miss the version of him that never really existed, or maybe did once, before he became someone you don’t recognise. The idea of liking someone again, of trusting someone again, makes you want to curl up and die. 

You exhale deeply, immediatly regretting your tone. “Sorry.” 

Cate’s expression softens, and Patrick just gives you a small, knowing look. You don’t need to say more for them to understand what you are feeling. 

“I really don’t,” you insist, quieter now. “And anyway,” you add, grasping for something more neutral, “he has… someone. I think.”

“Oh,” Cate blinks. “I thought they were all single.”

“Frankie has… something, I don’t know,” you say, frowning slightly. “Not sure what it is exactly. And the brothers? Not sure… They haven’t mentioned anything.”

Patrick straightens immediately. “Okay. Important follow-up.”

You already know. You sigh. “I can try to find out if they swing your way.”

“Yes, please,” he says without hesitation.

Cate snorts into her drink.

You leave your friends an hour later with a smile still lingering on your lips. It had been a while since the three of you actually sat down together like that. Adult life has a way of complicating everything: work schedules, obligations, exhaustion. At this point, you practically need a shared calendar just to find a free slot that aligns for all three of you. Patrick is the easiest; his schedule as a teacher is predictable. But Cate is constantly on the move for work, chasing stories for article after article. And you… You live at night half the time.

So yeah. Today was nice. Even if they did spend a solid twenty minutes insisting you invite them over to the loft to “inspect the hot roommates,” which will definitely require military-level planning to organise at this point.

When you push open the apartment door, you’re greeted by the now familiar, comforting scent of the apartment, something clean, a faint hint of whatever detergent Will uses. Frankie is sprawled on the leather couch, one arm thrown over the backrest, a bag of chips resting next to him. The TV casts a soft glow across the room, some movie you don’t recognise playing, but he pauses it the second he notices you.

For once, he isn’t wearing his cap. His hair is slightly messy, pushed back in uneven strands like he’s run his hands through it one too many times, and somehow it suits him even more. Good-looking, your brain supplies, unhelpfully.

“Oh—hey,” he says, giving you a small wave as he hurriedly swallows his mouthful of chips.

“Hey, Frankie.” You drop your bag near the entrance, slipping off your shoes before heading toward the kitchen. “What are you watching?”

“Ocean’s Twelve. Ever seen it?”

You shake your head as you open the fridge, the cool air washing over your skin. The shelves are packed, as usual, a constant reminder of how many people actually live here. Your own little section is slowly starting to fill up as you figure out what to buy and what’s already shared in the kitchen. Will had made a point of telling you to help yourself to anything on his shelf until you got the hang of things, and the quiet kindness still makes you smile. You grab a fresh bottle of water, condensation already beading along the cold plastic, and close the door with your hip.

“Don’t think so,” you say lightly as you make your way back to the living room, settling on the other end of the couch, careful to leave space between you.

“Really?” he says, a little surprised. “It’s fun. You should.”

“What’s it about?” you ask, taking a sip.

Just like that, Frankie lights up.

“Oh, it’s a heist movie. Well, movies,” he corrects quickly. “This one’s the second. Probably my least favourite of the three, actually, but I still like it.” He gestures vaguely toward the screen, already getting into it. “It’s about this group of thieves who rob casinos and stuff. There’s action, comedy—it just works, you know? And the cast is huge, like—George Clooney, Julia Roberts… everyone’s kind of got their own thing, their own skills, and it all comes together in a really cool way. You can tell the director really knew what he was doing.”

He glances over at you mid-sentence, checking if you’re still following, and finds you watching him with a faint, amused smile, eyes soft with interest. Frankie falters a little, his hands lowering as if he just realised how much he was talking. He looks back at the screen, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Didn’t mean to… rant.”

“Don’t apologise,” you say quickly, “It actually sounds really good. I should watch it sometime.”

He glances back at you, then at the paused screen.

“I barely started,” he says, a little hesitant. “We could… watch it together?”

He says it so genuinely, you can’t help the warmth that settles in your chest. And that’s exactly why your smile turns a little apologetic.

“I wish I could,” you admit, “but I’ve only got like forty minutes before I need to leave for work.”

“Oh—yeah. Of course,” he replies easily. You catch the way his gaze drops back to the TV, the way he shifts slightly, like he’s pretending he isn’t disappointed.

The last thing you want is for Frankie to think you’re using work as an excuse to avoid him. Because the truth is the opposite, you do want to stay. You want to learn more about the quiet, kind-eyed man you suddenly share a home with. You want to become friends with him. With all of them. 

So you add quickly, offering a small smile: “And we should watch the first one first anyway, right?

Frankie looks back at you, surprised, and then he smiles. “Yeah. Totally.”

“Next time then.”

“Next time,” he echoes, nodding once.

You take another sip of your water.“You’re home early today. Finished early?”

“My afternoon session got cancelled,” he explains. “Too much wind. What about you? Where are you coming from?” 

Frankie reaches for the crinkled bag of chips beside him. He grabs a few between his fingers before tilting the bag toward you in a silent offer. You glance at him, a small smile already forming as you lean in and take a few for yourself. Your eyebrows lift slightly in pleasant surprise as the familiar smoky-sweet flavour settles on your tongue. You nod to yourself, clearly pleased, reaching for another without even thinking about it.

“I just got coffee with friends.”

“Oh, nice. Did you go to La Nougatine, down the block?”

You blink. “No. What’s that?”

“It’s this little French café-bakery,” he says, leaning forward slightly, as he takes a few more chips. “They’ve got amazing pastries, and honestly, the coffee’s even better. I go there all the time. You should try it”

“I will, thanks. So,” you add, shifting a little more comfortably into the couch, “happy to be home early?”

“Very. My last flight was with this couple of tourists… They come back every few months, always end up on my schedule somehow.” He grimaces. “The husband thinks he knows how to fly. Keeps trying to ‘help,’ like, commenting on everything I do. Total bullshit.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Frankie continues. He drags a hand through his hair, and you can’t help but follow the movement. “It’s painful, like, man, please just sit down and enjoy the view. Stop trying to impress your wife.”

You laugh at the image. “You fly helicopters, right?” you ask.

“Yeah. Mostly.” He nods. “I can fly civilian planes too, but that’s not really my thing.”

“Is it very different from what you did in the army?”

He leans back slightly, thinking.

“A bit,” he says. “Different models, different purpose. Military helicopters are heavier, more… intense. Everything’s louder. There’s more going on all the time. Civilian flying is calmer. It’s… slower, I guess. Compared to the military.”

“I see… And you met the Millers in the army too, right?”

“Yeah,” Frankie nods, shifting slightly on the couch. “Pope and I met Will during basic, then a couple of years later, Ben joined.”

“I see. Wait…Who’s Pope?” 

He blinks, like he needs a second to understand. “Oh—Pope. We told you about him, right? The guy who had your room before?”

You frown slightly. “The one who moved in with his girlfriend? I thought his name was… Santiago?”

“Yeah, it is.” Frankie lets out a small laugh. “Sorry. Pope’s just… what we call him.”

“Oh.” You tilt your head, thinking. “Is that like… the same thing as you guys calling each other Catfish and Ironhead?”

That gets a reaction. Frankie looks at you, surprised, and just a little embarrassed, like he hadn’t realised how obvious the nicknames were.

“Uh… yeah,” he admits, scratching lightly at his patchy beard. 

You can’t help but smile at his reaction. “I mean, you guys say it all the time. Hard to miss.” He huffs a quiet laugh, glancing away again. “So what’s the story there?” you press, curiosity soft in your tone. “Call signs or something?”

He hesitates. “Kind of,” he says, eyes still not quite meeting yours. “Just… an old thing from basic. Nothing that interesting.”

“And Ben doesn’t have one?”

“He wasn’t there yet,” Frankie shrugs. “So… no.”

You raise an eyebrow. There’s a clear attempt to move on, to let the subject die, so you let it for now. “So Santiago…you knew him before the army?” You try instead.

Frankie nods, shoulders relaxing just a little. “Yeah. We grew up together. Same neighbourhood, same schools… everything. Been friends for…” he trails off, counting under his breath, lips moving slightly. “Twenty-eight years. Damn.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Wow. That friendship is older than me.”

Frankie turns his head fully toward you, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “What?” His brown eyes catch the warm light, and not for the first time, you’re struck by how nice they are. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven,” you reply easily, tucking one leg under you on the couch. “You?”

“Thirty-five.”

There’s a small pause as that settles between you. Eight years separate you. You both seem to register it at the same time, though neither of you comments on it directly.

“And the brothers?”

“Will’s a year older than me and Pope,” Frankie says. “So thirty-six. And Ben…” he frowns slightly, thinking, “Ben’s turning thirty-two in, like, a month” He lets out a quiet breath, almost amused. “Actually, I should warn you about that.”

“Warn me?”

“Ben takes his birthday very seriously,” he says, a hint of a smile creeping in. “He’s definitely going to want to throw a party”

“Okay. I don’t mind, I’ll probably be working anyway. And if not, I can always find somewhere else to stay.”

Frankie straightens a little at that, brows pulling together. “Why would you leave?”

You blink. “Well—I figured—”

“No, I mean…” he shakes his head. “You live here. You wouldn’t have to go anywhere.”

“Oh.”

“You are definitely invited,” he continues, a little more firmly. “Ben will make sure of it.”

You feel a small flicker of embarrassment at the misunderstanding, but you cover it with a smile.

“Then I’ll do my best to be there.”

“Cool.” Frankie nods, looking satisfied, and leans back into the couch again, one arm stretching lazily along the backrest. “Just… don’t mention it if you run into our neighbours across the hall, okay? They’re real assholes about us having people over.”

“The old couple?” you ask, thinking back to the brief encounters you’ve had with them in the hallway since you moved in. A quick hello, a tight polite smile, nothing more. You weren’t planning on updating them on your social life anyway. “Noted.”

“Appreciate it,” he says, glancing at you with a grateful smile. “Oh—speaking of him, Pope’s back from vacation with his girlfriend on Saturday. We were thinking of inviting them over. Would that be okay?”

You blink, a bit surprised by the question. Your mind drifts back to your first night here, to the four of you gathered around the kitchen island, half-eaten pizza boxes spread out, the atmosphere still new but already warmer than you expected. You remember asking, a little hesitantly, about having people over. You had been thinking about Patrick or Cate, having friends over. You also remember Ben’s immediate raised eyebrow, the grin he threw your way like he already had ten jokes lined up, and Will stepping in before he could say any of them.

We’re all adults here, he had said simply. As long as everyone respects the space, it’s fine. If it’s multiple people, just give a heads-up.

Until now, you don’t think there’s been anyone else in the apartment besides the four of you, or at least, no one you’ve noticed. Maybe they had people over and were just discreet about it. It wouldn’t be surprising, considering how put-together everything here tends to be.

Still, you can’t help the small flicker of surprise at the fact that Frankie actually checks with you. That he follows through on something that, from the way it was first explained, sounded more like a loose guideline than a real rule. And Santiago is one of their closest friends. The guy who used to live here. Logically, it shouldn’t even be a question. And yet, he asks, makes sure to include you in the decision. You like that, even if you’ve only been here a week, he treats you like your opinion matters as much. 

“Of course.” Then you think about it again, your expression shifting into a small frown. “Ah, fuck… I’m working Saturday night. That’s too bad, I would’ve liked to meet them.”

“Shit, really?”

“Yeah…” you hesitate, then shrug. “Unless you guys wanna come to the bar? Could be nice. I could hook you up with a few drinks and everything.”

You’re looking right at him when you say it, so you don’t miss the slight tick in his jaw. Barely there, like something passed through his mind before he smoothed it over.

“Sure, why not?” he says after a second, “I’ll ask the guys.”

You nod, and almost offer to text them yourself, thinking about the group chat Ben created—3B Roomies 🤠😎—mostly used to share grocery lists, or for Ben to drop random TikToks at three in the morning. But then you muse that they definitely have their own group chat and stop yourself.

“Great, keep me updated,” you say instead, pushing yourself up from the couch. You grab one last chip on your way up, popping it into your mouth. “Ugh, I need to go get ready for my shift.”

You stretch your arms over your head, back arching slightly as you work out the stiffness in your shoulders. Your shirt lifts just enough to reveal a strip of skin. You don’t notice, but Frankie does. His eyes flick there instantly, then away just as fast. 

“Anything fun planned for tonight?” you ask, already stepping toward the hallway.

“Uh—” he clears his throat. “Probably gonna play something with Ben when he gets back.” He gestures toward the PS5 under the TV.

You grin. “Boys’ night at its finest.”

He huffs a quiet laugh as you disappear into your room.

When you come back fifteen minutes later, your makeup is fresh, your hair a little more put together, and you throw on a light jacket over your outfit for the cooler night air. Frankie’s still on the couch, phone in hand this time, thumb scrolling lazily. He looks up the second you step into the room.

“The guys are totally up to come to the Crimson on Saturday,” he says, lifting his phone slightly like proof. “If you’re sure we’re not gonna be a bother.”

“Not at all,” you smile, grabbing your keys. “It’ll be great. I’ll make sure you guys get the best table.”

“Oh—VIP treatment?” he grins.

“Gotta make sure you leave me a great tip,” you shoot back. “Okay, I really need to go if I don’t wanna be late. Bye, Frankie!”

“Bye. Be safe,” he says, lifting a hand in a small wave. Then, just as you’re about to step out— “Especially with that car of yours.”

You burst out laughing immediately. You knew he had wanted to say something since he saw your car on that first day.

“I was wondering how long you’d hold that one in,” you call back, shaking your head as you open the door. You wave once more before stepping out, the door closing behind you with a soft click, his quiet laughter lingering in the apartment.

The bar is a bit crowded tonight, as it usually is on a Saturday night. The Crimson isn’t exactly a dive bar, but it’s far from high-end either. It sits comfortably in that perfect middle ground, the kind of place where groups of friends meet for after-work drinks, where people pre-game before heading somewhere louder with worse lighting and fewer clothes. Warm wood lines the bar and tables, deep red leather covers the booths, and the music hums at just the right volume: loud enough to feel lively, but quiet enough that you can still hold a conversation. A dartboard on the far wall is almost always surrounded by a rowdy group, and the staff is reliable, fun, and easy to be with. Overall, it’s a nice place to work. 

You’ve been on for a couple of hours already. You are finally finishing up with a group of middle-aged women who all insisted on individual margaritas, despite your polite suggestion that a pitcher would be cheaper and faster. They had been adamant about having their own fancy drinks, which meant more work: prepping each cocktail separately, garnishing every glass with lime wheels and salted rims just right. Still, you didn’t mind. More drinks meant more money for the bar, and they’d left a generous tip the moment you set the glasses down.

Once the group happily carried their drinks to their table and no one else was waiting at the bar, you finally pulled out your phone. A couple of new messages were waiting for you.

[3B Roomies 🤠😎] Will [8:32 PM]: We’re on our way to the bar. ETA 10 mins. Ben [8:33 PM]: LET’S GOOOOO!!!! 🔥

You smile and slip your phone back into your pocket. They should be here any minute. A small flutter of nerves settles in your stomach. There’s something vulnerable about letting people you’re still learning to know see you at work, like you’re sharing a new piece of yourself with these guys who have suddenly become part of your daily life.

Maybe it’s because Luke always made you feel like working in a bar was slightly embarrassing. He never said it outright, but the way he’d gently suggest you “do something more with your business degree” always carried that undertone. As if being an accountant was somehow superior, even though it sounded like the most soul-crushing job on earth. You never told him that, of course. He seemed happy, and that was enough for you. He just never extended the same kindness to you. You shake your head, pushing the old memories away.

Right on cue, the door swings open. You look up to see your roommates walking in. Ben enters first, sporting a huge grin. The second he spots you, he waves enthusiastically, looking exactly like an excited golden retriever. You can’t help but smile at the thought. Behind him, Will walks in with a beautiful woman beside him, dark brown hair, warm eyes, and a timid smile. The three of them head straight toward the bar.

“Hey, beautiful,” Ben says immediately, leaning against the counter.

You roll your eyes, already getting used to his constant compliments. “Hey, guys. Did you find the place okay?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Will assures you, resting his forearms on the bar. He gestures to the woman next to him. “This is Yovanna, Santiago’s girlfriend.”

“Please call me Yov,” she says kindly. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“You too!” you reply with a genuine smile. You glance toward the door. “Did you guys take separate cars?”

“Santi and Frankie are smoking outside,” Yov explains. “They’ll be right in.”

“Oh, I didn’t know Frankie smoked.”

“He’s discreet about it,” Ben chimes in, already flipping through the menu resting on the bar. “Because Will would actually kill any of us if we smoked inside the loft.”

You remember Will asking if you smoked the day you signed the lease; you just hadn’t realised how seriously he felt about it.

Will scrunches his nose. “He usually goes up to the rooftop. That must be why.”

Your eyes widen. “There’s a rooftop?”

Will and Ben exchange a quick glance.“Did we… not tell you?” Will asks, looking genuinely surprised.

“No, you didn’t!” You turn to Yov with an exaggerated can you believe these guys? look. She laughs softly, clearly amused.

“It’s shared by the building,” Will explains. “The view isn’t anything special, but it’s nice. We sometimes do barbecues up there.”

“That loft is perfect,” you say, half in awe.

“It would be even more perfect if the building would let me put a jacuzzi up there,” Ben grumbles.

You grin and point at Ben. “Oh, yes.”

Will immediately shakes his head. “Don’t encourage him.”

“Encourage what?” Frankie asks, appearing beside Will and clapping a hand on his shoulder. He gives you a soft, easy smile. “Hey.”

“Hey, Frankie,” you reply, smiling back just as naturally. He’s wearing his usual cap and a jacket you know he’ll have to shed soon; the bar is warm, your manager swears the heat makes people drink more. “We were just talking about putting a jacuzzi on the rooftop.”

Frankie rolls his eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “Not you too.”

You’re about to tease him back when another man slides in next to Yov, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing a quick kiss to her hair. He turns toward you with an immediate, friendly smile. He’s shorter than the others but solidly built, with broad shoulders that scream former military. Dark curls dusted with grey stand out against his warm olive skin. Of course, he is handsome too. 

“Hey there. I’m Santi,” he says, grin widening. “But I’m sure you already know that.” You offer your name in return, and he nods, looking genuinely pleased. “Nice to finally put a face to the name. Heard a lot about you.”

You raise an eyebrow, a little surprised. “Only good things, I hope?”

“Of course,” Santi laughs. “Thank you for having us. I don’t know if these animals already said it.”

You wave him off with a smile. “It’s my pleasure, really. Thank you for coming.” You point toward the empty booth in the corner. “I saved you guys the best seat in the house.”

Ben lets out a low whistle. “Oh, nice! Wasn’t it hard to keep it free on a Saturday night?”

“Perks of being the best bartender here,” you say with a playful shrug. “My manager loves me, so he was happy to.”

A customer waves from further down the bar, and you notice your coworker is still tied up in the back, so you excuse yourself with a quick “One second, guys.” You make quick work of the two whiskeys the guy orders, sliding them over with a polite smile. By the time you circle back, Will and Ben are ready to choose their drinks. They both order beers, the older brother happily letting you pick an IPA for him. They head over to the booth to give you space next to the bar. 

You turn back to Yov, who’s still scanning the menu with a small, uncertain furrow between her brows.

“If you’re not sure,” you say warmly, leaning a little closer over the bar, “my personal favourite is the amaretto sour. It’s light, a little sweet from the almond, and goes down way too easily.”

Yov looks up, her expression brightening with clear relief. The gratitude in her eyes isn’t just for the recommendation, it’s for the fact that you’re talking to her, including her. She lights up the moment she takes her first sip, eyes widening. 

“Oh my god, this is delicious. You weren’t kidding.” She gives Santi’s arm an excited little squeeze. “I’m stealing this as my new go-to.”

Santi chuckles and presses a quick kiss to her lips before she slips away to join Will and Ben at the booth. Santi leans in and murmurs something to Frankie that you can’t quite hear. Frankie gives him a light, amused shove. Then he turns back to you, resting his forearms on the bar as you put away the ingredients.

“So,” you say, “what’s it gonna be for you guys?”

“You have wine?” Santi asks, and you flip the drinks menu around and slide it toward him so he can see the selection. 

“Pretentious bastard,” Frankie teases immediately.

Santi flips him off without even looking up from the menu, and you can’t help but smile. The easy, brotherly affection between them is obvious. You’ve seen it with how Frankie acts with Will and Ben too, but there’s something deeper between him and Santiago. A special kind of bond.

“So I’m guessing wine’s off the table for you,” you say, amused, glancing at Frankie as you reach for a wine glass. “You strike me more as a beer guy.”

Frankie pauses for a beat. “Not really.”

“Oh, cocktail guy then?”

He hesitates again, then says quietly, “Not really an alcohol guy, actually.”

His tone has shifted, more serious, a little guarded. You finally look up at him properly. He’s watching you intently, brown eyes steady but careful.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

Frankie’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Well… I’m sober.”

The words land, and it takes your brain a second to catch up. You pause, processing. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Santiago has gone quiet, subtly watching the interaction without staring too obviously. Later, when you replay this moment in your head, you’ll realise he was doing it on purpose, quietly supporting his friend, making sure the new person in their life didn’t react badly to something this important.

Frankie is sober. You blink, the information finally settling in. A quiet wave of guilt hits you instantly. You’d invited him to a bar, offered him drinks like it was the most normal thing in the world. God, you felt like an idiot.

“Oh…” you say softly, voice gentler now. “Fuck, Frankie, I’m sorry. I invited you here, and I didn’t even realise—”

He shakes his head before you can finish, offering you a small, reassuring smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“No, it’s okay,” he says, calm and steady. “You couldn’t have known. I’m fine being here— really. I’ve got no problem being around alcohol or in bars. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Really?”

“Promise.”

You search his face for any sign of discomfort, but he looks genuinely relaxed, those warm brown eyes honest and kind. Santi stays quiet beside him, but you catch the subtle nod of approval he gives himself— like he’s quietly proud of how well you’re reacting.

“Shit,” you realise, cheeks warming with embarrassment. “I feel bad. I literally said I’d repay you for helping me move in with a drink…”

Frankie lets out a quiet chuckle, low and gentle. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. You can find another way to repay me.”

You immediately raise an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “That’s quite forward of you, Morales.”

Santiago barks out a loud laugh while Frankie’s cheeks flush a deep red.

“What? No! No, that’s not what I meant—” Frankie stammers.

“She’s fucking with you, Catfish,” Santi laughs, clearly enjoying his friend’s embarrassment. “Get a grip, man.”

Frankie flips him off, but there’s no heat behind it. You chuckle too, the tight knot of guilt in your chest finally loosening.

“What can I get you then?” you ask, already reaching for a glass. “We’ve got great sodas, mocktails, or just water if you want something simple.”

“A Coke would be perfect. Thanks.” Frankie’s cheeks are still a little pink, and you can’t help but find his flustered reaction endearing. Cute, even.

You nod and quickly fix his drink. Santiago decides on a glass of red wine, and soon both men have their drinks in hand. You want to keep talking to them, but a new group of customers pushes through the door, signalling that the night is only just getting started.

“I’ll come check on you guys soon,” you tell them. “And make sure you ask me for refills, okay? Not the other bartenders.”

They both nod, sending you a few encouraging words before heading over to join the rest of the group in the booth. Frankie gives you one last smile before walking away. 

You wish you could go with them, but the thought quickly fades as more customers flood the bar. Soon you’re back in the familiar rhythm you’ve come to know by heart: moving behind the counter with practised ease, grabbing bottles and ingredients, shaking cocktails, sliding glasses across the wood. Quick, friendly chit-chat with customers, most of them nice and easy to talk to. You and your coworkers have a silent system down; one glance is enough to know when someone needs to step in because a client is staring a little too long or acting a little too weird. 

The group makes a point of coming up to the bar whenever there’s a lull, even when their drinks are still half-full. Ben is ridiculously excited when he asks if you know any bartender moves, so you make a little show of it;  flipping the shaker behind your back, rolling it down your arm, and catching it smoothly before pouring Yov’s next amaretto sour.

Both Ben and Yov are instantly impressed by the basic tricks, clapping like you just performed a magic show. You bow dramatically with a laugh, and you even hear a few claps and cheers from the booth where the rest of them are watching, too.

When things slow down again, you lean in and ask Yov about the vacation she and Santi just took. Her face lights up as she tells you they started in her hometown, visiting family, then turned the move across the country into a proper road trip. She happily pulls out her phone and shows you pictures; scenic stops, silly selfies, and shot after shot of her and Santi looking ridiculously in love. You can’t help the small pang of hurt and jealousy that twists in your chest. You used to have memories like that too… but now they’re all tainted by what he did. You shake the thought away quickly and when Yov mentions she doesn’t really know anyone in the city outside of this little group, you don’t even hesitate.

“We should hang out sometime,” you say, smiling. “Just us girls.”

The way Yov’s whole face brightens makes your heart feel lighter. You might have just gained a new girlfriend tonight.

A little later, as you finish with a customer, you notice Santiago waiting at the bar with an easy smile.

“Another glass of wine?” you ask.

“Yes, please.” He slides his glass forward. “And another Coke for Catfish, if you don’t mind.”

You glance toward the booth and notice Frankie is missing, while Yov and the brothers are deep in conversation. “Another smoke break?”

“If only,” Santi sighs, a touch weary. You raise an eyebrow, and he adds quietly, “Felicia called him.”

“Ah.” You’re not sure what you’re supposed to say to that, so you just focus on pouring the wine. 

Santi watches you for a second, then tilts his head. “Wait… do you know about Felicia?”

“Not really,” you admit, wiping down the bar. “I know they’re not, like, officially in a relationship or anything, but we’ve never really talked about it.”

“Calling whatever Frankie and Felicia have a ‘relationship’ is an insult to the word,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

A small part of you wonders if Frankie would appreciate this conversation happening behind his back, but curiosity wins out. If Santiago is willing to talk, he clearly knows his friend well enough to decide what’s okay to share.

“Not a fan of what they have, then?” you ask.

“Not a fan of her, actually,” he replies immediately. He catches your widened eyes and grins. “A bit rude, I know. I tried to like her for years, but I just can’t.” He pauses. “Don’t tell Frankie I said that. He already knows how I feel… he just doesn’t like hearing it.”

You mime locking your lips and throwing away the key, then frown. “Wait — you said years?”

Santi rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Years of whatever the hell they call it… a situationship? They never want the same thing at the same time, but they also never fully cut it off.”

“That sounds…”

“Bad. I know.” He groans. “Believe me, I’ve had this conversation with Catfish more times than I can count. Sometimes the man is just a brick wall.”

You’re not entirely sure why Santiago is telling you all of this. Maybe he just needed to vent, or maybe he’s subtly warning you about the complicated dynamics in the group. Either way, you’re the last person who should be giving relationship advice.

“Sorry,” is all you manage.

“Nah, I’m sorry for ranting,” he says, waving it off. “I’m just bitter on his behalf. He deserves better.”

That, at least, you can agree with wholeheartedly. “He does.”

Santiago takes a slow sip of his wine, the corner of his mouth lifting into a knowing little smile. “But I have hope things will change soon.”

“Oh?”

“Call it intuition,” he says, eyes glinting, “but something tells me things are gonna change for my boy Catfish.”

You’re not sure exactly what he means by that, but you raise your glass of water anyway. “Well… cheers to that.”

He clinks his glass against yours with a warm smile.

“Okay, I need to ask,” you say, leaning on the bar with a curious grin. “The nicknames you guys have… I need to know where they come from. Like…Why ‘Catfish’?”

Santiago immediately bursts out laughing, the sound loud and genuine enough that a couple of nearby customers glance over. He tries to stifle it with a hand over his mouth, but his shoulders are still shaking.

“Oh man,” Santi says, wiping at his eyes. “You had to go straight for the best one.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “That bad, huh?”

“That good, actually,” he confirms, still grinning like an idiot. “He hates it. We love it.”

Before you can press for details, Frankie reappears at the bar, sliding in beside Santi with a curious tilt of his head. His eyes flick between the two of you, a subtle flicker of something crossing his face before it smooths into an easy smile.

“I could hear you howling from outside, man. What’s so funny?” he asks.

Santi’s grin only widens, pure mischief. “Nothing, man. Just getting to know your new roommate. Sharing stories, all that good stuff.”

Frankie narrows his eyes at his friend, then looks at you, one eyebrow raised. “Should I be worried?”

“Not at all,” Santi says, looking like it’s the best day of his life. “I was just about to give her the beautiful explanation behind your sweet nickname.”

Frankie’s face immediately reddens. He shoves Santi’s shoulder, pushing him away from the bar. “Hell no, you won’t,” he hisses, refusing to look at you. The tips of his ears are flushed bright red.

You pout, amused. “It’s not fair, I was about to find out.”

“You’ll have to find a way to get that story out of him somehow,” Santi laughs, eyes crinkling. “I promise it’s worth it.”

Frankie grabs his Coke, muttering a low “Shut the fuck up, man” as he practically herds Santi back toward the booth. You watch them go, Santi’s shoulders still shaking with laughter. The second they reach the table, Santi clearly starts explaining, because Ben and Will immediately burst out laughing too. Frankie can only drop into his seat and flip them all off, ears still burning, making you smile from afar.

It’s near the end of your shift when Will comes up to the bar, sliding an empty glass toward you.

“So… about the tab,” he starts.

You give him a quick rounded total, suspiciously low. He narrows his eyes.

“Unless the Crimson is the cheapest bar in North America, that doesn’t even cover half of what we drank.”

You shrug with an easy smile. “I invited you guys. The rest is on me.”

“That’s way too much,” Will insists, already pulling out his wallet.

You wave him off, spotting another customer waving for attention, the perfect excuse so he can’t argue . “Gotta run, duty calls.”

Later, when you finally check the receipt after he’s paid, you find a generous tip that more than covers everything they actually drank and then some. You don’t get the chance to argue with them about it because the second your shift ends, the group descends. They pull you straight into the booth, roping you into the conversation before you can even think about protesting. Ben and Santi are in the middle of some loud, ridiculous story that has the whole table cracking up. Yov immediately slides over to make space for you and offers you a sip of her mocktail and Frankie… Frankie just gives you that soft, quiet smile across the table, warm brown eyes catching yours for a second longer than necessary. You can only smile back.

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It's just a beer, it's just a beer, you kept repeating to yourself. But you knew that wasn't true. For him, maybe, but for you? This was a huge step. Something you haven't done in years, and for good reason. If you still saw your therapist, you're certain she would be proud of you for doing this after everything that's happened. As you finish your makeup, you roll your eyes at yourself in the mirror, knowing exactly what she would have said if she knew you wanted her approval.

You don't need anyone's approval but your own.

Unfortunately, you've never been able to wrap your arms around that piece of advice. You still seek it out constantly.

You swipe some lipgloss on and run your fingers through your hair a few times, tilting your head back and forth until you're satisfied with how it lays before you flick off the light and head towards your kitchen.

The jeans you picked are cute, you think. Tight enough to show off your curves but not too tight that you'll be uncomfortable. The tank top is flowy with skinny straps and a little low cut. It had you second guessing if you looked too desperate, but your backup outfit was a dress and you're certain that would have looked ridiculous in the dive bar you picked. Then you forced yourself to stop overthinking it and just wear the goddamn tank top because Joel's already seen your tits anyway, so who cares?

You take a deep breath and take a long sip of water, gaze flickering anxiously to the clock on your wall. God, you're so out of practice for stuff like this, what were you thinking?

Maybe you should cancel. Fake an illness. A death in the family. No, that's too dark. Sweat begins to bead at your temples as your pulse kicks up.

This was a huge mistake. You're not ready.

Shaky fingers pick up your phone. As you're about to text him some weak excuse, there's a knock at your door and you freeze.

Shit. Too late.

Your heart is in your throat as you slowly walk down the hallway, towards your door. Every step makes the panic rise. Your vision narrows. You try to swallow but your throat's too tight.

Nothing bad is going to happen.

Numb fingers wrap around your doorknob and you tug it open.

Joel is waiting on the other side looking... great. Clean. You blink hard. You've only ever seen him working, when he's covered in sweat and dirt and wearing junk clothes. But the man before you now is freshly showered, beard is trimmed, and he's wearing some type of cologne with a hint of spice. You think you've smelled traces of it on him before but to have the full effect now is very different. It's throwing you off, making you forget about your insecurities entirely.

You're staring. You haven't said anything and you're staring at him like a crazy person. Say something.

"Uh, hi."

Brilliant. Great job.

When you lift your gaze to meet his eyes, you find you weren't the only one gawking. Joel looks speechless for once in his life as he slowly takes in your outfit. All his bravado is mysteriously missing for a minute and it's giving you a much needed ego boost.

"Those for me?" you ask smugly, pointing at the white flowers he's clutching in his fist. Finally, Joel shakes his head like he's snapping out of a trance and looks down.

"Jesus—yes, sorry darlin'."

He hands you the flowers and you grin before sniffing them and making a pleased sound. "Thank you," you say sincerely, and his expression softens.

"Welcome."

"Let me put these in water before we go," you tell him, turning on your heel and walking back into your kitchen. "You can come in if you want," you toss breezily over your shoulder. What were you so worried for?

Joel's head tilts to the side as he stares at your ass disappearing down your hall. "Like the view right here just fine," he drawls, and you shoot him a weak look of offense before slipping out of sight. When you return, he's smiling that easy smile that makes his dimple crease. It's an entirely different feeling walking towards your door the second time—the panic has been replaced with excitement. This is Joel—he's easy to talk to. He's fun. This should be a good night.

He leads you to his truck with his palm pressed firmly against your spine. It's not a controlling touch, just a gentle guide. You like it more than you care to admit.

"Did I tell you how pretty you look?" he asks after helping you into the truck. He braces one forearm above the door with a grin as you get comfortable in the passenger seat.

"You didn't," you say, looking up at him through your lashes, "but it was strongly implied."

"You sayin' you got a good read on me?" he teases.

"Like a book, Miller," you grin. He chuckles then pushes off the door before closing it and rounding the front to slide into the driver's seat. Before he shifts the truck into reverse, he breathes loudly through his nose and shakes his head.

"Wow," he whispers like he's in awe. You feel your chest warm, assuming the breathlessness in his voice was your doing.

"What?" you ask a little timidly.

He shakes his head again in disbelief, looking entirely serious when he says, "Nothin'. Just... can't believe my two girls are finally together."

You pause as you try to process what he just said.

"Your—"

"You 'n my truck."

"Oh, my god!" you groan, embarrassed you allowed yourself to think he was about to say something heartfelt in the first place. "Don't compare me to your truck. And I'm not your girl."

He throws his head back with a laugh and despite yourself, you giggle. He makes it so easy when you're together that even the drive to the bar isn't awkward. He has the radio on low and he hums along with some country tune, fingers tapping occasionally on the wheel. You let the fresh breeze from the open windows caress your skin and relax your body. Occasionally, you glance his way when he's too busy watching the road to notice. The jeans he's wearing are clean. Belt looks nicer, too. Not new, but probably the clothes he sets aside for dates or parties or any time he needs to look presentable. You like imagining what that looks like, in his house. A certain drawer housing clothes that may go untouched but a few times a year. And you like the idea of him pulling out those clothes for you.

His shirt is different, too. It's a plain black tee but it's still bright, so you know he hasn't needed to wash it much yet. On top of that is a dark green flannel, buttons open and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You can't see his boots but you hazard a guess those are nicer than the dirty work boots you're used to seeing.

Eventually he catches on and shifts in his seat.

"Wishin' you cancelled on me already?" he asks, eyes still pinned on the road.

"Not yet," you reply, leaving out your panic attack before he arrived. He doesn't need to know about all that.

He hums and casually taps his fingers against the steering wheel again, squinting as he approaches an intersection. "You go to this bar a lot?"

"I used to," you admit, gaze drifting through the windshield to gauge where you are. "Back when I was in college I came here more often than I probably should've."

"That's a relief. Thought you picked this place so yes wouldn't run into anyone you knew," he grins.

"Oh, that too," you joke smoothly, and he laughs again before slowing and throwing on his turn signal to pull into the parking lot.

Joel helps you slide out of the passenger seat. You murmur your thanks and walk side by side towards the bar.

When a jeep backs out of a parking spot, Joel immediately redirects you and places his body between yours and the car. His expression gives nothing away. He didn't do it as a performance. He just... did it. Like it's second nature, he didn't think twice. Something about it makes your pulse skip.

Even from here, you can hear the music pumping from the jukebox. A few people linger outside to smoke with beers dangling from their fingertips. They casually watch you approach and nod to you both when Joel reaches forward to open the door for you.

Inside, the bar looks the same as it always did. You think they may have fixed some of the cracked seats on the barstools but otherwise, nothing else really changed. There are still a few televisions mounted high up on the walls showing a different sporting event on each one. There are still four pool tables and a dart board tucked into the back of the room, near the bathrooms. The lighting is still dim and the crowd is still the same—a mix of college students blowing off steam and a middle aged crowd scattered amongst the bar and surrounding tables.

It's loud already at only nine at night. There's a college football game on the television above the bartender's heads that most people seem to be focused on. And as Joel leads you to the bar to order, your boots still stick to the floors just like they always did before. If it wasn't so loud, you bet you'd be able to hear them unstick with every step.

"What do you like to drink?" Joel asks after he wedges himself a spot against the bar. He pulls out his wallet and looks at you expectantly. "Wine? Some mixed drink?"

"A beer, whatever kind you're having."

He gives you a surprised look and a nod before turning back to the bar. Behind him, you awkwardly tuck your hands into the back pockets of your jeans and wait, looking around. You spot a couple empty tables near the front windows and you tap Joel's shoulder.

"I'm gonna go grab a—"

But before you can finish your sentence, a familiar face appears behind the bar. It takes you a moment to recognize him, but he clocks you right away and frowns.

"Hey! I remember you! Didn't I say you ain't allowed here anymore?"

Your eyes go wide with horror but Joel just grins easily and sets back to watch the exchange.

"No! That was—"

"Nah, it was you. You and that other girl you were always with. Gave me too many goddamn headaches. Actually—" He leans forward across the bar with a towel dangling over his shoulder. "That friend of yours never did pay me back for the pool table."

"Pool table?" Joel repeats, clearly amused. Your cheeks burn.

"Had to refelt it. Wasn't cheap."

"That wasn't me," you insist.

"Sure as shit was."

You groan and prop your hands on your hips. "C'mon, Dave. That was a long time ago and it was her heels that scratched up the felt, not mine."

Joel laughs, clearly delighted.

Dave's eyes drift slowly between you and Joel before relenting and straightening back up. But then he points a finger at you and you cower a little.

"You can stay. But none of that bullshit anymore, you hear?"

"Yes," you promise, throughly embarrassed.

Joel tilts his head towards Dave. "Two drafts. And don't worry, I'll keep an eye on her," he says. When Dave grunts and turns around to pull the tap, Joel's gaze finds yours and adds so only you can hear, "she's a good girl now."

You narrow your eyes, ignoring the arousal blooming low in your belly at the term of endearment. "Don't start," you warn.

Joel barks out a laugh and grabs the two glasses after paying. "You got alotta explain' to do," he murmurs in your ear before trailing after you to an empty table. You slide into the curved booth right in front of the window and Joel follows. The creak of the thick vinyl seats under his weight can be heard over the classic rock song pouring from the jukebox speakers. On the table is an abandoned bucket of shelled peanuts and you quickly grab one just for something to busy your hands.

"So," Joel says, twisting his body to face yours. His free arm is popped on the top of your seat as the other cups his glass on the table. You like the way he slightly curves his body around yours. "Care to explain what that was all 'bout?"

You shrug, cracking into the peanut shell. "Can't really remember. It was a lifetime ago."

"Bullshit," he laughs, "tell me. You get up to no good back in the day or what?"

You grin up at him and pop a peanut into your mouth. "Maybe."

"Yeah? And who's the other girl?"

Your throat tightens at the memory. "I don't talk to her anymore."

Joel doesn't notice your discomfort. You're better at hiding it now.

"No? Why not? She tearin' up felt in some other bar now?"

He takes a sip from his beer while you chew. "Something like that," you say, and before he can push further, you change the subject. "Have you ever gotten kicked out of a bar before?"

He rolls his eyes and sets down his beer. "Oh, Christ. Yeah. Not my fault, though."

"Oh, I'm sure."

"I mean it!"

"Likely story," you grin, and just like that, the memory of another life fades.

"It was my little brother's fault mostly," he continues, snatching up a peanut. His arm is still propped up on the seat behind you, his hand inches from the back of your neck. You melt into the seat a little so he's closer.

"You have a brother?"

He nods. "Tommy. He's... well, he thinks he's a white knight sometimes. Gets him in trouble."

"So you're the real white knight?"

Joel smirks as he chews. "That's bein' generous."

"Well, you help him out when he's in trouble, right?" you press.

"Outta obligation, not 'cause I'm some hero."

"Oh, don't think I said hero." You playfully poke him in the ribs. He flinches and grabs your hand with a flirty grin.

"Haven't even had a sip of beer and you're already gettin' handsy with me."

You roll your eyes with a smile and yank your hand out of his grip. "You're the one who's holding onto me like Velcro."

"Gotta make sure you don't end up on that pool table again, I made a promise to good ol' Dave."

"Oh, you just loved that, didn't you?"

"I did." He takes another sip of his beer and you follow suit, your eyes never leaving one another over the rims of your glasses. He sets it down and subtly shifts a little closer. "Like findin' out more 'bout you. You're a mystery, y'know that?"

"Am I?" you ask innocently before taking another drink.

"Mhm," he hums, gaze slowly dragging across your face like he's searching for something. "So far, all's I know 'bout you is you work a whole lot 'n you like that you're good at it." He rubs his chin thoughtfully for a second as you pluck another peanut from the bucket. "Well, know a few other things, too. Wouldn't wanna say it in front of mixed company, though."

You smack his shoulder and he laughs. God, his laugh is so infectious. Every time you try to keep a stern expression, you fail.

"What'd I say?" he exclaims, rubbing his shoulder with a shit eating grin.

"You know what you said," you scold, throwing the peanut at his chest.

"Hey! Meant your burnt cookies, I don't know what you're thinkin'."

"Oh, yeah right."

"Didn't wanna embarrass you," he says defensively. You look around the bar, at the oblivious patrons, and then back at him.

"I think I'll live."

There's a brief pause where neither of you say anything, but it's not uncomfortable. He doesn't stop smiling and neither do you. There's a pull between you that leaves you both feeling a little exhilarated.

"Well?" he asks you as his fingers brush gently against your hair. You find yourself drawing even closer to him, like a magnet. To distract yourself, you take another long sip from your beer before catching his eye again.

"Well... what?" you reply.

"Gonna tell me somethin' 'bout yourself or you gonna make me work harder for it?"

You grin and cross your legs under the table. Your foot nudges his leg but neither of you move.

"What do you want to know?"

Joel thinks about it over a healthy drink from his glass before setting it down with determination.

"When was your last relationship?"

You laugh, mostly to cover up the sheer panic you know would otherwise be written all over your face. You're sure of it because you can feel your blood run cold at the mere mention of your romantic past.

"Let's start with something a little less..." you trail off and Joel throws you a lifeline.

"Intense?"

You nod. "Yeah. Intense."

"Alright," he says easily, entirely unbothered by you dodging the question. "You got any family?"

That's easier. You tell him about growing up with your parents and sister just outside of Austin. It was a normal childhood, by all accounts. It wasn't until the last few years when you grew apart. You leave that out and focus on the good times, before you grew up. You tell him about your sister who went to school in London and ended up falling in love with her classmate and getting married out there. How you only visited her twice but it was a beautiful city and you want to go again one day.

"What's keepin' you from seein' her?"

"Work, I guess."

Joel tsks. "Shocker."

"I know," you grin.

The way he's looking at you is making your stomach flip. He's so genuine and warm and funny... he's making it very hard to resist his charm.

"What are you thinkin' 'bout?" he asks. His gaze is heavier than before and it feels like yours is the same. At some point, your legs pressed together under the table and neither of you made the effort to separate them.

"I was thinking you clean up pretty nice," you tease softly. Then your fingers pluck at his open flannel, giving the fabric a playful tug.

Joel chuckles. "You, too. Still don't mind that flimsy robe of yours, though."

"That was my back up outfit."

"Would've gotten kicked outta here a second time for that," Joel grins, dipping his chin down. He's so close he hardly has to raise his voice over the music.

"What makes you think I've only been kicked out once?" The heat of his body surrounds you: his arm across the back of your seat, his leg against yours under the table, his mouth mere inches away from your own. If you wanted, you could kiss him right now. Maybe you should.

There's a low rumble that comes from his chest and his eyes grow darker. "And here I just got done vouchin' for what a good girl you are," he murmurs. "You gonna make a liar outta me?"

Your hand finds his leg and he breathes in sharp when you slowly curl your fingers along the inside of his thigh.

"What can I say?" you sigh, lips barely grazing his mouth. "Sometimes I'm trouble."

He groans and leans in, closing those last remaining centimeters with a slow, firm kiss. It's not messy or passionate, but it doesn't have to be. Even without tasting his tongue, you're still ready to crawl into his lap right here and now. Your fingers on his thigh tighten and his mouth parts ever so slightly, just enough for you each to take a breath before your lips slot together once again. The hand that's been taking up residence on top of your seat is now cupping your cheek, his thumb is swiping gently along your jaw, and it's so intense and sweet at the same time that you're dizzy with need and something else you can't quite admit yet.

The loud sound of billiard balls cracking together across the bar pull you out of it, but just barely. His forehead presses against yours after the kiss is broken and you each draw in a deep breath, clearing away the clouds of desire that took over your better judgement for a few weak moments.

"I'll go get us a couple more," he finally murmurs, pointing to your empty glasses when he inevitably leans back in his seat. His cheeks look a little pink and you have to stifle a smile behind your hand.

"You don't have to—" you start to say, but he cuts you off.

"If I don't get up right now, I'll end us gettin' us both banned for life," he winks, and your face flushes with heat as you laugh. Joel stands with your glasses and begins to weave his way towards the bar.

You prop your elbow on the table and rest your chin in your hand as you watch him from your booth. His back is to you so you feel free to let your gaze linger over his rugged frame, broad shoulders, and dark hair. He's so insanely sexy, just leaning against the bar so casually with that flannel exposing his strong, tanned forearms and his jeans hugging his waist just right. It almost isn't fair how good he looks, how well he fits in. Where's the flaw? What's the catch with Joel? Nobody looks as good as him and has a fun personality. You already know he's great in bed, so it's not that, either.

Stop it. You're doing it again. Stop looking for problems.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and shake loose the invasive thoughts. It's easier with a beer in your system to let that go and relax, but when your gaze settles back on Joel at the bar, another unexpected intense feeling flares up: jealousy. Because at some point in the last thirty seconds when you looked away, a very young and very blonde college girl sporting a mini skirt and cowboy boots has found a spot next to Joel at the bar and appears to be getting just a little too close for your liking.

Your lips press together as you watch, studying her body language like a hawk. She's leaning forward and saying something to Joel, then her perfectly manicured finger points to something. He glances over and plucks some napkins out of a dispenser and hands them over with a polite smile, but she's not done. She appears to be extremely grateful. She leans forward again, expressing her thanks while gently placing a hand on his arm, conveniently giving him a generous view of her cleavage.

Anger drips heavier in your veins with each bat of her fake eyelashes and every high pitched giggle that reaches your ears. You can tell Joel is trying to limit his interactions with her while still being polite, but she's not taking the hint and fucking Dave is ignoring that side of the bar entirely.

He's not your boyfriend, you have to remind yourself. But he is your date. So how much longer do you allow this to go on before doing something?

When she leans in to whisper something in his ear that makes him jerk backwards and laugh awkwardly, you get your answer. Enough is enough.

Joel's face is red as you approach from behind, and when you get closer you can hear him stammering something while the blonde watches him like a siren: all lust filled eyes with a seductive smile.

"Hey, baby," you breathe, stepping between them. You can see the discomfort in his expression, one that slips into a mix of fear and relief when his eyes settle on you. He opens his mouth, either to explain or reply, but you cut him off when you clutch his shirt and yank him down for an obnoxiously deep kiss. You make sure to moan a little so the blonde behind you hears, then you let him go with a breathless laugh.

"I missed you. What's taking so long?" you ask innocently while swiping some of your lip gloss from the corner of his mouth. Joel's eyes are wide with shock until he figures out your game, then they soften with a knowing smile.

"Busy up here. And this young lady was askin' for help," he says, jutting his chin over your shoulder. He doesn't tear his gaze away from you, though, and you like that.

Slowly, you turn to face the blonde, who is doing her best to act innocuous. You give her a smile while dropping your hand, possessively slipping your fingers between Joel's. You lazily size her up and down, then tilt your head to the side.

"Is there something we can help you with?" you ask sweetly, leaning against Joel's chest. You know you're laying it on thick and so does he. You can feel the rumble of laughter through your back and you grin.

"Uh, no," she replies with a tight smile of her own, "he was just telling me which whiskey is best."

"Oh!" you blink with surprise while Joel murmurs your order to Dave across the bar. "You're old enough to drink?"

Joel says your name softly in your ear, a light warning.

The blonde narrows her eyes at you, the mask shifting ever so slightly. "Yes. In fact, it's my birthday."

"Oh, happy birthday," you gush. Joel's fingers flex around your own. "Don't tell me you're celebrating all by yourself?" You plaster on a cheesy smile while the blonde flicks her perfectly curled hair over her shoulder to gesture to a table near the darts.

"No, my friends are over there."

When she turns back to you, your smile drops and the sweetness from your voice is gone.

"Good. You should probably go join them."

A subtle threat is laced in your tone and the blonde picks up on it easily. She slips off the stool and straightens her skirt, offers Joel a cordial wave, and disappears into the crowd.

"Goddamn," Joel chuckles after you turn around, dropping his hand with a glare.

"What did she say to you?"

"What? When?"

"You know when," you snap, "your face was red as a tomato."

Joel smirks and swipes his palm over his mouth with a shrug. "Said it was her birthday but she wanted to take me to the bathroom 'n give me a gift."

Your jaw drops. "That fucking—"

You spin back in her direction, rage boiling over, when Joel snags your arm. "Darlin', easy, a man can only get so hard."

"We got a problem here?" Dave asks, loudly setting down two beers with a scowl. You straighten up and try to unclench your jaw.

"No," you seethe.

"Good." His eyes shift wearily between you and Joel, then juts a finger in your direction. "I'm watchin' you."

You roll your eyes and grab your beer, too pissed to care.

"One foot outta line—" Dave warns Joel, and Joel waves him off before grabbing the other beer.

"Yeah, yeah. I got it."

He rushes after you, looping an arm around your waist and tugging you into his side.

"You're full'a surprises," he murmurs in your ear.

You scoff and slide into the booth, still too angry to think about much else, and take a long sip from your beer and Joel joins you.

"Does that happen often?" you ask with an edge to your voice.

"No," he says, "took me by surprise. I was tryin' to be nice." His arm resumes its post on the top of your seat and his other hand finds a home on your leg. His fingers squeeze a little as he inches forward while you take another angry gulp from your glass to settle the adrenaline. "Can I tell you a secret?" he asks, dipping low so his lips graze your ear. You find yourself leaning closer and the rage pumping through your veins begins to slow.

"What?" you reply, trying to maintain your scowl, but you're failing. Your brows cannot stay furrowed tonight.

Joel smirks and something dangerous shifts behind his eyes. "That was pretty fuckin' sexy, what you did," he admits, and despite yourself, your chest fills with pride. "Never had someone do somethin' like that for me."

"Try not to get a big head over it," you tease with a smile. The last of your anger dissipates and you poke him gently in the ribs.

"Oh, too late for that, honey," Joel laughs. He curls his body inwards more so you can feel that heat again and the hand on your thigh slides up slowly before reaching for your wrist. There's a familiar pull between your legs almost immediately from his touch.

His fingers delicately hold your wrist in your lap before he shifts in his seat and suspiciously glances around the bar. You're confused until he subtly moves your palm to the front of his jeans and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel him, hot and rock hard behind his zipper.

"Joel—"

"Wasn't kiddin'," he whispers in your ear before his lips find a sensitive spot on your throat. You bite your lip and try to ignore the warmth pooling between your thighs, but it's impossible. The gentle graze of his mouth raises the temperature of your skin and without thinking, your hand presses forward. You feel him twitch under your palm and your eyelids flutter in a desperate attempt to remain present and aware of your surroundings.

"Joel..." you try again, but your voice is merely a whisper. Still, he hums in acknowledgement, but his mouth is busy trailing down your neck. You swallow hard. "As fun as it was the other times, I'd really like to not get kicked out of here again tonight."

He makes a disappointed noise before reluctantly pulling back. Your hand falls from his lap to his leg as you stare at one another, tension thick.

"Sorry," he murmurs, voice strained. His heavy gaze drags slowly across your face, both of you equally flushed, hearts pumping wildly in your chests. Then he grins. "I really do wanna know more 'bout you, I swear it."

"I know," you giggle, tension breaking a bit.

"Can't seem to help myself when you get all pissed off," he continues, running his fingers through his hair. "You're doin' somethin' crazy to me, darlin'."

You laugh again, hiding behind your hair. You're not ready to admit it, but he's certainly doing something to you, too.

"Okay," you take a deep breath so as to fight through the veil of arousal clinging to your body, "what, uh... what movies do you like?"

The next hour or so carries on like that. Ten minutes of harmless questions, a joke here or there, and inevitably one of you finds a reason to touch the other. The tension builds again until you snap out of it and then the cycle repeats itself.

It's the beer, you think. It's making you both a little too relaxed. That's the only reasonable explaination for the unusually spectacular date. The connection feels strong because the beer is strong. That's all.

After you finish your drinks and the bar fills up with a much more rowdy crowd, Joel suggests heading out. As disappointed as you are for the night to end, you agree and stand to follow him hand in hand through the throngs of people laughing and milling around on the dance floor. It's only when you're a few feet away from the door that Joel stops and turns to you with a grin.

"Guess I wasn't that special," he says loudly over the music, then nods towards a dark booth in the corner. Your gaze follows and you burst out laughing when you spot a shock of familiar blonde hair all over some guy a few years younger than Joel.

"Sorry she broke your heart," you giggle, stumbling out of the bar side by side. Both hands curl around his bicep as you walk through the parking lot wearing matching grins.

"I'll survive," he jokes, fishing the keys out of his pocket. The music from the jukebox is fading behind you. Laughter and glasses clinking thin with every step. Instead, you begin to hear the soothing sound of crickets chirping from the nearby grass. You're silent for a minute, letting the quiet settle around you like a blanket. It's peaceful and you tip your chin up to gaze at the stars, knowing Joel won't let you trip.

"Wanna walk for a bit?" he asks once his truck is in view. Your eyes tear away from the inky night sky to look at him.

"Sure. Are you not good to drive?"

"Nah, ain't that," he says, grinning at you with that dimple. "Just don't want the night to end yet."

"Oh," you breathe, then hide your shy smile by pretending to study something imaginary across the street.

Your hands fall from his bicep and he laces his fingers between yours as you walk down the cracked sidewalk. You pass restaurants, mostly pizza and fast food places with later hours to accommodate the bar patrons. On the corner is a theater that just let out and your gaze drifts up to read the marquee.

"Oh, that one's supposed to be good," you murmur. Joel reads it and nods.

"Wanna see it next weekend?"

He says it so easily, so casually, that he has you agreeing without even missing that awkward step that typically comes after a first date, the one that has both sides wondering if it went as well as you thought and if it would lead to anything more. Joel decides to eliminate all doubt before the night is even over. He's so smooth about it that you wouldn't know for sure if he was as excited as you if you didn't happen to catch the smile stretched across his face before he swiped his palm over his mouth to hide it.

Eventually, you come to the riverwalk. It's such a calm atmosphere: lights from underneath the railings brighten your path, there's mostly couples strolling quietly along that give you an occasional nod and you smile to yourself when teenagers go racing by on bikes or scooters. Joel doesn't lead you that far, otherwise it will take forever to eventually get back to his truck, so instead he finds a secluded spot with a view and leans against the railing on his forearms. You follow his lead but shiver when the metal railing touches your skin. He notices and immediately shrugs off his flannel, draping it around your shoulders.

"Thank you," you murmur, sliding your arms into the sleeves. The heat from his body is still in the fabric. His scent clings to the fibers and it makes you a little hazy with want to have his shirt engulfing you like this because it's reminding you of the way his body felt folded around you while pummeling you from behind.

When you catch his eye, you think you see the same flash of lust there, but he averts his gaze to the water too quickly.

"Don't come here at night often," he says. The light breeze slips through his hair and it makes you want to run your fingers through it.

"Me, either," you admit, "it's nice."

Despite just wearing a short sleeved shirt now, you still feel the heat rolling off his body. You lean a little closer and watch the water lazily roll under the walkway towards the shore.

"Was it as bad as you thought it'd be?"

You glance sideways at him when he asks the question.

"What?"

He shrugs, eyes still scanning the scenery. "Tonight. Our date."

"Oh," you laugh, "I had a great time. I didn't think it would be bad."

"No?"

He shifts a little, body angling more towards you now. You do the same, leaving one arm on the railing for support and you shake your head.

Joel smiles. "Good. The way you kept makin' excuses when I'd ask before had me wonderin' if it was me."

Guilt blooms a little in your chest. "No," you tell him softly, "it's definitely not because of you."

He gives you a few moments to elaborate but you don't. He doesn't ask, either, which you appreciate. And he doesn't make you feel bad for not sharing. It's almost frustratingly perfect.

You stay there a little longer, shoulders pressed together as you stare at the view and people watch whoever happens to walk by. Your fingers lace together at some point and you only let go halfway back to his truck when he buys you both ice cream.

"Shit," he grumbles when he sees how good your strawberry cone looks. You raise an eyebrow at him while taking a generous lick.

"Buyer's remorse?"

"No," he says stubbornly after tasting his butter pecan. "It's an underrated flavor."

"I'm sure it is."

You walk a few minutes in silence, past the theater again, which is now closed. With your ice cream half gone, Joel crumbles.

"Lemme try yours."

"No! I told you you should have gotten a different one."

You take a stubborn lick of your ice cream and Joel pouts. "I'll give you some of mine," he offers, holding out his cone. You shake your head.

"No, thanks. This is perfect."

Less than a minute goes by with Joel side-eyeing you until he can't take it anymore and he suddenly lunges, trying to grab a lick of your ice cream, but you yank it away just in time.

"Stop!" you squeal, giggling when he tries and fails again. A crowd of drunk twenty-something year olds stumble past in the opposite direction, loudly swearing at one another and cracking lewd jokes, but neither of you notice because Joel figures out a way to get what he wants by pressing you up against the brick wall of a pizza parlor and kissing you so deeply that the entire world around you fades.

"Mmm," he hums, licking his lips after he breaks the kiss. You're lucky you're still clutching your ice cream in your right hand because you almost forget where you are when his body is pressed against yours like this and the faint taste of butter pecan mixed with strawberry lingers on your tongue.

"It's good," he confirms, then thinks about it for a moment before a sly smile stretches across his face. "Can't decide if it's better than mine. Lemme taste it again—"

Your laugh gets cut short by another kiss, but this time you're somewhat prepared. His beard scratches against your lips and chin and you're quickly becoming addicted to the burn, but it's nothing compared to the way his mouth moves against yours, the firm yet soft seal of his kiss, the measured swipe of his tongue behind your teeth, the gentle way he cups your face.

The way Joel Miller kisses is utterly euphoric.

When he pulls away, you have to stifle a whine of protest for your own dignity, but his hand still cradles your cheek as he smiles down at you.

"What do you think?" he asks softly. You're not sure what he means. What do you think about... the kiss? The weather? The president's latest cabinet pick?

"I think..." you pant, heavy eyes dropping to his mouth. Your thumb swipes under his lower lip and you swear he leans forward. "I think it's an underrated flavor," you finish, gaze darting up at him playfully. He smirks.

"Told ya."

The ice cream is gone by the time you wander back to the bar parking lot. Based on the noise filtering from the open door, it sounds like it got much busier since you left. A few motorcycles rumble into the parking lot behind you and Joel tucks you protectively into his side even though there's no chance of them coming anywhere close enough to hitting you.

When he opens the passenger door, he helps you hop in. His hand lingers on your waist a little longer than necessary and you grin.

"Do you want your flannel back?" you ask him. He shakes his head.

"Looks better on you."

Your cheeks warm from the compliment and in the brief moment you have to yourself after he shuts the door, you drag in a loud, steadying breath to calm your nerves. Why are you so nervous anyway? You've already slept with him twice. Yet somehow, being on this date with him feels so much more vulnerable than being naked.

On the drive back to your house, you try your best to keep the conversation light, but it's hard when his hand rests so comfortably on your thigh. All you can think about is dragging him into your house, back into your bed, because the tension that's been ebbing and flowing all evening is making you feel like you may implode.

"How much longer do you have next door?" you ask him at some point. His fingers tighten around the denim of your jeans as he makes a turn, one handed.

"'Bout a week or two."

You hum and keep looking out your window, fingers itching to touch him.

"Then what?"

"Puttin' on an addition for a family who's expectin' a baby in a few months," he tells you. "Spot's over in my neck of the woods, couple streets over."

"Where do you live?" you ask, a little ashamed you haven't asked before.

"Off Rossler, in a little cul-de-sac," he says. You map it out in your head.

"That's not too far from me."

"'Bout fifteen minutes."

"And do you live alone?"

Joel laughs. "You askin' if I got a secret family or somethin'?"

You can't help but grin in return. "I mean, I'd hope not, but you never know."

"Well, I don't. But Tommy'll be comin' to stay for a couple weeks pretty soon. He's in the army and he'll be home on leave."

That surprises you. "I thought you said he's a trouble maker?"

"That I did."

"Hmm," is all you say in response. A comfortable silence falls between you, only to be broken once Joel turns onto your street.

"I like spendin' time with you," he says abruptly. Your gaze skirts to the side in surprise when you hear the earnestness in his voice. "I know you said you don't really do relationships but I want you to know, I don't plan on seein' anyone else."

Joel removes his hand from your thigh so he can properly turn into your driveway, allowing you a chance to process what he's just said. When he shifts the truck into park and nervously glances in your direction, you realize you've taken too long to formulate a response.

"I like spending time with you, too," you say softly. The corner of his mouth lifts and he looks straight ahead, turning the key in the ignition. The headlights blink off, casting your driveway into darkness.

"Lemme walk you up," he tells you before popping open his door and sliding out of his seat. His boots hit the fine gravel and you hear the soft crunch under his weight before his door shuts and you're left in momentary silence. Your eyes track him rounding the front of his truck and you smile as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

You should just thank him for tonight. Maybe give him a chaste kiss. Tell him you're looking forward to next weekend. But you know you can't leave it at just that. It's almost laughable now as you breathlessly ask him to come inside as one hand fumbles with your lock, unable to focus when his mouth is pressed against your throat and his hands are squeezing your hips.

Somehow you manage to both kick off your shoes and push your door shut, even with your mouths seared together in a heated kiss. You mumble the hollow offer of a drink against his lips and as expected, he just shakes his head and pushes you down your hallway, mouth barely giving you a reprieve.

"You look so good," he growls, yanking the collar of his flannel down to expose one of your shoulders. Your breath stutters as you blindly navigate your bedroom, the sharp press of his lips over your skin sending shocks of arousal throughout your entire body.

Calloused fingers gently slip the thin strap of your tank top down next and the flowy material gives way, nearly exposing one breast. Joel helps it the rest of the way, curling his fingers underneath and pulling it down so his warm mouth can cover your nipple with a groan. The backs of your thighs bump against your mattress and you fall back, leaving Joel standing at the edge of your bed with his mouth open while you scoot backwards.

"You coming?" you tease before lifting your shirt over your head and tossing it onto your floor, joining the flannel.

"Not yet," Joel says back, and you giggle before his body folds forward, covering yours. Excited fingers find the soft waves styled on the back of his head and he kisses you again, stealing your breath when your nipples peak and graze against the fabric of his shirt.

"Been thinkin' 'bout this all night," he confesses with one more wet kiss before his lips drag down your jaw. "Been half hard since I picked you up."

You groan and arch your back, lifting your hips off the bed. His hand finds the button to your jeans and he undoes them in a heartbeat, zipper following soon after. Instead of tugging the denim down your legs, his hand delves down, greedy fingers seeking out your pussy and groaning deep when he finds you wet and aching for him.

The pad of his middle finger drags slow and firm over your clit and you moan, holding his face against your throat in a death grip. You're so sensitive from the buildup all evening that your body feels like a coil ready to snap.

Joel only gives you a few long, teasing strokes before he removes his hand and sits back on his knees to pull your jeans down. You eagerly assist, breathlessly lifting your hips and straightening your legs until they're left somewhere at the foot of your bed. You watch, heat licking up your spine as he strips off his shirt and starts to work on his pants. The arousing sound of his belt buckle clinking in the otherwise quiet room makes you shiver with anticipation. Joel sees it and smirks.

"Dyin' for it, ain't you?"

"Shut up," you whisper, eyes glued to the way he pushes his pants down and off, leaving him in only a plain pair of black boxer briefs.

"Mm, there she is," he breathes with a crooked grin. You roll your eyes.

"Get over here," you tell him, and his body jolts forward, eager to obey, but then he stops.

"Just one thing first," he says, bending forward at your waist. His lips find your hip and his beard drags slowly across your skin, distracting you from his hands pulling down your panties until you feel the cool air of your bedroom between your legs. Your eyes flutter closed under his gentle kisses and you almost forget where you are until his broad shoulders nudge your thighs apart and he settles his weight between your legs.

"Wha—what are you doing?" Your thighs tense when his hands glide up to hold them open.

"Wanna taste you," he says, voice low and thick. "Wanna make you feel good."

"No, that's okay," you tell him. Your throat tightens as the panic begins to rise.

"It's okay, just relax." His voice is soft and you jump when his thumbs spread you open. You can feel his exhale fan over your wetness and your muscles seize.

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," he smirks, "been thinkin' 'bout it for weeks."

When his mouth dips to taste you, you fist his hair and yank him up. You might have been a little too harsh based on the surprised look on his face.

"Sorry," you whisper shakily, "just... I'd rather not."

Something passes over his face that makes your stomach twist with guilt and you let go of his hair.

"It's not you," you assure him, "I—I just really want you to fuck me."

He scans your face and you can tell immediately he doesn't buy it, but thankfully he lets it go. He pushes himself onto his hands and crawls up to hover over your body and you relax instantly.

"Alright, honey," he says soothingly, "alright. Lemme take care of you, then."

Joel doesn't let your weird moment ruin the mood and you're eternally grateful for it. When his lips press firmly against yours and his weight settles between your hips, all is forgotten for at least the night. But something tells you the topic is only tabled, not dismissed entirely.

Desperate hands push blindly at the band of his boxers and you can feel him smirk against your lips.

"Take these off," you hiss, nipping impatiently at his chin.

"So fuckin' pushy," he chuckles before eventually helping slide the boxers down his legs.

"I know what I want," you reply with a pleased look as you watch him finally free his cock. You widen your thighs and reach for him, circling your fist slowly around his girth and giving him a few measured strokes. His eyelids flutter under your touch and it gives you a little rush, having him quite literally in the palm of your hand.

"Hang on." He sounds a little breathless when your hips tilt and the tip of his cock brushes against your folds. You bite your lip and pout when he shoos your hand away.

"What?"

He slides off the bed and searches for his wallet, wordlessly answering your question when he plucks a condom from somewhere in the depths of the leather and shows it to you like a prize.

The frustrated noise you make is involuntary, but Joel reacts to it all the same.

"I was over nine pounds when I was born," he tells you, tearing the foil and rolling the condom carefully down his length. His eyes flicker up to you and he tuts. "Ain't gonna do that to you, darlin'."

"God!" you exclaim, covering your face. "Don't put that image in my head right before you fuck me."

Joel just laughs and shuffles forward on his knees. His long fingers curl around your thighs, holding your hips wide. When you feel his cock nudge against your opening, your hands fall from your face with an eager gasp.

"Yeah, thought that's all it'd take," he murmurs, pushing forward just an inch. Your head drops back into the pillows with a moan. "First taste of this cock's got that smart mouth makin' sweet noises for me, ain't that right?"

"Asshole," you breathe, arching off the bed when he feeds you a few more inches. Joel chuckles again and leans down, mouthing at your jaw, then throat, then breasts until he's fully sheathed inside you with a relieved sigh. He spots an old hickey he left half faded on your skin and his lips seal around it, sucking on the skin to deepen the mark, to stake his claim.

"Fuck," you whisper, fingers rising to get lost in his hair. He grunts a little when your nails rake gently over his scalp. Then his hips withdraw just so he can slowly sink back into your cunt.

"So wet," he groans, eyes squeezing shut. "Feel so goddamn good, drives me fuckin' crazy."

You preen at the praise and let your hands fall to his strong shoulders, palms skirting over the warm, sun-kissed skin. He's so attentive to your body, studying your reactions every time he buries himself inside you, hands always searching your soft skin and committing every slope to memory. His mouth is always on you, either lightly nipping at your jaw or brushing his lips across your collarbone or kissing you to stifle his groans.

Joel usually starts slow, lets you adjust, then fucks hard, but today he notices how you seem to like it like this. You like being fucked slow. It's easy to tell—you're more relaxed and vocal underneath him. Your hips roll to match his thrusts and you're already short of breath.

"You like it like this?" he grunts, and when your eyes find his he nearly crumbles. You're entirely lost, floating. He can see it in your face. You look so soft like this, so open, that it nearly does him in. Then your lips part to answer, but nothing comes out.

"Hm? Like it nice 'n slow?" He finds your leg and pulls your knee up to press against your chest. A choked sound echoes from your throat and your eyes roll. There's something so intoxicating, having you like this, that it's making his vision swim. He can't tear his eyes away, utterly engrossed with watching how you gasp every time he fills you, how your jaw slackens with every slow roll of his hips, how your face warms and your skin glistens from the pleasure.

Oh, he likes this. He likes making you feel this good. He likes being the person to do this to you, to see you like this, so relaxed and open. And he enjoys peeling back the layers and finding out more things about you. It makes him wonder if it just feels better to be fucked slow and deep, or if there's another reason.

"Eyes on me, honey," he murmurs. His thumb and forefinger tilt your chin and your eyes flutter open. He grins and shifts his weight, deepening the angle and keeping your knee pressed firmly to your chest. The way your brows pinch together when you whine has his stomach pulling tight.

"Fuck, that's it," he groans, still holding your chin. Your mouth is ajar and your gaze is hazy but you're focused on him. Sweat beads at Joel's hairline, desperate to slam into you, to fuck you hard and fast and flip you over and do it again. But he holds firm, he maintains that slow pace, he keeps flexing his hips so he can reach the deepest parts of you because seeing you trembling and moaning so sweetly like this is something he can't resist.

"Joel," you whisper, but your voice shakes. He nods and leans in, lets his parted lips hover above yours but doesn't let them touch. Not yet.

"Doin' so good," he says softly, and when your cunt clenches in response, he says it again. "So good. Takin' it so fuckin' good, darlin'."

You whimper and claw at his shoulders, trying to draw him down. Sweat trickles down the side of his head and your chest heaves but he keeps moving, he keeps his relentless, steady pace because something about it is tearing your walls down and he's desperate to see more.

Slick pools around his length, he can feel it. He can feel the way you respond to his words, to his gentle touches, and he keeps filing it all away, reminders not only for now, but for the future, of things that you like. Or, perhaps, need.

"You're beautiful, y'know that?" he murmurs, lips centimeters from grazing your own, "so beautiful. Y'know how good it felt to have the prettiest girl in the bar next to me all night?"

It's hard to push through the fog in your brain. The pressure building low at the base of your spine is climbing. The heat in your belly is growing. Whatever he's doing and saying is scratching an itch you didn't even know you had and it's got you so far gone, you barely remember your own name. And yet, through the pleasure and praise, your mind snags on one particular piece Joel just said and your heart skips a beat.

"I—" you swallow, throat dry. "I... made you feel good?"

If the question throws him off, he doesn't show it.

"'Course you did, honey," he replies smoothly, "y'make me feel good all the time, thought you knew that."

You whine and cup your hand around the back of his neck. It's impossible to get any closer, not a sliver of light can sneak between your bodies, but you need it. You need him. And maybe later you'll be embarrassed, but not tonight.

"Again," you beg, breath fanning over his lips.

"Y'feel so good," he tells you without hesitation. He keeps moving slow, making sure you feel every inch of him. Your fingers around his neck tighten. Damp curls flop against his forehead. "You're perfect. You fit around me so well, shit—" His hips stall for a moment when you flutter around his cock, nearly pulling him over the edge. You whimper and curl your free leg around his waist. Joel pants heavily above you, and your jaw drops open more, eager to swallow down his moans. "You're gonna make me come, sweetheart," he gasps, the admission only dragging your orgasm closer to the surface.

"Please," you whisper, ignoring the sweat collecting under your bent knee, between your breasts, on the back of your neck. "Please, Joel, please..." you continue, eyes rolling back right before his mouth presses softly against yours.

Of course, he'll give you anything you want. He wants to tell you so, he wants to tell you how fucked up you have him, how much he thinks about you and how badly he wants you, but he needs to be careful. Dumping too much on you will scare you off, he's figured that much out by now. Still, the words claw up his throat, begging to push past his lips and into your mouth so you can't escape them.

When you come, it's quiet, but he feels it like an earthquake. Your body shakes, your cunt pulses, and your free hand snags on the sheets, fingers gripping the fabric so tightly it almost tears. His deep groans tumble from his mouth into yours when he follows, hips stuttering as his hand clenches around your waist, holding you still as he spills into the condom.

The kiss doesn't end until the sweat on your bodies begins to cool. He can't tear himself away, he needs this almost as badly as you. The hand on the back of his neck doesn't loosen. His hand on your waist doesn't move. Your bodies remain intertwined until a dull cramp forms in your bent leg and you wince when he slips his cock from between your thighs.

When Joel makes a move to get up, you make a soft noise of protest that tugs at his chest.

"Gotta clean up, honey," he reminds you before folding the sheets across your body to trap the heat. Your hand finally falls from his neck and he reluctantly pushes himself up. Your eyes are closed, face flushed and muscles loose. He can't stop himself from kissing your forehead before disappearing into the bathroom to take care of the condom and wash up.

When he returns, you're exactly where he left you but now you're curled up on your side under the sheets, looking content and sleepy. Joel pauses for a moment before bending down slowly to collect his clothes, but then to his relief, you speak.

"Stay?"

It's a soft mumble that makes his heart soar. He doesn't hesitate to drop his jeans and slip back into bed, under your sheets. His body curls around yours and you nuzzle tiredly against his chest. Joel tries to fight sleep as long as possible so he can soak up this feeling, but his eyelids grow heavy soon after your breathing deepens.

A strong sense of optimism washes over him before he falls asleep.

***

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Seven full days since Joel was in your bed. And like a coward, you avoided going outside whenever his crew was working next door. But even if you wanted to, they didn't give you much of a reason. His crew was respectful and quieter, mostly because they began working indoors now. But you still caught glimpses of Joel frequently going in and out of the house to grab something from the trucks.

You hadn't spoken. It was like it never happened. But it did. You know it did, because his name and number are still scribbled at the bottom of the white board you have on your fridge, right underneath the list of items you need to grab from the grocery store next time you go. It glares at you every time you get milk for your coffee. Your gaze naturally drifts to the digits scrawled in his unique handwriting, like a beacon scanning the sea.

You never called him. You're not even sure what you would say if you did. Yet you can't bring yourself to erase his script from the board.

Around Thursday, your mind starts playing tricks on you. Right on schedule. You overanalyze everything and the further away you get from the last time you spoke to him, the more fuzzy the memory grows. What was his mood when he left? Did he regret it? Was he ashamed or feeling guilty? Is that why he never gave your house so much as a glance all week? Was he trying to forget?

It doesn't matter, you keep telling yourself. You didn't want anything more from him, you made that abundantly clear. So why are you still obsessing over it? Why are you even thinking about it now, a full week later, while you watch his crew eat lunch together in the shade on your neighbor's front lawn? Why are you scanning the group for those familiar broad shoulders and warm eyes and feeling disappointed when you can't find him?

Your computer monitor goes black from being left unattended for so long while you continue to look. You don't even notice.

He's avoiding you.

Well, you're avoiding him, aren't you?

You try to shake the invasive thoughts loose but they don't budge. Doubt begins to fester in the corners of your mind.

You set the parameters, you remind yourself. You're the one who didn't call him.

You pinch the bridge of your nose as the wave of insecurity washes over you.

It's easier this way. You don't get hurt this way.

You breathe slowly—in, then out. Then do it again, repeating your mantra to yourself until the tightness in your throat eases and you can feel again.

"Jesus," you mutter to yourself. How pathetic. You had sex with the man once. You hardly know him and yet you still have the same issues you always have when it comes to men you've dated.

Slowly, your gaze lifts to look out your window again. Finally, you spot him. He's under a tree with two other workers with a cooler open in front of him. He's holding a half eaten sub in one hand and a clear gallon jug of water in the other. They're laughing about something and even from this distance, you can see that dimple appear next to the corner of his mouth. His eyes soften and crinkle a little bit when he smiles and says something back, making his crew laugh even harder.

Without realizing it, the tension in your shoulders loosens. Your pulse slows and your mind is no longer clouded with insecurities. You feel steady again.

Suddenly struck with what you think is a fabulous idea, you stand up, nearly knocking over your chair in the process.

"Cookies."

Some demon possesses you to hurry to your kitchen and whip open your fridge for a roll of chocolate chip cookie dough you bought a few weeks ago and you get to work. Your eyes only settle twice on his number scrawled with black ink on the board while you preheat your oven and slice up the roll.

When you slide the baking sheet onto the top shelf and close the oven with a soft, satisfying thud, you dust your hands and smile to yourself. You're far from a domestic goddess, but baking some premade cookies is certainly a skill you possess.

They work hard, right? There's no harm in bringing them cookies. It's not weird.

There's a tall, narrow cupboard next to the fridge where you store most of your dry goods, including the baking spray you're looking to return to its spot on the bottom shelf, but when you open the door and notice the mess of items scattered on all four shelves, you frown.

Glancing at the clock to confirm you have a full hour before your next meeting, you decide it's the perfect time to reorganize your pantry. It's definitely not because you're fighting the urge to pretty yourself up with a touch of makeup and a spritz of perfume at the thought of being close to Joel again soon.

Ten minutes later you have two shelves of items scattered around your kitchen floor. It feels good to clean and organize. It helps ground you when your anxiety flares up, like a gentle reminder you do have control. After disinfecting the shelves themselves, you carefully place all the items back, turning the labels forward and lining up cans in a perfectly straight line.

You stand to admire your work with a pleased smile. Halfway done. Just as you lean forward to empty the last two shelves, you smell it. Burning.

You forgot to set a timer. Shit.

With a panic, you straighten up way too quickly, cracking your head on the top shelf of your pantry in the process. You cry out and stumble back, rubbing the sore spot just in time to watch in horror as the wood snaps from its place against the wall and shifts forward.

"No!" you yell, but it's hopeless. A bag of flour explodes on the ground. A glass jar of something pickled comes next. Salad dressing that is thankfully in a plastic bottle follows, along with a half opened bag of cookies and some stale cereal. You close your eyes so you don't have to watch the rest but you can hear it, your tidy little world giving into a chaotic mess at your feet.

If you were a crier, now would be the time. Instead, the usual wave of panic surges through your veins, your pulse speeds up, and your throat starts to close.

"It's f-fine," you whisper to yourself, forcing your eyes open. "It's just... I can fix this." But it's not helping. And the cookies are still burning. And your life is still crumbling. And you're still not good en—

Stop. Your eyes squeeze shut again.

One, two, three, breathe. One, two, three, out.

Your jaw is clenched hard but you force yourself to go through the motions to calm your body.

Triage. It's what you do best. You do it at work all the time.

Your eyes fly open and you look around.

Oven first. A fire is worse.

You grab a mitt and yank the burned cookies out of the oven, only to take the tray and put it immediately on your back porch so the smoke doesn't set off your smoke detector because you're fairly certain that high pitched squeal will actually be the last straw right now.

Second. The mess on the floor. Liquid traveling under appliances is bad. That means more work. So you set yourself on stopping the slow moving trail of vinegar and god knows what else.

Once that is cleaned up, you begin to feel calmer. Actually seeing progress being made helps, it always does. Cleaning up the flour and cereal and all the other dry goods is easier. Your throat relaxes and your pulse returns to normal.

Your floors needed to be mopped anyway, you think after all the shattered pieces of glass are swept up. Not to be deterred, you grab a new baking pan, put in another batch of cookies, and actually set the fucking timer before you get a mop and clean up the floors from any sticky residue.

Once the batch is finished in the oven—looking perfect, actually—your kitchen smells clean and your life is back in order. Just the way you like it.

"Alright," you breathe, flicking some hair out of your eyes. You find a cheap plate made for outdoor entertaining and place the cookies on it, trying to make them look as aesthetically pleasing as possible, but at the end of the day they're just... cookies from a tube. Whatever.

You peer out your window, readying yourself to take them over to the crew. That's when it hits you: what the hell do you even say? 'Here's some cookies, you're working so hard on a house that isn't even mine'?

You could give them just to Joel, but you know that'll look even worse. At that point you might as well just get a shirt that says we had sex on it.

This was a stupid idea. What were you thinking?

And what's worse is, if you don't give these cookies away, you'll end up eating them all by yourself in two days.

From your spot in your living room, you can see some of the men beginning to stand. Their break is coming to an end, along with your window.

Apology cookies. That's it!

You'll take these cookies over as an apology for being annoyed with them the last few weeks.

There's only time to rake your fingers through your hair once or twice. That's good. You don't want to look like you're trying too hard.

Yeah, like bringing them fresh baked cookies doesn't look like you're trying hard.

After wrapping the plate tightly with plastic wrap, you head out your front door with what you hope is a casual look on your face and an energetic pep in your step. Gravel crunches under your sneakers as you walk across your driveway, alerting a couple of the men to your presence. You try to ignore the kick in your chest the closer each step brings you to Joel.

"Well, look who it is," one of the older workers says wearily when you're within earshot. You smile sweetly at him, closing the distance between you and the crew. It's impossible not to notice the way they all stop laughing and talking as you approach, making you feel like you're about to give a presentation in front of an audience or something. It's certainly not helping your nerves, but you power through as if you were leading a meeting at work.

"Gentlemen," you greet them, coming to a stop. Joel is the last to turn but something tells you he knew it was you that was approaching. He doesn't look surprised to see you. In fact, you think he looks pleased. At least, based on the way he lets his gaze slowly take you in tells you he's pleased.

You ignore the way your stomach flutters.

"Oh," you say lightly with a smirk when you lock eyes with him. "Gentlemen... and Joel," you correct yourself, making some of the guys chuckle. Joel included.

"Somethin' you need, darlin'?" he asks. That familiar southern twang has your pulse skipping in your throat.

"Need? No. Want? Yes." You lift the plate of wrapped cookies for them to see. Instantly, their eyes light up as they all look at the plate. All except Joel, who keeps his gaze directly on you. "I wanted to come over and give all of you these cookies. As an apology."

"I'll take those, thank you," a scrawny looking younger guy with a terrible sunburn says, snatching the plate from your hands. You smile as he takes it over to the crew.

"Apology for what?" Joel presses, still not showing the least bit interest in the snacks. The rest of the men have started tearing into the plastic, your conversation no doubt fading into the background.

"Apology for being... rigid these last few weeks." You clasp your hands in front of you, addressing solely Joel now that the crew has forgotten you existed.

Joel steps closer so he can lower his voice. "Feelin' rigid again today, sweetheart?"

You bristle but your face gives you away. He can read how flustered you are at the vaguest hint of your last encounter and it only encourages him.

"No!" you choke, "Jesus, Joel. I'm just trying to be nice."

"That so?"

Your eyes flicker to his crew. Not a single soul is paying either of you any attention.

"Of course. What else would it be?"

A deep, thoughtful hum rumbles in his chest as he inches a little closer. The heat of his gaze sets your skin on fire. Every spot of your body he lingers on comes alive.

"Could be you were lookin' for my attention," he says rather boldly. You scoff even though your cheeks flush almost immediately.

"Don't flatter yourself. Actually—" You turn to face him head on, arms crossed defiantly across your chest. You tilt your chin up to pin him with your most confident glare. "I was hoping to borrow a drill. So, yeah, you could say I have an ulterior motive. Not the one you wish, though."

"A... drill?" he repeats, voice filled with doubt. His brown eyes sparkle with amusement as he looks down at you, his shadow shielding you from the powerful Texas sun. "What do you need a drill for?"

You jut a thumb casually over your shoulder, back towards the direction of your house. "I broke a shelf in my pantry. I need to fix it."

His mouth twitches as he thinks over what you said, like he's trying to decide if you're lying or not. You can see the gears in his head working, no doubt trying to come up with something to say that will make you squirm.

"Sure. I'll let you borrow a drill. You know how to use one?"

You shrug. "How hard can it be?"

Joel rolls his eyes with a sigh before motioning you towards the lawn. "C'mon, Handy Ma'am."

You laugh at the lame joke and follow him to his truck. Now that his back is to you, you allow yourself a few moments to admire his strong shoulders and easy gait. It's exciting, knowing what this man is capable of behind closed doors, surrounded by people who wouldn't suspect a thing.

Joel opens the back of his cab and reaches forward with a grunt. You bite your lower lip and try not to stare too long at the way his shirt rides up, revealing just the slightest hint of his boxers. Suddenly, your mouth feels dry.

"Think this one'll do the job," he says, emerging with a yellow cordless drill. He holds it up and presses the trigger a few times in rapid succession, making sure the battery is charged before handing it over to you.

"Thank you," you say, eyes widening briefly when you feel the weight of it in your hand. It's heavier than you expect.

Joel must see your uncertainty and quirks an eyebrow at you. "You need help?"

"No," you shake your head quickly. "I can do it."

You can't, but he doesn't have to know. You can pretend you fixed it when you return it to him later.

A slightly awkward moment of silence settles between you, like you're both trying to find a reason to keep the conversation going without looking like you're desperate. You pretend to inspect the drill while Joel casually studies the sky.

"Wondered if I scared you off," he finally says, chin still tilted upwards. "Didn't wanna pester you or nothin' but... I was thinkin' 'bout you."

The softness in his voice catches you off guard. "Oh, uh..." you stammer, surprised. "No. Not scared. Just... busy."

"Yeah. Good. That's good." He drops his gaze to look at you once before staring at something on the ground. His jaw rocks from side to side and he clears his throat. It occurs to you then that he's... uneasy? Nervous?

It shouldn't, but it relaxes you for some reason.

"I thought about you, too," you admit quietly. His face lights up with a cocky grin and you immediately regret it.

"Yeah? You thought 'bout me?"

"Oh, shut up."

"No, tell me. What were you thinkin' 'bout?"

"I take it back."

"Can't. It's already out there."

"You're impossible!" You aim the drill at him and press the trigger. The gentle whir acts as a soundtrack to his laughter, which only makes you scowl.

"Just got one question for you," he says, still laughing. Despite yourself, you can feel the corners of your mouth tug upwards at the way he looks at you like you're the only thing worth looking at in that moment.

"What?" you reply dryly.

He leans in then and you forget to breathe, nearly dropping the drill in your hand from the way he smells like the earth and coffee and some spicy undertone. Probably deodorant or shampoo—

Stop it.

"Wanna screw?"

You gasp, face hot as you quickly scan your surroundings. Luckily, no one overheard him. At least, you don't think they did. Still, you're about to rip into him when you turn back around only to find him smugly standing there holding up a... well, an actual screw.

"Excuse me?" you hiss.

"Said... do—you—want—a—screw?"

"That is not what you said."

"You're hearin' what you wanna hear, darlin'."

You make a frustrated noise and turn on your heel, back towards your house. "Thanks for the drill!"

"Hey, wait!"

"No, Joel, I don't want a screw!"

Some of the men in his crew chuckle as you march past but you don't care.

"I was just jokin'," Joel says after catching up with you. "Gimme that, I'll do it," he adds, reaching for the drill.

"I can do it."

"No, you can't. You ain't ever touched a drill before in your life, have you?"

Your pace slows and your grip on the drill loosens. "Well, no, not technically—"

"Then lemme help you. It'll take ten minutes, I don't mind." Joel turns and walks backwards next to you so he can address his men. "Imma help her fix her shelf, get back to workin' on that framin', need it done 'fore the concrete guys come next week."

You hear an amused murmur behind you and you stiffen. You don't need to hear what they said. You already know.

"They're gonna think something's going on," you scold him, embarrassed as you stomp up your porch steps.

"Well, somethin' is goin' on," he argues. You stop dead in your tracks and turn on him, making him stumble.

"This is not like last time," you warn him, pointing a finger at his chest. His wide, tanned, sweaty, gorgeous chest.

"I know, I know," he says, palms in the air. You stare at him for another moment, making sure he understood and was being serious before lowering your hand and offering him the drill.

"Good. Follow me."

You miss his sly grin when you turn to open your door.

***

"How the hell'd you do this?"

"Huh?"

Joel gestures to the splintered wood. "This. You take a hammer to it?"

"No, I—my head, I knocked into it when I was cleaning."

Joel gives you an incredulous look before focusing back on the shelf. "Goddamn. You alright?"

You huff, brushing off his concern. "Of course. Can you fix it?"

Joel clicked his tongue as he examines the wood further before peeking inside your pantry. "Gonna need a new piece of wood. I got some scrap in the back of my truck, gimme a second, be right back."

"Oh, forget it. It's too much trouble. I'll figure someth—"

"It ain't too much trouble," Joel says firmly, cutting you off. He gives you a sincere look, like he wants to make sure you understand. "It'll take a minute. You're doin' me the favor, anyway. Less wood I gotta unload later."

Before you can argue further, he disappears down your hallway and back out the front door. Your screen swings shut and you hear the dull thud of his boots hitting your porch, then the sound fades and you're left all alone in your kitchen, struggling yet again with your inner demons.

You're a burden.

You never even called him, you don't deserve his help.

He doesn't care about that. He doesn't care about you like that. He got laid, he got what he wanted and left his number because he thought it was the right thing to do.

It didn't mean anything.

"Oh, my god. What is wrong with me?" you mutter, rubbing your eyes in frustration. You shake it off, straighten your shoulders and smooth out your shirt just in time because a moment later, you hear Joel jog up your front steps and open the door.

You take a deep breath and force a smile when he triumphantly enters your kitchen, holding up a piece of wood.

"This should do it."

"Great."

Joel kneels down with a heavy grunt and gets to work, but something caught your eye: he returned wearing a tool belt.

It looks good on him.

Snap out of it.

"Do you want something to drink?" You're already moving towards a cupboard, pulling down two glasses before he answers.

"Sure."

You have half a pitcher of lemonade you made a few days ago—the powdered kind, obviously. Your culinary prowess only extends to cookie dough logs, not reaming citrus.

There's a high pitched squeal from the drill and the grating sound of wood being punctured and twisted by metal. You wince and set his lemonade down on the counter behind him, then take yours a few feet away to your small kitchen island. With a little jump, you hoist yourself up to sit on the edge of the counter, bare legs dangling over the sides as you sip your lemonade and watch Joel work.

He unclips a flashlight from his belt and pops it between his teeth so he can see what he's doing. He's all business, focused entirely on doing the job and nothing else. There's no awkward air, no sexually charged quips. When Joel Miller is working, he's putting his entire focus on doing a good job.

It's kind of hot, when you think about it. His head must be an encyclopedia of manual labor. He knows the exact right screw to use, the right wood... he knows to avoid the back panel because there's likely electrical running back there for your refrigerator. He knows to install the shelf a little lower than before because you're shorter than the pantry.

He's smart. A different kind of smart than you're used to. Watching him work gives you a new found appreciation for him.

You don't realize you're staring until he pockets the flashlight and peers out from inside the pantry with a knowing smirk.

"See somethin' you like?"

Normally, you'd bite back with some sarcastic remark to cut him off at the knees, but this time, you're flustered and you can't shake it off in time to think of anything clever.

"Uh—" You clear your throat and take a sip from your glass, hoping he can't see the way you're breathing a little faster. But he does see it. He sees everything. The smile slips from his face and his gaze darkens fractionally when you rub the back of your neck and take a deep breath before responding. "How long have you, uh—how long have you done this?"

Joel pauses a moment, still leaning halfway inside your pantry with the drill poised against the wood. He can see the way you fidget on your counter, the way your thighs press together and your teeth dig into your lower lip.

"What? Construction?" he eventually asks. You nod. "All my life. Started out at a landscaping company right outta high school, then went to U Tech to be a welder. Took some classes here 'n there 'bout different things. Hopped around a bit to find what suited me best."

"And what was that?"

He frowns. "What?"

"What suited you best?" you clarify. Joel smiles and drags his gaze back to your shelf. Before pressing the trigger for the drill, he answers.

"None of it. Liked it all, so I started this business. Little bit of everythin' that way."

The sound of the drill drowned out the space left for you to reply.

He makes it sound so simple. Like of course he just started a business from the ground up because that's what he knew he wanted to do. And he seems to be good at it. And enjoy it. You wonder if he knows how rare that is.

You're too lost in your own musings to realize he had been talking. You blink and refocus on him, standing next to your pantry with the drill at his side and his tool belt slung comfortably around his waist, looking at you expectantly.

"Huh?"

"I said, how long you been doin' your job?"

"Oh. Uh, almost ten years. Started as an intern during my final semester of college and accepted a job after graduating. Never really considered anywhere else."

"Why?"

You swing your legs and shrug. "Easier than starting over, I guess."

"Do you like it?"

You think about his question. Do you? You want to say yes, but you're not even sure anymore. You're pretty sure you used to, right?

"I'm good at it," you finally say. But Joel sees through it. Of course he does.

"Didn't really answer the question."

You laugh and look down at your freshly mopped floors. "I like that I'm good at it, how about that?"

Joel hums to himself and slowly turns to examine your shelf. He gives it a little shake, taps the top to make sure it's steady, then tests the door before making a satisfied noise and stepping back.

"You're all set here."

You lean forward a bit to look inside the pantry, impressed with how quickly and neatly he was able to fix it. There's no question you wouldn't have been able to do the job half as good.

"Thank you."

Joel grins, giving you a flash of that dimple, before picking up a few loose screws from the ground and pocketing them somewhere in his belt. You catch a glimpse of his stomach and you swallow hard. Your gaze shifts briefly to the clock—you still have twenty minutes before your next meeting.

"Anythin' else?" he asks, glancing around the kitchen. He picks up the lemonade and leans a hip against your counter while he drinks. His eyes settle on the whiteboard on your fridge, where his writing is still scrawled with his name and number, and guilt blooms in your chest.

"Yeah," you say softly, pulling his attention from the board. Slowly, he sets down the empty glass where he found it. He raises his brows, waiting, then you lift your hand and curl your finger, beckoning him forward. His expression softens and he does as you wish, closing the space between you until he's standing between your knees, inches apart. You drop your hand and hook your finger around his tool belt, giving him a playful smirk. That's all he needs to see. He presses both palms flat against the countertops on either side of your hips and tips his face down, brushing his lips gently over your own.

He's testing. Wondering if he's reading the room right. You respond with a little more pressure and he relaxes into the kiss with a sigh. Your arms loosely circle around his neck and you part your lips, inviting his tongue to dance with your own. He's so warm and smells so good, you almost forgot. Your mind goes hazy as you give in, letting your fingers thread gently through the hair at the nape of his neck. He practically purrs into your mouth, clearly enjoying the affection.

"I have twenty minutes," you breathe, pulling back just enough to whisper the offer.

"I can work with that," he replies just as softly. Then his mouth is pressing eagerly to yours, sealing the deal.

His hands slide up your shirt, mapping the skin underneath. He makes a pleased sound and kisses you a little harder when you shift forward, pressing yourself closer.

Joel flattens his palm against your spine, drawing you in. You welcome it by wrapping your legs around his waist and deepening the kiss with a soft sound.

He's so good at this, you think. He's good at making you feel good, at turning your brain off. All the static in your head leading up to this moment vanishes under his touch.

You break the kiss when your leg slides down and collides with a tape measure strapped to his hip. You glare at it like it offended you but Joel doesn't notice—his mouth trails down your jaw, pausing at your throat to graze his teeth gently over your pulse point. A shiver rolls down your spine.

"As much as I like this," you murmur, unlocking your legs from his waist, "it's gotta go."

You tug hopelessly at the tool belt and Joel chuckles, low and deep next to your ear.

"Oh, you like it, huh?" he teases while simultaneously dropping his hands to his belt. You roll your eyes.

"Don't start."

"You got a little fantasy? That what this is?" He unfastens the tool belt and leaves it in a heap on the floor.

"No, it is not a fant—"

"I can dress up like all the village people if that's what you're into."

"Oh, my god, shut up," you groan before yanking him forward, covering your mouth over his. But you're smiling. He can tell.

His hands fly up to cup your face, his fingertips dig into your cheeks, and he kisses you so carefully that it catches you off guard. You lean into it and let him set the pace. You don't mind so much. His lips massage your mouth open and then his tongue dips past your teeth, searching for its mate. He tastes like lemon, sharp and sweet against your tongue, which undoubtably tastes the same, yet you think it tastes better on him.

He's a great kisser, but you'll never give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

"Fifteen minutes," you warn him, already breathless when you whisper against his lips. He smiles and his eyes crinkle in that way that makes your heart stutter so you push that silly feeling down before sliding off the counter and dropping to your knees.

You have to stifle a laugh when his eyes grow wide. His button is already undone and you have his zipper halfway down before he finds his voice.

"Y-you—we don't g-gotta—"

"I want to," you tell him, hooking your fingers over the waistband of his jeans and pulling them down his legs.

"Darlin'—"

"Joel," you say firmly. You stare up at him from your spot on the kitchen floor. He just continues to flounder and grow red in the face, but at least he stopped talking. "Let me do this. Please?"

His eyelids flutter shut and he groans. "C'mon, that ain't fair."

"What?"

"Sayin' please like that."

"How'd I say it?" you tease as you pull his boxers down to his ankles. His cock bobs to attention and you shimmy forward, pressing your thighs together to quell the ache burning between your legs. When your hand gently wraps around the base, he gasps and his eyes fly open. You start to stroke him, admiring how thick and hard he is for you already.

"Joel? You didn't answer me."

"Huh?" His voice is about two octaves higher.

"I said—" You lean forward, making sure to hold eye contact when you stick your tongue out and slowly drag a thick stripe up the underside of his cock. His arms fly forward to brace himself on the counter behind you. "How'd I say it?"

You flick the tip of your tongue over the head, licking up a small drop of arousal that rests there. Joel swallows hard and takes a deep breath, steadying himself. When he's ready, he drops his voice so it's rough and deep above you.

"Said it like you might die if I don't stuff my cock in that pretty little mouth of yours."

You grin right before wrapping your lips around him with an exaggerated moan. His eyes roll to the back of his head and his jaw slowly drops the further you take him, inch by inch, only stopping once he tickles the back of your throat.

"Oh, fu—goddamn—"

One hand finds the back of your head and his fingers splay wide. He's not pressing you forward or tugging on your hair like other men before him had done. It's just a steady, grounding weight as you begin to move, slowly at first, savoring the way his breath hitches every time you swallow him again.

"You're good at that," he gasps, watching you bob up and down. Your fist covers the rest of him you can't take, twisting and pumping in rhythm. He groans again and a fresh wave of wetness pools between your thighs. "S-so good. That's it. Tha-a-t's it, oh, shit—look so pretty like this, honey. Shoulda known that smart m-mouth has many talents."

It shouldn't, but the praise warms your chest like the soft glow from hazy sunbeams. You don't think he even realizes it, that's the worst part. He's not saying it to get what he wants. He genuinely means it when he compliments you.

It propels you, making you suck harder, moan louder, and even though tears sting the backs of your eyes from how badly your jaw burns, you don't stop because Joel just keeps telling you over and over and over again in that warm, deep drawl what a good girl you are and you make him feel so good and you drive him fuckin' crazy.

"Slow down—wait—"

His voice is pained. It's the only thing that pulls you out of it. You slow down but you keep him in your mouth, sucking gently on the tip as you gaze up at him curiously with watery eyes.

And Joel? Joel looks like a complete wreck.

His face is flushed. Neck, too. He's panting and a little sweaty at the temples just from the few minutes you've been on your knees. It has you brimming with pride, and from the looks of it, forcing him to hold eye contact with his cock filling your mouth is just making him crumble even more.

"Jesus Christ, I'm gonna come if you don't stop," he whines. Your tongue slowly swirls around his girth and you just tip your head to the side, giving him a look that says, well, that's the point.

He receives your wordless message and shakes his head.

"Wanna fuck you. Wanna feel that tight pussy again." Your eyes dart to the clock on the wall—ten minutes. The hand on the back of your head tightens and you focus back on his face. His throat bobs before he speaks. "Gonna let me, sweetheart? Gonna let me make you come?"

You make a frustrated noise before releasing him from your mouth and stand up. His dick twitches from the cool air of your kitchen, wet and angry looking from being left unattended. Without thinking, you turn around so your back is to Joel and begin to unbutton your shorts, but he swivels you back around to face him.

"Nuh-uh. Wanna see you."

You open your mouth to protest—you're pressed for time as it is, pausing and picking this up in your bedroom is a mood killer at this point—but he just scoops you up and somehow, with his jeans and underwear bunched around his ankles—carries you a few feet away to your kitchen table.

"Jesus," you murmur when your back hits the firm wood. But then his mouth is on you and his hands are pushing down your shorts and you forget what you were annoyed about in the first place.

He pulls away only briefly, just to bend down to fish a condom from his wallet while you work on removing your panties. With eight minutes left, the thick tip of his cock is finally pressing into you and like a puppet on a string, your spine arches and your jaw drops at the stretch.

"Shit," you whisper, breathing deep as he settles inside you.

"Yeah, miss me, sweetheart?"

You scrunch your nose with your eyes pinched shut as you adjust to the heavy feeling of him prying you open.

"Don't... get cocky," you breathe, thighs relaxing around his hips with a sigh.

"Don't get what?" Joel pushes in deeper and you gasp.

"Asshole," you mutter, but when your eyelids flutter open, he can see the traces of amusement you're desperately trying to hide. "You're the one begging for my pussy a minute ago," you clip back, and Joel smirks before he shifts his hips.

"Got me there," he says, slowly thrusting back inside you. A traitorous soft moan slips past your lips and his gaze darkens, like a predator honing in on its prey. He continues to work you open with slow, deep thrusts, lost in the way you respond to each one and wishing more than ever he could have dragged you to your bed, stripped you naked, and taken his time with you.

"Five... minutes..." you remind him when you start to roll your hips in sync with his movements. Joel's eyes dart to the clock and he groans before falling forward, caging you in on your table. He buries his face against your throat and begins to move faster. The table legs scrape against the floor each time your hips collide and you roll your head backwards as the heat builds low in your stomach.

"Right there," you gasp. He grunts and fucks you harder, the head of his cock kissing a soft spot deep inside that is slowly making you come undone. His lips messily suck at your throat, the sharp scratch from his beard sending chills down your spine.

Your fingers get lost in his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. It's so easy to fall back into this with him. Dangerously so. After the first time, you thought you got it out of your system. Unfortunately for your work hard now and play later mindset, the hot, annoying, funny construction worker next door has figured out how to read you like a book. He's gotten under your skin and burrowed into your brain, taking up space where once you held plans on advancing in your company, ideas for the latest projects, and innovative ways to acquire new business.

Case in point, you never take a lunch break, and yet here you are, baking cookies like June fucking Cleaver and getting railed on your kitchen table two minutes before your next call.

"Joel," you pant, vision going blurry at the edges, "m'close."

He lifts his head from your throat so he can study your face, just like he said he wanted to do. He grunts, hooking one of your legs over his forearm to widen your hips. You cry out and tug on his hair. His eyes roll back for a moment before he blinks hard and snaps out of it.

"Let go," he says, teeth clenched like he's fighting off his orgasm, "give it to me. C'mon, know you can do it. Lemme feel you."

You writhe and whimper, arching your back to deepen the angle. You're so close that it burns the back of your throat. But the ticking clock on the wall is adding too much pressure and you feel yourself starting to lose what he so expertly built up.

"I—fuck—"

You squeeze your eyes shut and make a frustrated noise. Joel senses it: the way your muscles give up, the exasperated furrow of your brow, and he quickly grabs your chin.

"Look at me."

His voice is so deep and commanding that your eyes snap open in shock. He's inches away from your face, forcing you to stare deep into his eyes. His hips never stop. He never loses rhythm, still hitting that sensitive spot that holds you right at the edge.

He doesn't say anything else. Just makes you hold his gaze so you can see the fire in his eyes and the desperation on his face.

Don't think about the time. Don't you dare think about work. Stay with him. Focus on him. On this.

Another sharp snap of his hips sends you soaring. Relief rolls down your spine and through your limbs. An embarrassing sound rips from your throat and your cheeks burn but you don't look away. He stays locked on you, watching the way your face melts with pleasure. He growls low and fucks you harder, chasing his own high. Your table knocks loudly against the wall but you're too lost in a hazy bubble to notice.

"Good job," he breathes, and your heart stutters. "Feels better, don't it? You deserve to feel good, baby."

Your eyes roll back and you let out a weak moan from the praise. The words hit you just right and he knows it. Joel smiles to himself before feverishly capturing your lips with his and letting go with a heavy groan.

Your chest tightens when his hips slow and you wonder what it would feel like to have him dripping out of you during your call. You wonder if the people on the other end would be able to tell what he just did to you.

Your phone pings brightly on the counter and you both freeze, mouths still pressed together but unmoving now. With a sigh, you tilt your head away to look for it, but Joel pushes himself up and grabs it himself, handing it over while still buried deep inside you.

"Hope you don't gotta be on camera," he grins.

You tap in your passcode on your phone and laugh softly. "I think I'll make up some technical issue."

Joel makes a pleased noise before settling back down on top of you to catch his breath. You join the call and pray no one asks you any questions for at least ten more minutes because he seems so content to just wrap his arms around you and quietly bury his face against the side of your neck.

This is nice, you think, closing your eyes while the familiar sound of boring higher-ups chirps from the speaker of your phone. Your heart rates slow in tandem and the sweat cools on your skin as the next few minutes tick by. Your fingers drift unwillingly to his hair and you play idly with the soft curls there. You swear you feel him relax even further into your hold from your gentle touch.

It's peaceful but you know it needs to end. He needs to get back to work. So do you. But for once, you don't want to be the one to push someone away first.

The choice gets taken from you anyway when you suddenly hear your name from the phone and your eyes snap open. You reach to unmute and Joel pushes himself up on his hands, careful not to make any noise.

"Yes, I believe that's correct at this juncture, but I do have a follow up meeting on the books with the client next week where I'll confirm."

The robotic voice thanks you and you mute yourself again before your gaze slides to Joel.

"Guess that's my cue," he says with a lopsided grin, then he winces when he pulls his half hard cock from between your legs.

You watch lazily as he rolls off the condom and tosses it in your trash. What do you say now? This isn't something you regularly do. Joel doesn't make it awkward and you both have to get back to work, so there's no reason to linger, yet you still feel like you need to say something.

You push yourself up and rub the back of your neck before hunting for your panties and shorts on the floor.

"Uh, thanks," you say, buttoning your shorts. Joel is picking up his tool belt and when you speak, he glances up.

"For the sex or for the shelf?"

You laugh. "Both. But mostly the shelf."

Joel gives you a teasing look and sets the belt on your counter so his hands are free when he crosses the room to join you.

"Y'know," he begins, rubbing his chin, "next time you wanna see me, you don't gotta go through all the trouble of burnin' cookies and breakin' shelves. Left my number right there."

He juts his thumb over his shoulder towards your fridge and your gaze follows. Your stomach twists with guilt again. You didn't expect him to bring that up, but you suppose you'd want an answer if it was you putting yourself out there.

Then you blink and look up at him in surprise. "Burned cookies?"

He grins and his head tilts towards your back deck, where the charred baking sheet of cookies still remains, solidified like a goddamn fossil.

Your face flares with heat. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

Your phone is in your hand, executives are yapping away. You should be listening. You want to get ahead, right? Every meeting is a chance to make a splash. Make your mark. And yet... it's the last thing on your mind.

"Listen," you sigh, and Joel folds his arms across his chest. You drop your gaze so you don't get distracted by the muscles straining against his worn, soft shirt. And you definitely stop thinking about what it would feel like to wear that very same shirt on your own body. Because those thoughts don't have a place here. Not with you. Not anymore.

"I'm listenin'," he urges, lifting one eyebrow.

"I don't do..." Your hands flail as you search for the right word. Joel just waits, amused. "I tend to stay away from... relationships," you say, instantly feeling raw and exposed. You don't need to explain why. You don't owe him anything. Just leave it at that.

"Honey," Joel smiles, "I ain't lookin' to buy you a ring, I just wanna buy you a beer."

You chew your bottom lip, avoiding his gaze. He gives you a minute to think it over, but when it becomes clear you don't have a response, he shrugs and turns to pick up his belt.

"Ain't that serious," he adds, masking his hurt by clearing his throat. "Just thought it'd be nice to talk to you when neither of us gotta run back to work."

"Why?"

His hands still and he slowly turns around. "Huh?"

You shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking a little timid. It's not a look he's used to seeing on you.

"Why... do you want to talk to me?" you finally whisper, gaze glued to the ground. It hits him then that whatever walls you built up must be for a reason, something that cuts much deeper than his initial assessment of you being the overachiever, workaholic type.

He makes sure to straighten his spine and take a deep breath, facing you full on so you know what he's about to say means something.

"'Cause I like you, sweetheart. And I wanna get to know you better."

The softness in his voice makes you flinch. He lets you sit with it for a few more minutes, not rushing you, not saying anything more. He waits patiently while your brain turns over what he's said until you finally blink and meet his eye.

The walls are back up, but it's gentler now.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'll think about it."

"Is the answer okay, or you'll think 'bout it?"

You roll your eyes. "Same thing."

"It ain't. See—okay implies: yes, Joel, I'll give you a call tonight. I'll tell you my favorite bar and when I'm free, and I'll even let you pick me up in your beautiful, shiny truck—"

"Your truck is not beautiful."

He raises a finger in warning. "Don't talk bad 'bout her again. Hurt her feelin's last time."

When you crack a smile, Joel does the same. His chest lifts to see you happy and out of whatever dark place you disappeared to inside your head a moment ago. He doesn't like that, and he makes a note to be extra careful with you until you're willing to tell him more.

The voices coming from your speakerphone grow louder as a few different men talk over one another, drawing your attention down to your hand. Joel decides not to push you further and heads towards the door, tool belt slung over his shoulder.

"You know where to find me," he calls when he opens your front door. You look up but stay where you are in your kitchen. "I'll be waitin'," he adds after a pause, then quietly shuts the door behind him.

Your heart thuds loudly in your chest when you're left all alone once again. The conversation happening in your hand should be your primary focus, but it's not. The men are loud, but the numbers scrawled on your fridge are louder.

That familiar, creeping fear claws its way up your throat. That swell of panic and a fresh wave of uncertainty follows.

It's just a beer. It's not serious. It's not like—

With a determination you haven't felt outside of work in a long while, you stomp to your fridge and stare at his name scrawled in black ink. He's got blocky writing. But his numbers are sharp.

You smirk.

Of course the numbers are sharp. He's a contractor. He lives and breathes numbers, just like you, but in a very different way.

Don't overthink it.

You punch the numbers into your phone and stare blankly at the empty text message. You swallow tightly, ignoring the pang in your chest and the voices arguing over projections or referrals or something that seems incredibly insignificant now.

It's a big leap. Something you swore you'd never do again. Yet here you are, about to do it, because something about Joel just feels... different. And you're really interested in finding out if you're right.

What's the worst that could happen?

You wince.

Okay, bad question. You know the worst that could happen. You've lived it. Barely.

Stop it.

You take a deep breath and quickly tap out one word. Four letters. And hit send.

You: Okay

***

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It started before eight in the morning. Power tools, yelling, laughing, car doors slamming. It ruined the peace and tranquility of the post-school bus and rush hour lull. At first, you turned over and tried to fall back asleep. When that didn't work, you grabbed your extra pillow and pressed it against your ear. But after thirty minutes of chasing sleep with the sounds outside only growing louder, you gave up, blood boiling.

Maybe you should have coffee first, but unfortunately, your rage wins out. It's way too early. They're being far too noisy. And it's your goddamn day off!

You're seeing red when you tighten your robe around your waist, not even bothering to tie it but instead you hold it closed with your fist as you storm towards the front door. Your pajamas are just a tank top and sleep shorts, it's not anything scandalous anyway, especially given how hot Texas gets in the summer, but the last thing you want is a whole construction crew gawking at you while you give them a piece of your mind.

Music had just been turned on somewhere amongst the site. Tom Petty, you think, as you make your way over. Your flip flops snap angrily against the blacktop as you cross your driveway into your neighbor's front yard to survey the scene.

There's at least eight workers getting set up. Their trucks are parked all up and down the street, taking up every open spot. None of them glance your way as they unload tools, coolers, and supplies from their flatbeds. Your arms cross tightly and your brows furrow but the noise only gets louder.

"Excuse me?" you call out to no one in particular, but they don't hear you. Your jaw tightens. "Hey! Excuse me?"

"Can I help you?"

You swivel around, taken off guard by the deep voice behind you.

"Yes! I—"

Your words falter when you lay eyes on the man who snuck up on you. He's setting a ladder down by his feet, giving you time to take in his strong arms and broad shoulders underneath the stretch of his black short sleeved shirt, which still allows you a generous view of his tanned forearms. His jeans look lived in in the best kind of way. He wears them like a man who doesn't care what they look like, so long as they're comfortable. You push down the heat crawling up your neck by the time he straightens up, but when you see his face, you lose your train of thought once again.

Deep brown eyes, sharp nose, a chiseled jawline dusted with a short, somewhat patchy beard. Then he offers a soft, crooked smile that knocks the wind out of you to the point where you nearly forget your earlier anger.

Focus, you scold yourself.

"I live right over there—" You point behind him and he slowly turns, eyes scanning your modest home. "And my bedroom window is right there," you add. His eyes flicker to your open window towards the back of the house before he gives you his full attention again, something that makes your stomach flip. "I'd appreciate it if you guys could keep it down this early in the morning. It's disruptive to the whole neighborhood."

His devastatingly dark eyes glimmer with humor and even though he's not smiling, you can sense he's not taking you seriously. He makes a show of checking his watch—a beat up old thing with a green fabric band—before looking back at you. "It's eight fifteen," he tells you, tone flat.

"Yeah, now," you say, rolling your eyes, "but this noise started earlier. It woke me up."

Now the corner of his mouth lifts and he slowly crosses his arms, which simultaneously irritates and excites the hell out of you.

"Sorry 'bout that, miss," he tells you, "but we're abidin' by city ordinance."

"I'm sure you are, but you have to admit it's disturbing the peace."

He regards you silently for a moment, his heavy gaze drifting up and down your frame. Suddenly, the thin robe you're wearing is too much and doesn't seem like enough all at once. An amused look flits across his face at one point before his eyes drop to the dirt.

"Could start at seven, technically," he finally says, "we're doin' you a favor by startin' at half past."

Your hackles raise at that. "Would you like me to thank you?"

He chuckles and shakes his head before meeting your gaze again. "Never said that. Just sayin' we're followin' the law, is all."

"I know you are," you huff, "all I'm suggesting is maybe keeping your voices a little lower."

He smirks and uncrosses his arms in favor of propping his hands on his hips, giving you a spectacular view of his wide chest.

"We could," he muses, pretending to think about your request while staring off at a fixed point somewhere over your shoulder, "if you ask real nice."

Your jaw drops at the same time your knees go weak. "Excuse me?"

He shrugs, still staring somewhere behind you in order to keep his shit eating grin from stretching across his face. "Just sayin', you came over here all hot under the collar. Had you asked nice, I mighta been able to help you out."

Your throat tightens. He's not trying to sound suggestive but your brain doesn't care. It's sending a wave of arousal right through you, causing your heart to slam against your ribs the more it builds.

"What's your name?" you demand with a clipped tone.

"Joel," he says without missing a beat.

"Joel," you repeat, "I'd like to speak with your boss."

"Ah, that'd be me."

He stretches out his hand with a grin. You ignore it and look back at the trucks until you spot a logo on the side and squint.

"Miller?" you guess. He nods. "Great. I'll be filing a complaint with the better business bureau."

You shoulder past him and try not to fixate on how good he smells, a mixture of motor oil, fresh soap, and coffee.

"Yeah? And what's your complaint gonna be for?" Joel calls after you. You ignore him and keep walking. You hear his deep chuckle before he picks up the ladder and it pisses you off even more, but you don't allow your rage to show until you're safely inside your house where you can seethe to yourself while making some coffee.

***

The rest of the week is uneventful. You have meetings downtown all week, a disruption to your usual remote work schedule, but a necessary evil you try your best to organize all at once every month. When you leave in the morning, the workers are just arriving. When you get home, they're already packed up or gone entirely. You nearly forget all about your intriguing run in with the mysterious Joel Miller until the following Monday, when you're back to working remotely.

You're an hour into emails and onto your second cup of coffee when you first hear the familiar ruckus next door. It starts with amused banter. Then truck doors slamming. Then the music kicks on. You shake your head, close your windows, and keep working.

With your television playing in the background, it's easier to block out some of the construction noise, but at around one in the afternoon you hear a repetitive, ear piercing beep, beep, beep during a work call that sets your teeth on edge.

Stones are pouring from the back of a metal flatbed. Shovels are scraping and banging loudly. And you do your best to stay focused, but when the call ends and you can't recall half the topics discussed, you can't hold back any more.

You spot Joel with his back to you, holding a shovel and shouting instructions to his crew while you approach. As if he can sense it, he turns when you're about ten feet away. His eyes sweep up and down your body and he grins before leaning on his shovel, amused by the anger currently forcing your feet forward.

"Don't tell me we woke you up again," he teases before you can even open your mouth. "It's after lunch. What's the matter now?"

You scowl at him, ignoring the way his crew sends you curious looks as they work.

"No," you snap, "I'm working. Or, at least, trying to! I have all my windows closed and I still can hardly hear myself think."

He looks at you like he's sizing you up, like he's trying to figure something out. "Thought you worked in an office somewhere."

You frown, slightly alarmed. "How would you know that?"

"Saw you couple times last week," he says hurriedly, as if he just realized how his comment sounded. "When I was gettin' here in the mornin', sometimes I'd see you gettin' in your car and drive off."

The silence that followed made Joel nervous. He shifted his weight and awkwardly scratched his beard while you tried to sort through what he just said without giving away your feelings. He noticed you? Was he looking for you, or did he just happen to see you?

"Uh, based on your spiffy clothes, just figured you worked somewhere fancy," he finished, rubbing the back of his neck before looking away.

You look down at the clothes you currently have on—denim shorts and an old, oversized shirt... far from spiffy today—before looking back up at him. To your surprise, you notice some red creeping up his neck and staining the apples of his cheeks. You have to bite your lower lip to keep yourself from smiling because despite how pleased it makes you to see the big, annoying, sexy construction guy next door all embarrassed because of you, you're here for a reason.

"Sometimes I work in an office, but most of the time I work at home," you explain, waving toward your house, "and right now, it's pretty much impossible to get anything done."

"Well, m'sorry 'bout that, but we gotta work, too."

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "I know. How much longer is this going to take?"

Joel clicked his tongue, making you lift your chin to look back up at him. The way he looks at you like you're something worth studying makes your heart skip a beat. Traitor.

"I'm offended you wanna get rid of us." His tone is back to teasing, and that glint in his eye confirms it. He likes pushing your buttons.

"I just want my quiet back! My—your customers are elderly! They can't hear for shit, they keep to themselves, they're the perfect neighbors! They aren't bothered by all this noise, but everyone else is!" Your voice is getting louder than you thought. People are beginning to notice, but you don't care.

"Everyone?" Joel repeats, narrowing his eyes now. "Strange, 'cause you're the only one cryin' 'bout it."

"I am not crying about it, I'm attempting to come to some sort of agreement, but you're being too... too..." Your hands flail in the air as you struggle to think of the right word.

"Too what?" Joel presses, stepping closer. You catch a whiff of his sweat mixed with sawdust and it makes your head swim. Focus.

You glare at him, blood on fire in your veins the longer he stands there looking all cocky.

"Misogynistic!" you exclaim triumphantly. Joel just blinks at you.

"What?"

You roll your eyes. "Means if a man were out here asking you to keep it down, you probably would, but instead you're giving a woman a hard time."

That seems to piss him off. His jaw sets into a tight line and he leans forward, voice low and dangerous. "Now you listen here," he says, and the way his demeanor suddenly shifted makes your spine straighten. "I'll allow for alotta shit, but I ain't gonna stand here and let you spin some wild story when you don't even know me or my crew. That's disrespectful and untrue."

You swallow tightly, unable to tear your gaze away from his eyes. They're so dark and stormy when he's legitimately mad that it's hard to look away.

"Sorry," you mumble, "but you're not taking me seriously, what else am I gonna think?"

His gaze softens then. His shoulders loosen. And the clouds clear from his eyes. The playful glimmer returns and you swear you see a ghost of a smile tug at his lips before he casually says, "I'll prove it to you. Bring out your husband or boyfriend or whoever and I'll tell him the same things I've been tellin' you."

"I don't have a husband or boyfriend," you answer before you even realize the trap you stepped in. His face lights up but he plays it off with ease.

"That's a relief." Your eyes widen and he grins. "'Cause if you had some guy hidin' in there all this time, lettin' his woman handle all the dirty work, gripin' to me while wearin' short shorts or a see-through robe? That wouldn't be much of a man."

Then he turned on his heel to join his crew, leaving you to weave through the rollercoaster of emotions he just dumped on you for the rest of the afternoon.

***

Over the next few days, something slightly changed. You found yourself going outside more, lingering around your car or taking a while to get your mail just to catch a glimpse of Joel. Usually, he'd catch your eye and give you a small smile, but that was the extent of it. Nothing overtly friendly and nothing mean, either. He was very good at being polite and cordial, which infuriated you. It made it impossible to figure out exactly what he was thinking. You replayed so many looks and conversations in your head to the point where you were paralyzed trying to pick apart every inflection and glance.

Why do you care anyway? you kept asking yourself. You never provided an answer.

It's the combination of your frustration with yourself as well as Joel's confusing signals that cause you to find more things to complain about, although you never admit it. But every interaction with Joel leaves you more aggravated and pent up than the last.

"That's not the property line. This is the property line," you had argued with him on Tuesday.

"It's just four inches."

"That's nine inches, easy."

Joel had tsked sympathetically under his breath. "Oh, darlin', if someone out there's tellin' you that's nine inches, I'm so sorry."

On Thursday morning, he had parked his truck in your driveway.

"I need to have my driveway clear!"

"I know, I know, it was only for a minute til the concrete truck comes—"

"I don't care! Park on the street!" you had yelled, but the angrier you got, the more pleased Joel looked.

"No parkin' left on the street."

"Then park on the lawn," you said, crossing your arms and jutting out your hip. His eyes had drifted down, noting you chose to wear a shirt that showed a little more cleavage than usual.

"Careful, sweetheart. Keep yellin' at me like this and I'll fall in love with you."

Every time he said something flirty like that, it sent you back to your house to obsess over whether or not he was serious or just trying to get you off his back.

The cherry on the sundae was the incident on Friday when someone accidentally dug in the wrong spot and severed your internet cable, completely derailing the latest project you had been tasked with at work. Joel had anticipated your anger before you stormed out of the house, screen door smacking loudly against the siding as you stomped down the old wood stairs of your porch, making a beeline right for Joel next door.

"Tell me it wasn't your guys who did that."

He sighed before slowly turning around to face you. He looked tired, no doubt drained from the long, hot week, but he still managed to brighten up a little when he laid eyes on you.

"Sorry, darlin'. They're comin' to fix it."

"When?" you snapped. Joel narrowed his eyes as if to silently warn you about your tone. Who the hell does he think he is?

"An hour," he said flatly.

"An hour?" you exclaimed, clearly devastated.

"Yeah. An hour. Ain't you got a lunch break or somethin' you can take til it's fixed?"

You snorted and tossed your hair over your shoulder. "I haven't taken a lunch break that didn't involve a client in more than five years."

"Well, today's the day you break that streak," he told you before turning back to the hole in the ground. "Damn inspector didn't flag the property right. Ain't our fault, it's the town's."

You bury your face in your hands with a groan. "I can't believe this," you mutter to yourself.

"If it helps, I ain't happy 'bout it either," Joel says, crouching down to inspect the spot closer. "This just set me back a couple days."

"Days?!" you exclaim, letting your hands fall back to your sides in disbelief. Joel nods, still not looking at you.

"Yeah. Gotta redo the plans now. Old plans were built 'round the cables bein' two feet west—"

"So this insanity is going to last even longer?" you ask, cutting him off. Joel sighs and drops his head between his shoulders briefly before standing with a grunt. He's tall—his shadow blocks the sun when he towers over you, a fact that never went unnoticed.

"What's the matter, sweetheart? Thought you'd be happy to know you ain't gettin' rid of me just yet." The smirk he gives you is devastating. Your gaze falls to his throat, where beads of sweat have been trickling down and soaking his collar. It's not fair this man is so fucking handsome yet so irritating.

"I'll survive," you mutter, crossing your arms tightly and looking away to clear your head.

"Yeah? Who you gonna yell at when I'm gone, hm?"

"Believe it or not, I'm actually not a yeller," you shoot back with a glare. "Guess you just bring it out of me."

His gaze darkened for a moment like he was considering how to reply. You could almost see the silent back and forth behind his eyes, the words locked and loaded on the tip of his tongue but a small sliver of logic fought to hold onto them and pull them back down.

He says it anyway.

"That right?" His voice dips lower than you've heard it before, but not out of anger. Something else. Something far more heated and dangerous. "Wonder what else I could bring outta you."

The implication falls between you like an anvil. The weight of it keeps you both still, oblivious to what's going on around you entirely. Somehow, you manage to hold his gaze, but you're swallowing hard and breathing even harder and he can see it. He tracks the movement with those dark eyes, waiting for you to come up with a retort or storm off.

Normally, you'd do the latter, but today, you're fired up. It's always Joel who gets the last flirty word in. It's always Joel who leaves you spinning while he happily carries on with his day. So this time, you close the distance between you and crane your neck up. He doesn't break eye contact but you can tell he didn't expect this. He didn't expect you to get inches away and hold the silence like a knife to his throat. His lip curls into a smile, breathlessly anticipating some flustered, snappy comeback paired with an angry look. Instead, what you say shocks him.

"You couldn't handle it, Miller."

The confidence in your voice is what makes him falter. You clock it and grin, very satisfied with yourself, before turning and heading back to your house. The world begins to wake up around him again. Sounds begin to crescendo slowly in the air: power tools, his crew's voices, cars rumbling down the street. But his eyes are fixed on you. On the way you carry yourself back up your porch and into your house without the courtesy of a single glance back.

When your screen door snaps shut, he blinks. Clears his throat. Then forces his feet to move.

After that, Joel spends the rest of the afternoon praying he doesn't get distracted enough to lose a finger.

***

The weekend is thankfully quiet, but long. You pace around trying to keep busy, but you miss it. You hate it, but you miss peeking out your window to see what Joel is up to. You miss whatever has been brewing between you over the last two weeks. You miss the excitement and electricity that crackles between you when you stomp over there for one reason or another.

By Sunday night, you decide it isn't healthy to be so fixated on this. You're not even sure what's gotten into you. Usually, your life is mundane and quiet, yet this man has burrowed his way in and found a piece of you to bring to life you didn't know existed.

He pisses you off, you remind yourself. It's not good. He's not good. Let this go, the sooner the better.

So on Monday, you force yourself to stay in your house all day. It's hard, but you know it's the right thing to do. You need to focus on work and Joel is just a distraction. A big, annoying, sexy distraction.

On Tuesday, you do the same thing. It's a littler easier this time. You get a decent amount of work done with your earbuds solidly in place. You only look up from your computer to check your window a handful of times. Once or twice you swear you catch Joel glancing expectantly towards your house, but you push down the butterflies in your belly and focus back on the project in front of you.

Wednesday is more difficult because on that day, there's a legitimate reason to be annoyed. Joel's crew is using a portion of your lawn to toss old pieces of wood from the porch next door. When you first notice, you find yourself rising to your feet, propelled by anger. But then you catch yourself and slowly sit back down.

It's fine. They'll clean it up. Don't worry about it.

You finish your workday without stepping foot outside, although you had to close your curtains so you'd stop looking at the mess.

Thursday is loud. Drills pierce the air earlier than usual. You assume it has to do with the rain clouds forming on the horizon, but it still grates your every nerve to hear metal grinding into solid wood first thing in the morning. You pop your earbuds in and turn the volume up. It works, until the rain starts. The water streaking suddenly down your windowpane catches your attention, so you pull your earbuds out and look up.

Across your driveway, Joel's crew is packing up early. They're running, getting absolutely soaked in the rain while trying to get everything valuable back into their trucks as quickly as possible.

Good, you think. Peace and quiet a little earlier today.

Then you see him. Joel. With his dark curls plastered against his forehead and his white shirt sticking to his torso like he had just jumped into a pool. Your brain buffers and your lips part at the sight. You could tell before he's strong, but now his shirt is leaving very little to the imagination.

"Shit," you whisper as you watch, unblinking, while Joel packs up his truck and then turns to help his crew. His muscles flex under his rain soaked skin, water drips furiously down the sides of his head, and you forget how to breathe.

Fuck him for being so irritating and goddamn good looking at the same time.

The image is seared into your brain for the rest of the night. It has you tossing and turning in bed until you can't stand it anymore and you give in, sliding one hand down the front of your shorts in search of relief. It's fleeting and not as good as you hoped, but at least you're able to fall asleep.

Friday is when everything comes to a head.

You're tired from a restless nights sleep and on your third cup of coffee when you notice the end of your driveway is blocked. Your jaw clenches as you push a curtain aside to get a better view and of course, it's Joel's truck.

"Son of a bitch," you mutter, narrowing your eyes like you could destroy the car with your mind if you tried hard enough.

It's fine. He'll move it. He's probably waiting on some delivery, like last time.

But this time, his truck remains parked haphazardly at the end of your driveway all day. When you manage to spot him working next door, he's all smiles, completely unbothered. At last around three you see him walk to his truck, but it's just to get something from the console. The way he strolls back to his crew like he had every right in the world to encroach on your property makes your blood boil.

That's it. You've had enough. You've kept to yourself all week long, it's almost the weekend, you did pretty good. And this isn't unreasonable. He's in your fucking driveway! He's had multiple chances to move and he didn't!

Before you could stop yourself, you reach forward, lift open your window, and lean out.

"Joel Miller!"

He stops dead in his tracks, along with half his crew, to track your voice from your office window. When he spots you, he lifts his hand to his eyes to shield himself from the sun and he grins.

"Yeah?"

"Move your goddamn truck out of my driveway or else I'm havin' it towed!"

His crew chuckles and goes back to wrapping things up for the day. Joel tilts his head at you like he's amused.

"Thought you moved," he says, "haven't heard that smart mouth all week."

"Unfortunately for me, I'm still here," you snap, "now move that hunk of junk right now!"

"She ain't no hunk of junk," Joel says with mock offense. "She's the only lady in my life that never let me down, don't talk 'bout her like that."

"Stop talking about your car like it's a woman, that's gross."

Joel whistles low and comes closer so he doesn't have to shout. "Jealous?"

"Of a car? Give me a break," you snort.

He tsks and inches closer. By now, he's halfway across your driveway. "Why don't you try askin' me real nice, then maybe I'll move it."

"Why don't you get a little closer and I'll make you do it."

The deep groan that rumbled from his chest made your thighs clench.

"Don't tease a fella now," he warns with a playful look, "'cause if you talk like that I'm gonna make you follow through."

You roll your eyes, grateful you have an entire wall between you to hide the way you're practically squirming in place.

"Will you please shut up and move the truck?"

"Don't love the shut up part, but y'did say please, so I will."

"Thank you," you reply, overly sweet with a fake smile. Still, Joel stifles a laugh, entirely enthralled with how riled up he manages to make you.

"No problem. I'll be done in an hour, then I'll get outta your hair."

The smile falls from your face to be replaced with a scowl. "An hour?"

"Yeah. An hour," he confirms, turning back to his job site. "Don't worry. Won't get in the way of your Friday night plans."

"Joel—"

"It'll be longer if you keep flirtin' with me," he says loudly over his shoulder so his entire crew can hear. Your cheeks instantly heat up but you slam your window shut before you can give him the satisfaction of witnessing your embarrassment.

You sit back down and try to focus on work, but it's impossible. Why does this man get under your skin so easily? And why do you find him so irresistible at the same time? It must be because it's been a while since the last time you've been with someone. You've been so focused on work the last several months, you can't even remember the last time you went on a date, let alone took a man home.

Your gaze drifts up against your will. Most of Joel's crew has cleared out next door. There's two guys left plus Joel, cleaning up the rest of the lawn before the weekend. You can see the relaxed smiles on their faces as they chat, probably discussing weekend plans. It makes you wonder what Joel does on the weekends. You have a feeling he's single based on his earlier comment about his truck. So what does a single man do with their spare time?

Probably pick up girls. The thought makes your stomach twist into a knot. You shake your head and focus back on your computer. That's none of your business. Who cares if he's getting laid? It doesn't matter.

Your lips press together when your eyes lift to find Joel through the window again, but now you realize the yard is empty. The remaining trucks are gone. The supplies are picked up. It's quiet.

For some reason, you're relieved when you stand and hurry to your window to find Joel's truck still idle in your driveway. You stand there staring at it while you weigh your options in your head.

It's a bad idea, you think. Joel isn't good for you. He drives you crazy. Yet you have to admit, you can't remember the last time you've felt such a spark with someone before. He's certainly not boring, you'll give him that. And he's funny, in his own way. Would it really be so bad?

Fuck it. You rush to your bedroom to change your shirt for a simple light dress and freshen up as fast as you can, all the while straining to hear for the telltale sound of his motor turning over, then you slow down.

You decide to leave it up to fate. If he's still there by the time you're ready, then you'll go for it. If he's gone, then he's gone, no big deal.

After tapping on some subtle, fruity flavored lip balm and spritzing just a tiny bit of perfume in your hair, you step out of your bedroom, mustering up as much confidence as possible as you walk to your front door. You decide not to practice what to say, that you'll just let it happen organically if it feels right. But when you swing your door open only to be met face to face with Joel, who has one fist raised in the air as if he were about to knock, all that confidence goes straight out the window.

Shit.

"Hey," he says with a crooked grin. His arm lowers to his side and your heart kicks in your chest when you notice his eyes sweep up and down your body before meeting your gaze.

"What can I do for you?" you ask, leaning against the doorframe with a small smile. His grin widens and you feel like you've stepped into yet another trap.

"That's a loaded question, sweetheart," he says, voice low. You suppress a shudder. "Wanted to tell you I'm headin' out. Looks like I got good timin', too." He gestures to your appearance and you look down.

"I'm not going anywhere."

He quirks up an eyebrow. "You got someone comin' over?"

You shake your head and try to bite back the smile that threatens to stretch across your face.

Joel makes a soft noise and casually lifts his arm to rest against the frame, right above your head. He's towering over you like this and you think it's on purpose.

"Just gettin' all dolled up to sit home alone?" he asks. You shrug and cross your arms, hoping your breasts lift when you do. His gaze flickers down quickly, confirming you're successful.

"You think this is dolled up?"

Slowly, he lets himself take in your appearance again, this time making sure you saw.

"Just used to seein' you in shorts or that little robe of yours."

"You don't like my shorts or robe?"

"Never said that."

You have to stifle a laugh and his eyes practically glitter with amusement.

"Do you have any big plans this weekend?" you ask, hoping to come across casual.

"Nothin' too crazy," he tells you, leaning in a little further. "Watch the game. Mow the lawn. Come up with new ways to get you yellin' at me."

You laugh and shake your head. "You've been doing a great job so far."

"Not so sure 'bout that," he says, swiping his palm over his chin. "Been tryin' all week. Didn't get your attention til I parked in your driveway."

The expression on your face instantly melts into one of annoyance. "You did all of that on purpose?"

His enjoyment couldn't be contained. With a huge grin, he replies, "Yes, ma'am."

"The mess on my lawn? The extra early noise?" You could feel your anger rising, flooding your chest with heat.

"That's right," Joel replies. "Parkin' in your driveway was a last resort."

Your jaw tenses as you stare him down in disbelief. "What is your goddamn problem?" you seethe. Your earlier plans to ask if he wanted to come in for a drink vanish. Screw this guy.

"Thought you were dead or somethin'. Consider it my version of a wellness check."

"I don't need you to do a wellness check on me!" you yell, throwing your hands in the air to stop yourself from pushing him. "I've put in the shittiest work this week because of you! Why are you hellbent on bothering me so much?"

"'Cause it's fun and you're cute when you're all pissed off."

"I'm cu—"

The words die in your throat as your brain formally processes what he just said. You're still angry and red in the face, your chest is still heaving from adrenaline, and yet you're frozen solid, blinking up at him like an idiot. A slow smile spreads across his face, revealing that dreadfully adorable dimple.

"Probably the only woman on earth who looks prettier when she's readin' me the riot act," he adds just to watch your mouth open and shut like a fish.

"You—"

You're at a loss for words. The emotional whiplash has you reeling. He's into you, but he's showing it like an elementary school boy. It's kind of endearing but mostly immature, so you stand your ground.

"How old are you? Because you act like you're no older than twelve."

"I'm definitely older than twelve," he chuckles without missing a beat. "But listen... I really am sorry if your work suffered 'cause of me. Lemme make it up to you."

"How could you possibly—"

"Lemme take you out to dinner tonight."

The floor practically gives out from under you. What the hell is going on? The last ten minutes has your brain scrambling and your heart racing faster than any workout. How does this man manage to drive you to the brink of insanity only to pull you back at the last second with something sweet?

"You can yell at me the whole time, if you want," he says once too much time has passed without an answer. If you could see through your rage, you'd be able to pick up on his nervousness: his hand flexes at his side and his weight shifts from foot to foot with anxious energy.

"How about I just yell at you right here?" you snap. Joel laughs.

"If that's what you want, darlin', then sure."

Frustration bubbles up with a growl. You push away from the door to pace up and down your small hallway, raking your fingers through your hair while you attempt to calm down. All the while, Joel remains where he is, planted just outside your door, watching you spiral.

"You seem tense."

"I am tense! Because of you!"

"I can help with that."

You freeze and stare at him, long and hard. All those thoughts you've had about him, those images of him working in the rain, his way of turning a phrase to just barely imply he could ruin you... all of those moments crash down over you like a tidal wave and you decide that maybe he could help, after all.

In the blink of an eye, you close the distance keeping you apart. Your hand fists his sweaty, dirty shirt and you yank him forward. He stumbles a few feet into your house with surprised huff. You see the way his eyes widen right before your mouth crashes over his and finally, for a few blissful minutes, you get your coveted silence.

Joel only needs a moment before he catches up. His lips soften against yours as you pull him deeper into your house. He kicks back one foot and it collides with your door, slamming it closed behind him, then his hands are on you, pushing you gently against the wall so he can take control.

His teeth greedily graze your lower lip and your mouth parts for him with a soft moan. Driven by the sound, his tongue eagerly slips past your lips and his hands drop to cup the backs of your thighs. He hauls you up and your legs circle his waist while your tongues tangle together, hot and angry. It's desperate and messy and exactly what you need. The broad heft of his body pressed up against yours, the heady scent of the outdoors and sweat and him invading your senses, the faint taste of coffee on his tongue... it's utterly perfect.

"Where'd this come from, hm?" he asks, voice low and rough as his lips skim the edge of your jaw. Your head tilts back and your eyelids remain closed, offering your throat up to him without a fight.

"You said you could help," you murmur, craning your neck to give him better access. He finds a spot below your ear and sucks, leaving the beginnings of a mark that will take days to disappear.

"I did," he mumbles against your skin. "Meant a drink or somethin', but I ain't complainin'."

Your chin drops, hunting for his mouth, but then his hand is there tipping your head back, cupping your cheek with his thumb pressed on the underside of your jaw.

"Ain't done," he grumbles before continuing his assault on your throat. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and let him move your head this way and that, enjoying the way he's taken control. You get the sense he's wanted this as badly as you because he seems determined to taste every inch of your skin. When his mouth travels lower to ghost over your shoulder, you shrug, allowing the strap of your dress to fall and expose more skin. Joel makes a pleased grunt before his lips explore the newly revealed territory.

"Christ, you're soft." It almost sounds like he's talking to himself, the way his voice is full of quiet wonder. A shiver rolls down your spine and you tug impatiently at his hair.

"Joel," you whine, but your thought is cut off with a gasp when he presses himself firmly against the cradle of your hips. You can feel him there, hot and hard behind his zipper. One of your hands drops to his belt and you slip your fingers past his waistband, but just as you're about to reach your target, his body jolts and he swats your hand away with a chuckle.

"Eager thing," he grins before sealing his lips over yours again.

"Bedroom," you manage to mumble when he takes half a second to breathe. "Behind you."

"Bossy," he scolds. His mouth covers yours with a deep groan before he tightens his grip around your legs. He pulls you from the wall and swings around to carry you in the general direction of your bedroom, all while never breaking the kiss.

It's kind of comical the way you stumble into your room. The door swings open too fast and knocks back against Joel's shoulder but it doesn't slow him down. He refuses to pull away to look where he's going, but when his boot collides with a half empty laundry basket on the floor, he curses under his breath and finally tears himself away.

You take the opportunity to squirm out of his grip. When your feet hit the floor, you instantly rise to your tiptoes, lips seeking out the warm skin of his throat. You moan a little when your tongue drags over his pebbled skin, tasting salt and sun that remains there. It's addicting to taste the product of his day's hard work, so you do it again and relish in the way he shudders from your attention.

"Shoulda just told me from the start what you wanted." His fingers fumble with his belt buckle after he hears the quiet sound of your zipper coming undone. "Would've saved us both alotta time, darlin'."

"Shut up," you grumble before your teeth pinch a spot next to his Adam's apple. Your dress falls into a pool at your feet, hands free to help him lift his shirt over his head.

"I need a shower," Joel says after his shirt is discarded. You just shake your head and press your mouth over his collarbone, then his sternum, mapping his body while he works on kicking off his boots and jeans.

"I like you like this," you whisper. He smirks, stepping out of his clothes as best he can with your mostly naked body pressed against his own. "You smell good," you add after a minute, and he seems pleased with that.

"Get on the bed, sweetheart. Lemme see you."

You pull away from the faint red marks you left littering his chest and look up at him through your lashes. "You first."

Joel frowns. "Wha—"

With a grin, you give him a gentle push. His back hits the bedding and he barely has a chance to register it until you're climbing on top of him, legs bracketing his hips with a giggle. He smiles so big that his eyes squint, revealing those damn dimples again beneath his beard. Then his gaze drops to your bare breasts and his eyes darken.

"Fuck, you're pretty," he mumbles, palming them greedily. When his rough thumb grazes your nipple, you lunge down and capture his mouth with a searing kiss.

"You want me like this?" he asks, words tumbling against your swollen lips. "Wanna ride me, baby?"

"Yes," you whine while tugging down his boxers with one hand. His palms glide over your thighs, squeezing and pulling you back and forth so your hips begin to grind down on his lap.

"Take these off 'fore I ruin 'em," he warns you, fingers hooking into the band of your panties. You suppress the shiver of arousal at his tone before you do exactly as he says.

When your bare cunt comes in contact with the underside of his cock, you suck in a deep breath. He's so hot and throbbing against your soaked folds, making every slide of your hips steal your breath away.

Joel watches you move with heavy lidded eyes, seemingly just as lost in the feeling as you. His chest rises and falls a little faster when the tip of his cock presses against your clit and your whole body shudders with a moan he will end up dreaming about for weeks.

Reality hits when a streak of his arousal leaks and smears across your skin, bringing him back down to earth for one second.

"Wait, my wallet—"

He extends one hand towards the floor and your eyes follow, connecting the dots and sliding off him to grab his pants. You find it tucked into his back pocket and toss it his way. He catches it and fishes out a little foil packet from its depths while you resume your spot in his lap, lips parted and heart racing with anticipation as he rolls the condom on with care.

"Alright honey, I'm all yours," he announces, smirking as he folds his arms behind his head. You roll your eyes but still shimmy forward and raise your hips, using one hand against his chest to prop yourself up and the other to guide him to your entrance. The moment you sink down, however, his lips melt into a soft circle and his eyelids flutter shut, filling your chest with pride before caving into the pleasure yourself.

You sigh and tilt your head back when you finally take all of him. The stretch is exquisite, or maybe it's just been a while, but it doesn't matter. All the static that's been electrifying your brain lately, all that stress from work, from pushing yourself too far every single day dissolves away.

"Oh, shit," he whispers, voice cracking. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips. "Feel so goddamn good."

You drop your head forward to look at him, chest and neck all flushed underneath you. Your eyes trace his body as you begin to move, just slow rolls of your hips while you take in every detail: strong arms built from work, not weights. Skin slightly sweaty and a shade lighter where his shirts protect him from the sun. Broad shoulders and a firm stomach, but not too lean. One of your hands drifts over the planes of his chest and the curves of his muscles, humming with admiration as you continue to slowly ride him. His eyes light up and you swear you can see the pleasure in his expression when he clocks your appreciation for him.

"Make yourself feel good, honey," he says, voice low. Your gaze flickers up to his and you share a smile. "Wanna see what you like. Wanna watch you fall apart on it."

Your hips lift and drop a little faster, skin slapping against skin. "Should've known you never stop talking, even when you're getting laid," you tease, and Joel chuckles.

"Bark and bite, I like that."

"Yeah, I figured that out." You gasp when he thrusts upwards, hitting a spot deep inside you can't reach on your own. He notices and files it away for later.

"Takin' notes on me?" he asks, ghosting his palms over your ribs before landing on your breasts, watching in a daze while they bounce in his hands.

"You wish," you pant. He tsks, eyes still fixed on your chest.

"I got a few things figured out 'bout you, too."

You stop moving to glare down at him and catch your breath. His dark eyes dance with amusement at your annoyed look.

"Like what?"

He shrugs but the smile still tugs at the corners of his mouth. "You work hard but don't ever blow off any steam. Don't know yet if it's cause you're too tired or you feel like you don't deserve it."

That stuns you. Even though you're naked and he's currently buried inside you, you suddenly feel very exposed. He sees he might have overstepped, so he backtracks with a joke.

"You can call me anytime and I'll be happy to help you unwind."

You snort and begin moving again, shaking off the unexpected flash of vulnerability. "Why don't you focus on making this memorable enough for me to call you again?"

Joel laughed then, loud. And despite yourself, you giggle.

"Baby, when you're done playin' cowgirl, I'm gonna flip you over and fuck you so hard, you'll feel it on Monday when you're watchin' me through that office window of yours."

Your pussy clenches involuntarily and you begin working faster, fucking yourself on his lap now like you mean it.

"That's a-a lot of big talk, Miller," you reply, breathless from the exertion. You circle your hips and moan loudly when you find an angle you like.

"Ain't just talk," he says, big hands back on your hips, helping you move. His gaze is fixed on where you're connected, on the slick smearing between your bodies, and his stomach tightens. "Been thinkin' 'bout fuckin' you every which way to Sunday, got a head full'a ideas."

"You've been thinking about fucking me?" you repeat almost shyly.

"Don't be coy, now," he tells you, grunting softly when you plant both hands on his chest for leverage. "You know you came over there that first day with these perfect fucking tits pokin' through that little robe on purpose."

"Did not," you breathe, but all the fight has left your body. You're getting close and it's all you can focus on now.

"Uh-huh," Joel says, clearly not believing you. He swallows hard and his cock twitches impatiently inside you. He could come like this, with you riding him, getting yourself off, but he doesn't want to. He doesn't want it to be over just yet, especially if you expect this to be a one time thing.

Shit, he hopes it's not just a one time thing.

"C'mon, baby, let go," he says before mouthing at your breasts. His tongue glides over one nipple then grazes it with his teeth before moving to the other one. You jolt and whine and push your chest even closer to his face.

"Joel..." you whisper. Your muscles are tired, you're slowing down. Sweat dots your forehead, collects behind your knees, and you're gasping for air.

He sits up suddenly, understanding right away what you need, and wraps one arm around your waist while the other braces himself against the mattress. He's able to fuck up into you like this and instantly your legs relax and your body slumps forward, causing him to relinquish the attention to your chest.

"That's it," he coos, "lemme help you."

You rarely accept help. The thought flickers across your mind for a moment before you push it away. This is different. This is just sex.

"M'close," you mumble shakily, fingers digging into the thick muscle of his shoulders, forehead pressed intimately against his.

"I know," he breathes, "give it to me, darlin'."

A few more harsh snaps of his hips has you falling, whimpering his name as white hot heat rolls through your limbs and soaking your brain with a drunken haze. He's murmuring to you the whole time: how tight you feel, how beautiful you look, what a good job you did, how perfectly you fit on his cock. The praise goes straight to your head and fills a much needed void somewhere inside you. Some piece of you that is always pushing you to do more, try harder, work faster... efforts that rarely give you desired results. Or, at least, the results you're after. But this—this man—he's giving you something you desperately crave without even realizing it.

Your breath stutters like you've been knocked off kilter, and maybe you have. Joel thinks it's an aftershock of your orgasm and doesn't think anything of it.

He lifts you off his lap and you gasp, eyes flying open in shock. You have about half a second before you're tossed face down onto the bed next to him, then he's climbing behind you, rough hands gentle on your hips as they pull you back up to your hands and knees.

"That's it," he grunts when you obediently spread your legs and arch your back. He smirks to himself before pushing back inside you with a heavy sigh. "Goddamn, you're warm," he says after sliding slowly all the way in, giving you a chance to adjust to the new position. You bite your lip and breathe through it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how deep he feels like this. How good he feels.

"Fuck me, Joel," you moan, pushing your ass back, encouraging him to move. He rolls his hips forward, slow and deep.

"I know," he pants, "I know what you need."

He moves a little faster. Your ass bounces with every push. He grabs it with one big hand and squeezes before giving you a playful smack and doing it again.

"No, you don't. You barely—barely know me," you remind him. Your words stumble over each other as you feel yourself losing focus again. He feels so good, it's impossible not to.

"Know you better than you think," he shoots back. He smoothes over the spot on your ass he had spanked, soothing the area before sliding his palm up and over your spine. He can feel every knot and twist, every stress point you keep locked away deep inside. His fingers seek them out with ease, like maybe he really can see more than you think.

Still, you're stubborn.

"You only know what I want you to know." Your jaw is clenched, the words escape through your teeth but your point is made. You swallow down a moan and close your eyes, giving in to the way he expertly takes you apart.

"I knew you needed this from the first time we met," he tells you, "could've fucked this out of you back then and saved us both the trouble."

"You like it," you hiss over your shoulder. His pace is relentless now, hips swinging roughly against your ass, burying his thick cock as deep as it'll go. He wants to split you open and make you scream his name. He wants your mind blank and your body satiated. "You like—ohh... f-fuck—"

"What's that?" he goads. Joel drops forward so both his arms bracket yours. His chest presses against your spine and his breath is hot in your ear. You shiver and your jaw falls open.

"You..." Your throat is dry. Heat is building behind your navel and your legs are starting to shake. You swallow and keep talking. "You like trouble. You like it... when I yell at you. Whe—when I—"

"Yeah, I know," he admits, "somethin' real sexy 'bout you when you get all pissed off."

"—Like when I tell you... tell you what to do."

He's silent for a moment but his pace never falters. The wet sound of skin on skin is deafening, addicting. Your face warms as he punches the air from your lungs with every devastating thrust.

"Yeah. Maybe I do."

You hum and breathe deep through your nose. Fuck, he's right. You're going to be sore. You can already feel it.

"So tell me what to do now," he adds. It takes you a second to process it, but when you do, you force your eyes open.

What does he want to hear?

Don't overthink it.

"Touch me," you demand, firm and clear despite how your heart is racing.

Joel doesn't hesitate.

He leans back, leaving your sweaty back exposed to the cool air, and he reaches around to play with your clit. Instantly, you gasp and buck under him.

"Like that?"

If you had any clarity at all you would have shot him back some sarcastic remark because of course the answer is yes. Your entire body is shaking, you can barely speak and he knows it.

"Mhm," you manage, "ye—yeah, just like that. Fuck, keep going—"

"Jesus Christ," he mutters when your body begins to work in tandem with his, meeting him thrust for thrust. "Shit honey, you're gonna make me come like this."

You whine and throw your head back. His fingers don't stop circling your clit. Sweat coats your skin now. Gasping breaths and the sound of his hips meeting your ass over and over are filling the room, punctuated by Joel's deep grunts and your breathy moans.

"Joel—" you whisper as your body locks up. Your muscles ache, your cunt aches even more, but you continue to take it all. Your hand feverishly finds his between your legs and you leave it there, loving the way his fingers feel while they play you like a guitar.

"Sweetheart, I'm gonna—"

But you cut him off before he could finish his thought with a sharp cry. Your orgasm washes over you, harsh and unforgiving. A moment later Joel follows you over the edge with a loud curse, then a rough, deep grunt you can feel in your bones as he empties himself into the condom.

"Oh, holy fuck," he gasps, removing his hand from between your legs. He still thrusts weakly into you as the last of his orgasm streaks through his veins. It's cut short when he feels your body shaking violently under him and just like that, his focus is back on you.

"You okay?"

"I'm—" You're out of breath. Your vision is spotty and your muscles are weak. You swallow hard and try again. "I'm good, just need to—"

You fall onto your elbows and Joel takes the hint. He eases out of you, ignoring the way his chest pangs at the loss of your body, before he collapses into bed and hauls you down next to him.

Now you can rest. You close your eyes and breathe, deep and heavy. He does the same while the sweat cools on both your bodies and slowly, your brain begins to come back online. When it does, you realize his body is loosely curled around yours, keeping you warm and grounding you. It's strangely intimate but you don't pull away. Not yet.

"How 'bout I take you for that dinner now?" he mumbles before carefully pressing a soft kiss against your neck. His sweaty chest is pressed against your back, sealing you together.

"Let's just order something instead," you sigh with your eyes closed.

"Did I tire you out, darlin'?"

"Didn't sleep well," you say, unwilling to give him any credit just yet, "the damn construction crew next door woke me up way too early."

"Uh-huh," he teases before tightening his arm around your middle. It feels nice, so you lean into him just a bit. And for a while it's quiet and peaceful. Your breath steadies, your head clears, but your muscles stay soft and relaxed. Joel doesn't say anything. His thumb rubs idly over your stomach, lips occasionally graze over your back or shoulder, and it feels good until that defensive part of your brain wakes up, right on schedule.

This isn't serious. This didn't mean anything. It was just stress relief. Don't get attached.

"So," you say, voice a little hoarse when you gently slip out of his grip. He rolls onto his back with a soft, reluctant noise and he watches you stand to pick up your clothes. "This is what it takes to finally shut you up, huh?"

You grin at your joke as you press your clothes to your front, hiding your bare body from him like he hadn't just touched every inch of it minutes ago. When he doesn't answer right away with some smart remark, you pause and meet his eye.

He's stretched out on your bed, looking at you like he's seeing something not meant for him. You swallow nervously and try not to let yourself enjoy how good he looks in your space, amongst your things, in your life.

"Yeah," he finally says, "guess that'll do it."

His voice sounds flat and you begin to feel bad, so you clear your throat and inch towards your bathroom. "Let's order something to eat before you go."

Before you go. Joel heard it and got the message. He didn't know what to expect but for some reason, it stings.

"Yeah, what are you thinkin'?" He sits up and reaches for his jeans, where his phone is still tucked into his pocket.

"I don't care. Whatever you like." Then the door to the bathroom quietly snaps shut. Joel sighs once's he's alone and rubs his face before looking around your room. It's neat and organized, nothing like his own. He chews the inside of his cheek while he thinks, but before he lets himself get too lost, he snaps out of it and looks at his phone.

Chinese is a safe bet, so he orders that before standing to rid himself of the condom and get dressed. Suddenly he feels out of place. He's rough and dirty and you're... not. And that's fine. This was fun, it doesn't have to be anything more. Yet when he wanders into your kitchen for water, he can't help but feel an empty pull in his chest at the thought of leaving.

“Javi? You know what I can’t stop thinking about?” I lean closer to his ear while we slow dance, everyone around us watching our first dance as husband and wife.

“Hm?” he mumbles.

“About tonight… about you pushing your fingers inside me again. About you making me come with the same hand that’s only been wearing that ring for a few hours,” I whisper, lightly running my finger over the wedding band sitting on his finger. “The ring that says you’re my husband now.”

I feel him go stiff instantly. His heart starts pounding even harder against me. “Cariño…” he says through gritted teeth. “That is really not something I need to hear while your dad is standing five feet away trying to enjoy our first dance.”

But I know exactly what he’s thinking. About dragging me back inside. Throwing me onto his bed. Peeling this wedding dress off me piece by piece. I know him too well.

And the way his body reacts only proves it. He pulls me closer until my breath catches in my throat. And there it is. The hard bulge pressing against his slacks and fuck, the feeling alone sends heat straight through my stomach. God, I want him so bad.

But we still have the rest of the night ahead of us and I let out a quiet little groan against his ear. “Javi… I seriously don’t think I can wait that long…”

He laughs. Bastard.

I immediately make a face at him so he knows he’s annoying the shit out of me on purpose.

Javi just keeps smiling in that smug teasing way I love so much and honestly? I think the fact that he’s my husband now is turning me on almost more than anything else.

»»—— ⍟ ——«« 

I barely even remember how the rest of the night goes. Some guests already left, some are still staying. Perfect time to disappear. The backyard’s lit up with what feels like a hundred little lights, salsa still playing somewhere nearby. Not as loud as before, but the guests that are left are still drinking, dancing, laughing.

My eyes instantly find Javi.

He’s leaning against the bar talking to John, his best man. His shirt sleeves are rolled up now, bow tie slightly crooked. His hair’s a little messy and he’s got that look on his face that’s half tired, half happy. A look that’s honestly pretty rare for him.

And like I’m fucking hypnotized, my eyes stop on the wedding ring sitting on his left hand again. My breath catches. Heat immediately spreads low in my stomach. God, that ring looks so good on him. Fits him perfectly. On the hand that can be rough and gentle at the same time. The hand that carries a gun and flashes a DEA badge. The hand that knows exactly how to make me fall apart once the apartment door closes behind us.

And immediately my brain flashes back to the last time we had sex. A week ago. I genuinely don’t know how we survived an entire week without jumping each other, but… pre wedding stress. Which only makes me want him even more now. Need him even more. I press my thighs together like that’s somehow gonna help.

And right then, I feel his eyes on me. And I know he knows. I just know it. That stupid smug smirk appears on his face and he slowly runs the fingers of his other hand over his wedding ring on purpose. And yes. He’s absolutely doing it on purpose. He remembered what I whispered in his ear during our first dance. About wanting him to use the hand wearing proof of our vows to make me see fucking stars.

I stop processing anything around me after that. Thighs still pressed together, breathing getting heavier.

And just when I’m about to interrupt his conversation with John and announce that I’m stealing my husband for a while, Javi excuses himself first, pats John on the shoulder, and starts walking toward me. Finally. He steps right up to me, leans down for a kiss, softly brushing his hand along my arm. “What’s wrong, mi amor?” he whispers against my lips.

I pull back just enough to breathe out, “Javi… take me upstairs… please.” That’s it.

His pupils darken instantly, his whole expression changing, that dangerous little smile pulling at his mouth. And then suddenly he picks me up into his arms hard enough to make me laugh.

I swear, I love how playful he gets. But at this point I can barely wait for him to tear this dress off me.

Still laughing quietly, he carries me through the remaining wedding guests toward the house. 

Everyone thinks it’s cute. Sweet. Nobody has any idea what’s actually about to happen once the bedroom door closes. And honestly? That only turns me on even more.

»»—— ⍟ ——«« 

The door to Javi’s old bedroom at the ranch barely even shuts behind us before he’s got me pressed against it, both hands on my face, kissing me hard. Deep, messy, hungry kisses. Like he’s been thinking about this all damn day and honestly? I think we both have. His hands are already all over me. He reaches for the back of my dress, fumbling with the zipper for a second before finally getting it down. Then he pushes the straps off my shoulders and the dress slips all the way down to my feet.

Thank fucking god I didn’t go for some giant princess wedding dress because that probably would’ve killed the entire mood right there.

Javi pulls back just enough to look at me.

I’m standing in front of him in nothing but my panties. And the way he’s staring at me immediately sends goosebumps over my skin.

“Oh fuck…” he mutters lowly. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” Then he’s right back against me again. His mouth drags along my neck while his fingers toy with one of my nipples, slow and lazy at first.

“Javi…” I breathe out against his ear.

“What do you want, cariño?” he whispers. His free hand slides down my stomach to my panties, thumb brushing slowly along the waistband before he taps lightly over my pussy through the fabric. “This what you want, hm?”

I push my hips against his hand without even thinking and the tiny bit of friction makes my whole body tense. Fuck. I’m already getting wetter.

“Mmm… so wet already,” Javi murmurs, sounding way too pleased with himself. “So perfect… so fucking mine…” His words go straight to my head.

I start unbuttoning his pants, where there’s already a very obvious bulge straining underneath. “Javi…” I gasp when he suddenly pinches my nipple a little harder. “That ring…” I mumble breathlessly while trying to get my hand inside his pants. “You’re not taking it off, right?”

He looks straight at me for a second like he’s enjoying this way too much. “Wasn’t planning to, mi amor.” Then he finally stops teasing me and backs me toward the edge of the bed. He pushes me down gently and I move farther onto the mattress on my elbows, still wearing my panties.

But since he keeps staring at me like that, I slowly start pulling them down myself. Slow. On purpose. I lift my hips and once they’re hanging around my ankles, I kick them off onto the floor beside the bed.

Javi watches every second of it without looking away once.

So I spread my knees for him. And fuck, I actually see him swallow.

He finally finishes unzipping his pants, the zipper I didn’t manage to fully undo before, then shoves both his pants and boxers down around his ankles. Now he’s standing there in nothing but that white shirt, a few buttons at the top still undone. Classic Javier Peña. His cock is hard as hell, standing thick and heavy against his stomach like he really fucking likes what he sees.

I slide my hand down between my thighs and start rubbing circles over my clit with my fingertip. Slowly dragging it between my folds while my other hand squeezes my breast. I’m turned on so bad at this point I can feel it everywhere in my body.

And it gets even worse when Javi grabs his cock and starts stroking himself slow, eyes completely locked on me the whole time.

I keep touching myself, already so fucking wet. The second I push two fingers inside my pussy, a soft wet sound fills the room and I let out a shaky moan. Fuck. It feels good. But I want his fingers more.

Javi’s breathing gets heavier watching me. Watching the way I finger myself for him. “Hermosa… fuck…” he mutters quietly, still jerking himself off. “You’re driving me fucking crazy like this… I love that sound you make."

My fingers speed up. In and out. In and out. And I can’t stop staring at the hand he’s using. The one with the wedding ring. The symbol of our forever. And god, I’m so wet now the slick sounds coming from between my legs just keep getting louder.

That’s what finally snaps something in him. Javi lets go of his cock and moves closer to the bed, climbing over me on his knees. The mattress shifts slightly under his weight.

I still have my fingers inside myself. Never stopped.

He keeps staring straight into my eyes the entire time. Even when he gently grabs my wrist and slowly pulls my fingers out of my pussy. Then he lifts my hand between us and looks at my wet fingers for a second. “Hm… this for me, cariño?” he says softly. And without breaking eye contact, he slides my fingers into his mouth. His tongue moves around them slowly, licking me off like he wants every last drop. Like he’s obsessed with the fact I’m this wet because of him. Always because of him.

After a few seconds, he pulls my fingers from his mouth and puts my hand back down beside me. “My turn,” he murmurs.

Fuck. Just hearing his voice like that sends heat through my whole body.

The empty feeling between my legs after he pulled my fingers out disappears immediately when he pushes his own fingers inside me instead.

I moan right away, one hand grabbing the pillow behind me while the other keeps rubbing my nipple.

Javi pushes that hand away too, pinning it above my head with the other one. He doesn’t say it out loud, but I know exactly what he means. Keep them there.

Then he starts moving his fingers inside me again. Slow at first. So fucking slow. He pushes them deeper and I feel the cold metal of his wedding ring brush against the inside of my thigh and somehow that turns me on even more.

Because holy fuck. This is the first time he’s fingering me as my husband. And god, I fucking love it. Javier Peña fingering his wife after their wedding with the same hand wearing his wedding ring is genuinely a deadly combination.

His fingers know exactly what they’re doing. Precise. Confident. He knows my body perfectly by now. Knows exactly where to touch me, exactly where I’m weakest. His fingers curl right against my G-spot and I can’t hold the sounds back anymore.

“Javi… please… mhm… don’t stop…” I moan helplessly. I catch the little smile on his face right before my eyes fall shut and my head sinks deeper into the mattress.

“Wasn’t planning to, baby,” Javi whispers. And right when he presses harder against my G-spot, he leans down and starts kissing and biting at my neck.

Fuck, I love this. I’m twisting underneath him at this point, hips lifting on their own.

“Stay still,” he murmurs against my skin, pushing my hips back down into the mattress.

I listen. Or at least I try to. But I honestly don’t know how much longer I can take this.

Javi starts moving his fingers faster now, harder, more intense, like he’s trying to completely ruin me. Like he wants me to feel him everywhere tomorrow. Every time I sit down. “Mm, love it when you squirm for me, baby… tells me how good I’m making you feel…” he whispers into my ear and fuck, I’m completely gone at this point.

Then his thumb presses against my clit while his fingers keep driving into that spot inside me over and over again. Slow circles. Hard thrusts. He wants to make me come. And the way he keeps switching between slow movements and rougher ones is driving me absolutely insane.

“Javi…!” I cry out when he pulls his fingers out for a second only to shove them back inside me again. One deep hard thrust of his fingers and pressure against my clit at the same time and suddenly I’m clenching violently around him as the orgasm hits me all at once.

I cry out loud and Javi doesn’t even try to quiet me down. I can feel my pussy squeezing hard around his fingers and the bastard actually spreads them apart inside me on purpose just to drag it out longer.

“Javi… I can’t… I…” I whine and gasp, practically crying at this point for him to stop while not actually wanting him to stop at all because the orgasms just keep rolling through me one after another and I swear to god I never want it to end.

But then suddenly Javi pulls his fingers out of me completely and moves away.

I let out this pathetic broken sound and my eyes fly open instantly, glaring at him. My knees are shaking so hard I can barely handle it. “Javi… please…” I don’t even care how desperate I sound.

He’s towering over me, cock still hard as hell, and I already know what’s coming next. And yeah.

Javi doesn’t make me wait anymore. He grabs my thighs, spreads them even wider, and drags me closer to him. And then he pushes his cock inside me. One hard thrust. "Oh baby, you're so perfectly wet... and tight... I love it so fucking much," he moans.

I sob out loud instantly, hands gripping the sheets beneath me. “Javi, oh my god–” I’m basically crying out nonsense at this point. I can feel my pussy tightening around him and I honestly can’t even tell if it’s still the aftermath of the first orgasm or if he already dragged another one out of me. My brain’s completely gone.

Javi starts moving inside me. Deep. Slow at first. Filling me completely.

I moan loudly and he leans over me, kissing me again while he fucks me, in and out, in and out, his rhythm getting rougher by the second.

Then his left hand finds mine.

My fingers immediately brush against the wedding ring on his finger. “I love you… fuck, I love you so much, Javi…” I gasp against his mouth.

Javi doesn’t answer. But I feel him smile.

And then his thrusts speed up and the sounds he starts making tell me he’s getting close. A few more deep thrusts and suddenly he pulls out of me with a rough groan, jerks himself a couple times, and then all I hear are his broken moans matching the waves of his orgasm. Hot cum lands across my stomach and pussy while Javi groans through it, emptying everything onto me.

And somehow that’s so fucking hot it makes my body clench all over again even with him outside me now. I moan and grip the sheets harder while another orgasm crashes through me.

I don’t even know how long it lasts. But eventually both our breathing starts calming down.

When I finally open my eyes, Javi’s hovering over me, hair sticking up everywhere, skin slightly sweaty, looking exactly like a man who just got off insanely well.

My pussy’s still stretched open around the entrance because yeah… Javi is definitely not a small man. Then he slowly drags the tip of his cock through my folds, spreading some of his cum there carefully. Not pushing back inside. Just teasing.

We’ve talked about kids before. Someday in the future. Not now. Although honestly… we’re clearly not being very careful either. The thought makes me laugh quietly to myself.

Javi grins and finally collapses down onto the bed beside me, pulling me onto his chest. Shirt still on, because obviously he never even bothered taking it off. “Next time…” he mumbles into my hair while I lay there breathing him in, “I’m bringing condoms with me because I’m not spending our entire honeymoon cumming outside you.”

Then he kisses the top of my head and I smile. I reach for the hand with his wedding ring and lace our fingers together.

Honestly? If this is what the honeymoon’s gonna be like, I’m suddenly even more excited for it.

Thank you so much for reading ♡ Likes, comments and reblogs always make me happy and help the fic find more people ♡

💌 @idknananchimaybe @theeverodriguez @mothmanuwu @pascalispunkbr @reasonablyluminousquill @justmasblack @indiegirlunited @saralovesjoelmiller @picketniffler @canonisoptional @katyispunk @daltoncharm @kirsteng42 @borinquenasoy @cuteanimalmama @negramurguera @senoratess @misstokyo7love @suestormnotcheatingversion @lizette50 @grxnde-dwt @harriedandharassed @somedayheaven @ningaispunk @ladyofmidlo72

On your hand still tangled in Harry’s shirt. On the remnants of an interrupted moment by the ghost of the past crashing on the shore.

Something changed in Patrick’s expression for a moment, but you couldn’t know what. After all, you didn’t know the man in front of you anymore.

You stopped knowing him the days you walked away from him five years ago no looking back, not knowing the price you would have to pay for that so called stupid decision.

……

Five years ago, New York - St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

The interior of the Cathedral smelled like Black Dahlias. A suffocating aroma that you didn't like. Surrounding inside the church, on the altar, over the pews and in the hands of your bridesmaids who were your two best friends and your sister. The same as those who had helped you to plan this wedding.

The two of them were smiling widely at you, meanwhile Kiera’s gaze seemed lost in the war unfolding before her eyes and mind. Her fingers tightened around the bouquet in her hands you almost could see her expression hurting with the prick of the flower’s stem.

And behind you, everyone was smiling. Everyone was waiting. Everyone believed they were about to witness the happiest day of your life.

But as Patrick stood beside you at the altar, as handsome and confident as always. His hand wrapped around yours.

The man you had loved for almost seven years and the man who had betrayed you.

Your throat tightened. The priest was talking, his words felt distant because you felt like your body was being carried away by the current of the sea and you weren't making an effort to stay afloat.

All you could picture in your head wasn’t the dreams of a future ahead, but the image of Patrick’s mouth on Keira’s lips.

Your maid of honor and your sister.

What a cliché.

Your sister and your fiancé, your future husband hiding inside a room three weeks before the wedding while whispering promises to each other not noticing you were witnessing the scene behind the door.

The image replayed again.

And again.

And again.

Like a knife being twisted deeper on your stomach

But you could also recall the Panic on Keira’s face outside the hotel hallways when she attempted to leave the place and how Patrick desperately tried to explain making up false words taking you for a fool.

But there wasn’t another explanation for his tongue being in someone else's mouth and his body moving beneath the sheets wrapping in another women.

The humiliation creeped up immediately. Your body felt under fire, but you also felt pure rage.

So, three weeks after, you put on the white dress, you walked down the aisle holding your father’s arm, you stood at the altar.

You walked down the aisle.

But right now, your eyes burned, tears streamed down your face as Patrick kept squeezing your hand with concern etched on his face.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, leaning closer your ear.

You turned gaze, looking into his eyes and for a moment you wanted to find the man you had planned your life with, the father of your future children that wouldn’t have the chance to be born because all you saw right now was a stranger standing before you wearing Patrick’s face.

You looked behind you, at your mother dabbing at her eyes and your father looking proud and your brother smiling widely at you.

And suddenly you couldn't breathe because none of them knew and you realized none of them would choose you when they found out.

You looked at Patrick, he was smiling at you, again and at that moment something inside you finally broke.

Your heart and your faith.

So, you slowly pulled your hand from his, Patrick frowned confused.

The church fell in a gasp, all eyes were on you wondering what was happening inside your head at this very moment.

"No." you whispered, voice trembling.

The word echoed through the entire church.

"What?" Patrick blinked.

A tear slipped down your cheek. You looked at him one final time. At the man who had broken your trust and somehow expected to keep your future.

"I said no."

Then you turned, grabbing the gown of your dress and walking away while all gazes followed your gaze.

……………………………………

"I didn't know you had company," Patrick’s voice suddenly pulled you from your shock.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, voice sharp.

Patrick lowered his gaze briefly. "I came to talk to you."

A short, disbelieving sound escaped your lips.

"You are five years late for that, now, please go.”

His jaw tensed, attempting to step closer “I know I don't deserve the—""

"No," you replied immediately. "You really don't.”

You felt your breath stuck inside your throat, but Harry continued standing next to you without interrupting.

Patrick looked at him again, then back at you.

"I've been trying to reach you."

"Well, not finding me should be a hint.”

Patrick flinched. His reaction surprised you, at some point you would've felt guilty for causing it, but all you felt right now was exhaustion.

"So why are you here?" you asked again.

Patrick exhaled, wind stirring over his hair.

"I need to talk to you.”

Your chest tightened at that and your pulse hammered in your ears.

The warmth and bright day you have had suddenly turned into a cold dark night swallowing to your buried memories.

And standing between the future you were beginning to crave and the past you thought you'd escaped.

Your turned to Harry, looking deep in those brown eyes that now seemed brighter beneath the stars.

“Harry?” you asked, looking at him, “Can you give me a moment?”

Harrys eyes widened "Are you sure?"

You nodded. "It'll be a really short conversation." Your gaze shifted to Patrick.

It was a warning instead of an invitation.

Patrick looked away first.

And Harry didn't move immediately. You could feel the hesitation. The protective instinct fighting with his respect for your decision.

"I'll be inside with Coco.” He said, not taking his eyes off yours again.

"If you need me—"

"I know." You whispered, giving him a smile.

For a second, he remained there, but then he turned and walked up the path and you watched him go and you saw the porch light catch the side of his face.

Only when the door closed behind him did the silence truly settle, you felt bared without his body pressing against yours.

You were alone with five years’ worth of unfinished conversations standing between you and Patrick.

Neither of you spoke immediately, the ocean filled the silence with the waves breaking on the shore during this night

"I see you made another man fall for you." Patrick spoke.

Your expression hardened at that.

"That's how you're starting this conversation?"

Patrick rubbed a hand over his face. "I didn't mean—"

You crossed your arms. "Then what exactly did you mean?"

His jaw clenched. For a second, he looked like the same man from five years ago, from those three weeks before the wedding.

Patrick looked toward your house, then found your gaze again.

"He looks at you the way I used to."

The statement only made you angrier.

"No." Your voice came out sharp. "You don't get to compare yourself to him."

Patrick flinched, but you were tired of being the only person who had suffered the consequences from the failed wedding.

The ocean kept roaring and your patience finally snapped.

"Can you get to the fucking point?"

Patrick blinked.

You took a step forward. "What are you doing here? And how did you know where I live?"

The exhaustion in your voice was almost worse than the anger itself.

He rubbed a hand across his jaw. Nervous, perhaps ashamed.

"There isn't a right way to say this."

"Then pick a wrong way."

His eyes closed briefly. Then he finally looked at you.

"Your mother told me."

The words pierced right through your heart.  For a second you genuinely thought you had heard him wrong.

"What?"

"Your mother." Patrick swallowed.

The world seemed to tilt beneath your feet.

"No."

"She told me where you were."

Your chest tightened so painfully you felt your ribs had been squeezed.

Patrick saw the realization of those words crossing your face. He Saw the hurt.

"She had known all these years."

You left out a small broken laughed.

“All these years?”

Patrick nodded, looking at how your eyes watered.

"My mother had five years." You whispered, "everyone did."

The wind tugged at your hair as you swallowed painfully. "They never thought of visiting me?"

Patrick looked away for a few seconds, to everything except your face.

"You are dead to them." He said, quietly.

Your heart stopped for a second because despite knowing the truth, hearing it from the same man who has caused the damage hurt.

"Because of you and Keira." You whispered.

Before you could think, you hit his chest, to make him felt the way your heart hammered now.

"Because of you!" you cried out as your vision blurred with tears.

"My mother didn’t even come to her father’s funeral because of me, because she knew.”

Another hit.

"My entire family threw me away because of you!"

Patrick stumbled back half a step.

Your chest heaved. Years of grief finally breaking free.

"You cheated on me." Your voice cracked violently. "With my sister."

The words tasted bitter even now. "You destroyed everything."

Patrick lowered his head in shame, perhaps.

A sob escaped before you could stop it.

The sound seemed to physically hurt him.

"I know."

"No, you don't!" You stepped back from him.

"You got to keep your life."

Patrick looked up. "I didn't—"

"You kept your family."

You pointed toward him. "You kept your friends." Your voice rose. "You kept your house."

The tears streamed freely now. "And I had nobody caring for me just because I din’t get marry to you."

Patrick's face crumpled. “I married Kiera. She’s my wife."

You froze and for a moment you simply stared at him.

Then a hollow laugh escaped your lips. "Of course she is."

Patrick closed his eyes briefly.

You shook your head. The tears on your cheeks suddenly felt so cold.

"My sister." Your voice cracked.

The wind whipped on your hair as your heart ached.

Patrick nodded, “Look, I really need to talk to you and you clearly aren’t in your best state.”

Your shoulders shook. The anger was leaving your body now.

You wiped your eyes. "Just go."

Your voice barely above a whisper now.

Patrick swallowed. “I—“

“Go.”

Patrick nodded slowly.

"Look, I really need to talk to you, and you clearly aren't in your best state."

The words only made your chest ache more.

As if there were ever a good state to hear that your family had erased you from their lives.

Your shoulders trembled.

The anger that had been holding you upright was beginning to leave your body now, draining away and leaving behind nothing but exhaustion.

Grief.

Shock.

You wiped furiously at your eyes.

"Just go."

Your voice was barely a whisper.

Patrick swallowed.

"I—"

"Go." The word cracked.

You took a step back, but something warm trickled over your upper lip.

You frowned, confused, taking your fingers up to your nose.

When they came away red, your stomach tightened as the rest of your body.

Patrick's expression changed instantly. "You're bleeding."

You looked down at the blood staining your fingertips. Too many memories dragged back from the grave.

Patrick instinctively stepped forward.

"Hey—"

You shoved his hand away before he could touch you.

"Don't."

"You're upset. Let me—"

"Don't touch me."

The words came out sharper than you intended, the broken sound of your voice became just a snapping thrill flying.

But he kept trying to help and trying to catch your arm.

"Leave me alone and go." Your voice broke completely and Patrick stared at you.

His face crumpled at the sight if your face. Patrick looked at you one last time and then, he turned away.

He disappeared from your sight, leaving the ocean, the wind and the ache in your heart.

But then, another pair of footsteps approached from behind and you didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Harry and Coco, licking his face appeared behind you, but the puppy squirmed in Harry's arms at the sight of you.

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

He carefully lowered Coco onto the ground and the puppy took off running straight to you.

"Coco—"

And the little dog crashed into your legs, tail wagging, stretching onto his hind paws to reach you, whining, licking your hands and demanding your attention.

Demanding that you stop crying immediately.

A wet nose nudged at your wrist and a small broke sound escaped from you lips as your puppy licked the tears off your chin.

"Oh my God." You laughed "Coco!"

Harry reached to your side and his expression changed the moment he noticed the blood beneath your nose.

His eyes widened. "What did he—"

"Nothing." You said, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.

Harry frowned. "Nothing?"

"My nose bleeds when I get too stressed." A weak smile tugged at your lips.

His face softened immediately and you gave a small shrug. "It's annoying."

Harry reached up carefully, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. Then, he rested his cheek against on your hair.

"Come inside," he said softly.

You laughed weakly. "This is my house."

"There she is." A small smile tugged at Harry's mouth.

"What?" You sniffled.

"The woman who makes jokes of my words.”

A smile appeared on your lips and his eyes softened at the sight.

"There she is," he repeated, this time smiling at your smile.

Your chest tightened, you knew Harry could notice it despite not seeing it, so he planted a kiss on your forehead. You closed your eyes at the feeling of his lips on your skin.

It felt like the sun kissing the horizon on the sea during the morning.

Then you opened your eyes again. "Harry."

His gaze immediately found yours. Patience and concern drawing on his face.

"I want you to know I don't love him, okay?"

Harry's expression changed to something he had been trying very hard not to ask.

"There are things I have to tell you." Your fingers trembled slightly. "And I will…Just... in a few days."

Harry nodded, whatever story was sitting behind your eyes, he wasn't going to force it out of you tonight.

"I don't love him," you repeated quietly.

Your hand lifted to his lips, so your fingertips on them.

The touch made him weak.

"And don't think for one second I regret kissing you."

His eyes searched yours, and the corner of his mouth lifted into a soft smile. Almost disbelieving.

Then he turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss into the center of your palm. Your breath caught at the action

"Good," he whispered. "Because I will be thinking about that kiss for so long."

"Do you want me to keep you company tonight?" Harry offered.

Your throat tightened, so you simply nodded, leaning towards him.

Harry wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer against his side. His chin brushing the top of your head.

And just as the moment settled in comfortable warmth…

“Woof!”

Both of you looked down at Coco staring both of you

“Woof!”

Harry looked down at the puppy. "Excuse me?"

Coco barked again. His tail wagging fast.

The puppy pushed his nose insistently against your shin.

Demanding inclusion.

You crouched slightly to scratch behind his ears.

“Okay, let’s go inside mister.”

The sun was exceptionally brightened today, as if anticipating the new waves of affection flying with the salt air all over this town. And despite de return of a ghost from the past threatening to destroy the peaceful life you had made of yourself in this place, no one could erase the smile on your face.

Harry was the reason behind.

That devastatingly annoying, desperate and handsome Harry Castillo, who was dropped by the door of your house by the universe without even knowing he would be the reason behind the flush on your face and the rapid-fire creeping inside your heart.

You had a mere reason to not desire burn yourself with the fire catching inside the chest when you knew you were developing the chemistry of love. Something new, at first fleeting air that caught in your breath but becoming into something that you could stop craving.

It felt foreign.

And it felt almost childish in a way you still allowed yourself to believe in a man wearing the knight armor.

But instead of riding a horse, he wore expensive clothes while carrying your dog like a baby.

And you couldn’t stop smiling as you arranged pastries inside the display case.

The Lost Beans was busy this morning, the buzzing of people chatting at tables and the smell of coffee lingered in the air.

The day was moving exactly as it should. Normal in that ordinary way you were so used to by now.

But as you were reaching for a tray of fresh croissants, the bell above the entrance chimed. You glanced up and froze in your spot. The smile you had vanished from your face.

Patrick looked completely out f place among the cheerful atmosphere of the café as if tainted a beautiful space with poison.  

Your stomach twisted at the sight of him.

Sophie noticed the change in your demeanor and walked closer to you.

“Are you okay?” She asked, touching your shoulder.

“Yes, I am.” You said, no taking your eyes off Patrick, “Can you handle this for a moment, Sophie?”

“Of course,” she said, clearly curious by the man in front of the counter. “Tell me if you need something.”

You nodded, watching her take care of the tray as you turned to Patrick again. He looked exhausted, as he hadn't slept, like if he regretted being there.

But he was there anyway, and he approached the counter.

One of your coworkers moved to take his order, but he lifted his hand, moving his gaze towards you.

"I want her to take my order.”

You stared back expressionlessly, looking at him coldly.

"I just want a coffee and need five minutes."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

His jaw tightened; desperation drawn on his features. "You don't understand."

Those words made you look at him.

"Then explain it from where you're standing."

Patrick glanced around the café, then back at you.

“Five minutes and I’ll leave you alone.” He said, not smiling.

You sighed, “Okay, go and sit.”

You remained behind the counter for a moment, staring at his back. Then you grabbed a coffee mug and prepare his drink.

A few minutes later you approached his table, Patrick looked up as you placed the cup in front of him.

His gaze lingered on your face, studying you. Perhaps trying to find traces of the woman he'd once known.

Then his eyes dropped to the coffee, he smirked.

"You didn't put salt in this, did you?"

The joke caught you off guard because years ago, when you were angry, you replaced his sugar with salt and Patrick used to spend half a morning pretending not to notice before finally admitting his coffee tasted like seawater.

Back then you used to laugh so hard until you cried, but the now the memory felt like it belonged to strangers.

But your expression remained flat and Patrick's smile faded immediately.

You sat down across from him, crossing your arms. "Go ahead.” Your voice cold, "Make it short."

Patrick stared at the cup for several seconds, he swallowed. "Keira and I are moving."

Your expression didn't change. "Okay."

His eyes searched yours, and when he didn’t get the reaction he hoped, Patrick looked down briefly.

Then continued. "We're going to Seattle to help with your father’s law firm."

You shrugged lightly. "Good for you."

Patrick finally laughed softly. "You really don't care anymore."

You looked out the window, at all this little life you'd built without him. Then back at him.

"No."

Patrick closed his eyes. Then he wrapped both hands around the coffee cup.

"Okay."

Something in his tone made your stomach tighten.

Patrick looked up. "Your mother and father...want your grandfather's house."

"What?" You blinked.

Patrick swallowed. "They want to sell it."

The words coming out his mouth felt so foreign it seemed they belonged to someone else's story.

Not yours, nor the yellow house with the sea view.

Not your grandfather's workshop still in there, not the porch where he used to sit every evening drinking tea. Not the place that had smelled of sawdust and peppermint candies.

Not to your house.

"They want the money." Patrick continued.

You stared at him, expressionless, but feeling the tears watering inside your eyes.

Trying to process what he was saying.

"To help me and Keira settle down in Seattle."

The café noise seemed to disappear, there was complete silence.

You laughed.

Patrick winced immediately.

"So that's why they remembered I exist."

Patrick's expression fell. "No."

"Really?" Your voice remained calm, “They didn't look for me for five years."

Patrick stayed silent.

"They told people I went mad in the head, but suddenly they want to contact me when they need a signature."

Patrick rubbed a hand over his face. "They need your permission."

"They won’t have it.” You said, final.

“What’s the problem with the house?” He asked desperately right not as if had the right. “I can borrow money and you can buy another house.”

Your eyes widened at that, “Are you mad?” you called out quietly “My grandpa left that house for me. It’s mine.”

“I—”

“Besides there are feeling involved with that house but what would you know?”

“That’s bullshit.” He said, his facade falling. “You could move with the man you were kissing last night.”

You snorted at how ridiculous his arguments were.

“Do you have any idea of who that man is?” He asked, “That’s Harry Castillo he is the CEO of multiple enterprises under his name, you could be rich and so your little life will come to an end.”

“What did you say?” You asked, angry.

“Come on! You were a lawyer; you were becoming one and now what do you do? Sell coffee?”

“How are you calling a working class now?”

But you were met with his widened eyes, his chest rising as his own desperation caught him up.

“Looking at you right now, “you began,” It makes so happy to be death for you all because you and that whole people are nothing but pathetic assholes.”

You stood, the chair scrapping the ground made a sound. “Now, go out of my café. I won’t sell the house.”

You turned away.

“Well, we will have to bring a lawyer into this.” He warned, making you turned to face him again.

“What if your new fling knows about how you left me at the altar humiliating me in front of people?”

“Well, I’m not—”

“Maybe there was a good reason a thrown you away after all.” He spoke.

His words would kill you before, but right now they meant nothing.

“Out.” You said, turning around.

But just as you were about to turn around by the counter Harry came into view following Patrick with his gaze. He looked at you looking for answers but you didn’t acknowledge him.

“I need a break,” you told Sophie before disappearing to your office.

Leaving Harry utterly worried. Sophie met his Gaze, the looked outside the window and Harry did the same, still looking at Patrick who now was pacing back and forth with his phone pressed on his ear.

Every few seconds he ran a hand through his hair before speaking into the call again.

Harry's jaw tightened.

"That guy is a dick." Sophie sighed beside him while drying a cup.

Harry glanced at her. Her bluntness would be funny under different circumstances.

Sophie leaned on the counter. "He came in acting like he owned the place."

Harry looked back outside again.

"I wanted to throw hot coffee at his face." Sophie said.

"Can you excuse me?" Harry's said, his voice remaining calm.

Sophie immediately understood and her eyes widened slightly as she glanced between him and Patrick outside the café window.

Then she nodded once.

"Please don't kill him. Cleaning blood off the sidewalk sounds exhausting."

That almost earned her a smile.

Harry pushed the café door open and stepped outside.

Patrick was still near the curb, pacing with his phone in his hand.

“Hey!

Patrick’s eyes lifted.

“What did you do to her?” Harry asked, stepping closer to him.

“She didn’t tell you who I am, right?” Patrick asked, defiant.

“You must haven’t been someone important if she didn’t.” Harry replied

Patrick laughed softly, “Well, I was. We were going to get married.”  

Harry’s heart suddenly stopped after that, but he tried hard not to show it.

“But you want to know why we didn’t?” Patrick teased, “She ran away and left me standing there just like happened to you.”

Harry remained froze, silent with a million of scenarios playing inside his head.

“That’s why se is lonely. Don’t be fooled by her kindness.”

But even as the words left Patrick's mouth, something in his expression changed because he knew he was lying.

Harry could see it.

Patrick himself didn't believe what he was saying. In fact, the sadness crossing his face carried something far more dangerous than resentment. You were all the things Harry knew and thought you were.

You were the sweetest person you could ever met. Patrick had fallen hard for you because of that, he had loved you so much, and there were still remnants of that love for you floating around.

Because you were that kind of people you only met once, like a fleeting star.

But you were too naïve. That’s why you were afraid to be fooled.

And without another word, Patrick left leaving Harry standing there, watching at how the love of your past life walked away.

Then, he turned around and took a glimpse of you from outside. You were by the window, looking angry, but deeply sad. He got lost on your face and the thoughts running through his head.

He didn’t notice your eyes had met his from the window.

You kept looking, he could see your eyes brightening at the sight of him, but he could only shake his head in utterly disappointment, and then he walked away.  

And as you followed him with your gaze, a strange feeling settled down in the pit of your stomach.

By the time evening arrived, the town had quieted beneath the darkening sky and the ocean keep rolling gently in the distance while the porch lights flickered on one by one across the neighborhood.

You walked slowly toward your house, exhaustion owning your body in every step you gave.

The conversation with Patrick still replaying endlessly inside your head and Harry walking away from you felt stranger.

Your chest tightened as your house finally came into view and then you saw him sitting on the porch with Coco in his arms.

Harry looked up when he heard your footsteps approaching.

The porch light cast soft shadows across his face. He looked conflicted.

Your heart hurt.

But before approaching, Coco noticed you next.

The puppy immediately perked up and squirmed out of Harry's arms before racing toward you, you bent, catching him to your chest. For a second you buried your face in his fur taking a deep breathe.

Then you looked up at Harry again. He stood slowly, hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans.

"I have to go back to New York tomorrow."

Your stomach dropped.

"It's just for a few days," he added quickly.

But the ache had already settled inside your chest.

You nodded, trying not to show how his now distant voice affected you.

"What did he tell you?" you asked,

Harry looked at you

Your throat tightened. “The part of me running away from the wedding...or the truth?"

Harry didn't answer immediately and that hurt more than if he had.

You looked away first. Wrapping your arms tighter around yourself.

"I knew he would do that." Your laugh came out hollow. "It sounds awful when you say it out loud, doesn't it?"

Harry stood in the same place, not moving.

"I left him at the altar, yes.” The words tasted bitter now. "And after what happened to you..." you swallowed painfully, "I imagine hearing that from him must've been—"

“But I never thought you would look at me differently without let me to explain what truly happened.” You said, hurt.

The hurt in your voice hit Harry immediately. It made his chest tightened.

His lifted his gaze, looking at your glossy eyes.

Your whole soul was wounded.

And suddenly Harry realized what his silence must have looked like from your side.

“I saw the way you looked at me today.” You shook your head softly, almost laughing at yourself.

Harry opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him to continue.

“You heard one thing about me and suddenly it was enough to make you walk away.”

Harry took a step toward you “That’s not what happened.”

“Then what did?” Your voice cracked. “Of course, you believed that excuse of a man before me.”

“I—I didn’t. But I’m honestly very confused right now.” He spoke.

“So, you will go back to New York.” You said, ignoring his words.

“I—I yes, I have—”

But the words died in his lips, when your eyes watered. His heart clenched at the sight. So, you took Coco with you.

“Thanks for taking care of Coco today. Have a safe flight.” You said, walking pass him, tears already streaming down your face.

Harry froze for half a second, watching tears slide silently down your cheeks as you moved toward your front door.

And suddenly panic gripped his chest. Because he knew that kind of walk.

Knew what it looked like when someone decided to retreat before they got hurt worse.

“Hey.”

You didn't stop. Harry turned quickly.

“Hey—”

The porch steps creaked beneath his shoes as he followed after you. “Please, don't do this.”

But you closed the door before he could reach you. Once you did it, you gasped, leaving Coco on the ground by your feet. Coco immediately circled your feet anxiously before settling beside you.

You leaned back against the door, forehead pressing against the cold wood as tears finally spilled freely down your face.

Outside, Harry stopped in front of the door, so close that if either of you reached through the door, your fingertips might touch.

He rested one hand against the wood.

You leaned on your door, forehead touching the cold wood. As your tears streamed down. “I was so happy,” you began, because you knew Harry was at the other side of the door.

He closed his eyes at the thought of your broken sound.

“I was so happy because I couldn’t stop thinking about our kiss and really felt over the moon, but you hurt me. I didn’t know you would.”

“Sweetheart—”

“No,” you whispered quickly. “Please let me talk.”

And Harry immediately fell silent because he could hear years of fear sitting behind your voice.

“I know I’m difficult and I know I get scared and I know Patrick showing up probably feels like some horrible warning sign to you—”

“It doesn’t—”

“But for one second,” your voice broke completely, “I thought maybe I could have something good. That I could have you.”

Harry’s chest hurt.

“I thought maybe someone could look at me and choose me.”

Inside the house, you slid down the door until you were sitting on the floor beside Coco. The puppy pressed next your leg immediately.

“And when I saw your face today…” you whispered, “it felt like everyone else all over again.”

Harry shook his head immediately despite knowing you couldn’t see him. “No.”

“No, don’t say that.” He pleaded.

“Patrick and my sister lied to my face,” you whispered.

Harry closed his eyes.

“I found them three weeks before I was supposed to marry him. Them both in bed in a hotel room.”

Harry’s hand tightened on the wood of the door.

His jaw clenched so hard it hurt. At the image of you walking into that room believing you were loved.

At the devastation that must have followed. You let out a trembling breath.