Summary: Cal reveals why he leaves so early in the mornings.
Companion piece to:
Tarot - Cal needs a little divine intervention in the aftermath of his diagnosis.
You wake up to the scent of coffee.
Freshly roasted grounds with tasting notes of apricot and dark chocolate truffle.
Ghost Town.
The brand that Cal keeps stashed in your cupboard because he’s a secret coffee snob and anything else simply won’t do.
You slip out from the sheets, your tarot cards still resting on the nightstand where you placed them last night after Cal’s reading. You think about them as you pull an old AC/DC Thunderstruck t-shirt and a pair of fresh panties from the dresser. What they revealed about Cal’s mental state, about his diagnosis. He’s been struggling for so long in silence, it’s time to make sure he knows he’s not alone, that he has you fighting in his corner despite the outcome.
The cards slide into your hand, an old friend and a comfort as you slip through the bedroom door, padding down the hallway. You pause in the arch of the kitchen, shoulder resting against the frame that still has your height notched into the wood from when you were a kid.
Cal’s back is to you, grey sweats riding low on his hips. The scars from the dozens of wars he’s fought are etched into his skin, carved into the plains of his back like a roadmap of his journey. You’ve memorised every single one of them over your nights together, your mouth tracing over them, your fingertips following the weaving paths.
“Surprised to find you still here this morning.” You say, shuffling the cards through your hands. “You’re usually already out the door before I wake up.”
There’s no malice behind your words, there never has been. You understand he rises with the sun, that he disappears as the light passes through the windows. He’s always claimed not to be a cowboy, that he leaves that to Kayce Dutton, but you’ve always known there’s more than a little Montana in his heart. The women before you have tried to tame him, but you let him run with wind. You let him be free.
“Yeah, I thought I might stop doing that.” He turns to face you, his dark hair sticking up at all angles from you gripping it when he went down on you again before the dawn. On the counter in front of him are two mugs with emblem for your nonprofit, Lilac Pines etched on them. A French press brewing beside them. “You know the leaving thing, that alright with you?”
You nod, the cards flipping through your hands like a blackjack dealer. He watches them, back and forth, back and forth, as you let the silence sit far better than any interrogator he’s ever met.
“My diagnosis, it’s made me realise what’s important and you know that I… I have trouble saying the things I feel, so I run and that’s what I do every morning with you…” His hand runs through his dark hair as he fumbles for the words. They roll off his tongue in that clumsy way of his you remember from way back then. He’d been so closed off when he first came to your nonprofit, so damaged. That’s what being in the military does to you, it forces you to shut down, to prioritise the mission. Opening up again, it’s like tearing open the stitches of a festering wound, it’s got to hurt in order to heal. “At night I can pretend that I deserve you, that I’m meant to be here with you but in the cold light of day…”
“You fall back into old patterns.” You summarise. He looks away, the line of his jaw tensing as he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You think you aren’t worthy?”
“No one wants a broken soldier.” He repeats the line his ex-wife fed him when she left, the whole fucked up reason he ended up at Lilac Pines to begin. It’s the reason he has that the six-inch scar that runs all the way up his left arm because Kayce had been so scared he’d taken his gun.
“You aren’t broken.” You step towards him, your arms slipping through his, your fingers lacing at the base of his spine as you hold him close. Your lips brush over the bullet wound just over his heart, the one that almost ended his life back in the SEALs. “A little battle scared but you’re certainly not broken.”
“When you say it, I almost believe it.” He murmurs, his arms wrapping around you, clasping you to him like he never wants to let you go.
“You should believe it.” You tell him, tilting your head up to meet those woeful dark eyes of his. “Because trust me Pete, it’s true.”
Like My Work? - Tip your friendly fan fic writer here! Or be a sweetheart and drop me comment or reblog.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: Cal needs a little divine intervention in the aftermath of his diagnosis.
You’re wearing Cal’s sweater. It falls past your ass, skirting along your thighs as he watches you light the candles that rest upon the dresser. They bathe the bedroom in a sultry glow, illuminating your flushed skin from your earlier love making. He hadn’t meant to come here tonight, hadn’t meant to end up in your bed, but that doctor’s appointment had left him craving the comfort he finds between your sheets so he’d appeared at your door, hands tucked into his back pockets as he stood on the porch of your cabin.
“You want a reading?” You ask.
His gaze is drawn to the set of tarot cards in your hands. He’s not the spiritual sort, he’s seen too much, done too much but he could do with a little guidance from the universe, he needs a fucking sign or something because right now it feels like he’s going fucking crazy.
“I could do with a fresh perspective.” He says, his back straightening up against the headboard your daddy carved out for your momma’s martial bed when he was courting her. The pain in his neck throbs, not enough to have him reaching for the pills but enough to remind him that it’s there, underneath the surface.
“Ok then.” You climb back onto the bed, the cards passing from your hands to his as he shifts so he can sit cross legged, creating a small space between the two of you.
He’s an old hand at this now, he knows the routine. At first, he did it just to humour you, but now… he sees his future shifting between his hands as he shuffles the cards. His past and present flicking through the, as he thinks of his question, the one that’s been on his mind since he received his diagnosis.
Is this thing going to kill me?
You wait patiently until he’s ready, tucking an errant strand of hair back behind your ear as he lays out three cards across the sheets in front of him. Left to right: his current situation, his obstacle, the universe’s advice for resolving the matter.
He raps his fingertips over the first one before he flicks it over revealing the Two of Swords.
“Indecision.” You say, and he sighs because yeah, that would be about the summary of it. Should he consider the possibility of surgery? Should he do chemo hoping it’ll prolong his life long enough to make up with Maddie?
He turns over the next one. The Five of Pentacles.
“Illness.” You state, your head tilting up to meet his gaze. “They’ve certainly got you pegged tonight.”
You know, of course you do. You’ll say it’s magic, the universe whispering in your ear, but he thinks it’s perception, that maybe you’re a lot cleverer than you realise when it comes to reading people. Or… maybe he’s just not been that good about hiding his pills as he thought he was, and this is you giving him the space to wrap his head around it before he tells you the full story.
His hand hovers over the last one, his fingertips trailing over the worn pattern. These cards, they’ve been in your family for generations, just like the rest of the holistic stuff. Your people have existed for eons up on this mountain as healers, and now you’re the last one left running a 22-acre nature-based nonprofit that provides a safe, peaceful environment for veterans, trauma survivors, and individuals in recovery to heal and reconnect.
It’s how the two of you met. You’d helped to quieten the noise in his head and five years later, you’d run into each other in that bar where Maddie works when he took up the Marshal’s position out here.
He’d call it fate but… that’s a little too woo woo for his taste.
He turns over the last card. The Hanged Man.
“You need to take the time to make a decision, recalibrate.” You say and he rolls his eyes to the sky because of course the fucking universe couldn’t just give him a hint on how to deal with this thing.
“That was a complete waste of time.” He tells you, gathering the cards up and handing them back to you. “Didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.”
You shake your head as you reach across him, placing the tarot cards down on the nightstand. Your skin brushes lightly over his as he stretches out his legs, settling them between yours until you’re straddling his hips. “Did you think the cards would solve all your problems Cal? That they’d disappear in a puff of smoke like magic?”
“Yeah, maybe a little.” He says sourly as his hands grasp your waist, kneading the flesh as he looks up at you with messy hair and needy eyes.
“You know it doesn’t work like that.” Your nose chases over his, a tender, intimate gesture that makes things a little too real in the moment.
It’s not just Maddie he’s leaving behind as he stares down the barrel of his mortality, it’s you too. You’ve had your own share of heartache over the years, and he doesn’t want to be the one that adds to it.
His hands slide lower, delving underneath the hem of the sweater, grasping your bare ass. He needs a distraction from these thoughts, something to chase sway the darkness that’s starting to claw it’s way through his soul again.
“How about you make me forget all about it instead?” He whispers, sliding down the headboard until he’s lying flat on the pillow. He urges you further up his chest, your thighs on either side of his head, giving him a tantalising view of that perfect pussy of yours. “How about you put your hand on the headboard and ride my face a little, show me a different kind of magic?”
“Cal.” You murmur but he’s already nuzzling his face between your thighs, his beard raking over your sensitive skin with that delicious friction. Your hand comes to rest on the headboard, fingers digging into the wood as his lips find your clit and his tongue starts to work its own magic. “This doesn’t mean we won’t talk about his later.”
He doesn’t respond, instead his grip on your ass tightens as he drags you down onto his mouth in a way that makes your head tip back as you call out his name to the stars.
Later… you promise yourself… You’ll talk after he’s ruined you.
Love Cal? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.
Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.
Synopsis: You're head over heels for your darling boyfriend. Your best friend isn't a big fan of him and thinks she could do better.
Characters: Calliope Stephanides x Fem!Reader
Content Warnings: Period-typical heterosexual normativity, Reader is ambiguously bisexual but doesn't know it, Cal still identifies as a girl, light gender dysphoria
Word Count: 2.5K
A/N: This is before Cal's transition so, I'll be using she/her pronouns. Also, I'm aware that the book is unpopular with intersex people so, I tried to steer clear of that part, but as mentioned above, there are a few moments where Cal experiences gender dysphoria. This is my first time writing an intersex character so, if I happened to mess up anywhere please let me know so I can correct my mistakes.
-> Also available on AO3!
"Really? That's what you call a weird friend? You should've seen the guy that used to live next door..."
"It confused me at the time."
You rolled your eyes, fingers idly toying with the rosary that was humbly gifted to you by your friend. The generational weight each cerulean bead carried was lost on you, inexplicably reducing the heirloom to just a fun necklace you could trifle with during math class.
Across from you sat Calliope, or simply Cal as you had come to call her. Her legs were crossed in an unorthodox manner, though her position couldn't hold a candle to your brash display of un-ladylikeness. Chequered skirt bunched up to your waist, allowing for a sneak peak of your briefs, and an unironed shirt with its first three buttons loose.
Cal heaved a sigh of disappointment. Ever since her grandfather's decisive stroke, she had locked the memory of Clementine Stark deep in her soul. That peculiar little girl next-door had tugged at the first thread of the tangled ball of yarn that was her sexuality. An abrupt kissing session and some playful roughhousing in the bathhouse served as catalysts for multiple rows of dominoes.
She was hoping that by disguising those memories as inconsequential childhood experiences during a round of Truth or Dare, she'd finally air out the catacombs of her heart and maybe finally get you to think for once.
"Young girls do those kinds of things all the time. It doesn't mean anything."
A casual shrug and a deep inhale of your cigarette followed. To someone like you, kissing a nameless girl would serve as a means of testing the waters, a basic tutorial. Boys were your game and you were quite the dedicated player.
It doesn't mean anything.
Cal hated it. How could she ever get you to understand when you couldn't take her very nature seriously? Did such concepts not exist to you outside of Sappho's poems?
"Well, then. Have you ever kissed a girl?"
"You have to ask first."
"Fine. Truth or dare?"
"Truth."
"Have you ever kissed a girl?"
Another deep inhale of your cigarette. Cal couldn't help but focus on the way your glistening lips closed in an O around the filter. Your idleness could be infuriating at times.
"Yeah. When we went on vacation to Florida in July, I met this anemic girl at the beach."
You flicked your cigarette one last time before putting it out in the ashtray. Cal leaned forward, already enraptured with all the 'what if's.
"She said the boys at her school didn't like her. I felt bad so, I kissed her to compensate for it."
What little tension your initial bare-bones narration held vanished in an instant. Any chances of you having your own Obscure Object slip between Cal's fingers like eels. She tilted her head to the side like a lost puppy, hoping for some more context, sappy though it might have been.
"Uhm... that's it?"
You huffed a half-hearted laugh, once again misreading your friend's demeanour.
"What? It's not like I could do anything more. And besides, you know I was too busy trying to get a proper tan for once."
To prove your point, you gingerly pulled the collar of your unbuttoned shirt to the side, revealing your delicate shoulder, accented with the thin strap of your bra and the feeble outline of your collarbone. The tan you had taken so much pride in had faded to a mellow rosy, with just a strip of unblemished creamy skin to mark the outline of your bikini top.
"There's not much left to see right now but Matty got to see it all." You clarified with a giddy giggle.
Cal's eyebrows knitted together in irritation. The mere mention of your boyfriend had her on edge. She could deal with 'Matthew' just fine but 'baby', 'sweetheart', 'darling' and especially 'Matty' had her mind reeling with envy.
"Oh", she uttered dryly, "did he like it at least?"
Cal came to regret her words the moment you let out a dreamy sigh, eyes rolling upwards as though that cardboard cut-out of a guy was taped to the ceiling. She shifted her gaze up as well, hoping she could finally see what exactly had you falling head over heels for him. She didn't.
"He loved it! In fact, that's what urged him to ask me out on our first date!"
"Your tan is what finally motivated him?", asked Cal with a raised eyebrow.
You clicked your tongue and shook your head.
"Well, sort of. He said I was the second prettiest after Melissa Carmine."
"Only the second prettiest?", echoed Cal.
"Mhm! But Melissa's dating Richard Gordon so-"
"Y/N."
"What?", you lowered your head to meet your friend's disapproving gaze. The very same unnerved look she had given you when you first lifted a cigarette to her chapped lips. It's not right, she had uttered as though God Himself was breathing down her neck.
Cal fixed her posture, hands folded at her chest. She was seriously getting sick of this. "Look, this might sound rude but I don't think Matthew is all too good for you."
Icicles of regret shot through her veins the moment your hazy expression of confusion hardened into one of frustration. That nauseating blend of guilt and genuine fear felt all too familiar to Cal. Your fingers twitching around nothing, instictively seeking the cigarette you had just put out, instilled the same horror as the booming thud that followed her grandfather's fatal fall in that bathhouse.
"Are you implying something?", the venom lacing your words combined with your narrowed eyes made the air thick with tension.
Cal let her arms fall limp to her sides. She wasn't so sure about this anymore. She was hoping she'd get you to see reason for once, briefly forgetting about your unpredictable temper that earned you little friends at school and even less attention at home.
"I just...", she began with a strained voice, "all this talk about him choosing you only because you had a nice tan and Melissa wasn't available... I think it was very shallow of him."
Shallow was the most generous title Cal could grant to that brainless jock whose favourite passtime was hoarding playboy magazines and throwing rocks at cars, but she didn't feel like digging her grave even deeper at the moment.
Even so, you still didn't look too pleased with your best friend talking about your beloved Matty like that.
Cal looked to descend a bit before the wax melted away from her wings completely. She put on her best pragmatic voice and continued. "Listen, I'm not saying he's a bad guy or anything. You're just... so gorgeous and smart and fun to be around. You deserve someone who appreciates you for that."
That seemed to appease you. You lowered your guard, as evident by the tufts of cotton candy dusting your cheeks and the pleased smile your pinkish lips had curled into. The umpteenth arrow of Eros impaled Cal's heart.
"Oh", you exclaimed, "I mean... I get that. And I'm sure Matty does too."
Cal raised a doubtful eyebrow once more. "Does he?"
You threw your head back, hair whipping against your face, and laughed. "He was rock solid last time we made out. What do you think?"
Oh. Well, that's certainly a genuine declaration of love. Thoughtless gifts in alcohol and blunts, compliments that didn't exceed the basic "you're hot" mantra, endless comparisons to scantily clad models on billboards, an overall mindset that always consulted his dick first... if Cal wasn't sick of him before, she definitely was now.
"Did he compliment you at least?"
"Of course he did!" You sprang up, hypothetical tail wagging with excitement. "He called me hot... and cute... and hot-"
If there's anyone that doesn't believe in Aphrodite, they should just take one look at you.
That was what Cal had told you when you got assigned to the role of the beautiful Helen during your school's production of Euripide's synonymous work. Her best and most effortless compliment yet.
If any boy breaks your heart, I'll kick his teeth in.
That was what you had whispered to Cal in that crowded cinema; before you the female lead crying hysterically upon discovering her husband's infidelity.
Does the poet ever get to close the distance between him and his muse?
That was what Cal had asked her literature teacher during their first lesson on the Odyssey.
The muse serves as a source of inspiration. The further she is from the poet, the longer the story goes on for. For most artists, their best works came from a place of longing.
That was the answer she had received. It left her pensive and directionless. Were you truly unreachable? Was her crush on you another case of tragic irony? Was she doomed to drift away from you and right into the arms of another Joe or John or James, caged in a loveless marriage until the end of her days?
It was infuriating. If Cal had been like her brother- without the need to fake her periods or worry about her unusually flat chest or grimace in disgust whenever she investigated between her legs-, she could've made you hers long ago.
Sometimes I wish you were a guy.
You had said so yourself after Cal had rubbed sunscreen on your back. She only hummed in response. Me too, she had wanted to say.
This surely was a dead end. And if Cal couldn't call you hers, at least you would still see her as your friend and keep her by your side. With a determined glint in her eyes, she sat upright.
"Dare."
You snapped out of your lovesick trance, not quite used to this much more spontaneous side of your best friend. "What?"
Cal leaned forward for emphasis. "Truth or dare. I picked dare. Make me do something embarrassing."
You hesitated for a moment, suspicions creeping in the back of your mind. But you caved in with a mischievous grin. "Jeez, I was getting bored of you picking truth all the time. Let's see..."
You tapped your chin in thought, brainstorming all the possible trials and challenges.
"Hmm... I got it! Take your shirt off."
For a split second, you could've sworn a flicker of panic crossed Cal's eyes, but that train of thought was derailed the moment she pulled her shirt over her head. Throughout all your hangout sessions at the pool and whatnot, this was your first time seeing her topless. Only a short tank top concealed what you mistook as her discreetly small breasts.
The now-shirtless and shameless Cal stretched before tossing her father's striped white-and-navy-blue shirt aside. "Truth or dare?"
Your playful smile widened at this. Cal could tell you were thrilled by this spike in her attitude and were about to prove that you could keep up with it. "Dare."
"Take your skirt off."
You scoffed, eyes rolling in tandem. You wiggled out of your skirt with zero effort; lacework panties on display. "Child's play. Truth or dare?"
"Dare."
"Give me a massage."
Though Cal didn't hesitate to crawl up to you and place her hands on your dainty shoulders, she found yourself wondering. Was she taking advantage of your little game to touch you in ways she had been fantasizing about? Was she making false use of this intimate setting while you remained oblivious to her true feelings? Was she luring you in under dubious circumstances?
Her hands moved back and forth, pressing against bone and squeezing the flesh. You melted under her touch, eyelids falling closed and satisfied rumblings blooming in your chest. You certainly didn't look like you hated it.
Cal's voice dropped to a salicious whisper. "Truth or dare?"
"Mhm... dare."
A brief pause. Decisions, decisions...
"Hug me."
The suffocating desire of adolescence wrapped in the fuzzy blanket of childhood innocence. A painful longing watered down to a simple schoolyard friendship. Aphrodite turned Venus. Eros turned Cupid.
And yet you still complied.
You turned around to wrap your arms around Cal, pushing her head down to meet the crook of your neck. She clawed at the back of your shirt as though you were the only thing tangible to her.
"I thought you were going to ask something more risque", you muttered, fingers raking between the roots of her hair.
"Like?" Her voice was muffled against the fabric of your shirt.
"I dunno... like dare me to kiss you with tongue or something."
Cal lifted her head, an uncharacteristic pair of hooded eyes gazing at you as though you were the embodiment of all things sublime.
"Would you like that?"
"You have to ask first."
"Truth or dare?"
"Dare."
"Kiss me."
Just like in those sappy movies, you followed the script. Lips slightly parted, eyes closed, hand cupping Cal's cheek. For the very first time, her lips found purchase on something sacred. She allowed herself to be dragged down to the depths of the ocean, heat pooling in her gut the moment your tongue brushed against hers. Saltwater against marble. Marble against flesh. Flesh against flesh.
Suddenly, the world made sense to her. The world that had been narrowed down to your existence alone. The fleeting concept of desire was more clear to her than ever. She felt crushed under its weight, and she wouldn't have it any other way.
Cal lied down, submitting to your experienced hands. She trusted you. She had faith in your touch. To reward her, you settled your hands on her hips and coaxed her thighs apart with your knee. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath your shared weight, the setting sun casting the two of you in a safe veil of discoloured hues of orange.
To take the initiative, Cal tried to map out your body with her hands alone. A soft belly, the gentle weight of your breasts, the smooth curve of your rear... you were a statue brought to life. The Galatea to her Pygmalion. The Eurydice to her Orpheus. The Eros to her Psyche.
She tried to follow your lead. She pushed her tongue fervently against yours, her hands fondling and squeezing wherever they could. Like a proud mentor, you took a step back, allowing Cal to find her balance. After all, you couldn't help but relish in it.
"Wow, huh... you kiss better than Matthew."
You huffed out as you pulled away with a shared gasp. It had been so long since someone had stolen away your breath like that.
Cal's chest rose and fell in tandem with yours. When she opened her eyes, faced with your divine form, a spark of competition flashed in them.
"Bet I could be a better boyfriend than him too." She whispered.
You were nothing if not an expert in hybris. "Prove it."
And Cal was nothing if not your own personal nemesis. She settled one hand on your rear and one amidst the roots of your hair. She was about to lower you against her once more, eager for the sweet nectar cascading from your mouth when suddenly-
Riiiiing!
The both of you went still. The sound barely registered at first. A cruel return to reality, of course. Though judging by your spaced out expression, you didn't seem too thrilled to answer the phone either.
After an unusually long reaction time for you, you slowly peeled yourself away from Cal. She winced at the absence of your warmth, left feeling hollow on the inside and rusty on the outside. With a few long strides, you reached for the phone, raising the receiver to your ear.
"Hello? ... Hey, Matthew... No, no... Yeah, sure..."
Cal's heart dropped at the sound of that name. She knew what this meant for her. Playtime's over. Back in the box with you.
But then, you glanced over your shoulder, assessing her disheveled state, the raw need written all over her pitiful expression. She could see the gears in your head turning. You glanced away- at the void, it seemed- with the decision sat in your mind.
"Actually, I'm kinda busy right now. Can we do next Saturday? ... Sure, whatever... Okay, bye."
You slammed the receiver down with more force than necessary, plunging the room in a stiff silence of sorts. You turned to face Cal once more, your cherry-tinted lips mirroring her own telling grin. No more distractions.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: Cal tries (and fails spectacularly) to flirt during a smoke break. Shane’s hyping him up, your patience is wearing thin, and Cal’s confidence short-circuits halfway through a sentence. It’s awkward, it’s painful, and it’s so Tires.
2. Cal.exe Has Stopped Working
Cal’s eyes kept flicking in your direction, no matter how hard he tried to stop them. One second, he was pretending to organize tools; the next, he was staring across the shop like a man hypnotized. His heart thudded a little faster each time you laughed, moved, or shifted in your chair.
He wasn’t slick. Not even close.
Shane leaned against a nearby cart, chewing on a pen cap and watching Cal’s behavior with increasing amusement.
“Dude,” Shane chuckled, nudging him with his elbow. “Go talk to her.”
Cal’s eyes snapped to him, irritation flashing. “Shut up,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “Seriously.”
Shane ignored the warning, grinning like a devil on his shoulder. “Don’t be a pussy. Just go.”
“I’m not gonna—she’s working.”
“She’s not filing taxes. She’s sitting at a desk with a coffee and an iPad. That’s casual. That’s prime flirty break time, bro.”
Cal rolled his eyes, but even as he tried to brush it off, his gaze wandered back to you.
“What am I even supposed to say?”
Shane smirked. “Literally anything. ‘Hi’ works. Not staring at her like you’re building a shrine in your head also helps.”
Cal sighed, frustration mounting—not at Shane, really, but at himself. He wanted to say something. He did. He just didn’t know how to start without sounding like an idiot.
As if on cue, you got up and walked out of the office, cutting across the garage floor. You passed them without noticing Cal’s deer-in-the-headlights expression and headed out the back door.
“Kilah,” you called out, “lighter, please. Last time, I swear.”
Outside, Kilah smirked as she patted her pockets and pulled one out. “That’s what you said the last three times.”
You laughed, cupping the flame as she lit the cigarette between your fingers. “I mean it this time.”
“Uh-huh,” Kilah said, clearly not believing you.
You leaned against the building, sighing as the first drag settled your nerves. The air out back was quieter than the chaotic hum of the shop floor. Just the click of lighters, the faint crackle of gravel under boots.
Inside, Shane elbowed Cal again.
“There. Your chance. Go.”
Cal grimaced. “You serious?”
“What’s the worst that could happen?” Shane asked, feigning innocence. “She punches you in the face and changes her name?”
Cal exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. “Yeah, okay. I’ll say hi. It’s not a big deal.”
“There you go, Casanova.” Shane clapped him on the back. “Make me proud.”
Cal groaned quietly and walked toward the door. Every step felt heavier than it should’ve. His stomach turned with nerves, his mind cycling through every possible sentence and rejecting them all. When he stepped outside and saw you alone, a fresh cloud of smoke curling around your shoulders, his brain nearly shorted out.
You heard the door creak open and looked over your shoulder. Cal stood there, hands shoved into his pockets, clearly debating whether to bail or not.
“Hey,” he said. It came out quieter than he meant it to.
You turned slightly toward him, offering a polite smile. “Hey. What’s up?”
He shifted awkwardly on his feet, trying to seem casual and totally-not-struggling-to-breathe. “Nothing much. Just, uh… taking a break.”
Great. Riveting stuff.
You nodded, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Breaks are great.”
“Yeah. Totally.”
And then… silence.
Cal wanted to die. Or evaporate. Or, preferably, rewind time and figure out how to talk to attractive women without sounding like a malfunctioning Roomba.
You took another drag and stared ahead, content with the quiet, but the tension between you two was undeniable.
Cal tried again. Tried to think of something, anything remotely interesting or clever. But his brain turned to soup. The silence stretched long enough to feel like rejection.
You dropped your cigarette to the ground, snuffed it out with your shoe, and turned to leave. “Well—enjoy your break, Cal.”
His stomach dropped. She’s walking away. You let her walk away.
And then—
“Wait—” he blurted, more instinct than decision.
You paused mid-step and turned back, one eyebrow raised, a faint smile playing on your lips. “Yeah?”
Cal froze again. He hadn’t actually come up with anything past “wait.” Panic bloomed.
“I just—uh…”
He faltered. His tongue tied itself in knots. He had nothing.
You tilted your head, amused but patient. “Come find me when you come back around to it, okay?”
The teasing lilt in your voice sent heat straight through him. He could only manage a dumb nod in response.
And then you were gone, back into the building, leaving Cal alone with the scent of cigarette smoke and the sharp sting of embarrassment.
He stood there for a moment, jaw tight, replaying the entire interaction in his head and cringing harder each time.
He never did come find you again that day—not with a reason, not with a line, and definitely not with anything resembling confidence.
Summary: You were hired to modernize the shop’s marketing. Cal was hired to fix cars and apparently short-circuit every time you enter the room.
1. Internal Check Engine Light On
Phil walked into Valley Forge with his nose buried in his phone, thumbs tapping as he stepped past the front desk. Inside the office, Shane lounged with his feet on the desk while Will sat beside him, focused on a spreadsheet that was clearly defeating him.
“Alright,” Phil said flatly, not looking up from his phone. “I need this entire shop to act like functioning adults today.”
Shane didn’t miss a beat. “So that rules Will out.”
Will scoffed, lifting his head. “You’re joking, right? If anything, that rules you out.”
“Both of you, shut it.” Phil pointed at each of them without glancing up, the warning sharp enough to halt the brewing argument.
They both fell quiet, though Shane’s smirk lingered.
Phil finally looked up. “I hired a marketing specialist. She’s starting today.”
That earned him twin stares of surprise. Shane sat up straighter, eyes lighting up. “Marketing chick, huh?” He leaned back with a grin. “She wear those little librarian glasses? Tight skirt? ‘Oops, I dropped my pen!’” He mimicked bending over with an exaggerated groan, grinning like a kid who thought he’d said the funniest thing in the world.
Will glanced at Phil, unimpressed. “You hearing this?”
“I’m ignoring it,” Phil muttered.
Will turned back to Shane, clearly annoyed. “Could you not be a creep for one day?”
Shane rolled his eyes. “Dude, that’s your type. Don’t act like you’re above it.”
Will’s jaw clenched. “I know how to control myself. Which is more than I can say for you.”
Phil cut in again, already tired of the back-and-forth. “Just… don’t. Either of you.”
Shane shrugged and leaned back like he’d already forgotten the conversation. Will sighed and returned to tapping on his keyboard, muttering under his breath.
Out in the garage, Cal was elbow-deep under the hood of a sedan. Shane wandered over and hovered by his shoulder, far too close, peering into the engine like he had any idea what he was looking at.
“You hear about the new marketing girl?” Shane asked.
Cal didn’t look up. “Will mentioned it.”
“She’s gotta be some prissy little business-school girl, right? Pencil skirt, clipboard, air of superiority.”
Cal raised an eyebrow but kept working. “That’s oddly specific.”
Shane shrugged. “Marketing people. You know the type.”
“You’re just gearing up to be a dick the moment she walks in,” Cal said with a smirk.
Shane gasped theatrically. “A dick? Never. Maybe a charming asshole.”
“Ah yes,” Cal said, dry, “your brand.”
Meanwhile, the front door chimed, and you stepped into the tire shop for the first time. The smell hit you immediately—rubber, oil, dust. A dog barked somewhere in the back. Machines whirred. Chaos hummed in the background.
A young woman with glossy nails and a tabloid magazine sat behind the desk, looking up with a friendly smile.
“Hey! You the new girl?” she asked.
You smiled back. “Yeah. Marketing.”
Before she could say anything else, a scream echoed down the hall.
“DUDE. PUT THAT DOWN.”
You turned your head just in time to see two grown men bolting past the hallway door—one wielding a screwdriver like a fencing foil, the other backing away with his hands up.
“C’mon,” the one with the screwdriver shouted. “Don’t be such a baby!”
“If you jab me in the junk, I swear to God—!”
Phil appeared beside you, pinching the bridge of his nose like this was the sixth time today and it wasn’t even noon. “Welcome to Valley Forge,” he said. “You must be the marketing specialist.”
“That’s me,” you replied, trying not to laugh.
Phil offered a handshake. “Phil. Owner-slash-wrangler of whatever that was.”
You took his hand with a smile, watching the two idiots down the hall continue their mock duel.
“Those two your employees?”
“Son and nephew,” Phil said.
You raised an eyebrow. “Ah. So the chaos is hereditary.”
Phil snorted. “Unfortunately.”
He led you toward the back, stepping over an extension cord as he waved you through. Shane had Will in a headlock by the time you arrived in the garage. They were on the floor, laughing, wrestling like brothers at Thanksgiving.
“Guys,” Phil said, deadpan.
They froze, looked up, and immediately scrambled apart like guilty toddlers. Shane stood first, dusting himself off, eyes flicking to you. He stared a little too long. Will tried to be subtle but failed.
“Damn,” Shane muttered. “She’s the marketing girl?”
Will elbowed him hard in the ribs.
“Seriously?”
“What? I’m not supposed to notice she’s hot?”
Phil cleared his throat with the weight of a man at the end of his patience. “This is the new marketing specialist. She’s here to make us look good. So maybe don’t immediately embarrass yourselves.”
You nodded politely. “Nice to meet you all.”
Will stepped forward quickly, offering a handshake with a sheepish smile. “I’m Will. I manage this chaos.”
“Nice to meet you, Will.”
Shane cut in. “Shane. Best mechanic here.”
You arched an eyebrow. “Is that self-proclaimed or verified?”
“Just facts.”
You tilted your head, eyes drifting behind him to someone working under the hood of a truck. “What about him?”
Shane turned. Cal.
Cal looked up—and froze. Mid-movement, wrench still in hand. He stared at you like you were the sun and he’d forgotten what warmth was.
Shane smirked. “You good, Cal?”
Cal blinked, still staring.
You smiled. “Hi.”
He didn’t answer. Just stood there like someone had unplugged him. Kilah leaned in from the doorway, puffing on a cigarette.
“Don’t worry,” she said with a smirk. “He’s always like this. You’re just the first person hot enough to fry his brain.”
You and Kilah ended up outside on the side of the shop a little while later, both of you lighting cigarettes and leaning against the brick wall.
“He’s cute,” you said casually, nodding toward the garage where Cal was still fumbling through his tasks.
Kilah let out a low laugh. “Cal?”
You shrugged. “In a nervous-golden-retriever sort of way.”
“More like ‘please don’t look at me or I’ll short-circuit’ energy. He’s sweet, though. Just… doomed.”
You both laughed, smoke curling between your shoulders.
Later, you sat across from Will in the office, your iPad on the desk between you, covered in marketing notes, discount mockups, and strategy plans.
“So the Instagram is just… inactive?” you asked.
Will scratched the back of his neck. “We post tire memes sometimes.”
You blinked. “We’re gonna do better than that. TikToks. Reels. Instagram car tips. Discounts. Personality.”
Will nodded slowly. “Yeah, okay. That all sounds good. You think people’ll care?”
“People always care when it’s entertaining,” you said. “They just need a reason to look.”
The door creaked open and Cal stepped inside holding half a sandwich. He spotted you and immediately stopped mid-step, blinking like he’d walked into the wrong room.
Will gave him a look. “Cal?”
“Huh?”
“You alright?”
Cal flinched slightly. “Uh—yeah. Just grabbing lunch.”
“Cool. That guy’s still waiting on the oil change.”
Cal turned, tripped over a stack of tires, barely caught himself, and muttered something that vaguely sounded like, “I’m fine.” Then he was gone.
You laughed quietly. “Does he always… do that?”
Will smirked. “Only around people with eyes and good hair.”
Outside the office, Shane, Kilah, and Will stood in a loose circle.
“She told me he was cute,” Kilah said, flicking ash off her cigarette.
Will grinned. “She told me the same thing.”
Shane wandered over. “What’s going on?”
Will looked at him. “New girl thinks Cal’s cute.”
Shane stared. “You’re joking. CAL?”
Kilah nodded. “Scruffy. Quiet. Nervous. She’s into it.”
Cal returned from lunch just in time to catch everyone watching him. He paused, confused.
“What?” he asked.
Just then, you walked back in, holding a few printed mock-ups for Will.
“Hey, Cal,” you said with a warm smile. “Have a nice lunch?”
Cal stared at you like you’d just offered him a winning lottery ticket.
“Uh… yeah,” he stammered. “Lunch. It was… lunch.”
You smiled and walked past. Shane turned to Will and muttered, “He’s gonna pass out.”
Summary: You’re the new marketing specialist at Valley Forge, hired to save the shop’s online presence. Cal’s the quiet mechanic who can barely speak when you’re around. Everyone else flirts, jokes, and lights joints without a second thought… But Cal? He panics. A slow-burn romance full of awkward tension, accidental eye contact, joint-passing, Revolutionary cosplay, and one extremely overdue garage kiss.
