#cd24

Your friendship is something you’ve always treasured, held in some reclusive and special part of your heart that only houses your fated connection. No matter how mundane your time together may be - Connor strumming his acoustic guitar and you reading as the citrus sunset dips into the horizon - it's all so memorable to you and nothing, as you’ve come to experience, can ever replace his place in your life. However, life is a constant cycle of change and that first dose came when you two were fourteen, too awkward for your own good and growing out of your bodies. Connor was selected to play in a high-level hockey league hours away from your hometown and as your fingertips buried themselves into his tear-soaked t-shirt, you swore nothing could compare to this pain. The absolute tear of your beating heart out of your raw chest that ached with every gasp. You were a mess, undeterred by your futile attempt to appear as nonchalant at your silly age, but the second Connor stood on your porch, luggage in hand and the sadest tinge in his sage eyes, you fell apart.

Despite the sheer anguish you experienced that crisp autumn day, you adjusted. Stayed in contact with your best friend and continued to build up your life in his absence. Completed all your teenage rites of passage - took some extracurriculars, went to prom (you wanted to ask Connor, but ultimately decided against it), graduated high school and started attending university in Calgary - nine hours away from home. So many things changed and some still stayed the same. Connor was still as hockey obsessed and through his diligent efforts, he’s achieved his dreams of playing in the NHL night after night. You were there for draft day and there for his first game, university be damned. As was Connor, in the stands during your high school graduation and any time you needed him, whether that was him sitting on the phone with you until four in the morning or meeting up with you halfway across two countries because he felt like it. There was always something so spectacular about you two, your stories detailed by destiny and hung amongst the stars. A divine creation that despite the odds, of paths that have taken you two elsewhere, always merged because that is simply how it’s meant to be.

And, so it is, your last summer before your final year and here you are, fingertips tapping against the wooden bar as your leg jerks in anticipation of a figure that will come through your hometown bar, Punch & Judy’s doors any minute now.

Your best friend, Charlotte, manages to interweave your antsy fingers in between hers, a nurturing smile across her smooth face. “He’ll get here, don’t worry.”

Your eyebrows quirk, your legs stopping all motion. “Who said anything about worrying?”

She rolls her eyes, unamused. “You know what I mean,”

Then, she goes on to untangle your fingers, leaning her crossed arms against the bar occupied by the usual mellow group of regulars, including your own bunch of friends. “Besides, you know him. Knowing you’re here, he’s tryna get here quicker than a New York minute.”

A funny feeling flips in the pits of your stomach, an immediate flush coating the apples of your cheeks as you clumsily grab at your cider bottle. Connor always poked fun at your inability to enjoy a cold one, resorting to fruity flavours of cider. “He’s a law-abiding citizen, he’ll wait for the greenlight even if it kills him.”

“If you say so,” Charlotte casts you a glance out of the corner of her eye, smugness tugging at the corners of her lips as she takes another swig of her beer. The bell signifying the main door opening sounds in the background. “Oh, look. Speak of the devil and he shall appear! Hey there, stranger!”

Suddenly, your attention is elsewhere, eyes pinned to the tall silhouette that struts through the doorway of the LED ridden bar, kind eyes and a kinder smile with his tousled hickory hair and hushed voice finding its way to your eardrums again after so long. It’s like coming home again, watching from afar as close friends fall into endless hugs, your reunion saved for last as you beam a closed mouthed smile, reproduced by your best friend who opens his arms for a hug that solely belongs to you. You fall into him instinctively, inhaling his soft woody scent as you bury yourself in his embrace, the pendulum of your life coming to a pause as your universe centres.

“Get a room, you two!” Connor’s brother, Quinn taunts from over your shoulder, eliciting an exaggerated sigh from you as you’re reluctantly reminded of the lame chirps he seems to be full of whenever you and Connor are together.

You ignore him, savouring the moment for what its momentarily worth before Connor’s pulling away, arms loosely wrapped around the circumference of your waist as he peers down at you with those same green eyes you’ve known your entire life.

“Hi.” you breathe, short and sweet.

He simpers, something coy in the lines of his smile as he replies back, “hi.”

It’s a simple greeting, but there’s so much more in those few syllables - the endless gravity of your shared experiences and fondest memories making their way back to each other. Your eyes linger for a minute longer, taking in each other’s presence that’s long been missed due to your busy schedules leading up to your summer break. You part ways and despite how fulfilled you are to have him here and see him after some time, there’s a small knack that nags at you - hollow and wanting as you venture to a booth nearby, squishing up in between Charlotte and another one of your guy friends, Owen Power, who like Connor has been busting his ass in the NHL and friends with you all for longer than you can remember. You all chatter amongst yourselves with Connor’s brother sitting across from you, a discussion brewing as Connor returns shortly after getting a drink at the bar, sliding beside his brother with a beer in hand.

“Come on, Connie. Help me out here, these guys have lost the plot.” His brother argues, an eye roll your response.

Connor looks between your group, a knit in his eyebrows. “What’s the deal?”

“They’re tryna say, get this - that dolphins are more dangerous than damn orcas. Can you believe that?” Quinn attests, expression pinched as he ruffles the curls of his bleached hair sticking out his snapback.

“Hey! We’re well within reason to be arguing with you. You on the other hand? I don’t think so.” Charlotte proclaims, an accusatory finger directed towards Quinn.

“Yeah, not gonna lie, Quinn. You’re severely underestimating how evil dolphins are,” concludes Owen, his hand raised as he pushes up his glasses on the bridge of his sunkissed nose.

Quinn guffaws, jaw slack as his eyes flicker between everyone’s faces in quick succession, clearly in disbelief. “Are you hearing this right now?”

“Look, Q - we’ve been over this,” you start, hands extending as if to make sense of your proposed point. “You’ve been fed dolphin propaganda. We’ve literally shown you so many resources about their heinous crimes. Take it or leave it.”

Quinn groans, elbowing his older brother who wordlessly listens to the ongoing conversation. “Bro! A little help would be nice.”

A brief pause follows his younger brother’s melodrama, Connor weighing out the arguments of a conversation he hadn’t been here for, his eyes flickering over towards yours fleetingly. An unexplained shiver runs down your spine, the action camouflaged poorly as you appear to distract yourself from the sensation, fingernails scratching against the lines of your neck as you look up at the ceiling.

“Hello?!” hollers Quinn.

You swear he loves to hear himself talk.

“They’re right,” Connor concludes, eyes set on you as he speaks before he takes a swig of his beer, focusing back onto his brother. “Personally, I think you’ve been taking one too many trips to Sea World.”

“The promised land of dolphin propaganda.” mentions Charlotte.

“This is ridiculous!” Quinn exclaims, sending a heavy elbow into his older brother’s arm, all of which barely gains any sort of response from him. “What happened to honour amongst bros, huh? They don’t have that in Minnesota or what?”

Connor scoffs lightly, his smile reading amused as his head turns towards his brother. “That doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything you say.”

Quinn mumbles something under his breath, clearly displeased. “I forget you’re my harshest critic.”

Their double act entices the crowd, your circle of friends laughing amongst yourselves as Quinn folds his shoulders with his usual theatrics. No one buys into it, much less Connor who drapes his arm loosely around his brother’s squared shoulders, leaning in with a tickled pink smile that reflects within your own expression.

“You’re just mad I won’t kiss your ass.”

That earns him a shove off Quinn’s shoulders, sending him into a fit of laughter. Everyone chortles along, basking in the merriment of the moment before you’re delving into other non-controversial topics, indulging everyone in the bits and pieces of your lives they’ve missed and just like that, you're four drinks in and so sentimental it hurts. Owen suggests a walk around the town centre, a tradition you cannot help but all agree to as you all shimmy out of your respective booth, bidding Judy at the bar farewell as you file out of the establishment.

The cobalt sky dazzles with stars you’ve forgotten shine so bright here, the midday heat nowhere in sight as a cool breeze pushes you forwards. You linger behind Quinn as he impulsively hops onto Owen’s back, who stumbles at the sudden weight whilst Charlotte laughs at the unfolding scene. Nostalgia warms your heart at the sight, eyes half-closed and posture relaxing as the warm summer night holds you close and kisses your worries goodbye.

An arm drapes over your shoulders, your slow strides matching up with Connor’s as he looks to you, smile small and earnest as he playfully challenges, “Since when did you know about dolphin propaganda?”

You gasp, humour shaping your lips. “Well, you’ve been in my ear most of my life yapping about it, so…”

“Hey, I’m just saying - was I wrong?” the smirk on his face attests to his unwavering confidence and as you catch a whiff of his woody cologne, you roll your eyes in defeat, smile still on your lips.

“Considering you wore a shark tooth to school, I didn’t think so.”

You have to bite back the wide smile that fights to spread across your face, a few snickers here and there escaping before the loose ring around your shoulders closes in, Connor smushing your face inwards against the strength of his bicep. You can’t help but laugh throughout, swatting away his pesky grip that lasts no longer than a few seconds before all you hear is the echoes of your winded chuckles. In an effort to stabilise yourself from the momentary loss of oxygen, your hand seeks Connor’s, holding onto his larger and warmer as your feet hit the pavement in unison.

“Feels good to be back, doesn’t it?”

You let your head fall to Connor’s shoulder, arm wrapping around his lower back as your steps sync with such ease. A lightness in your limbs and how perceptive you can be to the sounds of downtown - car horns, hushed chatter and the like - let you know there’s nowhere you’d rather be right now than here. Back at home, with your best friends and your partner in crime who you answer in the form of a hum.

-

Your first few days back in the Pas are slow and uneventful, most of your time spent decompressing from the taxing semester and unpacking your items, all of which you didn’t know just how much you possessed. In an effort to make the most of the sunshine and get out the house for reasons other than your part time job at the local diner, you sign up for community gardening activities and ask the groupchat if anyone wants to come along. Everyone appears to have plans, except for Connor, who in the early hours of the next morning, picks you up from your childhood home and drives into town where for the next few hours, you’re knee deep in dirt under the blaring sun as you plant various kinds of greenery to spotlight the natural beauty of your rustic town.

What is certain, when early afternoon pours in, painting the sky in shades of honey and tangerine, you’re exhausted beyond belief. You have no idea how Connor makes the drive home, yet he does and when you two collapse into the hammock in your family’s backyard, your lips are slack and echoing more yawns than you can contain.

“That was great and all, but that’s knocked me out,” Connor groans, limp body shuffling in the confinements of the cotton hammock hanging off one of the trees in your backyard. The same tree which holds the treehouse you and Connor partially lived in throughout your youth. “That was more tiring than hockey practice.”

You’re tired and easily distracted, your head perched up in a way that puts the treehouse in your direct eye-line. “Remember when we’d watch movies in that treehouse?”

A brief pause follows, occupied by the tranquil chirps and running water from the nearby bird bath. “Yeah, I’d always wanna watch Jaws but you wanted to watch Disney movies.”

You give him a laugh, shuffling yourself in order to get comfortable in the small space. Why did you two think this would work like it did ten years ago? The thought occurs to you, but you brush it off to save yourself additional mental load, making the adjustments to cater to some form of comfortability in the tiny space. Even if that means sacrificing your shared personal space as your body overlaps onto Connor’s strong and firm one.

“Says the guy who knows the all the songs in Lemonande Mouth,” you counter, “And, Let it Shine.”

Without missing a beat, in his sleepy voice, Connor replies with, “kissy kissy, Roxanne, did you miss me?”

Groaning despite the snickers slipping past your lips, you bury your head into Connor’s chest, refusing to hear the rest of his ramblings. “My girl is hotter than your girl, you know it! You know it.”

To get your point across, you unbury your head, wide eyes peering up at your best friend who’s so amused by this all, hair messy and smile stretching from ear to ear. A bright sight. “Can you not?”

“You’re just hating 'cause I sing better than you.” He follows that by sticking his tongue out at you, so mature for his age that you grant him the response of a heavy sigh and an averted gaze, settling back into the peace and serenity of your backyard.

However, the silence doesn’t last long before you’re speaking again.

“Your hair’s getting long,” you observe, fingertips dancing along Connor’s nape as you absently fiddle with the long strands of his hair, silky between your fingers. “You should let me cut it.”

“Name a time and place, and I’ll be there,” he mumbles sleepily against the crown of your head, soothing you further towards a serene sleep. “Unless you fuck it up. Then, I won’t forgive you.”

You give him the satisfaction of a laugh tucked away in your chest, the ghost of a smile dissipating as the aches of a hard work’s start to plunge their teeth into your flesh and bones, body like cement as you sink further into the comfort of the hammock, into the comfort of your calm summer afternoon.

“One of my friends from my team’s supposed to be coming up for a night or two,” Connor croaks, voice hoarse and the gentle breeze of the summer’s day pecking your skin in an act of love. “Think…you’ll all get along with him quite well.”

His point is punctuated by a tired yawn that proves to be contagious as you mirror the action moments after, eyes unbearably heavy as time moves slow like molasses, body further sinking against Connor’s. You don’t even stop yourself from falling asleep, only blinking away the exhausted sting in your eyes to answer your best friend.

“Can’t wait,” you mumble, adjusting your body against Connor as your limbs slot together like puzzle pieces, matched at every curve as slumber envelopes you two in a kind embrace. “It’ll be good - the visit…and the rest of summer.”

Your words trail in a drowsy daze, tone doused in sleepiness as your eyes can no longer keep themselves open, glimpses of hickory branches and pear leaves wishing you peace and serenity as you finally fall asleep.

-

Your shift at the local diner passes without as much traffic as expected, local patrons ordering their usual with a few tourists dropping by to try the culinary experience of your average but nostalgic diner food. Due to how quiet the establishment is - Mabel, your boss and long-time owner of the diner - lets you off early and with a hug, you scurry back to your family house to get ready for the night's events. After dozing off with Connor in the hammock out back, your mother softly awoke to you with a holler she’s used since the dawn of time.

“Up and at ‘em, kids. Dinner’s ready!” in the distance of your dreams, you hear your mother yell.

With drowsy film still coating your eyes, you and Connor manage to dislodge your limbs from one another, sleepy smiles and croaky chuckles exchanged as you amble inside your house and Connor stays for a filling homemade meal that everyone at the dining table fawns over. Connor hangs back as you venture into the kitchen to wash up, a tradition you two have forged, him washing the dishes and you drying them. Not much dialogue takes place between the two of you and there is no need. For all the instances where you believed the need for conversation, you appreciate this silence so much more - how there’s no urge to talk for the sake of talking and how much comfort there is with simply just being with Connor. After you’ve done the washing up and Connor’s hugged your mother goodbye, fist bumping your father hilariously enough, he’s climbing into his car and wishing you well.

“You sure you don’t need me to pick you up from Mabel’s?” coaxes Connor, the wiggle of his eyebrows offsetting the echoes of titters that leave your lips.

“I’m good, thanks. Need to shower and get ready, anyways,” a gentle gust of wind blows, fallen leaves scraping against the cement of your driveway. “We all know how long that takes.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” Connor simpers, says like it’s the easiest thing in the world and like it doesn’t demand for the city of butterflies within you to soar beyond their ability.

You flash a strained smile, giving the top of Connor’s car a pat as your posture straightens and you step away from the vehicle. “Goodbye, Connor.”

“See you soon.” and just like that, he’s gone with the wind, taking a little piece of you with him.

It’s when you’re strolling your way back inside the house, halfway up the stairs to your bedroom that your mom gives you a gentle call, beckoning you back down the stairs to find her in the dimly lit living room, mahogany reading glasses hanging low on the bridge of her nose whilst the quiet snores of your father and his baseball game fill in the background noise.

She folds her newspaper, crinkles running up your spine as she addresses you. “So good to have Connie over, makes me miss him more when he’s away.”

Connor is like a son to her, the better part of your childhood glued at the hip whilst your parents cooed and awed at your loyalty to one another. He helps around the house with no complaint nor expectation of compensation, buys her favourite flowers every Mother’s day with an additional heartfelt gift come her birthday. He listens, he jokes and he cares. What more could she ask for?

“Can’t imagine how much more you miss him whilst you’re away.” she comments, throwing her denim clad leg over the other, directing all her attention to you, swaying between two feet with your hands behind your back, sceptical.

“Well, we try to meet up when we can, so it’s not too bad,” your hand goes to scratch the back of your neck, chin jutted as your head leans to the side. “…Is that why you called me down?”

Awkwardness rarely rears its head in your household built upon openness and unconditional love, which is why the unspoken truth your mother struggles to vocalise raises a red flag, your skin prickling as you fiddle with your hands behind your back.

She’s looking at you now, a maternal love in her eyes as she speaks up. “Maybe, I can’t really put my finger on it, really. I did, however, want to say that I hope you guys keep each other in your lives, however that may pan out in the future. There’s a special happiness in your eyes I want you two to be selfish with.”

It’s a small thing, she says. A snowflake amongst the pile of snow in the realms of your mind, but as you lay in bed later on that late afternoon, staring at the gold stars Connor helped hang up in your room, your mind wanders places it never conceptualised. Inserts Connor in places in your life where he hadn’t been previously - opposite you illuminated by a candle-lit dinner, dancing in a kitchen as you prepare breakfast and kiss each other in between, above your bare body as he holds you in the palm of his hand like you are the most precious thing the universe has gifted him. It’s a point in time that despite busying yourself with dipping your toes back into your hobbies - heck, even walking your next door neighbour’s golden retriever to clear your head - it never quite leaves you, awakening something deep and dormant in you that never goes away.

Snapping out of your syrupy daze, you adorn yourself in your finest line dance clothing, slipping on your gingerbread cowboy boots before you’re tying bows in the pigtails of your hair. Your mother yells down the stairs for you and you leave in a flash, kissing her goodbye as she drops you off at Punch and Judy’s, your jewellery clinking together as you walk through the main entrance.

Much like your first night back, the bar is illuminated in dim light and sharp LED lights of varying colours. Cowboy hats dominate the sea of customers, the building crowd of the bar dressed in shades of denim and tired leather cowboy boots. Knowing the others have already arrived, saving a spot at a nearby booth, you decide to make your way to the bar first, ordering your signature berries-flavoured cider, to which Punch (co-owner) makes quick work of, the cold beverage in your hands before you can blink.

“Beer not to your liking, sugar?” A smoky, mellow voice grabs your attention.

You spare a glance at the source of the gravel voice, eyes long lingering as they capture the image of a face that stirs a flip in the pits of your stomach. The man stood beside you braces his muscular arms against the hickory brown of the wooden bar, his sleepy chocolate eyes trained on yours as he takes a swig of his tequila flavoured Desperado beer. Locks of umber messily cascade along his face, unless tucked away in his vintage black cowboy hat that ties together the rugged cowboy look he presents with the sweet addition of his light stubble. To make things worse, he’s stupidly fit, his black t-shirt clinging to the curves of his muscles like second skin. If it were up to you, you’d-

“Like what you see?”

The smug comment snaps you out of your hazy olge, a pout forming upon your lips with an accompanying knit in your eyebrows. You make a point to angrily grab at your pint glass, ingesting a big gulp of the sugary alcohol whilst the rugged cowboy laughs to himself.

Even his laugh is attractive. Sick bastard.

“Coming from a man drinking a Desperado? Funny,” you have to laugh at whatever lame attempt of making conversation this man is pulling, Punch masking his misplaced laughter behind a cough as he polishes a pint glass. “How flirtatious you are.”

You admit, your latter remark is more bark than bite, a quick chirp that refuses to feed his ego yet grab his interest all at the same time. The ruse proves to work in your favour as the sexy cowboy gives another one of his huffed laughs, his body turned towards yours.

“Give me a chance, sugar. Just tryna start the night off right,” he counters, so brazenly confident in himself that you don’t know whether to laugh or shy away from his prying eyes. “Tequila beer and beautiful company - sounds about perfect to me.”

You react in a juxtaposition, eyes rolling and cheeks flushing as you divert your line of sight away from the handsome man flirting with you at your hometown bar. Perhaps, he’s some city folk travelling through the town, fancying himself a good time at Punch & Judy’s weekly hoedown Fridays, a little bit of flirting on the side to inflate his ego and keep his blood pumping. Whatever reason explains his presence, you are not one to complain. Your love life isn't very entertaining to put it mildly, so you're willing yourself not to get swept up in his caramel eyes.

Against the wishes of your quickening heart, you decide to give Mr. Handsome Traveller the time of day, body shifting as you face each other finally. “You don’t quit, don’t you?”

He cocks an eyebrow your way, something sneaky and sugary in the lines of his smile. A brief pause follows his actions, the soft rustic sounds of old town country murmuring from the jukebox nearby filling up in the space between your figures. It’s when he’s about to make yet another cocky comment that your conversation is put on pause.

Connor’s voice calls your name, head turning to find your best friend standing in between you and the Punch & Judy’s cowboy of the night, eyes wide and expectant as they shift back and forth in the middle of your standing figures.

“Dew, forget about Desperados tonight. The lady in bows will have your head otherwise.” Handsome Traveller nods his chin towards you, humour dancing in his smile as he snickers into his half-full glass.

Then, it dawns on you. Dew? One of the handful of nicknames Connor’s adopted over the course of his livelihood. So, they’re acquaintances? Or closer? Your eyes frantically search for social clues to point you in the right direction.

“The lady in bows is my best friend,” Connor explains, a bite to his words as his eyes glare a knowing look at Sexy Cowboy. He then goes on to face you, gaze softening almost immediately as his head tilts in his friends (?) direction. “This is Brandon, or Dewey One.”

Oh. Makes sense, you rationalise. This is Brandon, Connor’s close friend and teammate on his current team out in Minnesota, the one who gets into fights he can’t win on the ice whilst Connor trails nearby picking up his fallen gear. The one he told you a couple of days ago that was coming up to visit. And, of course you were flirting with him.

Of. Course.

“Dewey One?” you ask, minorly deflecting from your embarrassment and still genuinely curious.

Connor inhales, as if to speak but Brandon beats him to it.

“Brandon’s just fine,” he interjects, expression unassuming as Connor’s eyes put his visiting friend underneath a microscope. “Nice to meet you, darling.”

Normally, you’d wrinkle your nose at the sometimes sleazy pet name Brandon casually calls you, except this time round you find it more amusing than cringe-worthy, which is how you find yourself grinning as you two exchange a handshake that testifies to how strong Brandon is. You clear your throat to stop the circus unfolding within you.

“Come on,” Connor gestures over to you to follow suit. “Can’t keep ‘em waiting.”

You call out an agreement over your shoulder as you go to grab your drink, the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention as a close whisper brushes past your ears.

“I ain’t no quitter, sugar.”

-

The next couple of hours are spent packed into a crimson leather booth that peels at the ends, going from topic to topic over many a pints. Brandon fits so easily into your group, his infectious energy illuminating as he takes up space without regard, his confidence more enticing than suffocating. Everyone seems to be in good spirits as the alcohol keeps flowing and as you sit back, careful eyes watching your friends engage in conversation, you wish for this to be your forever for as long as you'd like for it to be.

A nudge against your shoulder turns your head, greeted by Connor’s sage eyes. “You ready for Judy’s Line Dance?”

His rhetorical question draws a laugh from you. “You say that like I don’t do this every time I come back.”

“Yeah, but if you were ready then, you would’ve brought your cowboy hat,” comments Connor, his veiny hands grasping gently at the ends of your braided pigtails accented with a bow. “What? Wanted to show off your pretty bows?”

He thumbs the ends of your hair, engrossed in the strands and its feel and for some reason, the casual intimacy of the moment inflates something in your chest, a balloon about to burst as you forcibly breathe in and out, clearing your throat afterwards. “They're my favourite accessories.”

Connor huffs, corners of his lips lifting gingerly as he continues his motions with his hands whilst your body remains rigid with the exception of your racing heart and crimsoning cheeks.

Your mother has definitely planted a seed you cannot unroot.

“Yeah, you’re almost always wearing them in your BeReal. posts. They’re real cute.”

For a fact you know so well, Connor’s confession comes as a pleasant surprise, one that shallows your breaths and quickens your pulse. It makes you reflect back on before, when all was platonic and the comment wouldn’t have made you bat an eyelash. Now, your skin tingles and you’re struggling to find the words to encapsulate your affection past your dry mouth. So, like many others in your position, you settle for a safe reply.

“Aren’t you a charmer?” you roll your eyes, brushing off his grasp because you might combat otherwise, projecting your attention ahead of you to come face-to-face with Brandon, who despite the engaging conversation he shares with Owen, his eyes skirt over to you.

You look away, even more flustered than before.

It’s just your luck when you hear Judy’s tap incessantly against an old microphone that you have something else to hold your focus, eyes brimming with glee as she announces the dances for the night and their updated partner songs. Last time you were here, they were still playing their beloved country hits and you danced along thanks to the amounts of alcohol you consumed, but their new playlist of pop hits within the past decade or so, you’re more motivated than ever to tear apart the dance floor.

“If you ain’t shy to do a little two step, please make your way to the dancefloor please.” Judy grins into her mic, tipping her cowboy hat as patrons make their way over to the illuminated space.

Connor makes way for you to exit the booth, your boots hitting the ground as you iron out any kinks in your outfit. Amidst your actions, you catch other movements out of the corner of your eyes, to which you find Connor playing with the ends of your bow this time round. There’s always been something so sweet and tender about him - in the way clouds are amongst a blue sky, in the way laughter spills over so easily in the presence of a found family and in how harmonies make you feel as if you're floating. But, it’s never been like this before, this intense and vivd. In a way that rids you of all thought and scares you beyond your deepest fears all at once. You’re still finding your footing in this new territory, a plain that speaks to the existence of your feelings but has no road nor destination. It’s a simple plain you seek to find some end to, picking up clues along the way that predetermine what the future holds. At the beginning, the animosity scared you pale and grey. Now, the end is what grasps your fear in a fierce chokehold. To pry yourself from the jaws of unhinged anxiety, you allow yourself to relax, to seep into the present and take it for what it's worth because the end is unknown and you’re not there yet. Not by any measure of time, you hope.

“Kick butt out there, rockstar.” His big smile deepens the soft lines of his face, a pure display of pride in his features as he gives you a pat on the back and gives way for you to shine.

It’s small, insignificant in the grand scale of things, but your smile deepens too and you nearly float to the dancefloor, adrenaline rushing through your body as the DJ prepares the upcoming music.

As you settle in line, you feel a light pressure lay upon the crown of your head, eyes darting to find Charlotte in the line next to you, giving you a wink before she faces forwards, thumbs slotted through the loops of her flare jeans. Her straw cowboy hat no longer, you reach up to find said object upon your head and with a chuckle behind your hand, your thumbs hang on your belt loops and let the music guide you.

It’s only when you’ve done your first turn that you realise that Brandon has also decided to join the line dance, huffs of amusement sounding from you as he glides and slides with a confidence dusted with his normal dash of comedy.

When Judy announces it's time for the partner dance, it’s your cue to catch your breath as you plan to evacuate the dancefloor. As mentioned earlier by Charlotte, the pretty sandy brown haired man who’d bought her a drink earlier in the night circles his arms around her waist as she gives him a smitten grin. You beam at the endearing sight, about to make your way towards your booth but are stopped in your tracks as a calloused hand clasps around your wrist.

Brandon’s expression is more sheepish than you’ve ever seen, his eyes distracted as they wander away from you. You raise an eyebrow.

“Who says the night has to end here, sugar?” His voice trembles partially, its edge lost in the coyness lining his smile as he finally looks at you with a dazzle of hope in his eyes.

A momentary pause delays your response, the moment used to turn the cogs in your head and sneak a glance back at your booth, where Connor was last you saw him, eyes trained on you as he simply watches the interaction. Under the weight of his gaze, a creeping sense of embarrassment climbs up your back, scolding the skin. You’re about to give your reply when the music starts up and Brandon speaks again.

“Put this desperado out of his misery and allow me this one dance?”

It’s so cheesy, maybe even idiotic - the words he proposes to you but he’s trying and that’s what appeals to you most, warms your heart and sways your response as you send him a nod that has Brandon cheesing ear to ear, his hand leading the way as you two fall in line.

You haven’t had much experience line dancing with a partner, the closest experience to this being a night you barely remember, happily back sliding with a fifty year old local in your college town bar who wanted to feel young again. Regardless of the fact, there’s no time to mull it over as the music already starts and your fingers are interlocking, matching up with the rest of the duos as you dance, cowboy boots stomping as you make a scene.

In all the commotion of heavy stops and ongoing thumps of Rihanna’s ‘S&M’, Brandon manages to catch your attention, mirroring your movements to a tee.

“You and Connor don’t do this much, do you?” he queries.

“You kidding me? Connie has two left feet, I’d be left for dead if it wasn’t for Charlotte.” You yell over the blaring upbeat country music, arms extended as Brandon glides you further away from his figure.

“Good thing I’m here tonight.” jesters Brandon, and you laugh along because you’re tipsy and having a lot more fun than you imagined.

Despite your familiarity with the dance routine you two execute to a tee, you’re caught off guard when Brandon brings you inwards, bracing you against his hard chest before his arm circles around the circumference of your lower back, holding you steady as he dips your body slightly. Your foot is kicked out, your (Charlotte’s) straw hat’s fallen to the scuffed dancefloor and you’ve just had the wind knocked straight out of you, eyes feverishly searching for answers as the bar falls to a hush.

You’re looking in each other’s eyes now, chest heaving and high off the adrenaline pumping through your veins from all that dancing. All time ceases to exist and it’s just two of you, sharing laboured breaths and looking for any cues for how this will end. It appears as if you’re in your own head at this point, combing through a thousand possibilities all at once to respond however you see fit. Thankfully for you, Brandon breaks the silence.

“One night and one night only.”

The sentence sends shivers down your spine and you’re pretty sure Brandon feels you quiver in his arms as he gives a brief chuckle, hauling you up onto your two feet and bringing you back to reality. You don’t really find their footing after that.

The rest of your time at Punch & Judy’s passes by in a flash, more pints being consumed over your group’s loud chatter as the night stretches on. Charlotte and her blue eyed companion indulge in another dance before he’s whisking her back to the bar and paying for everyone’s next set of drinks - bless his heart. He introduces himself as Jack, a new face in town and as he and the boys exchange pleasantries, the wild eyed non-verbal dialogue you engage in pieces together Charlotte’s sentiment and if it isn’t enough, when Jack makes his departure, she gives him a kiss on the cheek and bides him a coy farewell, a promise to meet in the next coming days on her tongue. One thing is certain, when Jack makes his exit from the bar, the door shutting behind him, you’re yelling and shaking each other’s shoulders in glee, stupidly happy and sharing that with one another.

Your table has their last drinks and before you know it, you’re being squeezed into the back of Owen’s pickup truck, sandwiched between Charlotte and Connor whilst Owen and Brandon sit up front. Over the murmured sounds of slow alternative music, you get bits and pieces of their conversation, the two excitedly talking about their shared love for Legos and the most they’ve splurged on one set. You shake your head with a laugh, going to share your merriment with Charlotte, only to find her soundly asleep, a light snore bypassing her punch pink lips.

“How you holdin’ up, champ?” Connor’s low voice draws you in, a slight head turn in his direction. “Don’t think I’ve seen you dance like that since we were ten and begging our parents to have a sleepover.”

The image is so vivid in your brain, two wide eyed kids that held hands as they begged and pleaded to have a sleepover, only for their polite request to be refused. Taking matters into your own hands, you dragged your parents’ big hands into the living room, where in front of them and an oblivious Connor, turned on MTV and danced to some popular song of the time. Lucky for you, it worked. Unluckily, Connor would hold that over your head forever onwards.

You’re cringing into your hand, face mangled in discomfort as you wish away the reality of you doing that away. “One of us had to convince them. Plus, it worked, didn’t it?”

“I can’t argue with that,” Connor laughs behind a fist before his hand falls to his side, a moment of quiet between you two. “You and Brandon seem to be hitting it off.”

A single eyebrow raises to express your confusion, perplexed frown prominent not because of his statement which is completely true, but because there’s an edge to his voice - something unfamiliar and cold in the way he says his words - a tone you’ve yet to hear, even after all these years. Uncertain how to proceed, you choose to be cautious about the matter, selecting your words carefully.

“He’s nice,” you state, because Brandon is but something in you twists uncomfortably, feels the recognizable pangs of embarrassment as you’re subjected to uttering this out loud. Or rather, in front of Connor. A betrayal of some sorts. “You were right about him fitting right in with us.”

There’s a strange shift in the air in the backseat of the car, the once peaceful quiet now becoming increasingly heavy and awkward as your words hang in the air like knives. Connor absorbs your words, stare averted as he watches his fingers fiddle with the lock of the door on the windowsill. You run your palms against the material of your denim shorts because you don’t know what to do with them otherwise.

It’s only when you’ve scratched the back of your neck, eyes stiffly roaming the interior of the car that Connor replies. “Yeah..I guess I just didn’t know how well.”

You’re about to ask him what he means by that, going to press him but Owen’s suddenly shut off the truck, his blinding interior lights turning on and him killing the ignition, alerting you of your arrival. Connor climbs out before your vision reverts back to normal, so you put the matter on pause and softly wake up Charlotte who sheepishly wipes away dried drool at the corner of her lips and climbs out the pick-up with you. You’re about to shut the door behind you, though someone beats you to it.

“I got it.” Brandon’s husky voice sounds from behind you, the slam of the door following.

You send an appreciative smile his way, perhaps a bit of timidity mixed in there too, turning to include Charlotte in any possible conversation to come, only to find her halfway up the porch stairs of Connor’s house.

How is it always the two of you left alone?

“Let’s head in, it’s chilly out here.” suggests Brandon, you falling in line with his request as the beginnings of goosebump dot your arms, the roughness of your skin hitting an all time high as Brandon’s large hand falls to the small of your back, guiding you up the stairs into the cosy and quaint house.

Hums of conversation lead from the back porch of Connor’s house, the presence of your friends known as you wordlessly navigate your way through the halls of Connor’s house, hallways and framed pictures you’ve committed to memory. When you’ve made your way to the kitchen, you find Owen nursing a cool bottled water, hair tousled and cheeks dusted in pink.

“There you two are,” announces Owen, fingers threading through the waves of his brown hair. “Everyone’s out back - apparently, Quinn’s out back too.”

You waste no time beelining for the backyard, the sudden weight of your reality dawning on you the second you stepped through Connor’s doorway, a cold shower of water easing you out of the mirage you’ve impulsively floated in. Once you’re outside, the cool air sinking into your skin, you spying the usual suspects - Quinn, Charlotte and Connor gathered together around a fire Quinn boasts about making. His glee is short lived.

“That boy scouts training finally coming in handy, huh?” Charlotte banters, a suppressed smirk sneaking amongst her features as she takes a seat in one of the camping chairs surrounding the fire.

“You laugh now but when you need someone to tie an impossible knot and survive off the land, don’t come running to me.” responds Quinn, taking a swig of his beer as Charlotte holds her hands up in surrender, laughing regardless.

You’re about to turn on your heels to head back inside, retrieving a beverage of your own, but a familiar call of your name is stopping you in your tracks.

“I’ve got your cider here,” alerts Connor, expression indifferent as he approaches you to hand off a can of your favourite berry cider and a bottle of water. “Blankets are on the chairs too.”

It’s embarrassing how much you want to melt into this man’s arms right now. Nonetheless, for reasons you know all too well, you express your gratitude in a toothy grin that he mirrors with a closed mouth, pulling you down into the camping chair beside his.

Soon enough, Brandon and Owen are sitting round the fire too and your night ends like this, light-hearted discussions under the stars as the heat from the open flame soothes your heavy eyelids closed. Whilst you’re mildly awake, you don’t miss the glances you and Bradon trade over the sandstone fire, loaded questions in his eyes. Had this been any other occasion, any other person not linked to Connor, any other reality where your current feelings didn’t exist for Connor, then there would be no questions asked, blossoms of wine doting both your necks come tomorrow morning. Alias, these were not the conditions and simply lounged in your camping chair, hoping Brandon didn’t look your way every time Connor’s hand would play with the bows in your hair.

-

Arm hanging out of his shiny porcelain white pick-up truck, Brandon squints as the rays from the blistering sun reflect into his eyes. Having said their goodbyes earlier, Connor and Brandon dab each other up with good-natured smiles before Brandon throws his focus over to you, standing with a bit more awkwardness than you’d like.

“Take care, Lady in bows,” Brandon says, a well-mannered nod sent your way with a closed mouth smile. “Don’t give Dewey a hard time. He’ll come round.”

For a split second, you’re eyeing him as if his face contains all the answers, but when he gives you that knowing look, the same one Charlotte and your mother give you any time Connor’s name is mentioned - you know. Know all too well and blush as a result, head snapping behind you to see if Connor’s within earshot. Thankfully, he’s in the middle of chatting with his brother, hands in his pocket as Quinn points off into the distance. You circle back to Brandon, the apples of his cheeks clear as day as he snickers like he’s been told a secret.

It’s as if this best kept secret brings you infinitely closer, your walls falling as you begin to bare the depth of your sentiment surrounding Connor. There’s no more beating around the bush, so you lower your head as you kick at the rocks at your feet. “You think so?”

You hate how small your voice comes out, meek and questioning everything known to man. It’s unfamiliar and not to mention, uncomfortable in every aspect of the word. Alias, Brandon sees you - catches the vulnerability you’ve shared with him and embraces you with a kindness that ushers a relieved sigh from you as he responds back.

“I’d bet my NASA Space Shuttle lego set on it.” Brandon banters, smirk soft and small.

So, he’s serious. Very serious, it seems because you know how treasured the item is to him. You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you were holding.

“Thanks, Brandon,” you breath, coyness coating your cheeks as your hands fall behind your back, your fingers tangling. “Don’t go fighting no alligators.”

“We can only hope,” Brandon gives his side-door a smack, rounding up everyone’s attention. “I’m hitting the road, fellas. Enjoy the fair for me, yeah?”

A chorus of agreements go off from behind you before Brandon gives one more salute, speeding off into the canary yellow sun. The small crowd outside Connor’s house disperses and regroups again later on that day, refreshed and ready to attend the local fair held every summer and the highlight of the year.

The fair lives up to its expectations, grand and joyful with a variety of rides ranging from teacups to a catapult-like ride that swings back and forth and then upside down. You’re distracted by all the colours, the sights and sounds that you’re so oblivious to what goes on right before you, until your vision is shrouded in black and your face is submerged in fluff.

Retracting, you blink your eyes to adjust to the change in lighting, lips parting as you stare at the massive latte-coloured teddy bear that Connor presents to you, the rest of your friends nearby taking their turns at the darts board way ahead of them.

He must see you struggle to find the words, his grin infectious as he jests, “I think I’ve finally out-conned the concessionaires.”

You must look like an idiot, or a deer in the headlights as Charlotte jokes, disbelief strikingly apparent on your face as you reach for the souvenirs, the fluffy animal so cosy in your arms and melting your heart into a big puddle of goo. “Thank you, Con.”

“Don’t mention it.” a smile plays tenderly on his lips, the sheer kindness he captures in his sage eyes enough to make your pulse race and head spin.

After the thoughtful gesture, your high spirits cannot be tamed as you indulge in every little thing your heart desires - laughing a little harder, smiling a little wider and stuffing your cheeks full of hearty food that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. Charlotte basks in your glee, speaking of a glow you radiate as she snaps photos of your stuffed cheeks, a knowing smirk on her lips as she hands you your teddy bear once your food is finished. You don’t reply, exchanging words through your glances as you make your way towards the second bit of rides the boys want to try.

“Wait, isn’t that…?”

As Quinn’s voice trails off into the distance, you find yourself turning in the exact direction where he directs your view, eyes landing on a pair of figures - one being Connor and the other being, Amelia, Connor’s ex-girlfriend from high school and most notably, his last girlfriend. Her waves of blond hair glisten in the sunshine, something like a Renaissance painting. Her smile bright and wide as she greets Connor with an enthusiastic hug, a hug you feel lasts longer than necessary.

They then go on to immerse themselves in conversation, and for the life of you, you can’t look away - pry your jealous eyes away nor dry swallow this bitter pill because she’s still so into him. Hands familiar and all over him, leaning in when she gets the chance and beaming like she’s won the lottery. In all fairness, her life’s been such a tale - excelling academically, incredibly driven in all sports and other extracurricular activities that garnered her attention. And such a kind spirit too, always there to help no questions asked that it made you physically sick that you could foster any ill feelings towards her, because she’s such a light and maybe Connor would see that too. As he did when they were together.

You’re too busy losing yourself in a sea of self pity that you don’t notice Charlotte's attempts to snag your attention nor other things at first, your illegitimate fears getting the best of you but as your posture stoops, your eyes floating everywhere around the busy fair that it pauses on Connor’s figure. Once immersed in conversation, he appears distracted, indifferent somehow as his attention wanders, wanders over to you as his line of sight floats over to you from time to time as the conversation stretches on. At first, you think it’s your mind playing tricks on you, feeding into delusions that’ll soothe your pity party, but at some point, he holds your gaze, giving Amelia a pat on the back before he’s jogging over to where your friendship group is, not even uttering a word as he slots himself between you and Owen.

“What was that about?” Quinn just has to ask.

“Oh, Amelia just wanted to catch up,” he sounds distracted, his mind elsewhere but you don’t dare to indulge, your sight directed elsewhere as you grip onto the plush teddy bear as if it were a lifeline. “She says hi, by the way.”

You don’t do much listening after that, tuning out all the colours and sounds of the fair as you ride the highs and lows of what your life has become.

-

A sense of urgency plagues you from that day forth, a hurriedness in your actions as your anxieties get the better of you, going from lounging around in day old pyjamas covered in crumbs and mystery stains to getting a head start on your master’s personal statement and running every errand you’ve been procrastinating. Your parents swear you’ve become a different person - venturing outside the house before noon to visit the bank to change your address or go get your car serviced. Perhaps seeing Connor with Amelia was the jump start you needed to stop relishing in instant gratification, distracting yourself from facing any sort of music that pertained to the future and all its question marks. You still hang out with the others, more so Charlotte as you spend a few afternoons at the lake with one another, feet dangling into the water as she updates you on her adventures with Jack.

It’s the first time someone’s pursued her with such sincerity and charm that she’s hesitant about his authenticity. And yet from the sounds of it, Jack doesn’t mind one bit and shows his patience as they get to know each other, the smitten man taking your best friend on dates that further solidify their connection. You couldn’t be any happier for your best friend, this kind of treatment a long time coming, all of which you express just to see her blush and dive into the cold lake water to avoid further talks. You chase after her, teasing her mercilessly as the thoughts still linger at the back of your mind - your own sentiment with regards to Connor and what has come from the change of heart.

Emotional anguish and so much fear you’re not sure what to do with yourself. It takes a week of mulling things over, his missing presence due to off-season hockey training for you to make up your mind, peeling into his driveway and hiding your apprehension behind a strained smile as he greets you at the door. You preoccupy every bit of silence with running chatter, because you don’t want to hear yourself think, a multitude of topics discussed over vodka pasta you make together before you’re finding your way into his bedroom, the early evening sky greeting you as he flicks on his buttermilk bedside lamp.

He brings out his guitar, the same one you gifted Connor two years ago at the height of his newly-found hobby and plucks the strings, creating a melody you compel yourself to relax into, somehow ending up sandwiched in between him and the guitar as he directs your fingers to play one of your favourite songs, just because.

Apparently, your shaky hands don’t make for good playing material.

“You’re shaking like a leaf, you cold or something?” notes Connor, his looming presence over your body sending you into overdrive, your skin feverish and mind imploding from overwork.

“This is different.” you annouce, because it is. Unlike times before, it didn’t mean as much to be alone in his bedroom with him, getting glimpses into the life he’s lived and who he is as a person through all his possessions. You could handle the casual intimacy - the soft spoken whispers, the unprovoked kindness, the skin to skin contact that didn’t send your heart into a series of flutters. Now, all you can do is bat an eyelash, many at that, and this you must make known. For the selfish reasons you can think of.

“What d’ya mean?” he mumbles, clearly distracted and known the wiser to his breath fanning over your neck, goosebumps rising against your skin as your body grows rigid against his.

So acutely aware of your proximity, of the bursting feelings that thud at the confinement of your chest, your thoughts scatter like glass. “This, Connor. Being like this…with you.”

That strikes a chord with Connor, his motions ceasing altogether as his hands drop from the guitar and you’re forced to face the music. Sink your teeth into this undeniable truth that’s followed you all these years and you’ve been too blind to see. Confront the holy truth that maybe there was more divine work intertwined in your story with Connor, that maybe the universe wrote you two as one heart as opposed to two. That, as the summer days ticked by, the sun seeping into your skin, your love grew for Connor like molasse - slow and thick and palpable that once you were aware of its existence, that’s all that consumed you. Coated in his syrupy love, an endless desire.

You’re facing your best friend in spite of the hellish screams in your mind to play this off as some random mood swing, a joke even, because laughter follows you two everywhere, right? But, you know. Know better than anybody else that Connor knows you, like the back of his hand. Sees right through any charade you may jester him with, so any attempts to divert the conversation are as pointless as anything. Your confession starts and ends here.

A flicker of concern mixes in the dark of his eyes, hands clasped together with a crease in between his eyebrows. “I don’t follow.”

A full body sigh draws out of you, shoulders sagging and back curving, your hands casting aside the acoustic guitar with caution. You’re back to staring at each other, in the silence of the night, caged in between four walls that burn your eyes white as you once again grapple with your innumerable feelings and the finality of it all - this longing.

“Don’t you think,” you croak, question in your eyes as you look up at Connor, stifling any rise in emotion within you. “-this summer has been different?”

His sage eyes cast away, pink lips settling into a pout as he racks his brain for whatever answer you may be looking for. “No? Maybe? I don’t know.”

He adds on, looking back at you as he leans closer without fault. “Is this because it’s your last summer before you graduate?”

Connor’s got a point. When you’re trying to kid yourself into not having romantic feelings for your childhood best friend, your mind wanders to places where it has more control. Plans for after college, what modules you’ll be taking, what societies you want to join, what last things you’d like to cross off your list before you’re forced into full fledged adulthood. It’s a thought that lingers ever so presently at the back of your mind, like background music stuck on loop, but ultimately, Connor has missed his mark and you tell him so.

“Partially, but,” you wet your lips, struggling to find the words again as the burn against your cheeks proves to be insufferable. “This is what’s been on my mind more than anything else.”

Your point is accentuated by your single finger gesturing between the two of you, a poor attempt at best to foster some sort of confession of your romantic feelings. Because it's so scary, lending these thoughts your voice because they become much more real, spoken aloud for his ears to hear and his heart to see. For his heart to feel and what then? What awaits you once your confession reaches his ears? The unknown is scary, chilling to the bone and you wish to shroud yourself from it as long as there’s daylight.

There’s a beat before you hear Connor’s voice again. “What about us?”

Hearing him vocalise those three words makes the moment so real, so vividly intense that it sends chills down your spine and slows your laboured breath, the thump of your heart all you can hear aside from the ticking clock against Connor’s bedside table. It ticks and ticks, signifying the curtain call to your summer long charade.

“Connor, I..” It’s as if the magnitude of your feelings have manifested into some beast, with razor-like fangs and sharp claws that slash at the confinements of your chest, the words of love dying on the tip of your tongue as the moments hangs over your head like a gauntlet. You’ve never been so scared before, driven nearly to tears as your desperate hands grip at the material of your hoodie to ground yourself in some sort of way whilst you try to push yourself. To see this through until the very end and leave the destination unknown.

“We’ve been friends our entire lives. I don’t know anything beyond being with you and I never wanted to, and I feel like that means so much more than it did years ago,” his eyes are on you, undivided attention served on a silver platter that you turn away from, for its sincerity and shine. “Maybe, I did know deep down inside what I know now all those years ago. Like when I cried and begged for you not to leave the Pas. Or when you held my hand any chance you got when we were kids, or anytime you smiled at me really that let me know I always liked you. Maybe, even love you - I don’t know. But, what I do know is that I just couldn’t leave for Calgary without letting you know. Even if that means…”

You don’t have the heart to utter your next words, a dagger to the heart at even the possibility of losing your best friend and partner in crime. Perhaps, it isn’t worth saying - this whole grand love confession because this is a risk you’re not ready to face. However, despite your thundering heart against your bruised chest and however many times you’re second guessing yourself here, the weight lifted from your words is undeniable. An unspoken truth that had been set free, that needed to be set free - whatever the fallout may be.

A snicker snaps you out of your deep seated fears, your scattered daze settling on the view before you, one you had least expected. Connor, eyes cast away from yours as he huffs into his hands, a laugh you’re undecided where it derives from.

“…Are you laughing at me right now?” You feel awful for even asking such a ridiculous question. At the same time, you’ve just been as vulnerable as you’ve ever been in your entire life - some hesitancy is to be expected.

At your question, Connor’s huffs of delight cease and stares at you at alarm, realising his mistake. “God, no. Fuck, I’m so sorry, I just-”

“You used to rub dirt on me, and now you're proclaiming your love for me,” an airy laugh puffs out of his moving chest, a mixture of disbelief and amusement painted amongst his chiselled features. “It’s a bit of an adjustment.”

He seems…happy? Relieved? You’re not really sure, but what you at least find peace in is that there’s no sunken look about him, no expression worn that conveys disappointment and hurt because that’s all you’d have to see to know where his heart lies.

“Good or bad?” you ask.

His eyes bounce back to yours, those same olive eyes you’ve spent years looking into, glimmer with a sparkle that you’ve yet to see and robs you of rational thinking as your heartbeat picks up the pace.

“Good,” he whispers, like it’s a secret for just the two of you - one that is small and fragile, but so special and cherished that it makes your heart squeeze. “Because, there’s no one else I’d rather be with. Not by a long shot.”

You swear you could cry, burst like a dam and drown in your tears that overflow with such joy and relief because this is it for you. So right and settled, being where you’ve always meant to be - so loved and treasured by the one person who knows you better than yourself, someone who’s seen you at your most awkward and at your worst, and loves you because he has. Because he’s seen it all and wants to spend the remainder of his life doing so, a conscious choice he makes everyday because he loves you and you love him.

You’re unsure how you’ve ended up like this, limbs curled up in your lover’s lap as he cups your cheeks, rough thumb caressing the skin as his love shines through his gaze that blows his iris’ out of view. He looks so beautiful like this, unabashed and vulnerable, secure in love and what destiny holds for you. He looks at you as if you colour his skies and spin his world round and just like that, you lose yourself in him. Thread your fingers through his strands of umber brown and kiss him like you mean it. Kiss him long and hard, and with everything you have because it’s long overdue, so needed that you melt into him, lips overlapping as you taste destiny on his tongue.

***

You’ve found yourself on a plush sofa, all wrapped up in your boyfriends arms, perched on his lap. Nothing weird, right? Except for the fact that it’s not your house. And you’re not alone.

It started out as a housewarming party. One where, the new guy on the team invited everyone over to his new place to get to know each other—pretty much a pity excuse to drink beer and fool around.

The apartment is nice, like, scary nice, with floor-to-ceiling windows that made Toronto look far nicer than it actually was. But eventually, the team cleared out, their perfect blonde WAG’s hooked to their arms as they left behind bottles of nice wine that the host would probably never touch if it weren’t for you and Matthew being the only ones left—probably overstaying your welcome.

You were different than the rest of the girls. Not like you were trying to, you actually felt a little isolated and wanted to be included, but just never found your fit. It didn’t help that he was the youngest on the team, and you didn’t have much in common with anyone else, except one guy.

“Aha! Got it!” Connor celebrates along with the pop of the cork from the bottle of fancy red. One of your hands is busy raking through the soft strands of Matthew’s hair, but you happily take a glass from Connor, handing it to Matthew before you obtain your own.

The warm burn down your throat causes your body to melt further into Matthew’s, and he responds by tightening his arms around you. You can’t help but let out a little sigh of contentment, fully melting into Matthew’s embrace. He’s always been the kind of guy who knows exactly how to make you feel comfortable—whether it’s on the ice or right here, on his lap, in someone else’s swanky apartment. But right now, your thoughts are split between the delicious red wine and the man across from you. With a smack of your lips, you raise your glass toward Connor. “Damn, this is actually pretty good. Who brought it?” You ask.

Connor takes a seat on the sofa, setting down his own wine glass on the coffee table as he reaches for the bag he received it in. His voice snaps you out of your tipsy reverie. "Welcome to Toronto, from the Marners," he reads with a smirk, clearly amused by the fancy tag. His green eyes flick up to meet yours, and you can’t help but notice how the dim lighting makes them appear even more intense.

You take a slow sip from your glass, pretending to contemplate the wine, but really you're just trying to figure out how you ended up here—tipsy, on your boyfriend’s lap, in the apartment of the guy with those ridiculously green eyes. Maybe it's the wine, or maybe it's the way Matthew’s fingers trace absent patterns on your thigh, but you suddenly feel a little more flustered than usual.

“From the Marners, huh? Figures,” you quip, your lips curving into a smirk. “Only they’d bring something so fancy to a party that’s basically just a glorified excuse to get hammered.”

Matthew chuckles against your neck, his lips grazing your skin in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “Mitchy’s always gotta be the classy one,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

Connor raises an eyebrow, his grin widening as he takes a sip of his own wine. “You saying this wine’s too good for you, Matt?”

Matthew snorts, his arms tightening around you even more as he leans forward, bringing you with him. “Nah, just saying I’m more of a beer guy.”

“Same,” Connor admits, setting the bottle aside. “But I’m not complaining about this.” He tilts his glass toward you in a silent toast, and you return it with a little more enthusiasm than necessary, feeling the alcohol start to take effect.

"Good thing we stayed," Matthew murmurs into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you instinctively lean back into him, his arms tightening around you as if sensing your need for closeness.

Before long, the wine bottle is nearly empty, and you’re all more than a little tipsy. You’re laughing at something Connor said—something about how his mom still sends him care packages even though he’s a grown man and a professional athlete—and you suddenly realize just how close you are to him now. At some point, you must’ve leaned forward in Matthew’s lap, and now your legs are tangled with Connor’s, your hands still absentmindedly playing with Matthew’s hair.

Connor’s gaze flickers down to where your legs are brushing against his, and then back up to your eyes. There’s a pause, just a fraction of a second, but it’s enough to make your breath catch in your throat. It’s as if the air between the three of you shifts, becoming something more charged, more electric. You can feel Matthew’s heartbeat against your back, steady but quickening, and you wonder if he’s feeling the same thing you are.

"So," Connor says, his voice casual but his eyes anything but. "You two have been together for how long now?"

"Two years," you reply, a little too quickly, as if that solidifies something, even though you're not sure what.

"Yeah, two years," Matthew echoes, his thumb rubbing circles on your thigh, and you swear the air in the room thickens just a little.

"That’s a pretty long time," Connor remarks, his tone unreadable, but there's a glint in his eyes that makes your pulse quicken. "Guess you two must know each other pretty well by now."

You nod, biting your lip to stop the nervous laugh that wants to escape. "Yeah, you could say that."

Connor’s lips curl into a smile that’s just shy of being a smirk. "Ever get bored?"

The question hangs in the air, heavy and charged, and you’re not sure if the heat you feel is from the wine or the way both guys are looking at you. Your mind scrambles for a response, but nothing comes out, and it’s Matthew who finally breaks the silence.

"Nah," he says, his voice low and playful. "We keep things... interesting."

There’s a pause, and then Connor chuckles, the sound rich and knowing. "I bet."

You swallow hard, trying to focus on the conversation. “So, uh, Connor… you’re not too lonely here in Toronto, are you?” The words come out a little more suggestive than you intended, and you internally cringe, hoping he doesn’t notice. But then again, maybe you hope he does.

Connor’s grin turns slightly lopsided, and there’s a glint in his eyes that makes your stomach flip. “Not when I’ve got good company like this,” he says, his voice low, almost a purr. His hand rests on the back of the sofa, just inches from where your knee is resting, and you can feel the heat radiating off him, even from this short distance.

Matthew shifts behind you, his grip on your waist tightening just a bit, and suddenly you’re hyper-aware of every point of contact between the three of you. Your mind starts racing, thinking of the possibilities, the what-ifs, and the little voice in your head that usually screams “bad idea” is strangely quiet.

You take another sip of your wine, trying to calm the racing of your heart. “You know,” you say, your voice softer now, almost conspiratorial, “this place really is way too nice for just one person. You should throw more parties, Connor. Get people over here more often.”

Connor’s smile widens, and he leans in a little closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “You offering to help me break this place in?”

Matthew’s hand slips under the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine. His voice is a low rumble in your ear. “Want us to help with that right now, Dewey?”

Your brain practically short-circuits, the words looping in your head on repeat. Want us to help with that right now, Dewey? You blink, staring straight ahead as if your wine glass holds all the answers in the world. Did he really just say that?

Did he really just offer—

Connor's eyes flick from Matthew to you, and you can see the gears turning behind them. His lips twitch, like he's trying to decide if Matthew is joking or if he's serious. And, oh god, what if he’s serious?

Your mind races, desperately trying to catch up. You’ve known Matthew for two years, and sure, he’s always been the adventurous type—the guy who wanted to skydive on your first anniversary and suggested a spontaneous road trip across Canada when you had a weekend off. But this? This is a whole different level of adventurous, and it’s not exactly something you had penciled into your plans for the evening.

Sure, you’re both secure people. It’s the type of relationship where you have so much trust in each other that you don’t really care or notice when your partner is talking to somebody else. Hell, you’d even talked about spicing up your sex life— but now?

Your voice is stuck in your throat, so you take another sip of wine, hoping the alcohol will somehow give you the courage to say something. Anything. Preferably something that doesn’t make you sound like a complete idiot. But when you glance at Connor again, you see that his grin has shifted into something a bit more… intrigued. Okay, so maybe he’s not freaked out.

Matthew’s fingers are still tracing patterns on your skin, and now it feels like they’re leaving little trails of fire wherever they touch. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your neck, the solid weight of his arms around you, and beneath it all, the steady thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat against your back. You could probably melt into him if you weren’t so hyper-aware of everything.

Is this really happening?

You bite your lip, hard, trying to focus. You’ve always prided yourself on being level-headed, even in the most unexpected situations, but this? This is something else entirely. Your eyes dart to Connor again, and you notice the way his gaze lingers on where Matthew’s hand rests under your shirt. His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. And for a moment, the only sound is the soft hum of the city outside those enormous windows.

Okay, okay, okay, you mentally coach yourself. Focus. You’re in an apartment with two very attractive men who are both looking at you like you’re the last slice of pizza on game night. What do you do?

The smart thing to do would be to laugh it off. Make a joke, lighten the mood, and pretend like Matthew didn’t just suggest what he did. But another part of you—the part that’s had a few glasses of wine and is currently enjoying the hell out of the attention—wants to see where this goes. Just how adventurous are you feeling tonight?

No, you can’t seriously be considering this. Not in someone else’s apartment. Not with your boyfriend. And certainly not with your boyfriend and his ridiculously attractive teammate who has been eyeing you like a wolf eyeing a particularly tasty lamb chop.

And yet… the wine is humming through your veins, loosening the edges of your inhibitions. The buzz from the alcohol mingles with the warmth of Matthew’s hands on your skin, making it hard to think straight, let alone form a coherent response.

“Babe, are you—”

“Serious?” Matthew finishes for you, his tone a mix of playful and serious that only he can pull off. His fingers trace slow, lazy circles on your skin, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to focus on anything other than the sensation of his touch. “I mean… you’ve seen the way Connor’s been looking at you all night.”

Your breath catches, and your eyes flick to Connor, who has gone oddly quiet, just watching the two of you with those intense green eyes. They practically glow in the dim light, and you’re pretty sure your heart just skipped a beat. Or maybe three.

Connor shifts slightly, leaning back against the armrest of the sofa, his posture casual, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that says he’s anything but relaxed. His gaze is like a physical thing, all focused and heavy, and it’s clear that he’s waiting for your response.

“So… you’re not freaked out?” you ask, directing the question at both of them, but your eyes are locked on Connor’s.

Matthew lets out a low chuckle that vibrates through your back. “Freaked out? Nah. Curious? Definitely.” His voice is teasing, but there’s an edge to it that you’ve never quite heard before. “Besides,” he adds, his breath hot against your ear, “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at him too.”

Your heart does that annoying fluttery thing again, and you feel your face heat up. Damn it, why does Matthew have to be so perceptive? You had hoped you were being subtle, but apparently not.

But now that it’s out in the open, there’s no denying it. Yeah, you’ve been looking at Connor. How could you not? He’s practically a walking wet dream, in the way that he sort of looks like Matthew, but a bit scruffier, rougher. And those eyes? They could probably convince you to rob a bank if he looked at you long enough. And the way he’s looking at you now… well, you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t mind if you got a little… adventurous.

But then, he speaks.

“You up to share her, Kniesy?”

Your heart nearly stops at Connor’s question, and your brain short-circuits as you struggle to process the words. Did he really just say that? You’re sitting there, wine glass halfway to your lips, and the world seems to pause for just a moment, like the universe itself is holding its breath, waiting for someone to say something, do something—anything to break the tension hanging in the air like a thunderstorm about to crack open.

Matthew’s response is immediate, though. He doesn’t even hesitate. “Depends,” he says, and there’s a playful lilt in his voice, but the undercurrent of desire is unmistakable. “What’s in it for me?”

You’re so flustered you nearly spill your wine, but you manage to take a sip to calm your nerves—though you’re not sure why you think more alcohol is a good idea at this point. All it does is make the heat pooling in your lower belly more intense, more undeniable.

Connor’s eyes flick back to you, and his smirk widens, like he’s thoroughly enjoying the way you’re squirming on Matthew’s lap. “I think we can find a way to make it worth your while,” he replies smoothly, leaning forward just enough to close some of the distance between you. “But only if she’s up for it, of course.”

Oh, God. You’re pretty sure your face is bright red by now. The idea of being the focus of attention for both of these guys, of being shared between them—it’s something straight out of one of those steamy romance novels you hide under your pillow. Something you never thought would even remotely happen in real life. And yet here you are, in the middle of it, and you have absolutely no idea how to react.

A nervous laugh escapes your lips before you can stop it. “You guys are… You’re serious, aren’t you?” you manage to ask, your voice a little shaky, a little disbelieving, but also… maybe a little excited? You can’t even tell anymore. Everything feels so overwhelming, like your senses are dialed up to eleven.

Matthew’s lips press against the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine, and you can feel him grin against your skin. “Dead serious,” he murmurs, and the way his breath fans over your neck makes your pulse race.

You glance back at Connor, who’s watching you with an expression that’s both amused and predatory, like he’s enjoying every second of your internal struggle. “But only if you’re into it,” he adds, his voice softening just a touch. “We’re not gonna push you into anything, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. The word sends a jolt through you, like a spark of electricity that zings right through your nerves. You swallow hard, trying to get your brain to catch up with what’s happening. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it—Connor’s been on your radar from the moment you walked into his apartment, his eyes drawing you in like a magnet. But you never expected this to actually happen. It was just a fantasy, something to laugh about later when you were alone with Matthew. But now it’s real, and you have to decide if you’re going to step into it or step away.

Matthew’s hand slips under your shirt again, this time tracing patterns that make you shiver. His fingers are warm, roughened from years of hockey, and they’re driving you to the brink of distraction. “We don’t have to,” he whispers in your ear, his breath tickling your skin. “But I think you want to.”

Your cheeks flush even hotter because damn it, he’s right. You do want to. You’ve wanted to since the second Connor sat down across from you with that lazy, self-assured grin. But admitting it? That’s a whole other thing. And what happens after?

You’re more than curious—your body is practically screaming at you to throw caution to the wind and dive headfirst into whatever this is. But your mind is still struggling to catch up, still trying to process the idea of… of what, exactly? Letting go? Letting both of them take you apart, piece by piece?

Oh God, why does that sound so appealing?

You glance at Connor again, and he’s closer now, his hand resting on your knee, his thumb drawing slow circles on your skin. It’s such a small, innocuous touch, but it sends a shock of electricity straight through you, and suddenly you’re very aware of just how close he is, how easily he could lean in and…

Your thoughts are interrupted by the feel of Matthew’s lips pressing against your neck, soft and teasing, and your resolve starts to crumble. His breath is warm against your skin, and the way his hands are roaming your body—slow, deliberate—makes it almost impossible to think straight.

Almost.

But then Connor leans in, his lips brushing against your temple, and that’s the moment your brain decides to completely short-circuit. Two sets of hands, two sets of lips, two sets of eyes watching your every reaction, waiting to see how you’ll respond—it’s overwhelming in the best way, and all the reasons you were hesitating before suddenly seem a lot less important.

“Okay,” you whisper, and you’re not sure who you’re talking to, or maybe you’re talking to both of them. “Okay.”

The word hangs in the air for a moment, and then Matthew’s lips curve into a grin against your skin. “Okay?” he repeats, his voice laced with anticipation.

“Okay,” you say again, this time a little louder, a little more confident. “But… go easy on me, okay? I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Connor’s hand squeezes your knee gently, reassuringly. “Don’t worry,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “We’ll take good care of you.”

You believe him. How could you not, with the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only thing that matters? And with Matthew’s arms around you, grounding you, making you feel safe even as you’re about to step into something completely unknown—you know you’re in good hands.

“Okay,” you repeat absentmindedly, your voice a little steadier now. You’ve already said it, and you’re not going to back out. You’re in this. God help you, you’re in this.

Matthew smirks against your skin, and you can practically feel the satisfaction radiating off him. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, and oh, you hate how much you love that.

Connor’s hand squeezes your knee again, drawing your attention back to him. He’s closer now, his green eyes dark and intense, and it’s like he can see right through you. Like he knows exactly what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. And maybe he does.

“You sure you’re ready for this, sweetheart?” Connor asks, his voice a mix of playful and serious, and damn it, why does he have to call you that? It’s doing things to you—things that are making it really hard to think straight.

“I think she’s ready,” Matthew answers for you, his lips brushing against your ear, and you shiver at the sensation. “She’s been ready since we walked in here.”

You open your mouth to protest, to say that’s not true—but then you stop yourself, because… well, it kind of is. You’ve been eyeing Connor since the moment you walked in, wondering what it would be like to get closer to him, to touch him, to feel him. And now you’re about to find out.

God, what have you gotten yourself into?

Connor’s hand slides up your thigh, his touch slow and deliberate, and you swear your brain just checked out. You’re pretty sure your IQ just dropped by about fifty points, because all you can think about is how good his hand feels on your skin. You’ve barely touched him, and already you’re on the verge of losing it.

Matthew chuckles, clearly enjoying your flustered state, and his fingers dig into your waist, pulling you tighter against him. “She’s definitely ready,” he says, and there’s a hint of mischief in his voice that makes you want to both kiss him and punch him at the same time.

Connor’s hand continues its journey up your thigh, slipping under your skirt, and oh god, you’re pretty sure you just forgot how to breathe. His fingers brush against your inner thigh, so close to where you’re starting to ache, and you can’t help but squirm in Matthew’s lap.

“You okay there, babe?” Matthew asks, his voice laced with amusement, and you can practically hear the grin in his voice.

“I’m fine,” you manage to say, though your voice is a little breathless, a little shaky. Fine? Yeah, that’s one word for it. Another word might be “freaking out,” but you’re not about to admit that.

Connor’s hand pauses, his thumb brushing against your skin in slow, teasing circles, and you swear you’re going to combust. “You’re sure?” he asks, his voice low and smooth, and you can feel his breath against your cheek.

“Yes,” you blurt out, a little too quickly, a little too loudly, and both guys chuckle at your obvious desperation. You immediately regret it, but there’s no taking it back now. You’ve already dug your grave, and now you have to lie in it.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Connor teases, and you want to snap back with a witty retort, but all that comes out is a strangled sound as his fingers finally brush against your panties. It’s the lightest touch, barely there, but it’s enough to make you gasp.

Matthew’s hands slide up your sides, his fingers warm and insistent as he pushes your shirt up and over your head. Your arms go up automatically, letting him strip you down, and there’s something so domestic about the way he does it, like this is just a normal Tuesday night and not… whatever this is about to be. His lips press against your neck, and you can feel him grin against your skin. “She’s always eager,” he says, and there’s a fondness in his voice that makes your heart squeeze even as your body melts under his touch.

Soon enough, their shirts are discarded too, and there’s suddenly twelve abs for you to stare at. Matthew’s hands continue their upward journey, sliding over your ribcage, fingers brushing just under the curve of your breasts. You feel like you’re losing your mind, and the way both of them are touching you isn’t helping. It’s like they’re playing a game, one where the goal is to make you completely forget how to function as a human being.

"How's she looking from over there, Dew?" Matthew asks, his tone casual, like they're discussing the weather. Except instead of clouds and sunshine, it's your rapidly escalating arousal.

"Pretty worked up," Connor replies, his voice low and just a touch wicked. His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slowly, achingly slowly. "I think we can take care of that, though."

Matthew's hand cups your breast, squeezing gently before his thumb brushes over your nipple. The sensation shoots straight through you, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep from making a sound that would definitely give away just how turned on you are right now.

You can’t help it—your eyes flutter closed, and you let out a shaky breath as you lean back against Matthew, your head resting on his shoulder. You feel his lips curl into a smirk against your neck, and you know he’s enjoying every second of this.

Connor’s hand moves higher, his fingers slipping between your legs, and you gasp, your eyes snapping open. His touch is light, teasing, but it’s enough to make you arch your back, pressing yourself against Matthew’s chest.

“God, you’re so sensitive,” Connor murmurs, his voice dark and smooth like melted chocolate, and you shiver at the sound. His fingers brush against you again, more deliberate this time, and you let out a soft moan before you can stop yourself. “You like that, sweetheart?”

“I—” You’re not sure what you were going to say, but it’s lost as Matthew’s hand tightens on your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipple again, sending another wave of heat crashing through you. You’re caught between them, trapped in the best possible way, and all you can do is try to hold onto some semblance of composure. Which, frankly, is a losing battle at this point.

“Think she likes it, Dew,” Matthew comments, his voice dripping with amusement, and you want to glare at him, but your body betrays you, your hips lifting slightly to press against Connor’s hand.

Connor chuckles, low and deep, and you swear it vibrates through your whole body. “Yeah, I think she does too.” He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your cheek as he whispers, “You gonna be a good girl and let us take care of you?”

You nod, the motion jerky and unsteady, and you feel Matthew’s chest rumble with laughter behind you. “She’s such a good girl,” he murmurs, and you hate that his words make you shiver, that they make your breath hitch and your pulse race.

“I don’t know…” Connor’s voice is thoughtful, teasing, and you can practically feel the smirk on his lips. “Think she can handle the both of us, Matt?”

There’s a pause, and then Matthew’s hand slides down your body, his fingers slipping between your legs to join Connor’s. You suck in a breath, your whole body tensing as they both touch you, as they both start to explore, and it’s like every nerve ending in your body is suddenly on fire.

“Oh, I think she can handle it,” Matthew says, his voice low and wicked, and you let out a whimper as their fingers move in tandem, teasing and tormenting you until you’re squirming in their grasp, desperate for more.

“Please,” you manage to choke out, and you’re not sure what you’re asking for—more, less, anything to make this unbearable tension snap. But you don’t care, because you need something before you lose your mind.

Connor hums, clearly pleased with your desperation, and his fingers slide higher, finally brushing against your clit. You let out a gasp, your body jolting at the sudden jolt of pleasure, and you feel Matthew’s grip tighten on you, holding you steady as you squirm.

“You’re so wet, sweetheart,” Connor murmurs, his voice dark and husky, and you feel your face heat with embarrassment, but you can’t even bring yourself to care. “Is this all for me? What’s your boyfriend going to think of that?”

“W-what’s he going to think?” you stammer out, trying to keep your voice steady. It’s a futile effort, though. Your voice is breathy, trembling, and you know they can both hear it.

Connor chuckles, his thumb brushing over your clit in a slow, teasing circle. “Oh, I think he’ll understand. After all…” His lips brush against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, and although you don’t know it, he locks eyes with Matthew. “He’s the one who got you into this mess, isn’t he?”

Your mind scrambles to process what he’s saying, but it’s hard to think when his fingers are working you over like that, making your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind. You open your mouth to argue, to say something, anything that doesn’t make you sound like you’re seconds away from losing it, but all that comes out is a soft moan.

It’s too much. It’s all too much, but God, it’s not enough either.

You swallow hard, trying to gather your scattered thoughts, but they’re slipping through your fingers like sand. The pressure building inside you is unbearable, and you know you’re on the verge of losing whatever composure you’ve managed to hold on to.

“Connor, stop teasing her,” Matthew’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp and authoritative, like he’s giving an order. And maybe he is, because Connor’s fingers press a little harder, a little faster, and you let out a breathy moan that you’re sure they’ll both tease you about later. “She’s ready for more than this.”

You should probably be embarrassed by how desperate you sound, how completely at their mercy you are right now, but all you can think about is the way Connor’s fingers feel as they stroke you. The way Matthew’s hand feels against your breast, each touch pulling you deeper into the spiral of sensation. And it’s impossible to care about anything else, not when every nerve in your body is on high alert, every inch of your skin tingling under their touch.

“I’m not so sure,” Connor replies, and there’s a wicked edge to his voice that sends a shiver down your spine. “She’s all worked up, but she’s still so quiet. Maybe we’re not doing enough to really get her going.”

That snaps something inside you. They’re playing with you, pushing and pulling, trying to see how far they can go before you completely fall apart. And the worst part is, it’s working. You can barely keep up, your mind spinning as you try to figure out how to respond, how to prove them wrong.

“I’m not—” Your voice catches, breathy and uneven, and you try again, forcing the words out even as Connor’s fingers continue their merciless teasing. “I’m not quiet.”

“Oh?” Connor’s tone is mocking, but there’s a challenge in it too, one that makes your pulse spike. “You’re not quiet, huh? So you wouldn’t mind making a little more noise for us, then?”

You want to say something snarky, something to wipe that smug grin off his face, but all that comes out is a half-choked gasp as Matthew’s hand slides down your body, joining Connor’s in teasing your sensitive skin once again. The two of them are working together, their touches synchronized, perfectly in tune with each other—and with you.

It’s maddening, the way they seem to know exactly what you need, exactly how to push you to the brink without letting you fall over the edge. You’re so turned on, so completely overwhelmed, that you’re starting to lose track of what’s happening, of who’s touching you where. All you know is that it feels good, too good, and you don’t want it to stop.

Your breath hitches as Connor’s fingers finally, finally slip inside you, and you can’t help the way your body arches, pressing back against Matthew while pushing into Connor’s touch. It’s a pathetic move, driven by instinct and desperation, but at this point, you’ve abandoned all pretense of dignity.

“God, she’s still so wet,” Connor practically growls, his fingers moving inside you with a slow, deliberate rhythm that’s driving you insane. “I don’t think she’s going to last long, Kniesy.”

Matthew’s laughter rumbles through his chest, vibrating against your back, and it’s almost enough to distract you from the way Connor’s fingers are working you over. Almost. “You’re right, Dewey. Poor girl’s about to lose her mind.”

It’s like they’re speaking a different language, one that only they understand. The teasing, the way they’re talking about you like you’re not even here, it’s making your thoughts race. But it’s also turning you on even more, if that’s even possible. They’re both so confident, so in control, and you—well, you’re just trying to keep up.

“Think she’s ready for the next step?” Connor’s voice drops lower, his fingers curling inside you just right, and your breath stutters in your throat. You don’t even have the mental capacity to figure out what the “next step” is, but the way they’re both looking at you makes it clear that you’re about to find out.

“She’s ready,” Matthew answers for you, because of course he does. His hands move from your breasts to your waist, and suddenly he’s shifting you in his lap, turning you so that you’re facing Connor, who’s now standing in front of you with a wicked grin that sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

“Wait—” you start, but it’s too late. Matthew’s hands are on your hips, guiding you down to your knees on the floor in front of Connor, and it suddenly becomes very clear what they’ve got in mind. Your heart pounds in your chest, a mix of excitement and nerves, and you can barely think straight with the way they’re both looking at you.

“Such a good girl,” Matthew murmurs in your ear as his hands slide down your back, his lips brushing against your neck. “You’re going to take care of him, yeah?”

“Are you nervous, sweetheart?” Connor’s tone is gentle, teasing, but there’s a note of genuine curiosity there. His thumb presses a little harder against your lip, sliding it down until you feel the cool air on your tongue. “You don’t have to be, you know. We’ll take good care of you.”

“I’m not—” Your protest is cut off as Connor’s thumb pushes into your mouth, just enough to make your lips close around it. Instinctively, you suck, and the pleased hum he makes in response sends a shiver down your spine. Okay, you’re in trouble. Big, big trouble.

Behind you, Matthew’s hands are still resting on your hips, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin. It’s comforting, in a way, except for the fact that it’s doing absolutely nothing to calm you down. Especially not when you feel him shift, leaning in closer until his chest is pressed against your back, warm and solid.

“Relax, babe,” Matthew murmurs, his lips brushing your ear in a way that makes you shiver. “Just let us take over for a while. I promise, you’re going to like what happens next.”

You want to argue, to maintain some semblance of control, but the way they’re both looking at you, the way they’re touching you—it’s like they’ve already got you figured out, and honestly, maybe they do. You’re practically vibrating with need, and you know they can see it.

Connor finally pulls his thumb from your mouth, his eyes darkening as he watches the way your lips cling to it for just a second longer than necessary. “You’re so pretty like this,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, and it sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

“Isn’t she?” Matthew agrees, his hands sliding up your sides, under your arms, and suddenly, he’s guiding you back, lifting you just enough that you end up half-sitting in his lap, your back against his chest. The position spreads your legs a little wider, and you can feel the way his fingers press into your thighs, holding you open. “Dew, why don’t you give her something to keep that pretty mouth busy?”

Connor’s grin is slow, almost predatory, as he stands, unbuttoning his pants with deliberate slowness. “You heard the man,” he says, his voice thick as he steps closer. “Open wide, sweetheart.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure they can both hear it, but somehow, you manage to obey, your mouth parting as Connor guides his cock toward your lips. You’ve barely had time to process the size of him before he’s slipping inside, and you can’t help but let out a little whimper as he fills your mouth.

“Good girl,” Connor breathes, his hand cupping the back of your head as he starts to move, slowly at first, just enough to let you get used to the feel of him. You focus on relaxing, on breathing through your nose, but it’s hard when you’re so aware of Matthew’s hands on your body, his lips trailing down your neck, and you realize you’re caught between them, completely at their mercy.

It’s a heady sensation, being so utterly out of control, and you can’t deny that it’s turning you on more than you thought possible. Connor’s hips are moving with a steady rhythm now, each thrust making you moan around him, and the sound only seems to spur him on.

“God, she’s so good at this,” Connor groans, his voice strained with pleasure. “You’ve got her trained well, Matt.”

Matthew chuckles, his hands moving to your breasts, kneading them through the fabric of your bra. “She’s a fast learner,” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “But I think she’s ready for a little more, don’t you?”

Connor's grin is slow, almost predatory, as he pulls out of your mouth. You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s reaching down, his hands brushing against Matthew’s as they both guide you onto your hands and knees. "Definitely ready," Connor agrees, his tone filled with anticipation.

Your mind is spinning, and you can’t believe you’re actually going along with this, but the way they’re both looking at you, like you’re the only thing they care about right now, makes it impossible to stop. You feel Matthew’s hands sliding down your back, steadying you as he moves behind you.

“Relax,” Matthew murmurs again, his voice soft but firm. “We’re going to make you feel so good.”

You’re about to respond, maybe even make a joke to lighten the tension, but the words get caught in your throat as you feel Matthew press into you from behind. The sensation of him filling you, slow and deliberate, makes your head spin, and you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Matthew groans, his fingers digging into your hips as he starts to move. His thrusts are slow, deliberate, and you can feel every inch of him as he stretches you open. It’s somehow comforting, that he knows you so well to push you to the edge without letting you tip over, but you still can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips.

“That’s ‘cause she’s so worked up,” Connor chimes in, his voice filled with that familiar teasing edge. He’s still standing in front of you, his cock inches away from your lips, and you can tell he’s enjoying every second of this. “She’s been begging for it without even realizing.”

You want to argue, to deny it, but all that comes out is a soft, breathless moan as Matthew thrusts into you again, his pace picking up slightly. It’s impossible to focus on anything other than the way your body is responding to both of them, your skin tingling with every touch, every word.

“See? I told you,” Connor says with a smirk, his hand cupping your chin and guiding you to look up at him. “Now be a good girl and open up for me again. We wouldn’t want to leave you unsatisfied, would we?”

The challenge in his voice is enough to make your pulse spike, and despite the way your mind is spinning, you obey. Your lips part, and Connor’s fingers slide over your lower lip, teasing you for just a moment before he pushes his cock past them again. The sensation of being filled at both ends is overwhelming, and it’s all you can do to keep your moans muffled as Connor starts to move in sync with Matthew.

“There we go,” Connor murmurs, his voice low and soothing, like he’s coaxing you into submission. “Just like that. You’re taking us so well, sweetheart.”

Your mind is a haze of sensation, and it’s hard to keep track of who’s doing what. All you know is that you’re caught between them, every inch of your body alight with pleasure as they work together to take you apart. The feeling of Matthew’s cock moving inside you, paired with the way Connor’s thrusting into your mouth, is almost too much to handle. You can barely breathe, barely think, and you’re starting to wonder if you’ll survive this without completely losing it.

“Look at her,” Matthew murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction as his hands tighten on your hips, steadying you. “She’s doing so well. You see how she’s taking us, Dew?”

Connor’s responding groan vibrates through you, his grip on your hair tightening as he thrusts just a little deeper. “Yeah, I see it. Fuck, she’s a natural.” His voice is rough, strained with the effort of holding back, and you can feel it too—the way his control is slipping, the tension winding tighter with every movement.

It should be too much. It is too much, but the way they’re talking about you, like you’re this perfect little plaything for them to share, has your head spinning in a different way. You’ve never felt so out of control, yet at the same time, you’re exactly where you want to be—caught between them, feeling everything they’re giving you, their attention focused entirely on you.

“God, you’re a mess,” Matthew says with a chuckle, his breath hot against your ear as he leans in closer. “You like this, huh? You like being our good girl?”

The way he says it, low and possessive, sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t stop the soft, desperate moan that escapes your lips, muffled around Connor’s cock. You don’t even care how wrecked you sound—you just want more. You want them to keep going, to take you apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left.

Connor’s grip in your hair tightens as he pulls back slightly, giving you just enough space to breathe before he thrusts forward again, filling your mouth to the hilt. “She fuckin’ loves it,” he groans, his voice laced with pleasure. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart? You love being our little slut, don’t you?”

The dirty words shoot straight to your core, and you can’t help the way your body reacts, tightening around Matthew as a wave of pleasure crashes over you. It’s too much, but you don’t want it to stop. You’re caught in this heady mix of sensations, of being used and praised, and it’s making you dizzy.

“Fuck, baby, don’t do that,” Matthew grits out, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. You can feel his control slipping, his need to get off almost as intense as yours. “I can’t—Connor, she’s gonna make me come if I keep this up.”

Connor pulls out of your mouth with a groan, his hand cupping your chin and forcing you to look up at him. His eyes are dark with lust, a wicked grin playing at his lips. “Can’t have that now, can we? Why don’t you let me take over?”

Before you can even process what’s happening, Matthew is pulling out of you, his hands gripping your waist as he lifts you up and turns you around. The sudden movement leaves you breathless, your body still trembling with need, and you barely have time to catch your breath before Connor is guiding you onto his lap, his hands sliding under your thighs to spread you open like Matthew did.

“Look at you,” Connor murmurs, his voice filled with a mix of awe and lust as he takes in the sight of you, laid out before him. “You’re fucking perfect, sweetheart.”

You don’t have time to respond—not that you could, with the way your brain is currently short-circuiting—because Matthew is right there, his hands on your shoulders as he guides you up to his cock. “Come on, babe,” he says, his voice rough with need. “You know what to do.”

You obey without thinking, your lips parting as you take him into your mouth, your senses flooded with the taste of him. The moment your tongue touches him, he lets out a low groan, his hands threading through your hair as he starts to move, his hips thrusting forward in slow, deliberate motions.

Meanwhile, Connor isn’t wasting any time. He’s lining himself up with your entrance, his hands gripping your thighs as lowers you onto him in one smooth motion, filling you completely. The sudden stretch has you gasping around Matthew’s cock, your body arching off of him as pleasure and pain mix together in a heady, intoxicating blend.

“God, she’s tight,” Connor groans, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrusts into you with increasing intensity. “She’s practically squeezing me.”

Matthew chuckles, though it’s strained with his own arousal. “She’s doing great, Dewey. Look at her, taking both of us so well.” He tilts your head up slightly, his eyes dark with lust as he watches you struggle to keep up. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? Taking us both like this.”

The praise makes your stomach flip, and despite the intensity of the situation, you can’t help but feel a rush of pride at the way they’re both focused on you. The way they’re talking about you like you’re the only thing that matters right now, like they’re both completely caught up in the moment, sends a thrill of pleasure straight to your core.

But it’s also overwhelming, the way they’re both pushing you to your limits. You’re barely holding it together, your body trembling with the effort of keeping up with them, and you can feel the heat building in your belly, coiling tighter with every thrust. It’s too much, too fast, but you don’t want them to stop. You want more—you want everything they can give you.

Connor’s pace is relentless now, his thrusts coming faster and harder as he chases his own release. “Fuck, she’s close,” he mutters, his voice rough with need. “I can feel it. She’s gonna come any second.”

Matthew’s grip in your hair tightens, and he lets out a low groan as he thrusts deeper into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. “You hear that, babe? Connor’s right. You’re so close, aren’t you? You want to come with us?”

You can’t answer—not with your mouth full—but the desperate, muffled moan you let out is answer enough. You’re on the brink, teetering on the edge of a mind-shattering orgasm, and all it takes is one more thrust from Connor, one more press of Matthew’s cock against the back of your throat, to send you tumbling over.

The orgasm crashes over you like a wave, and your whole body tenses as pleasure pulses through you in sharp, electric bursts. You’re barely aware of the way your nails dig into Matthew’s thighs, the way your legs shake as Connor fucks you through it, both of them focused entirely on wringing every last bit of pleasure out of you.

Connor’s pace falters as he feels you clench around him, his control slipping as he nears his own release. “Fuck,” he growls, his voice strained as he struggles to hold on. “I’m gonna come, sweetheart. You want that? You want me to fill you up?”

You can’t answer, but your body does it for you, your hips pushing back against him as if to say yes, yes, you want it. Matthew groans at the sight of you so desperate and needy, his own control slipping as well. “She wants it,” Matthew murmurs, his voice low and rough as he watches you. “She’s practically begging for it.”

Connor lets out a low curse as he finally loses control, his thrusts becoming erratic as he spills into you, filling you with a warmth that only intensifies the pleasure still thrumming through your veins. At the same time, Matthew’s hips jerk forward as he comes, his grip in your hair tightening as he holds you in place, his release hitting the back of your throat.

The sensation of both of them coming inside you, the way they’re both groaning your name, is enough to send another wave of pleasure washing over you, leaving you trembling and breathless. You’re completely spent, your body limp between them, but there’s a strange sort of satisfaction in knowing you took everything they gave you, that you pleased them both.

Connor’s breathing is ragged as he slowly pulls out, his hands still resting on your hips as he steadies you. “Fuck, that was… damn,” he mutters, his voice still thick with arousal as he gently strokes your back, trying to bring you down from your high.

Matthew’s hands are surprisingly gentle as he releases your hair, his fingers brushing over your cheeks as he tilts your head up to look at him. “You did so good, babe,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

You’re a mess. A happy, sated mess, but still, a mess. Your hair is sticking to your face, your clothes are in disarray, and you’re not entirely sure your legs will support you if you try to stand. And yet, somehow, you’re the only one who seems to be remotely concerned about the fact that you just participated in a spontaneous threesome with your boyfriend and his teammate. The one who just wrecked you, did things to you that probably insinuate him paying you fifty bucks unless you want to be having his freakishly green-eyed babies anytime soon.

"Well," you start, your voice coming out slightly hoarse from earlier activities. "I think it’s safe to say we’ve crossed a few professional boundaries."

Matthew chuckles, reaching down to help you to your feet. His touch is warm and comforting, but there’s a playful glint in his eyes that suggests he’s not quite done teasing you yet. “Boundaries? I don’t know what you’re talking about. We were just… welcoming him to the team.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” you quip back, trying to regain some semblance of composure. But it’s hard when your legs are still wobbly and the room feels like it’s spinning just a bit.

Connor, ever the charmer, steps in closer, his hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “You know, if you guys are up for it, we could always arrange another… session.”

The heat rushes to your cheeks, and you know your face is probably flushed as red as a stop sign. It’s ridiculous how quickly they can have you flustered again, especially after everything that just happened.

Matthew laughs, and there’s something in his tone that’s both amused and fond. “Nice try, Dewey, but this is a one-time thing. That’s my girl.”