#exlovers

The bakery was too damn quiet this late. Just the slow whir of the old fan overhead and the occasional creak from the pipes. Jalaya stood barefoot on the cool tile, elbow-deep in flour, peach syrup sticky on her wrist, and her nerves frayed thinner than the thread holding up her sleep shorts. The overhead light was dim, buzzing like it had a complaint, casting gold shadows over the countertops. She had one cobbler left to finish and no patience left to give it.

Sweat rolled slow down the valley of her back. Her tank top clung to her chest in the heat — not that she cared. Wasn’t nobody in here but her and the ghosts of everything she’d baked today. Her curls were piled high under a scarf, and her thighs ached from being on her feet since dawn, but the smell of cinnamon and vanilla kept her rooted. She grabbed the pan with one mitt, slid it out the oven with a low grunt, and set it gently on the cooling rack.

The smell punched her in the face — hot peaches, caramelized sugar, a hint of nutmeg — and it pulled a soft sound from her chest. This was the part she lived for. The stillness, the sweetness, the quiet right before the sun came up and the world came knocking. She didn’t even realize she was humming until—

The bell above the front door jingled.

Her whole body snapped tight.

She wiped her hands on a towel, narrowed her eyes toward the entrance of the kitchen, and called out without moving, “We closed, baby. Whatever you need can wait ‘til mornin’.”

No answer. Just the soft click of the door falling shut again.

She frowned, wiped her palms again, and stepped around the island. “I said we closed.”

Then she saw him.

Xavier Legette.

Leaning against the doorframe like he’d never left this town, like the last ten years hadn’t sat between them heavy and hollow. Same wide shoulders, same chain with that little gold cross resting against a white tee, same lips curved into that slow, easy smile that used to get her out of her drawers faster than she’d ever admit.

He was bigger now. Built like the league had been feeding him steak and revenge. His flannel sleeves were rolled up, arms looking too damn good, and his eyes locked on her like he could smell the sugar on her skin from across the room.

“Damn,” he said, voice a whole octave lower than it used to be. “Still smell like heaven in here.”

Lay blinked once, then again, like maybe heat stroke had finally kicked in. “You serious right now?”

His grin widened just a little. “What, a man can’t stop in for a late-night sweet?”

She folded her arms, towel still balled in one fist, and leaned against the counter. “You still talk smooth as ever. But you know good and well this shop don’t do no damn midnight menu.”

He walked forward, slow, measured steps, like he knew he shouldn’t get too close too fast. “Ain’t here for the menu.”

That silence dropped between them like a brick. Her heart kicked against her ribs, traitorous and loud.

“Last I checked,” she said, keeping her voice steady, “you had no reason to be here at all. So what’s this, Xavier? Nostalgia hit while you were scrollin’ through my page?”

“Nah.” His eyes never left her face. “I been thinkin’ ‘bout you for years. Came back home, heard you had your own place now. Figured it was time.”

“Time for what?”

“To stop frontin’.”

Lay tilted her head, teeth sinking into the inside of her cheek. “You ghosted me.”

“I was a kid tryna make it out,” he said, stepping closer. “Didn’t know how to keep you and chase what I wanted. So I left. And I regret that shit every day.”

Her throat tightened. She didn’t say anything. Just stared at him, trying to decide if this was real or a dream soaked in sugar and spite.

He nodded once, like he could feel the way her walls had gone up. “You ain’t gotta forgive me. I just needed to see you.”

She hated how close he was now. Hated how good he smelled. Like sweat, cologne, and a hint of something woody. Her body remembered him even if her pride didn’t want to.

“You really miss me?” she asked, voice low.

He didn’t blink. “More than I miss breathin’ easy.”

She didn’t plan to walk toward him. But her feet moved anyway. Just a few steps. Until she could see that his eyes weren’t playin’. Until his fingers brushed hers.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “You look good, Xavier.”

He smiled, slow and cocky. “You look like temptation in a tank top.”

She snorted, shoved him lightly in the chest. “Shut up.”

He caught her wrist before she could pull away. Not rough, just firm. Thumb brushing her pulse. “You still mad?”

“I ain’t mad,” she lied.

“You still want me?”

Her lips parted, but nothing came out. So she turned instead, walked toward the back hallway without answering.

He didn’t ask questions. Just followed.

Through the kitchen, past the stacked trays and cooling racks, until she reached the door with the frosted glass that said “Office.” She pushed it open, the room small, dim, and quiet. She stepped inside. Turned. Watched him enter and close the door behind him.

He looked around, then back at her. “This where the magic happens?”

She nodded. “This where the deals go down.”

He stepped closer, voice rough now. “Then let’s make one.”

She didn’t move when he cupped her face with one hand. Didn’t stop him when his thumb grazed her bottom lip. That kiss came slow — real slow — like he was askin’ a question and answerin’ it all at once. Her knees damn near buckled from the weight of it.

His other hand found her waist, pulled her flush against him, and her breath caught when she felt that thick print of his dick pressed hard to her belly.

“You still taste the same,” he muttered against her lips.

“You barely tasted shit yet,” she whispered back, 

And then it was on.

The heat between them didn’t spike — it rose, lazy and thick like molasses, like the air was tryna hold onto every drop of tension just to see who’d give in first. Xavier pulled her in closer, lips never straying far from hers, eyes dropping down to the shine on her collarbone. She was already breathing hard, and he hadn’t even touched her proper yet.

Lay’s fingers skimmed his waist, pulled his flannel free of his sweats, and pushed it up over his abs, slow. He raised his arms and let her peel him out of it. Her eyes swept over his chest like she was tryna memorize it. More ink now. More size. But still him. Still hers, somewhere under all that time.

“Still fine as hell,” she muttered, more to herself.

He chuckled low, hands sliding down her waist, gripping the backs of her thighs. “Come here, Lay.”

She didn’t resist when he lifted her, settled her on the edge of the desk. His hands stayed on her skin, thumbs rubbing slow circles into the softness above her knees, head lowered so he could mouth at her neck.

Every kiss felt like a promise.

When he dropped to his knees, she blinked like she didn’t quite believe it.

“You really—?”

“I been waitin’ on this,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh. “Since high school. Since you wore that little sundress and I almost lost my mind watchin’ you walk away.”

His breath was hot. His tongue was hotter.

She gasped when he licked her over the fabric of her panties, then again when he pulled them aside and finally got mouth-to-pussy like he meant to live there.

“Goddamn,” he groaned against her. “I knew it was still sweet.”

She fell back onto her elbows, thighs twitching as he buried his face between her legs and devoured her. There wasn’t nothin’ delicate about it. Just slow, deep licks, one hand wrapped tight around her thigh while the other anchored her against his mouth.

Lay’s fingers clawed at the desk edge, hips buckin’, her scarf damn near slipping off her head from the way she kept tossin’ it back.

“Xavier—fuuuuck—wait—” she panted, but he didn’t stop.

Didn’t even pause.

“Mmm?” he hummed, tongue sliding slow over her clit, making her curse so soft and needy it barely had weight.

“I can’t—shit—you tryna kill me in here?”

He pulled back just enough to look up at her, chin shiny, breath hot.

Then he dove back in, mouth messier this time, licking her open like he owned her, like she was dinner and dessert and every midnight craving he never got to have.

She came with a sharp cry, hips jerking, thighs clenched around his head.

But he didn’t move.

He held her in place and kept going, licking her through it, moaning into her like he needed her to feel all of it.

When he finally pulled back, she was damn near boneless, one leg still thrown over his shoulder, her chest rising in sharp, shallow pulls.

“You gon’ let me return the favor now?” she asked, voice hoarse, eyes hazy.

He leaned in, kissed her thigh. “I ain’t stoppin’ you.”

She grinned, pushed herself up, and slid off the desk onto her knees, hands already tugging his sweats down.

His dick sprang free, thick and heavy, already leaking for her.

She wrapped her hand around it, slow. Gave him one long, dirty stroke, then another, tongue slipping out to catch the tip like she’d never forgotten how he liked it.

Xavier’s head fell back with a groan.

“Still got that mouth,” he muttered, voice wrecked.

She took him in, slow, sucking him deep enough to make his knees buckle just a little. One hand braced on his thigh, the other twisting at the base, her tongue worked him like she had a point to prove. And she did.

That she still remembered.

That she hadn’t forgotten what he sounded like when he lost control.

She moaned around him, just to feel the way he twitched in her mouth.

“Fuck, Lay… you keep goin’ like that, I ain’t gon’ last long.”

She pulled back just enough to say, “I don’t want you to last. I want you to fuck me.”

Then she stood, turned her back, bent over the desk.

Xavier didn’t say shit.

Just stepped forward, lined himself up, and slid in slow — like he was tryna savor every damn inch of her.

They both groaned, her head dropping forward, his hands gripping her hips like they were the only things keeping him steady.

“Still tight,” he growled, voice thick. “Still mine.”

She pushed back onto him, eyes shut tight. “Then fuckin’ move.”

And he did.

He gripped her hips tighter and pulled her back onto his dick in slow, deliberate strokes like he wanted her to feel every inch pressing deep, every second he’d gone without her buried in the rhythm. The office was quiet except for the wet sound of him sliding in and out, the creak of the old desk under their weight, and her breath — short, ragged, full of heat.

“Shit,” she gasped, knuckles white where she gripped the edge of the desk. “Xavier…”

He leaned over her back, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other braced beside her hand. His chest pressed to her spine, heat licking at her skin. When he spoke, it was right in her ear, voice low, thick with want. “I missed this pussy so fuckin’ bad. Thought about it every night I was gone.”

She tried to keep her head up, but it dropped, cheek pressing against the cool surface of the desk as he rocked into her, deep and slow and mean. Not rough—mean. Like he had somethin’ to say and this was the only language he knew how to speak it in.

“I used to dream about you ridin’ me,” he murmured, dragging his hand up her side, under her tank. “Woke up hard as hell damn near every time. You still dream about me, Lay?”

She turned her face, her eyes finding his, wild and glassy. “I didn’t stop,” she breathed.

That lit something under his skin. He dragged her up, chest to chest, one hand at her throat but not pressing, just there—a gentle claim. She reached back, grabbed his wrist, held it to her skin like she wanted it tighter.

His other hand slid between her legs, fingers rubbing her clit in slow, tight circles while he fucked up into her with deep, grinding thrusts. Every push made her moan louder, her body coiling tighter around him like it was tryna keep him from leavin’ again.

“You feel that?” he grunted against her neck. “That’s me. All the way inside you. Where I belong.”

Her breath stuttered. “Don’t stop. Don’t fuckin’ stop.”

“I ain’t stoppin’ ‘til I fuck the sound of my name back into your throat.”

She clenched around him, and he felt it. Smirked against her shoulder and moved faster, thrusts still smooth but deeper now, filthier. The desk was thudding against the wall, papers fluttering off the shelves, but neither of them gave a damn. All she could feel was him — his voice in her ear, his dick filling her just right, his fingers making her legs tremble.

“I’m close,” she whispered, choking on the words. “Fuck, Xavier—”

“I know,” he rasped, fucking her harder now, chasing it with her. “Let go. I got you, baby. Just let that shit go.”

She shattered with a cry, body shaking around him, hips jerking, thighs clenched. Her pussy gripped him tight, and he groaned, low and rough, his own release barreling through him like a damn freight train.

He didn’t pull out.

Didn’t ask.

Just stayed inside her, holding her against him while they both caught their breath.

Minutes passed. His hand rubbed lazy circles on her hip. She let out a long sigh and laughed, quiet and worn-out.

“That ain’t how you ask for seconds,” she said, voice hoarse.

He kissed her shoulder, slow. “That ain’t how you tell somebody you still love ‘em.”

She blinked.

Turned just enough to look back at him, their bodies still connected, still warm.

“You mean that?” she asked, too soft to pretend it didn’t matter.

His eyes stayed on hers. “Ain’t come back for cobbler, Lay.”

She swallowed, chest tight. “You leavin’ again?”

He shook his head. “Not unless you send me.”

She didn’t say a word.

Just leaned in, kissed him slow — again.

Then smirked. “Well. You might wanna stay a while then. Got a whole fridge of batter to use up.”

His grin matched hers.

And this time, when they moved together, it wasn’t rushed.

It was just the start.

“Yeah now you are showering with MTV invitations,” Daniel joked shaking his head. It was true that their socials hardly ever combined being from two different fields. The only time they had, he had kept himself at a distance, one of the firsts events he had been invited with Kelly. And though he had seen her get up stage to receive an award he had hardly been near her. “I mean I imagined you were somehow avoiding her at the beginning – don’t we all?- , but I thought you had heard the songs and maybe they touched a bit too close home”.

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve heard some, the more popular ones, but well…” he admitted nodding, rubbing his face frustrated. “There’s this little moment when we go to the states … you know they always like to invite as many stars possible or bring someone for an event or two that I think she might come, but … it hasn’t been the case”. He understands now the mixture of dread, relief and disappointment he would usually feel when they gave him the program – the only one he would ask with time in advance for the whole year. 

“Well, what do you expect?” Daniel counters. “I doubt she would just drop to see how you are, if she doesn’t know she’s welcome. I could ask Geri…” Max’s eyes double in size.

“Are you fucking nuts?” he snaps. “And I what, introduce her to Kelly?”

“I’m not saying that, idiot,” the aussie snaps back quickly. “Talking about Ms Piquet… what’s the deal between you?” Max shrugs.

“We are ok, I guess,” Max mumbles, eyes focused on his drink.  

“Really?” Dani scoffs. “Heidi said she didn’t think so”. Max looks up and they battle for some minutes before he sighs in defeat.

“She wants a kid, I’m trying to ..” Max huffs and rubs his face. “Avoid the conversation? The subject all together?”

“Mate,” Dani begins but Max glares and his stops.

“I know,” Max concedes. “I have to talk to her”.  They drank in silence for some minutes, not sure how to continue.

“It’s been what four years?” Max looks up confused. “Since you broke up with her,” he begins, scratching his moustache. “Maybe the whole pending conversation one front is making you see others that might not have been as closed as you liked? As many psychologists I follow on Instagram, perhaps some self – sabotage?”

“Maybe,” Max replied shrugging, another old fashion gulp. He winced at the bitter taste. “I just…” He begins but doesn’t find the words. “Sometimes I think about what could have been if I hadn’t…”

The doorbell rings repeatedly, probably Lando arriving two hours after being summoned.

“Lando doesn’t know right?” Daniel checks as he walked to his front door. Max shakes his head and Daniel makes signs of zipping his lips.

“Hello bros!” Lando greets giving a high five to Daniel who receives it with half of his enthusiasm.

“We were about to fall asleep,” Max replied dryly.

“That’s because you’re old old men, it’s like ten for crying out loud!” Lando cheekily replies. “Old fashion?” he asks once he approaches the improvised bar. “See? Old old men!” he announces victorious. “Where’s the vodka?” Daniel sighs, avoiding quoting ‘too old for this shit’. He pulls out a bottle he gained from Mazepin a few years back that one smell could knock you down.

“Comes with warning,” he explains seriously, taking out small crystal shot glasses.

“Well, what are we celebrating?” Lando questions as he serves generous portions for the three small glasses, taking a curious sniff before buffing. “Fuck, this is strong!” Daniel nods in remembrance.

“Celebrating?” He returns.

“Yeah! Did Max get renovated for 20 years, even if they have to chain him to the car?” The youngster adds gathering courage for the shot. He takes it quickly, wincing and airing his tongue. “Damn!” he manages to screech. Daniel hoots, Max joins him, less thrilled, shaking his head and playing with the brim of the small shot.

“Nop,” Max offers. “We are just being old men reminiscing the good old days,” he continues as he considers taking the shot, but finally pushing it away. It’ll be difficult to explain to Kelly why he arrives drunk home when he has a debrief early in the morning. It will be worse to explain to Christian.  

“Gosh, reminiscing, what an old thing to say,” Lando says jokingly. “Anyways what could you be reminiscing about? World champion for the second time and the season is not over,” He raises one finger as he continues to number “…great car – if the rumours are true, and you can tell me I’d only tell everyone at McLaren – Kelly’s smoking…. Her personality evidently is very importante and she’s just not a body- hello?, should I continue?” he rambles not paying attention to Max’s glare or Daniel trying to hide his snickering.

Silence takes place as Lando steals Max’s shot, cursing in low breath at his pour choices, while Daniel joins with his shot.

“Dudes,” Lando begins in his very best American accent. “If distraction is what’s needed, and vodka is rejected,” shot glass nodded in Max’s direction. “I shall have to follow one of the bests distractors known to modern society… gossip!” He climbs one of the stools, refreshing everyone’s drink quickly.

“Paddock gossip?” Daniel wonders wriggling his eyebrows.

“Nah, that shit is dead now,” Lando rejects quickly, stabilizing over the stool. “I should probably have something to eat with this… I’m starting to get dizzy,” he stumbles out of his chair grabbing the first bag of chips he finds.  He takes a handful and tries to eat them all in a bite. It takes more minutes of awkward silence while Max and Daniel wait for him to resume what he knows. He swallows exaggeratedly taking a small sip of the glass closest to him – Max’s watered down old fashion-. “So, as I was saying, did you watch Anna Pearsons’ documentary last night?”

Before he said this, Daniel had mimicked the young driver and had his mouth full of chips, that he half spit when Max’s ex’s name came to the table.

“Hear me out! Hear me out!” Lando continued quickly misunderstanding Daniel’s reaction. He took out his phone and began browsing his phone quickly “I didn’t watch it only because she’s hot! Which of course she is, I would say yes even if she only wanted me to follow her around to give her bottles of water. She’s one of the biggest song writers active right now, has broken many records and she’s in all an important character of our generation!” Max gives him a look that he once again misunderstands. “OK ok, but I think she will be! And look look!” Remote in hand he turned on the tv now in synch with his phone to immediately put a talk show neither Daniel nor Max recognized.

Max had not seen the rest of the documentary the day before, Penelope had woken from her nap and he had been playing with her for some of the afternoon while Kelly left with some friends for dinner leaving them for an early night. She had joked with him that he had to wait for her for them to finish it together. He had nodded with no intention of following through. He had no intention of finishing it, not pleased with the pitch in his stomach that had taken residence in his chest since he had first seen Anna on TV. It had taken him years to stop feeling the knot after they had broken up, he felt incredibly weak and stupid for feeling like this over an exposee of his ex-girlfriend. What would his father think.

“And also, apparently she’s single!” Lando added pressing play, breaking Max’s thoughts. “Was it this one?” Lando muttered to himself.  

“I mean she wrote to him what’s probably the most romantic album of our generation! Am I supposed to believe that love exists after this?” A young commentator said in disbelief. There are about six people seating in a room, most of them younger than Lando, only a women in her forties is at the middle acting like some sort of moderator.

“How could he do this to her?” Another asks.

“Men are assholes!”

“Wait! Wait,” an older female reporter interrupts the talk. “No one has said who left who, we only know that Roberto waited ‘til the end of the first part to be dropped before saying anything, which yes is a little sketchy” she tried to reason. “We don’t have anything that says what happened between them, Ms. Pearson’s team has not given any statement. There will be no crucifiction of character while I’m on the show”.

An image of Anna wrapped around a tall, wide brunet came up. “--- in fact, this is the only official confirmation we ever had they were even together”. A series of no more than ten photos of her and tall dark and handsome apparently actor showed consecutively through the back of the show. It ends with a capture of an Instagram post that reads something along the lines they had broken  up and the asked for the press to leave them alone. Dani snorted besides him.

“It is so douchy! They have never talked to the press about them and now he gives a f** (a bleep interrups) communicate without sharing it with her first?”

“We still don’t know if they talked it previously!”

“I mean she wrote songs that we call classics!” The first of the commentators returns to attack.

“Even if they were not for him, even if as she says she inspires from many situations not only one love, dude we are talking about the girl who sang the Can’t help falling in love rendition not breaking eye contact with him,” Another interrupts.

“He was the actor hired for the rendition, of course she had to stare at him!” Another counteracts.

“Rumours say they had been together as far as 2019,” A snort scaped Max, because that little he knew wasn’t true. “So even Last Kiss could be his!”

“And she was the one who made them hire him!”  The older reporter’s face revealed to feel the chat was going out of control, keeping herself out of the latest exchange of opinions when Lando stops it.

“This one isn’t helpful,” He mutters as he checks another video. “I saw a good one yesterday that spilled all the dish!”

“I loved this album because I gave myself the licence to write from different perspectives, to return to my beginnings,” Anna’s voice comments as a photo of a girl – her – no older than 10 was in a big desk writing away. “I used to write stories before I wrote songs and now, I feel this album is honouring that”. She raises from the chair and the camara gives a bigger plane of where she is. A quick assistant hands her a guitar once again. “This is an old one, but a good one…” She begins strumming.  

“We were in the backseat,

Drunk on something stronger than the drinks in the bar…”

 “This one is good,” Lance muttered in drunken appreciation. She kept playing in the back, camara closing the frame around her face and the top of the guitar.

“I hope I never loose you,

I hope it never ends,”

“Lando?” Dani interrupts, half amused looking at the younger pilot’s infatuated face and noticing Max was paying attention too closely at his ex as if she had been in his living room instead of his TV. Lando hummed confirming he was listening. “What’s the dish?”

“Oh she’s probabily going to be main artists in one of the F1 european stops,” Lando rambled breaking the spell of the situation.

“What?”  Max splutters.

“Yeah probably second half of next season,” He continues. “Apparently they are backing her to some old contract they had with the company that represents her”.

“Oh!” Daniel huffed. “I doubt after the last time she would be so willing to come back”.

“You are old! She came like four years ago, apparently it was a two-year contract that she summoned some clause to break it, they have been delaying and she only has ‘til next year before penalties”.  

“Maybe she prefers the penalties?” Daniel snickered not missing Max’s face at the news. Lando however drunk he was, his eyes narrowed information being processed.

“What do you mean?”

Max openly glares at Daniel.

“What happened?” Lando continued skipping between both older drivers to see if something scaped. Then he got lucky, Max was avoiding staring at him and Daniel was having a field day. “It’s not like you two …. Dated right?” Then Dani couldn’t hold it anymore and burst out laughing. Max’s face was all Lando needed for confirmation. “Nooooo!” He cried almost falling from the stool. “How the fuck did no one know?” Lando’s eyes seemed ready to pop outside. “Shakira has barely showed twice and we all knew she and Lewis are a thing”.  

“It’s not like no one knows, it was winter break, we ar- were very discreet and … Christian knows, Dani knew,” Max shrugged, knot tight. “It didn’t last long”.

“You fucking bastard!” Lando cried slapping Max on the back not sure if congratulating him or in envy, taking a quick shot. “Dani dude, you can’t have shit like this at home!” He turned to Dani sniffing the half empty bottle with fake disgust.