'you're the girl in garretts lockscreen' ! garrett graham x childhoodbestfriend!reader
summary .ᐟ you finally meet visit the off campus house and meet garrett's friends, but not in the way either of you imagined.
notes .ᐟ maybe cringe??? idk...
"You're not waiting outside. End of"
His words were stern as he said them, not harsh, no, never harsh when it came to you, but his tone gave no room for discussion.
"G, Please. I'll be fine" You cringed at the slight whine that echoed through your words, pleading to your best friend in front of you
"No"
"Garrett!"
"No."
The lock to the off campus house clicked as his words echoed in your ears, Garrett's hand tight on the doorknob as he pushed it open. The warmth of his shared house flowed out, contrasting sharply with the biting cold of the winter weather outside.
"Get in, it's fucking freezing. You're gonna catch a cold" He sighed, tilting his head towards the door as he turned to you.
He rolled his eyes as you made no effort to move, as stubborn as you had been since elementary school. Garrett watched as you tried your best not to shiver, the cold nipping at your cheeks.
His hand swiftly came down around you, softly resting on the small of your back as he basically pushed you inside.
You hated how much you liked the warmth of the house, the multiple layers of clothes you had thrown on yourself like armour now seeming unnecessary.
Scanning the inside of the house, your eyes drifted slowly over the entrance. It looked exactly like you had imagined. Red solo cups and beer bottles resting on the coffee table, pillows haphazardly strewn across the sofa, a led lit air hockey table standing out against the dark wood floors resting next to a keg.
Your eyes almost rolled out of your head at how predictable it was.
"Happy now?" Garrett teased, closing the door behind him and placing his keys down. "No" You quipped back almost instantly
When you woke up this morning, the last place you pictured yourself was standing in the living room of the house Garrett shared with his 3 friends.
Garrett had waited for you outside your mid-day class, pulling you sideways the second you walked out of the lecture hall like some stalker waiting for his victim.
You let out a gasp as he pulled you into the corner of the hallway, grinning down at you like he hadn't just manhandled you into him. You listened to him drone on and on about hockey and practice, clearly where he had just come from, his dark curls still damp against his forehead as they swayed and his skin sticky from sweat.
It was only when you were dragged up the steps of his house that you realised grabbing lunch apparently meant needing to go home first. A detail Garrett had somehow failed to mention.
Despite being on campus for a few weeks now, you hadn't yet payed a visit to his humble abode. But that was not due to lack of him trying.
Ever since arriving at Briar, he badgered you constantly about coming over to his place, wanting to be in the solace of his room alone with you since you had banned him from staying in your dorm out of worry of making your freshly new roommate uncomfortable with his presence.
It's not that you didn't want to be with Garrett. Never that.
But you would be lying if you said you weren't slightly intimidated by the prospect of meeting his fellow hockey player roomates.
You wouldn't say you were a shy girl, per say, but you had heard whispers around campus of Garrett and his friends constantly since the semester started.
Whispers that clearly indicated that they were far, far from nobodies.
If you hadn't known Garrett since you were practically in diapers, you'd probably be scared shitless of him the most out of all of them.
Garrett didn't mean to trick you into coming over to his house that day. Well, at least not really.
He did truthfully want to grab lunch with you. Just after he showered, changed, and hopefully coaxed you into napping with him.
"Baby, they aren't home. Won't be for a while, don't worry." Garrett whispered into your ear, his minty breath warm against your neck as he dipped his head down behind you. Referencing to the fact his roomates were out discussing plays for their next hockey game with the new rookies, a meetup Garrett was glad he missed out on the planning of.
They may have still asked him to come. Multiple times. He may have declined. Multiple times.
"I'm not worried" You replied, almost too quickly.
He raised his eyebrows at your comment, clearly as convinced as you were by your own words. Which wasn't at all.
"Cmon" Garrett said as he began grabbing your hand before leading towards the staircase.
If you weren't so distracted looking around at his house and dissecting every detail of your new environment, you'd have asked where he was taking you.
However, your non-existent question was answered as he led you through a hallway and into a room.
His room.
You could tell as soon as you entered.
It had Garrett Graham written all over it. Well, literally. The street sign detailed with his name being the same one you had seen in his room from home.
It smelled like him too. Cologne, aftershave and mint.
Of course, it was clean. Bed made perfectly, desk neat, light filtering through his mahogany brown blinds.
A white picture frame stood out against the cool greys and browns hues of his decor, hand painted hearts littering the frame. You remember painting that him years ago, before he left for college. Assuming he was going to fill it with a photo of his friends or high school hockey team, you left the insert blank.
But instead, the picture that lay inside the glass, was you.
You remember the day it was taken. Garrett was fiddling around with your digital camera, promising he wasn't going to break it. He turned the camera around so it was facing the both of you, reaching his hands out and snapping a selfie of you both as he kissed you on the cheek.
As you looked around the room, the door clicked behind you, Garrett immediately taking the chance to wrap his hands around your waist while he stood behind you.
You immediately pulled away, looking back at him with mock disgust.
"You're sweaty" You declared, regarding the fact he had just came back from hockey practice.
"You can't even feel me!" He exclaimed, gesturing to the multitude of layers you had on due to the cold. "Yeah, but i can smell you" You quipped, even though he somehow didn't smell as bad as he should from skating around in a rink all day.
"Ok, rude. I'm gonna go shower then. Happy?" Garrett asked, sarcastic in his tone as he shrugged off his hoodie.
"No, you said you just needed to grab something quickly before we get lunch" You accused, watching as he walked over to his dresser.
"Well, you've made me insecure now" He stated, turning around to look back at you.
"No i haven't. You are never insecure."
"You're right. I'm not" Your breath hitched as he pulled his black shirt over his head, leaving him shirtless a few feet away from you, a bright grin on his face.
It wasn't the first time you had seen Garrett shirtless. Probably not even the hundredth. But it never didn't make you feel giddy inside, especially since his skin was glistening as the fractured light shone into his room.
"Now, can you stop standing there like a deer in the headlights and sit down or something" He joked, the fact that you were still standing right in front of his door reminding you that you hadn't moved since you had entered.
Suddenly, it dawned on you.
"You planned this whole thing didn't you? You didn't need to just grab something, did you?" You accused, wagging your finger in his face as you approached him.
His face then shifted to one struck with mock guilt, teasing. "I'm guilty. Take me away officer. Make it quick, please." Reaching his hands up as if he were about to get handcuffed.
"You're not funny," You replied
"I'm pretty funny"
You rolled your eyes as you made your way to his bed, sitting down on the soft comforter. "Hurry up" You said, placing your book bag onto his floor.
"What, don't wanna join me?" Garrett asked, only him knowing he meant the idea of you showering with him as a little more than a joke.
You ignored his question, facepalming as you groaned.
You heard him laugh across the room, his footsteps echoing towards his bed where you were sat. Your eyes raised, watching Garrett as he approached, clad only in his grey sweatpants.
"I'll be just a minute, bathroom is down the hall. Call out if you need me" You nodded softly at him, his constant need to make sure you're okay apparent in his sincere words.
He gleamed at your nod, reaching down to hold the back of your head softly as he kissed you on the forehead. "Atta girl"
You really tried not to watch him walk away. But the phrase often muttered by your roommate 'hate to see him go, love to watch him leave' echoed annoyingly in your head
The prominent muscles of his back rippled as he reached for the doorknob, his gold chain gleaming as it rested above his tattoo, every movement creating a tidal wave of muscle and strength.
You released a breath you didn't know you were holding as you heard the door close after he had left the room.
The heat from what you were hoping was the warmth of his room and not that interaction began creeping up your spine, causing you to pull off all the layers it took until you were left only in your long sleeve shirt.
As you stood alone in his room, you felt yourself drift over to the photo frame you had been staring at earlier. A smile creeping onto your face before you could register it as you slowly picked up the frame.
You can't believe he had a photo of you framed in his room, standing proudly on his bedside table.
It was only then you began to notice the small reminders of you in his bedroom. A note you had wrote him in middle school you had completely forgotten about tacked onto his wall, a candle sat on his dresser that he always told you smelled just like your perfume, the soft pink blanket you had left in his car months ago thrown over the back of his chair.
The soft chirping of birds outside his window sang in your ears, your head turning to watch as they danced through the branches of the trees. You found yourself smiling at their actions, flying in the air joyful and utterly free.
"G, I'm gonna fuckin kill you for bailing. Those rookies are fucking insufferab-"
Your neck almost broke by how swiftly you turned it, shock and genuine horror struck across your features.
Stood in Garrett's door was a tall blonde, his jaw slack to the floor and looking just as shocked as you were. Your eyes swiftly scanned his frame, a Briar hockey hoodie resting on his body and his hand outstretched to the door knob he had just rattled open.
"Sorry, sorry! Fuck." The boy cursed, his face now painted with guilt as he cringed at himself.
You nearly jumped as he went to slam the door closed, interrupting his movements. "No, no. It's ok. I'm just waiting for Garrett to shower" You explained, walking a few feet closer to the door.
The boy's eyebrows raised at your words, before a look of recognition struck wildly through his face.
"You're her!" He practically shouted, removing his hand from the doorknob to point at you.
You almost jumped at the volume of his voice, confusion washing through you. "Her?" You quizzed
"Yes! You're the girl in Garrett's lockscreen!" He started, what seemed to be excitement lighting up his expression, moving his finger to point to the picture frame on Garrett's bedside table "And the photo, You're her!"
Before you could even conjure up anytime of response to his words, another voice cut through the air
"Dean, bro, what the fuck are you screaming about?" Another boy said, showing up behind the blonde.
"Oh my god" The brunette exclaimed, clearly recognising you as well the second his eyes drifted to you, now standing feeling embarrassingly awkward as you stood in Garrett's room.
"Garrett talks about you all the fucking time, since we've known him. I cannot believe we are finally meeting you" The blonde said, tumbling into the room and wrapping you into a hug, eliciting a laugh from you that finally made you feel the tiniest bit less horrified by the situation.
"Tucker! Bro! Come here!" The brunette behind the boy shouted, smiling as he followed behind the blonde into the room.
At that same moment, steam rolled out from the bathroom door, Garrett's curls tight and dark from the water as he ran his hand through his hair, his body now clad in a dark grey teeshirt and black sweatpants.
Due to the sound of the water cascading from the shower head, the shouts of his roommates hadn't cut echoed through the noise, leaving him completely oblivious to the scene unravelling in his own bedroom.
So, he was utterly horrified as he watched the doorframe of his room now swung completely open and Dean's voiced echoing through the hallway from his bedroom.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
Garrett's voice sliced sharply through the air, his eyes set on the fact that Dean had his arms wrapped tightly around you, fucking hugging you.
Dean jumped as he heard Garrett's voice, turning to find him standing in the door of his room.
"Uh, hugging my new best-friend?" Dean said as if it were obvious, his voice contradicted by the fact he was slowly backing away from you at the sight of his friend's less than happy expression.
As if you weren't overstimulated enough, steps began bounding into down the hallway, gradually getting louder as they reached Garrett's room.
"What! What did i miss?" Tucker exclaimed, out of breath from running up the stairs from the kitchen with a deep fear of fomo.
His face mimicked Dean's exact expression as he noticed you, his jaw dropping in the same shocked way before he shouted
pairing: John Logan × Graham!Reader
story summary: one night, after feeling miserable, John Logan decided to give a call.
Part 1 Part 2
chapter summary: you and Logan promised not to make it awkward after the frat party, but that might be impossible when he confesses his forbidden crush to Sugar.
warnings/mdni: Smut. Oral sex (f receiving). Use of she/her pronouns. Spelling. Probably inaccurate description or timeline mistakes regarding the show. If I missed anything, just let me know!
WC: 4k
a/n: hello!! tysm for all the kind comments! i'm not a big smut writer — although i'm a huge enthusiastic of it — and i tried my best here, i hope you like it 🩵
—
[YOU]
“No way.”
“He’s gonna keep calling DAG. Something tells me that boy is stubborn,” Minnie said, sighing heavily as I shook my head.
“You were the one who told me to invest in him as myself, not as Sugar,” I reminded her, pushing the heavy book cart down section four as she followed close behind me.
“You just told me he saw your brother later on at the party and immediately remembered why kissing you was a bad idea,” Minnie countered. She grabbed a stack of books to help me reshelve, taking the right side of the aisle while I took the left.
“I told you his moral compass was huge. I really don’t know how I even got him to kiss and grind on me for five minutes straight in the first place,” I said, chuckling at the memory.
“Sometimes the other head speaks louder.”
“Minnie!”
“It’s not a lie!” she defended, making us both laugh out loud in the middle of the quiet library. “As Sugar, maybe you can learn more about his feelings in general and use that to your advantage.”
“One, he’s not gonna call to talk about his feelings,” I pointed out. “And two... that’s basically cheating, isn’t it?”
“All’s fair in love, hon,” Minnie said with a nonchalant shrug. “In horniness, too.”
I couldn’t hold back the loud laugh that erupted from my chest.
“Oh, Minnie, I wish everyone knew you like I do,” I said, shaking my head with a wide smile. “Alright. Give him my direct line. Let’s see what we get.”
—
[JOHN LOGAN]
I had no defense.
I wasn’t drunk, high, or dealing with anything clouding my mind—except maybe sheer arousal—that I could use as an excuse for kissing Garrett Graham’s sister. AKA, my best friend's sister.
After we found Garrett and Tucker trying to hold Dean back from fighting god-knows-who, I took a good look at Garrett and finally felt it.
It wasn’t exactly regret, but more like the crushing weight of violating the number one rule of the bro code: don’t make out with your best friend's sister.
So yeah, I wasn’t going to make it weird, but it definitely couldn’t happen again. Especially considering how damn good it felt. How hot my blood ran, the chills that wrecked me when I had my hands all over her, and how perfectly we seemed to fit in every single way.
We were perfectly reasonable afterward.
No weirdness at all…
Okay, maybe I was staring at her a little too much, and maybe the “sweetie” I always called her started coming out way too soft. Or way too raspy.
And maybe I was replaying that night right in front of my eyes—staring at absolutely nothing, then suddenly seeing ribbed mini dresses, a kissable neck, swollen lips, and soft hands tangled at the nape of my neck.
But it was fine. It was definitely not happening again.
Because honestly, what was worse? Fantasizing about my best friend’s sister, or his girlfriend? Because yeah, Hannah hadn't completely left my mind either. I just had way more material to work with when it came to Little G.
I was staring into space again, remembering exactly how incredible she sounded whispering in my ear about sneaking down to her room, when a throw pillow suddenly clocked me in the side of the head, snapping me out of my daydream.
Garrett and Hannah were staring at me, laughing.
“What are you thinking about, Logan?” Hannah asked, her voice as sweet as it always was.
“Or maybe who are you thinking about?” Garrett teased, nudging Hannah in the ribs like I was their own private joke.
“Just thinking about the next game,” I lied, trying to make my smile look genuine. Every time I looked at Garrett, the guilt twisted a little deeper.
“Almost drooling like that?” Garrett challenged, narrowing his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, man.”
“Leave him alone, love,” Hannah said, checking her phone. “We’re gonna be late for our movie.”
“Alright, see you later, bro,” Garrett said, clapping me on the shoulder while Hannah waved goodbye.
As they walked out holding hands, that familiar stinging sensation took hold of my chest.
I was breaking the bro code either way.
—
[YOU]
Faint music played in my bedroom as I stacked books back onto my shelves and organized the new skincare products I’d bought, getting ready for bed after a long day of studying and cataloging the new archive that had arrived at the library.
Then, the telephone rang. Not my cell phone, but the special black rotary phone with tiny pink designs I’d gotten when Dial-A-Goddess accepted me as one of their girls.
It was Tuesday, which meant I didn’t have a shift at DAG. So there were really only two options: someone from the company was calling me, or Logan had decided to reach out to Sugar.
I made sure my door was locked. I had an amazingly soundproofed room as long as the basement door was completely shut. I sat down on the chair at my desk, took a deep breath, and picked up the receiver.
“Uh… Sugar?” I heard Logan’s voice, sounding a little too shaken up for someone looking for a good time.
“Hello, gorgeous,” I said, my phone-sex voice a little gentler than usual since I sensed he was feeling off. “I’m glad you called.”
“Thanks for giving me your direct line,” he said. I could practically hear the small, sad smile in his voice.
“Minnie gave you a hell of a sales pitch,” I said, trying to cheer him up. “I had to say yes.”
“She’s nice, isn’t she?” he chuckled softly.
“Are you okay, John?” I asked, genuinely worried. “You seem down compared to our other calls.”
“Well, do you mind if we do things differently today?” Logan asked, sighing heavily. “I really felt like hearing your voice, but maybe I’m not in the mood for the dirty talk tonight.”
“Sure, John,” I said, dying to know what was going on. “Come on, talk to me.”
“There’s this thing that’s been in my head for a while, you know?” he said. I heard the muffled sound of him lying down on his bed—which, ironically, was right above my ceiling. “That’s why I reached out to DAG in the first place. This isn’t really my thing, but I needed a distraction to help me stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Thinking about her,” he confessed, and an involuntary chill shot down my spine. “Fantasizing about her. Having dreams where she’s always the main character.”
“And why would that be wrong?” I asked. I couldn’t believe Logan’s moral compass was that strict. Come on, having a crush wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
“Because I’d be betraying someone else. Damn, I disgust myself just for feeling it,” he continued, sounding angry with his own words. “But she’s like forbidden fruit, you know?”
“Are you sure she’s forbidden? Isn’t that just something in your head?” I prompted, trying to stop myself from screaming STOP BEING DUMB through the receiver. “Does the person you’re worried about upsetting even care?”
“I’m pretty sure there’s no universe where wanting your best friend’s girlfriend isn't forbidden,” Logan said bitterly.
What the fuck?
Logan’s best friend = Garrett Graham.
Garrett Graham’s girlfriend = Hannah.
John Logan was dreaming, fantasizing, and obsessing over Hannah?
My future sister-in-law?
Hannah Wells. The girl my brother loved—something I’d almost stopped believing would ever happen for him—and who loved him right back.
“See? Even you’re weirded out, and you don’t even know any of us!” Logan exclaimed. I could tell he was getting embarrassed by my silence.
And he should be.
What the actual fuck? We’d had that amazing, mind-blowing moment against a wall just a few days ago, and now he was sitting right above my head telling me he couldn't stop thinking about Hannah?
He had kissed me like he was starving. He’d almost moaned in my ear when I kissed his neck, gotten half-hard against me, and couldn't even look at me properly afterward without staring too long... and he was fantasizing about Hannah? Not me? Not even damn Sugar and her velvety voice?
“Sugar?” Logan called out, desperately trying to get my alter ego to say something.
I was furious. Honestly, I knew I had no right to be. I could hear how much it was killing Logan to feel this way about Hannah. But I couldn't stop the bitter, stinging wave of I don’t know what that crashed over me.
I had pushed him against a wall in a dark corner of a frat house.
I had kissed him first.
I grabbed the phone’s cord, yanking it straight out of the wall outlet so he wouldn't hear me slam the receiver back onto the hook.
—
[JOHN LOGAN]
It was way too dark. My hands were tied behind the back of the chair I was sitting on.
“Hello?” I called out, my voice echoing through wherever the hell I was.
I heard footsteps approaching, the heavy thumping of boots hitting a wooden floor.
“I can’t see anything,” I said, my voice echoing once again.
“Of course you can’t, silly.” The velvety voice belonged to Sugar, but unlike mine, it didn't echo. It felt like she was whispering straight into my ear. “You’re blindfolded.”
“Aren’t you mad at me?” I asked, considering she hadn’t said a single word for a couple of minutes before our call got cut off last night.
“Oh, John, why would I be mad?” Her voice got closer and closer. I felt her hands on both of my shoulders, massaging them slowly. “Did you do something wrong?”
“Hm, kinda?” I answered, sounding a little unsure, though my body visibly relaxed as she touched me.
“What did you do wrong?”
“I have a crush on my best friend’s girlfriend?” I offered, the same unsure tone ringing in my voice.
“Exactly, silly. But not because of him.” I felt her mouth hovering near my jaw and neck. “It’s because you should have a crush on me instead.”
She kissed my neck slowly. I threw my head back to give her better access, and my mind instantly went straight to the frat party—to the feeling of the younger Graham’s lips on my throat.
Suddenly, my blindfold was ripped off. Standing there, instead of whoever Sugar was supposed to be, I saw Little G. She was wearing the exact same black ribbed mini dress. She smiled at me, leaning in, right about to straddle my lap when… my phone alarm went off.
I jerked awake, tangling in my sheets, and fell straight onto the bedroom floor with a heavy thud.
Last night, I had confessed to Sugar about my crush on Hannah, and she just... disconnected. She was just gone. It wasn’t great for my conscience or my mood, but I was choosing to believe she’d just had a problem on her end of the line, which was why she couldn’t continue the call or call me back.
I stood up, stretched my sore back, and took advantage of the empty bathroom without having to compete against Dean, Tucker, or Garrett for once.
As soon as I walked downstairs into the kitchen, I found the very same girl who had been about to sit on my lap in my dream. She was making pancakes, wearing an oversized blue Briar U’s Hawks sweater and a short tennis skirt that gave me a hell of a good look at her bare legs.
Maybe my mood was going to lighten up after all.
"Good morning, sweetie," I said, my voice dripping with care and ulterior motives. The dream—and definitely that little tennis skirt—was seriously messing with my head. Yesterday, I’d been so sure I could never get close to her like we did at the frat party again. Now? I really couldn't care less.
Instead of greeting me with one of her bright smiles, she just looked at me, expression completely blank, and nodded. She immediately turned her eyes back to the stove, flipping the last pancake before sliding it onto a stack.
“What's up, huh?” I asked, stepping closer. The lack of a smile was definitely not her style. I walked around the kitchen, carrying the fruit and pancake toppings over to the dining table.
“Nothing,” she said, her tone practically screaming that there was definitely something going on.
After setting the table, I circled back around the kitchen until I was standing directly behind her as she washed her hands in the sink. The tip of my nose brushed gently against her hair. It smelled incredible, just like it always did. She didn't stiffen, but she also maintained her perfectly straight posture as my arm snaked around her waist.
“I thought we promised not to make this weird.”
“I am not making anything weird,” she answered flatly, even as my nose and lips began to trail along the line of her neck and jaw. God, she smelled three times better this morning. “I am just in a bad mood.”
"Bad mood, huh?” I whispered against her ear. Tough as she was, Little G didn't seem affected by my closeness at all—or at least she was damn good at pretending. “What can I do to lighten your mood, sweetie?”
My hand started traveling from her back, settling heavily on the curve of her ass.
"I'm not sure you can do anything,” she said, her tone finally shifting, sounding playful again. A very good sign that I was winning her over.
"Really?” I murmured. I held back the urge to squeeze her ass, and instead tried something much bolder, my lips never stopping their slow kisses on her jaw. “I can get you all set for the day, you know? Completely relaxed. Not a single care in the world.”
My hand slipped right past the hem of her tennis skirt, grazing the insanely soft skin of her thighs. But just when I thought I’d made it exactly where I wanted to be, my fingers hit the built-in shorts underneath.
"Damn skirt,” I muttered, making us both laugh.
She turned around, and now I had her pinned flush against the counter. Her eyes were locked on mine, and that bright smile I’d been hunting for finally came back to her face.
"No one plays tennis without built-in shorts, silly,” she teased, rolling her eyes playfully as I ducked my head to kiss her neck again. “And you're so full of yourself. I just know you're all bark and no bite.”
I pulled back just enough to look at her, instantly spotting the challenge dancing in her bright eyes.
All bark and no bite. There was literally nothing she could have said to offend me more.
I took in the vision in front of me. Her elbows propped back on the kitchen counter, my hand resting firmly on her waist, the oversized hockey merch, the skirt—which was still a hell of a view, even with the small obstacle its design brought me. Her lips, her eyes, her scent, her hair… basically everything about her.
“See? All bar—”
Before she could even finish the word, my mouth crashed down on hers, capturing her lips in a savage kiss. It was a completely different rhythm from our first one; this was messy, desperate, and fueled entirely by the heavy desire I’d been denying since the party. But even though the pace was different, the feeling was exactly the same: a blinding rush of arousal, my blood running hot the second her hand fisted in my hair, pulling our bodies flush against each other.
I was just about to lift her onto the counter when the sharp sound of the front door unlocking snapped us back to reality.
We sprang apart instantly, holding back breathless laughs and desperately pretending we hadn’t just been all over each other as Dean, Tucker, and Garrett walked in, sweaty from their morning run.
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out while the trio immediately started joking about Little G making breakfast, since we usually treated her like royalty and never let her lift a finger around the house.
It was a text from Miranda—Minnie, the librarian. She had a house emergency and needed the best handyman around to help her out.
I smiled, staring down at the screen. I still had Dial-A-Goddess bills to pay, after all.
Minnie's house was a two-story place surrounded by a beautifully manicured garden. I rang the bell, and an elderly woman who definitely wasn't Minnie promptly opened the door. She looked me up and down, a mischievous glint in her eye.
“Well, hello gorgeous,” she purred with a sweet smile. “Didn’t know we were having go-go boys over today, Minnie.”
I couldn't hold back a laugh, especially since I was standing there in my full handyman getup, heavy tool bag slung over my shoulder. Minnie rushed to the door, and right behind her, about ten other older ladies clustered around. All of them had curious eyes, shamelessly sizing me up with not-so-hidden smiles.
“Don’t scare the boy, you pervert,” Minnie scolded, grabbing my arm and pulling me inside. “Thanks for coming so quickly, Logan.”
“No problem,” I said, taking in the nice decor. There were books stacked here and there, and with all the ladies gathered in the living room, I wondered if this was some sort of librarian book club or something. “What’s the issue?”
“The AC isn't working at all. With this many people in here, we’re going to melt in two hours,” Minnie explained, leading me over to the central AC unit. The ladies followed right behind her, still measuring me up, taking a very close look.
“Alright,” I said, stepping closer and opening my toolbox. As I reached my arms up to check the panel, my shirt rode up a few inches, exposing my stomach. A collective, very audible hum of approval echoed behind me.
“Oh my god, you girls embarrass me,” Minnie groaned, shooing them back toward the living room with frantic waves of her hands. “I’m so sorry, boy. It’s like they haven't seen a man in decades.”
“It’s okay, I tend to provoke this type of reaction in ladies,” I joked, easily diagnosing the issue. Nothing major. “Is this a librarian reunion?”
Minnie chuckled nervously before answering, “You could say so.”
“Well, nothing bad here,” I assured her, grabbing a wrench. “I’m gonna tweak a thing or two. Give me five minutes and your AC will be good as new.”
Just like I promised, five minutes later, cold air was blasting through the house again. When I walked back into the living room, the ladies were chatting happily, sipping drinks, and snacking on some appetizers.
That's when I noticed it. Right next to Minnie’s desk sat a vintage, black rotary telephone covered in tiny pink details.
“All set, Minnie,” I told her, flashing a smile as I packed up my bag.
“Oh, thank you so much,” the librarian said, pressing a wad of cash directly into my hand. “I hope this is enough.”
I glanced down at the bills. “Minnie, there’s way too much here, let me recount—”
“Take it and go enjoy your Wednesday, hon,” Minnie interrupted, winking at me. The rest of the ladies called out their goodbyes—a few of them blowing kisses—as Minnie walked me to the front door.
Well. That was definitely one of my weirder and funniest house calls.
The rest of the day went by in a blur. I had a few classes, hit the gym to stay physically prepped for our upcoming games, and then went straight to rink practice with the rest of the team, running drills and studying our next opponent.
Afterward, I decided to pay a visit to the college radio station to see Jules, since it had been a while since I checked in on my sibling. Right as I was leaving, that same twisted, ugly feeling I’d felt at the frat party came rushing right back.
Little G and Beau were chatting under a tree. Who chats under a fucking tree if they aren't flirting? They were standing way too close, sharing a towel. Beau was talking animatedly, and she was nodding and laughing like he was the funniest guy on earth.
She was still wearing that same damn tennis outfit from this morning, and a sick, unhealthy realization hit me: if I had gotten that amazing view of her legs, so had Beau.
Before they could catch me staring, I headed straight for my truck, my mind reeling back to our interruption this morning. That wild, messy kiss we’d shared. I wondered if she and Beau had kissed before. Was it good? Was Beau all bite and no bark?
Those questions kept lingering in my mind for the rest of the day. They haunted me while I fixed a few things around the hockey house, and they flared up again when she got back from classes, all sunshine and rainbows—which stung even more, considering she had been nothing but grumpy with me that morning, before we kissed, of course, but still, she had been grumpy.
They clouded my mind so badly that, instead of trying to reach out to Sugar again or letting my thoughts drift to Hannah, I waited until everyone else was asleep to go downstairs and knock on her BB door.
I waited a few seconds before I heard her footsteps. She unlocked the door and opened it, taking me in. I was standing there in just a pair of gray sweatpants.
“What’s up?” she asked, her eyes raking over my bare abs with absolutely zero shame.
“I wanna talk,” I said. My eyes dropped to the silk robe she was wearing. It was at least two sizes too big, hiding the exact curves of her body, but sitting loosely enough to make me wonder if she was really completely naked underneath like it seemed.
“In my room?” she asked, narrowing her eyes slightly. “With no shirt?”
“In your BB, with no shirt,” I confirmed, my gaze traveling dangerously down to where the two sides of the robe met, revealing a sliver of bare, soft skin.
She chuckled softly, turning around and descending the basement stairs, leaving the door open for me to follow and lock it behind us.
Her room was incredibly neat. It had three full bookshelves, a massive wardrobe, a door leading to a nice en-suite bathroom with a tub, and a desk where she kept her papers, her laptop, a million pens, more books, and… a black telephone? That was new.
Her bed was a queen-size, covered in expensive, high-thread-count bedding because she always claimed she wanted to feel like she was sleeping in a luxury hotel every night. There wasn't a single thing out of place in the entire room… except for a piece of clothing carelessly thrown over that vintage black telephone.
“So, you said you wanted to talk?” she asked, sitting on the edge of her bed, running her hands idly over the soft duvet.
“Are you and Beau… dating?” I asked. Out of the ten different ways I had mentally practiced starting this conversation, I had somehow chosen the absolute worst one.
“What kind of question is that?” she said, her brow furrowing in confusion. “If I were with him, I wouldn’t have kissed you twice.”
“But you guys do have a thing?” I pushed, stepping closer to her. I could see the contours of her body much better in the dim, warm light of her room compared to the dark hallway upstairs.
“We kiss here and there,” she admitted, looking dead into my eyes. “Beau’s a sweet guy.”
“And he doesn’t care about Garrett finding out a close friend is making out with his sister?” I had to ask, even though interrogating her hadn't been my original plan.
“When you have a hot woman in your bed, you usually aren't thinking about another guy’s opinion, Logan,” she said point-blank. She shifted her weight slightly on the mattress, and I swear to God, the movement exposed the soft curve of one of her breasts.
“Fair enough,” I gulped, suddenly nervous at the realization that she really could be entirely naked right in front of me, with just a sheer layer of silk standing between me and what might be the greatest view of my life.
“Did you really come all the way down here just to talk about Beau?” Little G asked, sighing softly. “Or did you come here to show me you actually have some bite, too?”
Her comment snapped me right back to why I had decided to wait for everyone to fall asleep in the first place. Was it motivated by pure, irrational jealousy? Maybe. Was it about showing off and protecting my ego? Yeah.
But I had a mission.
I stepped closer, closing the distance until I was standing right in front of her, stepping directly between her partially opened legs. I dropped to my knees in front of the bed, watching her gaze track my movement. That familiar, heavy desire I had seen at the frat party instantly sparked back to life in her dilated pupils.
“I came down here because I couldn't let you think I was all bark,” I murmured, my fingers tracing slow, agonizing circles up and down her soft legs. I looked up at her, holding her gaze. “I'll bark if you really want me to, sweetie, but I’d much rather just make you feel good.”
“That 'all set for the day, completely relaxed' thing you promised?” she asked, looking down at me, her breath already hitching as she tracked my movements.
I nodded, pressing a soft kiss to her knee as one of my hands slid under the hem of her robe, tracing the smooth skin of her thighs. This time, there were no built-in shorts to stop me—just a sliver of sheer, lacy underwear in the way.
“Will you let me?” I asked, pushing the edges of the silk aside just enough to expose more of her skin without completely untying it yet. “I promise I'll make you feel incredible.”
“And if you don’t?” she challenged, tilting her head, a wicked, mischievous smile playing on her lips.
“I’m sure you’ll find a creative way to punish me, sweetie,” I answered, flashing her a smirk.
“Alright, Logan,” she breathed, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Let’s see what you can do.”
I didn't hesitate. I trailed open-mouthed kisses up the length of her legs, stopping just short of her inner thighs. I slowly looked up, my eyes landing on the silk tie holding her robe together. She gave me a tiny nod before I could even ask, and I pulled the knot loose.
The silk parted effortlessly, sliding off her shoulders and exposing her completely bare body, save for that tiny scrap of lace between her legs. Damn. It was the greatest view of my entire life. My dick twitched against my boxers.
“You know that feeling when you walk into a place for the first time and have absolutely no idea where to start?” I joked, earning a breathless laugh from her—something I loved that I could do, even in our most intimate moments.
I was dying to dive straight between her legs, but I couldn't ignore the rest of the masterpiece that robe had been hiding. I dragged myself upward, leaving a trail of hot kisses over her stomach and up her chest. I bypassed her breasts on purpose, going straight for her collarbone just to hear the frustrated little noise she made in the back of her throat.
I trailed my lips back down. My mouth closed over one of her nipples, circling and sucking, while my fingers went to work gently rolling and tweaking the other. Her soft, breathy whimpers quickly melted into low moans, telling me exactly how fast the pleasure was building up for her.
“Okay, enough,” she demanded, her voice breathy and desperate. “Stick to the original plan and get back between my legs. I need you down there.”
I smirked against her skin, descending back down her body until my face hovered right over her lacy underwear. The fabric was thin enough that when I dragged a slow, wet lick directly over the cotton, she threw her head back and let out a sharp gasp.
I hooked my fingers into the sides of the lace, sliding the panties slowly down her legs and tossing them somewhere onto the floor. Taking in the sight of her completely naked, looking at me with that much trust and raw desire... I practically grunted with the effort it took not to lose my damn mind.
“You’re way too beautiful for your own good,” I rasped, looking up into her eyes as she propped herself back on her elbows. She hooked one of her heels over my broad shoulder, opening herself up even wider for me. “I am absolutely dying to taste you.”
“Go for it,” she demanded, that bossy tone never leaving her voice.
And I gladly obeyed. I went straight for her, starting with soft, teasing kisses that quickly shifted into long, wet laps. I traced her slick folds, swirling my tongue over her clit and dipping down to her entrance. Her soft, contained whimpers rapidly turned into loud, uninhibited moans. Honestly, I felt like I could finish just from the sound of her voice alone.
Her hands tangled into my curls, gripping tight and instinctively controlling my rhythm as her back bowed off the mattress.
I dragged my tongue down to her entrance again, tasting her sweet wetness, but her grip in my hair immediately guided my head back up. I focused right where she wanted it, flicking and sucking the sensitive bud. Her moans filled the quiet room, the sound sending a heavy rush of blood straight to my groin. God, I had never been so grateful to be wearing loose sweatpants in my entire life.
I slid my index finger inside her, instantly getting the exact reaction I was looking for. She arched sharply, letting out the loudest, most shattered moan yet. She was so incredibly warm and tight, her hips instinctively rocking back and forth, driving my finger in and out to her own frantic pace.
“I wish it was my cock so damn bad,” I whispered against her soaked skin, keeping my tongue steady on her clit as I pushed my finger deeper.
“I’m gonna cum,” she gasped.
And there it was again. That velvety, breathy murmur that sounded exactly like Sugar. My dick twitched violently against my waistband. Did she always sound like that when she was falling apart? Did she talk dirty in bed? God, I needed to find out.
Her pulse fluttered wildly against my tongue, her inner walls clamping down hard around my finger. Her orgasm crashed over her in a heavy wave. I kept my mouth and hand working relentlessly, swallowing her whimpers and riding out the high with her until her thighs started violently trembling and her grip finally fell away from my hair.
She looked up at me with a relaxed expression on her face, pulling me closer by the waistband of my sweatpants. I fell on top of her, and the kiss she gave me was sexier than any of the others we'd shared. Was that normal? The more you kissed someone, the better they tasted? Because that’s exactly how I felt with her.
A faint noise echoed from upstairs, coming from the kitchen. We reluctantly broke the kiss.
“Well, you definitely can bite,” she said, smiling up at me. “But I’m really considering asking you to bark for me, since you offered.”
“Anything you want, sweetie.” I pecked her lips softly, forcing myself to stand up. She was still naked in front of me, and I wanted so badly to keep going, but tonight was strictly about her. I had already gone down there to alleviate my own burning jealousy; everything else needed to be about making her feel good. “That’ll leave you nice and relaxed for tomorrow, huh?”
As she laughed and pulled her robe back on, my eyes landed on that vintage black telephone again. Now that I was closer, I saw it had the exact same pink details as the one at Minnie’s house. Was it some weird welcome gift you got when you started working at the library?
I kissed her one last time, my gaze lingering on the object for a split second longer.
“Good night, sweetie,” I said, before heading out and climbing back upstairs.
As I got into my room, that damn telephone wouldn't leave my mind. Why would the library, especially Briar U's, give its employees a landline phone? Especially in colors that didn’t match the official college ones at all?
Minnie… the librarian’s nickname perfectly matched my favorite DAG receptionist’s name. Their voices sounded exactly the same, and it wasn’t just because "all old people sound the same," like she had tried to tell me on the phone. And earlier today, while I was fixing the AC, I was pretty damn sure I had recognized some of the other ladies' voices, too. Was I going crazy?
Lying in bed, my boner completely gone as my mind started spiraling with the possibilities, I grabbed my cell phone. Dean had originally just sent me the Dial-A-Goddess number directly; there was no business card or link attached to it.
So I opened my browser and Googled the company’s name. A bunch of articles popped up, raving about how the company was revolutionizing the phone-sex industry with a completely female-run organization, from the CEO down to the receptionists.
At the top of the search results, I found the official website. I clicked on it and was instantly greeted by a sleek, pitch-black homepage covered in hot pink writing, detailing their services, payment plans, and phone numbers.
The pattern of the website’s backdrop was practically identical to the design painted on Minnie’s—and Little G’s—telephones. That couldn’t just be a coincidence, could it?
Now there was zero doubt in my mind: Minnie the librarian was the exact same Minnie I always talked to at DAG. And if Minnie worked there, and all the receptionists were elderly ladies, and the youngest Graham had that exact same exclusive phone in her bedroom... that meant she worked for DAG.
Could she be working in some other branch of the company? But why would she need the direct line phone?
Oh, fuck. Little G was one of the available girls.
Suddenly, a flood of memories clicked into place.
When I had gone downstairs and found her cooling herself off in the kitchen right after my very first call, holding back a knowing laugh.
The way she had been so flushed and irrationally angry at Dean for messing with the breaker and killing the power during my second call.
How Little G’s breathy whisper while we were making out sounded exactly like Sugar.
The way she and Minnie were way too close at the library, acting like they shared a massive inside joke.
Could she really be Sugar?
Fuck. I had confessed that I was crushing on Hannah? Right after we had made out at the party? Fuck, I couldn’t be that unlucky, could I?
I had to know for sure. I needed to know if she was actually Sugar, or just another girl working for the company…
The next morning, I acted like absolutely nothing was wrong. She always kept her BB door shut, so there was no way I'd be able to hear if the phone rang from upstairs. I also definitely didn't want to test my theory with the rest of the guys around.
So I waited patiently for everyone to leave the house. Finally, the doorbell rang with a delivery for her. She practically sprinted upstairs, excited to grab her brand new books, and completely forgot to shut the door to her bedroom.
I slipped downstairs into her room, pulled out my cell phone, dialed Sugar’s direct line, and waited.
A few seconds later, the black rotary phone on her desk rang, loud and clear.
Right behind me, I heard the heavy thud of footsteps coming back down the stairs. I slowly turned around. The vintage phone was still ringing on the desk between us. I held up my cell phone, the screen facing directly toward her, displaying the contact name: Sugar.
She went completely pale, her grip slipping, almost dropping the heavy package of books right onto the floor.
No more doubts.
Sugar had been living right under my roof this entire time.
tags: MINORS DNI, pro!hockey player garrett, secret affair, infidelity, POV third person, no use of y/n for reader-insert, smut, unprotected p in v, oral sex (fem receiving), squirting, angst, secret relationships, reader cheats on her boyfriend with garrett, mentions of domestic abuse and grooming
word count: 28.4k
summary: They don’t mean for it to become an affair. | Garrett's rookie year with the Bruins get interesting when he meets the daughter of his father's rival who definitely already has a boyfriend.
notes: cross-posted on ao3 as garrett x oc (yes i’m posting both versions bc i wrote this originally as oc but you guys voted for reader); this is way too long and got too angsty and introspective im so sorry; also, i know nothing about hockey or the nhl so this is about 20% research and 80% vibes; divider from @uzmacchiato
garrett graham masterlist
Going pro is a lot more like playing D1 hockey than Garrett expected.
He goes straight to training camp after graduation, and it’s no different than the other training camps he’s been subjected to since he could remember. A lot more pressure, sure, a lot more intense, but the routine is mostly the same. He’d go home to the apartment he paid for with his signing bonus bruised and battered and dead on his feet, some nights collapsing on the living room floor because he was too tired to get out of his outside clothes. There’s an actual nutritionist monitoring their food intake, so Garrett’s constantly chowing down healthy meals and protein bars and green juices as opposed to eating whatever Tucker concocted in the hockey house kitchen or microwaving ready-to-eat shit that tasted like cardboard. He still works out more than he sleeps, and when he sleeps, he’s dead to the world.
It’s all so familiar that there’s almost a comfort to it. There’s nothing Garrett hates more than feeling out of his skin, so everyday that happens like clockwork drives relief down his spine. What grates on him is the constant reminder of competition; they’re all there hoping to get picked for the season, and sometimes it shows in the way players are obviously more concerned about showing off than doing well as a team.
The upside is Logan training alongside him; sometimes when the going gets tough, he’d turn his head midskate to where Logan is on the ice, and he’d feel like he’s back at their Briar rink again, skating just because it’s fun, just because it’s the only thing he knows how to do. Maybe that’s why it hits him harder than he lets himself show, when he gets picked to play for the Bruins straight after training and Logan gets thrown in the AHL.
“G, I was passed over three times in the draft,” Logan had told him when the news broke out, somehow being the one to comfort him in a strange role reversal. “I knew my first season was basically done for, anyway.”
Garrett remembers huffing, then, the youthful stubbornness that got him through college still clinging on his freshly-graduated bones. “Yeah, but–”
“Just watch out for next season,” Logan interrupted him with a pat on his shoulder. “Then it’s me and you taking over the NHL. Yeah?”
He let out a small smile, just because he felt like Logan needed to see it more than hear his complaints. “You better play your ass off for the Baby B’s.”
It had worked, because Logan gives a breathy chuckle and pats his shoulder again, firmer this time. “You bet I will.”
And, to be very honest, Garrett’s rookie year is nothing short of amazing. Aside from a few mistakes his first couple games that can be chalked up to beginner’s nerves and him having an adjustment period, he probably plays the best he’s ever played. The energy is different when it’s the pros. Palpable. Almost like he can swat through it with his hockey stick. And it’s not lost on him that every move he makes on the ice, every goal, every tackle, every skid gets compared to his father. And so he plays even better. If they’re going to compare them either way, he might as well surpass the son of a bitch.
They’re mid-season, about fifty games in, when Garrett meets her.
It’s an away game against the Rangers, of all teams, so Garrett’s muscles are tense even before their plane lands in JFK. The whole journey from the airport to their hotel is blurry and robotic. He gets handed his keys in the lobby, which he receives with a nod, and then he’s in his hotel room, crashing on the bed, eyes trained up the ceiling. He hates feeling like this. Like his dad still has one hand gripping his wrist. Like the bruises all over his torso are still a credit to him. Especially now, when Garrett is probably the freest he’s ever been; he’s making his own money, building his own legacy on the ice.
He hasn’t spoken to his dad in months, probably close to a year. But Garrett knows with cold certainty that Phil Graham will be on the stands tomorrow night, arms crossed over his chest, watching his every move like a predator stalking its prey. He might not approach Garrett. They might not see each other at all. But the effect will be the same; commentators noting his presence, sports analysts contributing how he’s going to play tomorrow to him being there. More comparisons. More shots of Phil’s reactions during plays. More post-game ambush interviews about making him proud. Garrett fucking hates it, and he hates that he can’t do anything about it even more.
It’s 10 PM by the time he feels his stomach protesting loudly, and he remembers that he hasn’t eaten since the little plane snack he was given during the flight over. He knows the others are out somewhere on a team dinner, one he had opted out of with the excuse of sleeping the plane ride off. Part of him regrets the decision now, alone in his room with his stomach grumbling something angry.
Garrett gets his phone out and squints at the screen. A few notifications greet him; a text from Logan, another one from Tucker to their group chat named ‘Dean’s Bitches’ of a pic of a meal he had prepared, some notifications from his private Instagram account. He shoots a quick reply to Logan and hearts Tuck’s picture before going on google to look up the nearest places he can grab a bite.
Within minutes, Garrett finds himself in the streets of Manhattan, hugging a thick jacket to his body in an attempt to shield himself from the harsh February cold. The diner is easy enough to spot, tucked in between an ice cream shop and a laundromat. There’s only a few people inside, so he luckily gets a booth to himself. He orders a steak, medium rare, their signature fries, a decaf coffee. He hesitates, then adds a chocolate chip pancake for good measure, making the waitress give him a motherly smile that makes his insides feel instantly warmer.
Garrett’s in the middle of helping himself to a dinner roll when the bell by the entrance rings, accompanying with it a cool gust of wind that he feels even from where he’s sitting.
He looks up and almost drops his bread.
Her hair is long, almost to her waist, light and wavy and windswept, as if she’s constantly running her fingers through them. She has a black trench coat on, tied tightly at the waist. She’s beautiful in a way that makes Garrett’s stomach drop.
He watches her scan the place almost absentmindedly, and then their eyes meet, gray to a color he doesn’t know yet. His breath hitches. It only gets worse when a small smile pulls at her lips and she begins walking to his table.
“You play for the Bruins,” she says, eyes gleaming and smile still in place.
She is even prettier up close, but her words bring up a safe enough topic that gets him back his bearings. Hockey, he can talk about. He nods with a smile, all false bravado. “Foreward center. Are you a fan or something?”
“Or something,” she says, before gesturing to the seat in front of him. “Can I?”
“Please,” he nods, trying to make his heart settle in his chest.
She unties her belt with steady hands. Garrett finds himself looking at her fingers for some reason; lithe and long like a pianist, nails with a neat manicure he can’t describe for the life of him. She shrugs off her coat, folds it, then places it on the seat nearest the wall. She’s wearing a cozy cream knit sweater underneath and the tip of her nose is red from the cold. No wedding ring, but a lot of ear piercings. All of this he notices from the five seconds it takes her to sit down in front of him.
“That final goal you made at your last game was pretty sick,” she tells him, eyes already scanning the menu a waitress handed her the minute she got settled in her seat. “I’ll have your classic pancakes, please. Thank you.”
Garrett rubs a hand over his right jaw. He doesn’t know how to place her. She’s not acting like a puck bunny, or even a regular fan. She says the words straightforwardly, like she’s just stating a fact. She doesn’t seem intimidated by him, or nervous, or even particularly affected by his presence, even if she did ask to sit with him. So instead he just says, “Thank you,” his voice going gruff by the end.
“Tomorrow’s going to be tough, though,” she continues, eyes now running over his figure as if she’s contemplating the Bruins’ odds at tomorrow’s game. “It’s got history. The Rangers won’t go down without a fight.”
He leans back at this. He knows what she’s insinuating; his dad’s legacy, his dad’s home rink. Like he gives a fuck. “We know that. We’re ready.”
“Good,” she grins at him, and for a moment Garrett forgets about the pressure that’s been weighing him down since the flight to New York, since he saw the tweets about the game and his dad and the eyes on him tomorrow. The only thing in his mind right then is how gorgeous she looks, flushed from the weather and talking about his game like she’ll personally be affronted if he loses.
“Who are you?” He can’t help but ask by the time their food has arrived and she’s midway through talking his ear off about all the mistakes the Penguins made on their last match. She raises an eyebrow at that, immediately making the tips of his ears red. “I mean–you just. You seem to know so much about hockey.”
It’s her time to blush at that, a pretty pink color that sends very ungentleman-like images straight to Garrett’s brain. “I kind of grew up with it. My dad also used to play.”
“Wait, really?” That stuns him for a moment, makes him look her over with brand new eyes. Nothing in her appearance reminds him of any older player he knows in particular, but then again, there are hundreds of retired NHL athletes. “Who? Do I know him?”
She lets out a little laugh, stabbing a piece of pancake with her fork. “Trust me, you know him.”
“What team?”
She gives him a knowing look, deliberately dragging her eyes up and down his frame.
“The Bruins?” Garrett asks, mind already going over the potential prospects. “Shit. I’m stomped. I have no idea.”
Another look falls on her face, more amused and a little bit exasperated. Garrett narrows his eyes and looks at her properly again. Light hair. Full lips. Strong jaw. And–
Green. Her eyes are green. Familiarly so.
“No way,” he says, a disbelieving laugh already coming out of his mouth. She grins back at him with a shrug, making him huff once more in disbelief. “Shit. You’re Andrew Sinclair’s daughter.”
“Guilty.”
Garrett wracks his brain for a name. He’s sure he’s read about her somewhere, or Andrew’s mentioned her during team dinners with former Bruins players. Something short. Maybe starting with an ‘A.’ Anna? Ara? No. He says the name he’s thinking of out loud.
He knows by the way her breath hitches that he gets it right.
“And you’re Garrett Graham,” she says, leaning forwards on the table a little.
He tries not to be too smug. “You know who I am?”
“The same way you know I am,” she grins back brightly.
It’s then that Garrett remembers something incredibly important–more important than her being a legacy kid like him, or her being so gorgeous under the fluorescent diner lights that it’s almost unfair. She's Andrew Sinclair’s daughter. Andrew Sinclair, former captain of the Boston Bruins and Phil Graham’s number one rival.
“Oh,” he says dumbly, which seems to make her more amused.
“Right,” she chuckles before echoing, “oh.”
He looks down at his plate; the half-eaten steak, the untouched stack of chocolate chip pancakes right next to it. Of all the people in the city he could meet tonight, right when he’s close to spiralling about playing against his dad’s home team, it happens to be the daughter of his rival. It’s like the universe is telling him something, or sending a big ‘fuck you’ to his dad. Either way, Garrett’s not one to look at a gift horse in the mouth.
“It’s a good thing I play for your dad’s team, then,” he finds himself saying, elbows resting on the laminate table and head leaning down so he can speak more quietly.
The edge of her mouth twitches, but something in her eyes tells him that there’s interest there, too. “Really?”
“Yeah, well,” he feigns a shrug. “Wouldn’t want your dad thinking you’re sneaking around with the enemy.”
This time, she’s helpless at the way her face betrays her amusement, eyes crinkling and mouth parting with a silent laugh. “Who says anything about sneaking around?”
“Let me see,” Garrett begins, tapping his fingers on the table. “It’s eleven pm at night in Manhattan, we’re here having dinner just the two of us, you look pretty enough to be on a date…Think of the optics.”
She raises her eyebrows and chances a glance under the table. “You’re literally wearing sweatpants.”
“Irrelevant,” Garrett shoots back with a wave of his hand.
She doesn’t bother holding back her laughter now, throwing her head back against the booth and exposing the soft line of her throat. “I like the confidence.”
“Thank you.”
“Unfortunately,” she drags out, widening her eyes at him mockingly. “We can’t be on a date.”
It’s his turn to raise his eyebrows. “No?”
“No,” she shakes her head at him, faux solemn. “We can’t be on a date because I have a boyfriend.”
Garrett feels his stomach drop to the floor. Disappointment, mostly, though there is also a hint of something more dangerous. Stubbornness. Boyish and annoying and unfortunately very on brand for him. He scrambles for his next words, seeing her watch him closely, her eyes twinkling and her lips pulled to a small smile. She’s enjoying this.
“That’s funny,” Garrett finally says, and he hates that his voice comes out more scratchy, letting her know that she caught him off guard. He glances around. “I don’t see him.”
She cuts up another piece of pancake, taking her sweet time letting him wallow in the charged silence. She picks one up with a fork and only pauses when it’s hovering near her perfect lips. “You will.”
The Bruins lose. Badly. 2-5, with Garrett only scoring one of two. In hindsight, he knows he did his best; the pressure was on; they were on the Rangers home rink; fucking Phil was in the stands looking at him with a small smile that he itches to punch off his face. But the loss feels like a loss, anyway. And Garret’s never been one to lose elegantly. The one good thing about not being captain, though, was that he gets to fuck off and forgo post-game interviews in favor of wallowing in the shower.
He gets a few pats in the back and shoulders as he walks past the tunnel. From behind him near the rink, he hears the voice of their captain, Luke, beginning his rounds of questions, his voice clipped back but polite, a bit out of breath but still composed. Garrett doesn’t know how he does it, but he supposes Luke is a veteran at this point, having played for the Bruins for over a decade and being captain for five years.
“You win some, you lose some,” someone says from the side of the room, and Garrett looks over to see Andrew Sinclair, his arms crossed in front of his chest, lips turned into a frown. That’s not what Garrett’s eye focuses on, though, because beside him, clad in the same black trench coat she was wearing the night before, stands her, hair just as windswept, face carefully blank.
Her eyes suddenly avert towards him, and he finds himself halting in his steps. She raises an eyebrow, as if saying, ‘I thought you said you were ready?’ which doesn’t make his mood any better, so he huffs out a breath and continues towards the locker room.
He takes a long shower, letting the hot water melt away the agitation sitting on top of his skin like dirt. He hears his teammates coming and going. His phone is probably blowing up. Some pitying messages from his friends. Tucker had organized a watch party at the hockey house. Logan and Dean definitely watched from their own places. They probably knew from the moment Garrett stepped foot on the ice that something was off. They’d played together enough times for them not to. He doesn’t even want to start with the internet and what they’re saying about him. Reddit’s probably tearing them to shreds. Twitter’s probably full of puck bunnies defending them. It’s exactly what he doesn’t need.
The hot water runs out, and Garrett is forced to step out of the cubicle, dripping to his toes. He snatches his towel and begins to dry himself off in quick, calculated movements, already envisioning the bed in his hotel room and the flight back. He can’t wait to get away.
The door to the locker room swings open, and Luke walks in, half his gear already falling off his body. He starts at the sight of him. “Graham. You’re still here?”
“Long shower,” he answers, shoving his legs into the gray sweats he brought. He dresses methodically. Deodorant. White t-shirt. His beloved Briar hoodie. A few sprays of cologne.
“You okay?”
Garrett hates the careful tone. Like he’s a ticking time bomb. Like he’s a kid about to throw a temper tantrum. Nothing in the way he plays or has behaved since he went pro indicated that he’s the type of person to do that. He worked fucking hard throughout college to cure himself of that innate anger. But that doesn’t matter to anyone outside his inner circle, because to them, he’ll always be Phil Graham’s son. “I’m fine, man. Not the first game we lost; it certainly won’t be the last.”
He shoulders his duffel bag and walks away.
She is right outside when he steps out of the locker room, back pressed to the cold wall, legs crossed over the other, one hand busy with her phone while the other is tucked into her coat pocket.
“Hey,” Garrett blinks in surprise, adjusting the bag on his shoulder.
“Hey, yourself.” She gives him a smile. Garrett notes that she still looks annoyingly beautiful, like she waited in the hallway just to haunt him. “So…”
“Don’t,” he shakes his head, already knowing where she’s going with this.
She looks at him, mustering an innocent expression that’s betrayed by the light in her eyes. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to,” Garrett says with a sigh.
She tilts her head, eyes narrowed at him like she’s examining him for something. He hates that he feels her gaze straight to his stomach. “You don’t know me.”
“I know that you wanted us to win tonight,” Garrett shrugs. “And we ate shit. We both know it.”
She considers him for a second, and then she shrugs, a real smile tugging her lips upwards. “Okay. That goal was clean, though, I’ll give you that.”
“Thanks,” he deadpans. “That makes me feel so much better.”
“I aim to please.”
“Yeah?” Garrett raises an eyebrow. He feels another pang in his stomach at seeing how that makes her falter, her cheeks turning darker with heat.
She bites her lip, like she’s choosing her next words carefully. “You should stop flirting with me.”
Garrett walks closer, until he’s only a few steps away from her. “Why?”
Up close like this, he can see each heave her chest makes, going up and down in time with her breaths. He can see her fingers twitch, like she’s aching to touch him just as much. She wants him. Garrett is almost confident about that. She’s just holding herself back. And Garrett’s never been one to back down from a challenge.
“I told you,” she says, voice low in a register that makes him swallow harshly. “I have a boyfriend.”
“Right,” he nods, pursing his lips. “And I still don’t see him.”
Before she could speak, the locker room door opens again, and Luke steps out, hair unbrushed and dripping wet like he didn’t have the time to towel it dry. Garrett steps back from her instinctively, but he frowns when he sees the way she tenses up, arms coming to wrap around herself.
“Babe,” Luke greets, and Garrett watches in silent horror as his captain crosses the space between them and presses a chaste but tender kiss to her temple. “I’ve got a quick meeting with our coaches. I’ll meet you at the hotel?”
She nods, smiling up at him. But it looks different. Mellower, maybe. Whatever it is, it’s a far cry from how she smiled at Garrett earlier, and definitely leagues away from how she smiled last night. Garrett feels his feet stuck in place, like his shoes have suddenly been glued to the concrete floor. He watches the entirety of their ten second interaction mutely, lips slightly parted in shock, brain going about a thousand miles per minute trying to compute what he’s seeing.
“See you, Graham,” Luke says to him, as if finally registering his presence.
Garrett doesn’t flinch, but it’s a close thing. “Yeah, bud.”
His throat feels dry. He knows he’s frowning, looking at her with unhidden confusion. She refuses to meet his gaze, which only serves to deepen his frown.
He waits until Luke is out of sight before clearing his throat, because not doing so will definitely result in his voice sounding pathetic. “Him?” Garrett wishes he could unsee the way she jumps at the words, even if his voice remains low. “Luke’s your boyfriend?”
She glares at the floor for a second before averting it on him. She juts her chin out defiantly. “Yes. And?”
“I–” Garrett struggles to find the appropriate words, so in the end he just goes for the truth, which more often than not gets him going straight for the jugular. “He’s old.”
“He’s not old.”
“He’s like forty.”
She glares even harder. “He’s thirty-eight.”
“You can’t be older than twenty-five,” Garrett continues, his mind still trying to process what he witnessed. The term of endearment. The casual touch and kiss. It makes his skin crawl.
“I’m twenty-three. I’m an adult.” She shakes her head, but she sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than him.
Garret clenches his jaw. He didn’t even know Luke had a girlfriend. And Andrew Sinclair’s daughter, of all people? How can her dad approve? How is this not a big news somewhere? Is he so offline that he wasn’t aware of the two of them?
“I can literally hear you thinking, you know,” She tells him, her tone more forcibly relaxed now, as if she’s decided that whatever is on his mind isn’t worth the fight. Because who is Garrett, anyway? He’s just a stranger who plays for her father’s former team whom she had dinner with one night. And not even a date-dinner, either. Just dinner. An unplanned one. At a diner. They had pancakes, for god’s sake. “Just say it.”
Garrett swallows harshly. Where she was within reach just a few seconds ago, now she feels lightyears away, barricaded by invisible forces and a glaring neon sign saying ‘CAPTAIN’S GIRLFRIEND. DO NOT KISS.’ His brain is still catching up on trying to uphold the suddenly very sacred rule that’s been laid out in front of him.
“I think,” he starts to say, trying to ignore how his body responds to the way she looks, the way she’s looking at him like she’s waiting for him to drop the other shoe, how much he hated it when Luke got too close to her. “I think I need a drink.”
She pauses for a second, before a slow grin takes up her entire face. “Perfect. Lead the way.”
The next time Garrett sees her is months later, at the NHL Awards held in Las Vegas where he’s up for the Calder Memorial Trophy award as Rookie of the Year. It’s something Garrett never even considered within the realm of possibility; something even his dad hadn’t achieved in his career. And so Garrett spends the whole week leading up to it buzzing under his skin. He takes Logan as his plus one, because Tucker is busy with college and letting Dean loose in a room full of important people is a recipe for disaster. He doesn’t see her on the red carpet when he walks it–he doesn’t think of her at all, actually, which is a rarity in itself. The Rangers game had been the last one she attended for the season so far; something about being busy in grad school studying sports journalism that he only knows about because they’ve become Instagram mutuals who occasionally like and reply to each others’ stories.
Just because he hasn’t seen her in a while doesn’t mean Garrett forgets about her, though. The second night they spent together at his Manhattan hotel bar bonding over hard liquor, fruity cocktails, and Hockey stays engraved in Garrett’s mind. The way she looked that night, flushed from the alcohol and temples damp with sweat. How freely she laughed at all his quips, even when he wasn’t trying to be funny. How she avoided the topic of her controversially older boyfriend (who happens to be Garrett’s captain) expertly, dodging his subtle questions and launching into a different topic that will carry him away. If he had thought she was beautiful in the diner when they first met, it was nothing compared to how she looked with her walls halfway down, lips turning blue from her drink and her voice scratchy from overuse.
He had walked her up to her room, partly because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do, and also partly because he didn’t want their night to end. The need to touch her itched at his bones. He knew it couldn’t happen. It simply couldn’t. And yet he wished for it anyway the whole elevator ride, the silence between them thick with tension and unspoken want. The worst part is Garrett can see how much she wished for it too. For him. She had looked at him through the corners of her eyes the whole ride up with her lower lip bitten, as if that made things easier. When they reached her room, she had pressed up against the door, eyes dark, looking up at him through her lashes. “We should probably stay clear of each other from now on. Just to be safe.”
Garrett remembered biting back a smirk. It’s the closest she’ll ever admit to feeling the thing that is beating alive and pressing in between them, so he nodded his head, not wanting her to take the subtle admission back. “Okay.”
“Just to be safe,” she repeated, catching his eyes meaningfully.
“If you don’t go inside soon, I’m going to kiss you,” Garrett had told her, making her gasp slightly and back up even more into the door.
Her eyes had dropped to his lips afterwards. Garrett remembers this clearly, because his own had followed her gaze down, and it had taken all of his self-control not to follow his words through.
“I’m going,” she whispered, reaching out an index finger to push lightly at his chest. The contact had burned through his shirt. “Goodbye, Garrett.”
She gave him one more look, and then she got inside.
He spent five minutes standing there in the hallway, head tilted to the ceiling and cursing everything that led him to that moment.
So no. Garrett couldn’t exactly forget her after that. He tries, though.
He still hooks up with other women. He goes through his games with a single-minded focus to win, because he knows wherever she is, she’s keeping tabs on their matches. He tries not to be awkward around Luke, even when he finds himself flinching whenever he mentions her offhandedly, or whenever Garrett finds him being a little too friendly with the puck bunnies tailing after them at their away games. Garrett tries not to think about her so much that he begins dreaming about her; sometimes it’s just recollections of their time together, other times his brain tries to supply what could have happened if he’d had enough balls and kissed her in that hotel hallway anyway, even with the knowledge that she’s somebody else’s. It’s a relief, really, that his Calder nomination took his mind off her even for a moment. Garrett’s never been good at not getting what he wants. And he wants her. Badly. Almost desperately.
The problem with wanting someone you can’t have is that sometimes you long for them hard enough that they materialize right under your nose undetected. And when they do, you find yourself thinking that even the littlest of scraps from them will be fine, as long as you still get to call those parts yours. That’s what Garrett’s thinking about, anyway, sitting at the same table as her and Luke and her dad at the NHL awards, him trying to act normal at finally seeing her after months of social media stalking and shallow comments and Logan giving him questioning looks every five minutes that tells him no, he’s definitely not being normal.
He sees Luke lean in to whisper something in her ear, and his hands form fists hard enough that Logan takes notice.
“G, are you sure you’re alright?” Logan says under his breath, shooting him a concerned look. “You look…”
Angry, he doesn’t say out loud, but Garrett already knows. His jaw is clenched. His hands fisted. He probably looks pissed off as fuck. And she is sitting there, eyes darting towards him every once in a while like she’s allowed. Like she knows what she’s doing to him and she does it anyway.
“I’m fine,” Garrett manages to grit out, forcing himself to relax. “Just nerves.”
She cut her hair, he realizes blatantly, the waves now falling just past her shoulders. And her dress. God. Deep-burgundy, leather, plunging. It’s like she’s designed just to test his limits.
Their eyes meet again. Her lips twitch, like she knows exactly what’s going on in his mind.
Fucking hell.
“I think you’re up next,” Logan says, perking up in his seat. “You ready, G?”
Garrett reaches for his glass of water and gulps it down. He shakes his head, mostly to himself. “I’m not gonna get it.”
“You’re gonna get it.”
His eyes snap towards her, who has raised her eyebrow at him challengingly. Luke is preoccupied talking to their coach seated beside him, but her father hears her and raises his glass in Garrett’s direction with a laugh. “Oh, definitely.”
Garrett forces himself to look away from her, the stubborn set to jaw her making the room feel a hundred degrees hotter.
“You’re gonna get it,” Logan says this time, lips pulled up in excitement. “And if you don’t, fuck it, right? You had your best fucking season yet, man. Savor it because I’m stealing the thunder in the next one.”
That eases the ball of nerves in his gut, and Garrett finally lets out a genuine chuckle. Logan’s been unbearable ever since finding out he’s being promoted to the NHL for the next season, but Garrett can’t say he isn’t relieved to be finally playing with his best friend again.
The announcers go on stage, and Garrett feels his grip on his glass tighten. It’s not a big deal, really. He still had an amazing rookie season. He’s swimming in money and sponsorships. He just bought a new car the other week. It’s not a big deal that Phil never even got nominated, or that for once he didn’t bother to show up and ruin his night. It’s no big deal that he feels her staring at him, like she’s so sure he’s going to win.
And then it happens.
He wins.
Their table erupts in cheers, all of them standing to their feet. Garrett feels weightless. Logan is shaking him by the shoulders, but he seems to have lost his hearing, the noise around him muffled and unintelligible. For a second, his eyes meet her’s; her smile is small compared to the other people around them, her hands politely clapping. But her eyes. Warm and wanting and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Garrett clears his throat and tries to think of unsavory thoughts the whole way to the stage. He’s not going to receive his Calder trophy with a visible hard-on, thank you very much.
The after party is loud and dark. Occasionally, a stripe of neon would cut across the space and make Garrett wince, but he knows better than to leave too early. Every time someone spots him, they reach for a hug or a handshake, so familiar with him even if he’s never seen their faces before. He’s showered with congratulations and good jobs and enough compliments to boost his ego straight to space. He thinks of the trophy he won, sitting all by its lonesome in his hotel room nightstand. He barely had the time to put it there before he was dragged back down, because he simply couldn’t miss the celebration as the ‘man of the hour.’
Logan is out there somewhere, already smashed in the face. The last time Garrett had seen him, he’d been embarrassingly emotional about the whole thing, which Garrett would never admit had made his own throat feel tight. And then some of the guys from the team snatched him over, talking about some initiation for the new recruits. Garrett watched them drag his best friend away with a reluctant smile, the drink in his hand clinking from the melting ice cubes.
He doesn’t mean to brood or stand alone in one corner. It just sort of happens that way. Everything still feels so surreal. Being in the pros. Winning the Calder Memorial Trophy. Finally getting Logan in the team with him. He feels out of his body. He doesn’t know how to deal with the thing he’s been working towards since he could remember slowly happening right in front of him, unfolding like a red carpet he’s meant to just walk on casually. Garrett’s torn between being happy and being anxious that at some point, it will all end. Not exactly the celebratory thoughts someone who just won rookie of the year should have.
Garrett smells her perfume before he can even see her coming. It’s the same one she wore that night in the Manhattan hotel bar, the same one that permeated his senses as he stood across from her in the hallway in front of her room. She walks closer until she’s right beside him, her shoulder pressing against the same wall. “It should be illegal to look that broody with the night you’re having.”
“Hey,” he greets her, eyes fighting to stay on her face. It’s not an easy fight; with her close like this, he can feel the heat coming from her skin, see the rise and fall of her chest in his periphery.
“Garrett,” she says, biting back a smile. “Congratulations.”
That gets a real smile from him that he tries to tamper down immediately. “Thank you. Where’s Luke?”
“Wow,” she says, raising her eyebrows to her hairline. “Straight to the point, are we?”
Garrett shrugs, and then he adds, just because it’s the truth and it’s been gnawing at him since he saw her seated at his table earlier that night, “You look beautiful.”
The words make her pause for a second.
“Luke is here somewhere,” she tells him. Her eyes have little specks of gold in between the green. Her irises are blown wide. He tries not to think too much about the reason why. “I’m not his keeper.”
“No,” Garrett agrees with a tilt of his head. “You’re his girlfriend.” The word feels bitter in his mouth. Wrong. It bothers him enough that he adds, just to tease, “and yet.”
She swallows. “And yet?”
“You’re here.” Garrett says with another shrug. “With me.”
She scoffs, her arms crossing in front of her chest. She does that a lot, he noticed. When conversations veer out of her control, or when she’s even the slightest bit uncomfortable. Garrett doesn’t know her, not really, but he knows body language. And hers is loud and easy to translate. “To offer my congratulations.”
“Sure,” he acquiesces with a nod, just a touch condescending, because he knows how to get a reaction from her.
“You’re so sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“I’m sure of what I want,” Garrett corrects, stepping just a bit closer.
She breathes in deeply through her nose. Her lips are parted, the red painting them slightly smudged now. Garrett wants to mess them up even more. Wants that color branded all over him. “Luke is your captain.”
“I know,” he says, because he does. He knows there’s no way this is going to end well. Garrett isn’t one to wish for things other people already have ownership of. He’s not one to wreck relationships. But he’s never wanted anyone as much as he wants her. And in his fucked up brain, that takes precedence. “You know the saying. What he doesn’t know…”
Like he said. Want something hard enough and you’ll settle for scraps.
“You’re impossible,” she says, but the want is clear in her eyes, and her body is fully tilted towards him, like she just can’t help herself.
“I’m in room 3504,” Garrett says, because he’s presumptuous and cocky and he’s burning underneath his skin.
Her jaw drops, a chuckle getting out. “Impossible.”
Garrett finally lets himself look. He doesn’t hold back; he trails his eyes from her face to the skin of her neck slowly, down to her chest and the delicious swells of her breasts, the curve of her waist accentuated by the leather dress, the dip in her hips. He knows she’s trying to appear unaffected, but her chest puffs out under his scrutiny, like she subconsciously wants him to study her further.
“Goodnight,” Garrett tells her simply, like he hadn’t just been looking over her like a starved man.
Something flashes in her eyes. Regret maybe. Lust, definitely. Garrett allows himself to smirk. Just once. And then he leaves.
The after party’s basically dead, anyway.
The knock comes sooner than he expects.
He’s probably been in his room for eight, ten minutes, his shoes kicked off, his suit jacket thrown over an armchair, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, when the sound echoes throughout the hotel room, sending heat down his spine instantly. No one else would bother him this time of the night. Everyone is too drunk and too tired and too preoccupied. So really, it could only be one person.
Garrett gulps down harshly. It’s a bad idea–the worst, actually. There’s no way he’s getting out of this unscathed. And yet the image of her there right outside his door, unable to resist him, wearing that dress that’s been driving him insane all night…All morals go out the window.
He crosses the room in three big strides. The second he opens the door, his breath leaves him.
For the first time since he met her, she looks unsure of herself. Her hands are fisted by her sides, but Garrett can see them shaking. Her shoulders are hunched slightly. She looks breathless, like she ran from the elevator to his door. But her eyes are clear. Determined. She wants this as much as he does.
He opens his mouth to speak, but she beats him to it.
“Shut up.” She places one palm to his chest, already heaving with anticipation. The touch burns him instantly, the direct skin contact from his unbuttoned shirt sending tingles down his spine. She walks him backwards, lips bitten, and kicks the door close. It’s the hottest thing Garrett has ever seen.
“Listen–”
Her hand on his chest suddenly grips his shirt to pull him close, their bodies flushing together. “Just shut the fuck up and kiss me.”
And, well, who the hell was he to decline?
They don’t mean for it to become an affair.
That’s what Garrett says to himself, anyway, three weeks later in another hotel room, this time in New Jersey before their game with the Devils. She’s riding him steadily, her hands braced on his chest and her head thrown back. Garrett’s gripping the sides of her hips like a lifeline, helping her bounce on him, his feet planted on the mattress to get more power behind his thrusts.
It was supposed to be a one-time thing. Something to take the edge off. To get her out of his system and vice versa.
“Fuck,” she cries out, nails digging into the skin of his chest. Her mouth is dropped open, eyes closed shut. She feels so good wrapped around him that Garrett doesn’t even know what sex felt like before her anymore. “Garrett.”
“I know,” he grits out, squeezing her hips. “I know, baby.”
A choked sob leaves her straight from the chest. “I’m close.”
“I know,” he says again, before reaching one hand down between her legs where their bodies are meeting, finding her swollen nub of nerves expertly. “Let me help you.”
He feels her clench around him, and his thrusts stutter in pleasure. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, but Garrett can’t help himself. He’s addicted–to her taste, to the way she feels, to her mouth, to the sounds that leave her lips when they’re tied together like this. Every single time with her feels like a revelation. The pleasure is always white-hot and delicious, the guilt secondary. Because who the fuck cares about screwing over his captain when his girl feels like liquid gold sinking down his cock?
“Don’t–” she says, slightly slurring. “Don’t stop. Please. Please.”
Garrett keeps his pace steady, the rough pad of his thumb rubbing harsh circles on her clit. He knows how close she is just by how much her cunt is fluttering around him, her hips jolting with every thrust, her face screwed up in abandon.
He sits up suddenly, and the angle change causes another loud cry from her mouth. He buries his face in her jaw. Licks at her neck, her shoulder blades, the pulse point beating erratically under her skin. “Need you closer.”
“No marks,” she gasps out, but he barely registers the words. She shifts her head just enough to press their lips together. It’s messy and unbidden, the kind that he knows isn’t pretty from the outside; all spit and tongue and teeth clanging together. But the feel of her warm mouth on his gets a groan from his chest. Something about how dirty it is gets to him. The pure instinct of it. No false pretenses. Just raw need.
Garrett feels her whole body tighten, around him and over him and against him, and suddenly she’s coming with a muffled shout, her thighs shaking from where she’s straddling him, the long line of her neck exposed. He can’t resist it, so he leans forward and nips at the skin there with his teeth, and with a loud grunt, he follows her over the edge, pumping her full of his release.
The comedown is slow. She collapses on him, her knees giving out, but Garrett is unbothered by the extra weight. If anything, the close pressing of their bodies add to the warmth smothering his chest from the inside. She digs her nose into his neck and for a while they just lay there, him panting soft breaths into her hair, her warming his softening cock that’s still stuffed inside of her.
“All good?” He finally manages to say, moving his head so he can look at her face.
Her eyes are closed, but her lips are ticked slightly upwards, a pleased smile if he’s ever seen one. “Stop fishing.”
“I’m asking how you are, Sinclair, not for a performance review.” Garrett chuckles.
She huffs and opens her eyes. “Fine. 10/10, no notes–Garrett!”
Her squeal cuts off her own words, Garrett’s fingers finding their way to her waist and tickling the sensitive spots there. The movement makes him slip out of her, which in turn causes her to gasp for a whole other reason.
“Sorry,” Garrett says, not feeling sorry at all. He stands up with a groan, then drags a hand down her arm gently. “Let me get you a warm towel.”
Her hand shoots out and catches his wrist, halting him. “Don’t bother. I need a shower.”
His eyebrows raise at that, gazing down at her naked body sprawled on his hotel sheets, sweat-glistened and perfect. “Oh?”
“Alone,” she corrects with a roll of her eyes. “Besides, don’t you have a team dinner in, like, fifteen minutes? Luke said something about going over some tapes informally.”
Garrett immediately tenses up at the mention of her boyfriend.
She notices, because of course she does, and her face falls, the mood in the room suddenly flipping. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he shakes his head immediately, his jaw muscles working overtime. “Just. Do me a favor? Don’t mention him when you’re still naked in my bed with my come dripping out of you.”
She gives him a look. “Garrett.”
“What?” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “It’s a fair request.”
Listen. Garrett knows he’s a piece of shit. He knows he’s fucking another man’s girl. Knows that he’s on the losing end of this arrangement. But that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t suck. That it doesn’t make his chest ache sometimes when he thinks about their situation for too long. Or when she goes to a game wearing Luke’s name and number but having her eyes locked on Garrett, like that makes him feel any better. Like that doesn’t make him feel less like a dirty little secret. Whatever. He knows what he signed up for.
She sits up slowly, looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face. And then she’s closer, enough to wrap her arms around his waist and press her forehead to his stomach. His abs contract at that, and his cock stirs in half-interest.
“I’m sorry,” she says against his skin, her warm breath hitting him softly. “Hey. I’m sorry, okay?”
She tilts her head so only her chin is pressing against his stomach this time, her eyes catching his.
Garrett feels the tension leave his bones slowly, like blood oozing out of a small wound. One of his hands pushes back her hair to cradle her cheek. Sitting there by the bed, looking up at him with such gentleness and remorse, bare and pressed up against him and so comfortable in her nudity…It’s a losing fight. Because right now she looks like she’s his, and Garrett can’t always tame the part of him that wants her to stay that way.
The first time she stays the night is during the off-season. They get a little break, just over two weeks, before starting with practice again. Luke goes home to his parents in Canada, and she goes home to Garrett’s Boston apartment.
She brings one duffel bag of clothes, only planning to stay for at most four days. She ends up staying the entire break.
The novelty of not having to sneak out of hotel rooms and look over their shoulders and cut their meetings short is like a drug. They spend almost the entire first week fucking on every surface of Garrett’s apartment: his bedroom, of course, and then braced against his vanity table and in front of the mirror; his gigantic tub, and then the bathroom sink; in the living room on the couch, on the living room floor, against the floor-to-ceiling one-sided windows. The kitchen is a dangerous place, because playing house and being domestic on top of all the fucking has Garrett developing some sort of pavlovian response to the sight of his quartz countertop. He had laid her there one morning and buried his face in between her legs long enough that they were both afraid the scent of her wouldn’t rub off the surface anymore.
One night, about nine days in, she ties Garrett up to his headboard with fuzzy pink handcuffs that are surprisingly quite durable. She wears a black lace set that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination and grinds and teases him to oblivion, until he’s a panting, pleading mess.
“Please, baby,” Garrett croaks out when she slips the panties off with a wiggle of her hips. He feels her dripping over his stomach. Sees her nipples poking out from the flimsy fabric of her bra. “I can–I can smell you. Feel you dripping.”
She hums, rubbing herself all over him. He struggles against the handcuffs hard enough to rattle the headboard. “Can you?”
Before he can speak, she lifts her waist and shifts her body down. For a moment Garrett thinks she’s going to take him in her mouth, but she skips his cock entirely and heads for his abdomen where her wetness has spread. “Oops. I made a mess. Sorry.”
And then she sticks her tongue out and licks his belly clean.
“Fuck,” Garrett breathes out, straining against the cuffs again. “Fuck. Fuck. Come here. Baby, please.”
She’s grinning when she comes up, both hands braced on his shoulders and looking way too proud of herself. Garrett is too far gone to care. “What, baby?”
The nickname sends another streak of heat down his spine. “Come–fuck, just sit on my face. Sit on my fucking face.”
She freezes for a second. “What?”
“Please,” he sounds absolutely wrecked, his throat cracking with want and desperation.
She exhales shakily, and then she moves up on his body until she’s hovering over his head. Her thighs are already trembling, her desire smearing on the insides messily. “Like this?”
The second she drops down on him, Garrett pounces. He eats her out like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Drinks her juices like a stranded man on a dessert who found an oasis. Groans at the taste like it’s the best meal he’s ever had.
“Shit, Garrett,” she hisses, her eyes rolling back from the feel of his mouth, one hand coming up to brace against the headboard. Her hips jerk involuntarily with each stroke of his tongue, the flush in her face going down to her chest. “Yes. That–that’s it.”
The sounds they’re making are obscene. They’ve never been this loud before, had never been brave enough to allow themselves to be. Illicit affairs are meant to be kept secret, hidden in between random hotel rooms and carparks and the occasional public bathroom, with hands covering mouths and muffling noises that otherwise would inform everyone else of what’s going on. But in here, in Garrett’s apartment, in his bedroom, they can be whatever the fuck they want to be.
“Not gonna last,” she mumbles. Garrett can already feel her twitching, the telltale signs of her orgasm that he has memorized so much they’re already engraved in his brain appearing flawlessly. “Garrett.”
He hums against her, and that’s all it takes. She comes with her mouth open in a silent scream, her breath leaving her lungs violently, riding his face for all its worth. It’s not graceful or perfectly on beat. That’s always what sets his veins on fire. It’s instinct; the most basic, human kind. Garrett could die suffocating on her release and he’d go a happy man.
“Uncuff me,” he manages to pant out when she pulls away just enough to sit on his stomach again, still loose-limbed and floaty from her orgasm. “Baby. Uncuff me. Now, please.”
“Hold on,” she scrambles for the keys on the nightstand. She unlocks the cuffs with shaky fingers, her thighs still twitching from the aftershocks. The second his hands are free, Garrett’s on her, switching them so suddenly it makes her squeal. “Fuck!”
He huffs his laughter in her face, grin bright and eyes dark, his chain dangling in the space between their chests. “You done?”
“Is that rhetorical?”
Garrett gives her an unimpressed look before ducking down and catching her lips against his. He times it badly; her mouth is open, so the first press has him kissing the air inside her mouth and her basically eating his lips. Before she can laugh at that though, Garrett uses his hips to press her down, one hand going to her chin to adjust the angle and press their mouths together properly. She moans against him, gripping the nape of his neck and tugging at the curls there.
He pulls away enough to breathe against her lips, “I need to be inside you so bad.” He shifts his weight and then hooks one of her legs over his hip. “Ready?”
She nods wordlessly, breasts heaving up and down in a torturous sight. Garrett guides himself to her entrance and doesn’t wait a second more before sinking into her tight heat.
“Fuck,” she gasps, hands coming up to his shoulders.
Garrett gives her another kiss. Chaste, this time, but no less heated. And then he begins to move his hips. He sets a furious pace, knowing this isn’t one of those times to drag it out. He’s been on the edge since she tied him up and gave him a show. He’s aching with the need to finish inside of her, to feel her milk him dry, to hear the choked whimper she always lets out whenever he does. He bends down and takes one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking harshly.
“Shit, Garrett,” she curses with a gasp, her entire body jolting in place. Her grip on his hair tightens, and then she’s guiding him down to her face again for another kiss, their salivas mixing messily. “Hmm.”
“You feel so fucking good,” Garrett tells her once they pull away, breath fanning against her face. “Never been this good.”
Her face does something at that, but Garrett’s not really in the proper mental space to decipher what it means. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, baby.”
She reaches down to play with her own clit, but Garrett snatches her hand away, making her whine in protest. “Garrett.”
“No,” he grunts out, thrusting harder and getting a broken “oh!” from her mouth. “Want you to finish just like this. With just my cock.”
“I–” she stutters, eyes fluttering at another deep thrust. “I don’t know if–if I can.”
“Course you can,” Garrett adjusts their bodies slightly, and when he sinks down inside her again, he hits her right where she needs him, her sharp cry cutting sharply across the room. “There you go.”
He sees her eyes begin to fill with tears. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
Garrett can feel her clenching around him, can feel her thighs shaking almost violently where they’re pressing on his sides. It feels fucking amazing, the way it always is with her. And Garrett isn’t even sure what makes fucking her so different. He’s been with plenty of other women before. But he and her slot into place like they’ve been molded from the same clay. Like they’re just right for each other. He doesn’t think he’s alone in thinking this. He doesn’t think it’s just him. He doesn’t think Luke had ever fucked her this good.
Sweat drips down both of their foreheads. Garrett loses his sense of time. All that matters is how hard she’s gripping him, the little whimpers from her lips, the teary eyes that refuse to look away from him. It’s fucking intense and it’s everything Garrett can’t imagine going without.
He begins to feel the familiar tightening that starts low from his stomach. He tries hard to keep his pace, but it grows frantic anyway, because it feels too good and Garrett can only have so much self-control.
She feels it too. “Inside,” she gasps out, digging her fingernails into his skin hard enough he’s sure she’s leaving half-moon marks. “I want it inside me. Come inside me, baby, please.”
“Jesus Christ,” Garrett groans, burying his face in her neck.
“Garrett–” she cries out, and it’s his only warning before she starts squirting around him, gushing all over his bedsheets with a choked gasp.
Garrett lets out a sound, more animal than man, and buries himself as deep inside her as he can. “Shit.”
He continues fucking her through both their orgasms, their bodies trembling with aftershocks.
Somehow the night simmers into something delicate and quiet. His hips move gently over hers, his hand tangling with her hair to get her to look at him. She’s so fucking beautiful his chest hurts, so he closes the distance between them and kisses her while they both wind down, soft and filled with something they’re both too cowardly to name.
They’re freshly-showered and hungry. She is attempting to assemble a meal from the minimal ingredients Garrett has in his fridge and pantry while he’s sitting on his kitchen island watching her work. She’s wearing his shirt–an old Briar U Hockey one that’s slightly loose on the neckline and frayed at the edges. She looks comfortable. At ease. The image gives him all kinds of wrong ideas.
“You surprisingly have a decent amount of greens,” she tells him, face buried in the fridge.
Garrett snorts. “Don’t give me too much credit. I rarely do my own grocery shopping.”
She straightens up at that just to shoot him an unimpressed look, her nose scrunched up in fake disgust. “Forgot you’re an elite athlete with access to money and nutritionists for a second. My bad.”
“If you wanted a demonstration of my athleticism, you could have just asked.”
“Fuck off,” she says back before opening one of his kitchen cabinets. “I can probably do a veggie stir fry. That alright?”
“Yum,” Garrett nods, pauses, then adds, “Protein?”
She doesn’t stomp her feet, but it’s a close thing. “Ugh. Fine. There’s chicken breast here somewhere.”
They spend a few quiet minutes just existing around each other. Garrett tries to play some game on his phone, a mobile version of the Hockey video game they loved to play in college that Dean had recommended in their gc, but every few minutes he gets distracted by her moving in front of him. He never thought the sight of someone chopping vegetables and hovering over the stove with one hand on their hip would get him going, but like he said. He’s developing pavlovian responses to every single thing in his house these days.
She reaches for some seasoning somewhere to the right of her, causing the shirt she’s wearing to ride up. Garrett can’t take it anymore, so he crosses the room and immediately wraps his arms around her from behind, nosing her neck and inhaling her scent deeply. She smells like his body wash and his laundry detergent and it makes him hug her to his body even tighter.
“I’m cooking,” she admonishes, but he can tell it’s half-hearted by the smile threatening to take over her face. She leans back against him, her head to his shoulder, and shoots him a side-look. “Hi.”
“You’re pretty,” he mumbles into her skin. He can’t resist it; he nips at her clothed shoulder with his teeth.
That makes her yelp. “Garrett!”
“That’s taking way too long,” he points at the pan of veggies offensively. “Come on. Let’s eat later.”
She laughs, a bright, tinkling sound that Garrett feels reverberating in his chest. “Garrett. We can’t just fuck and sleep the whole two weeks. We need sustenance.”
His eyebrows raise to his hairline. “Sustenance?”
“Shut up,” she laughs again at the sight of his smile slowly growing bigger.
“You sound like my friend, Tucker,” Garrett chuckles, fingers traveling down her sides to squeeze at her hips. He doesn’t move away even when she continues stirring at the pan, just lets his body follow quietly along with her movements.
She hums. “You miss them? Your friends?”
“Sometimes,” Garrett says, but then she turns her head slightly to give him a disbelieving look. He huffs. “Fine. A lot. I guess. I mean–I kind of spent most of my life alone. Solo sports clinics and training. I went to boarding school at eleven and didn’t really click with anyone there. But for four whole years, I had the guys.”
She places the spatula she’s holding down to turn towards him fully. “They’re your family.”
“Yeah,” Garrett shrugs, swallowing around the sudden tightness in his throat. “It feels weird that we live different lives now. Sometimes in the mornings I still expect to wake up to Tucker’s cooking, or Dean wreaking havoc in the living room, or Logan fiddling with his tools.”
She flicks the stove off. “You said you went to boarding school at eleven?” When he nods at that, her eyebrows furrow, like she can’t quite wrap her head around it. “Why?”
That makes him laugh, even as he’s reaching behind her to grab two empty bowls for them. “Because my dad’s an asshole and my mom died? I don’t know.”
“You never talk about him,” she suddenly says, voice more careful now, her eyes examining him closely. “Your dad.”
“I rarely talk to him, so.”
“He’s why you were so out of it at the Rangers game, right?” She asks. She begins scooping the stir fry into their bowls. “Can you grab us some forks?”
Garrett does as he’s told, then tips his head towards the kitchen island.
He doesn’t want to talk about his dad, especially here in the sacred space they’ve built in his apartment these past few days, in a place his dad has never stepped foot on, has never tainted. He doesn’t want to tell her how weak and incompetent Phil Graham has made him feel, because those aren’t things you tell someone who you just fuck occasionally. But even labelling what they’re doing in his head as that feels wrong somehow, like he’s betraying their connection. But what are they doing? Because she is still very much Luke’s girlfriend, and Garrett is still her dirty secret.
“Phil is a shitty person and an even more terrible dad and husband,” Garrett says instead, stabbing a piece of broccoli with his fork. “I’m better off with him out of my life. Let’s just leave it at that.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but her phone rings suddenly, buzzing against the solid countertop. They look down at it at the same time. Luke.
Immediately, Garrett is filled with this cold sensation, like he’s been doused with icy water. She looks at him like she’s guilty of something, and it makes the feeling worse. He clenches his jaw and pushes away from the island, turning his back on her and going to the fridge to pretend like he’s looking for something.
He hears her pick the call up. “Hello?”
Even just the sound of her voice, too timid and smaller than what she usually uses, gets him to grip the door of his fridge tight enough that his knuckles turn white. Still, he can’t help but be hyperfocused on every word out of her mouth, his brain trying to supply what Luke could be saying on the other line. Clearly Garrett enjoys torturing himself.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” she says, and then she laughs, fake and shallow. Garrett doesn’t know how Luke can’t tell, when her real laugh is probably the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. “It’s fine, Luke. Your parents miss you.”
He knows he’s been standing in front of the fridge too long, but he can’t bring himself to care. He can’t look at her while she’s talking to her boyfriend like they weren’t just playing house literally thirty seconds ago.
“Alright.” Luke says something on the other line that makes her pause. And then she says, almost hesitantly and definitely more quietly, “I love you too. Bye.”
His whole body tenses up.
Garrett lets the words wash over him. He closes the fridge door too hard. “I’m out of beer. I’m just going to–”
She’s right next to him in seconds, her eyebrows scrunched up, her eyes pleading. “Garrett, please.”
It slips out of him before he can fashion it into something cleaner, more eloquent: “Why are you still with him?”
She freezes. “What?”
“Why are you still with him?” Garrett repeats, slower this time. His heart is pounding in his chest. They’ve never had this conversation before. Had actively avoided having it, even.
They have all these unspoken little rules: only approach each other at parties when everyone is already too drunk to notice, don’t make eye contact for more than five seconds because apparently Garrett can’t be subtle in the slightest. During Hockey seasons, they can only fuck before games, because Luke always looks for her after. Never bring up her relationship with Luke, and in turn she can never ask about the other women in Garrett’s life. Only, there are no other women, because Garrett is stupid and weak and he hasn’t wanted anybody else ever since he got a taste of her.
And the worst part is Garrett knows she doesn’t love Luke. Not really. She can say the words and try to convince everyone including herself, but Garrett knows what in love looks like and it doesn’t look like her when she’s around Luke, all small and shrinking on herself. Garrett had been there, once, in college with the first serious relationship he ever had. Things might not have worked out with Hannah for the long run, but he still thinks of their time together fondly. He had learned a lot in that relationship. He had experienced love for the first time–love that made you better; love that made you feel tall. And whenever Luke’s around, tall is the last word he can use to describe her.
“You don’t get it,” she finally says through glassy eyes.
Garrett huffs. “You’re right. I don’t.”
“I thought we had a deal,” she continues. Garrett isn’t sure if she’s angry or frustrated or panicked. Maybe a mixture of the three. “You know I have a boyfriend. You know that we have to do this in secret.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“That's exactly the point!” She exclaims with a disbelieving laugh. “Would you honestly be bothered that I have a boyfriend if we were just sleeping around? If this is still just casual for you?”
Garrett wants to tell her that it was never casual to him, not really. He wants to tell her that thinking about her being with Luke makes him sick to the stomach. That sometimes he gets nightmares about everyone finding out and a huge fight breaking out between him and his captain on the ice, a direct parallel to one of the biggest mistakes he made in college (not that he regrets bashing in that monster’s face). But the words feel too deep for what they are. Too real. Because she’s right; he knew what he was getting into. He didn’t sleep with her because he had this delusion that she’s going to leave her boyfriend for him.
“It’s not about me,” Garrett shakes his head. “It’s not. I don’t care if we’re casual or if you’re hooking up with a dozen other people. That’s your prerogative and I’m not your boyfriend. I care that you’re staying in a relationship with someone almost twice your age when you’re clearly unhappy and not in love with him.”
Her face cracks open. She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, so they just stand there awkwardly in the middle of his kitchen in silence. Finally, when the quiet is close to suffocating, she says, “He’s retiring this year.”
“What?”
“He’s retiring,” she repeats, backing up until she’s leaning against the counter. “His family’s been convincing him to retire since he turned 35. That was already pushing it, especially for Hockey. But he’s finally doing it this year.”
Garrett frowns, confused. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“He helped me a lot when we first got together,” she explains, looking down to fiddle with her hands. “I was sort of a problem child. Comes with the territory of being a legacy kid, I guess. I was just so…angry. At my dad for never being around. At myself for still wanting to be a sports journalist when it’s so intrinsically tied to him. I was lost. Drugs and parties and everything that can help me release all that anger.”
Garrett doesn’t say anything, letting her words marinate in the air while he fights to keep down a reaction. Because aren’t they the same? Hasn’t he been struggling with the same things, the same anger, all throughout his life? Drugs, parties, alcohol, or endless trainings, non-commitments, and obsessive focus—they’re all just different ways of getting to that same harmful escape.
She sniffs and then continues, “And when he first asked me out, he promised that he’d help me straighten myself out. Help me become more mature. Sober. He had this five-step regime—“ she lets out a wet laugh. “He’d make me do cardio every time I wanted to get high. Had me down a green juice every time I wanted to get wasted. He brought me to games. He got me closer to my dad again. To this world that I so stubbornly left yet desperately miss.”
She finally looks up and meets Garrett’s eyes. “He was there for me when I needed someone. Molded me when I needed shaping. And when he retires, he’s going to need me, and I’d feel awful if I left him alone when that time comes.”
“Love isn’t owed, baby,” Garrett tells her. His voice comes out tired and almost pleading, because he needs her to hear him out. “No matter what he did for you. I mean–what’s the endgame here? Stay with him, marry him, have his kids just because you feel like you owe him? Just find some other guy to sleep with to satiate your needs in the meantime? Does that make you feel better?”
She glares up at him. “I never planned to cheat on him.”
“But you did.”
“Because it’s you,” she tells him simply, like that wouldn’t ruin him, like that wouldn’t make his heart stop in his chest. She shrugs at him with a sad smile. “You snuck up on me.”
Garrett exhales loudly.
Before he knows it, he’s backing her up to the counter and gathering her in his arms, one hand coming up to cup her jaw and pulling her up to meet his mouth. The kiss is filthy and deep, with exactly the amount of passion that he knows her relationship lacks. Maybe if he kisses her hard enough, she’ll come to her senses.
He taps her hip as a warning, and then his hands are lifting her up to sit on the countertop. Her legs wrap around his waist instinctively, already twitching.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers against his lips. Garrett kisses her jaw, down to her neck, the blade of one shoulder exposed from his shirt’s stretched neckline. “I brought you into this mess.”
She did; or maybe he did it unto himself. Either way, Garrett still wants her like he’s never wanted anyone. Needs her like he needs air. So he pulls her forward and kisses her again, because if he’s going to be settling for scraps, then at least some part of him can still feel good.
Garrett spends his fourth of July with family, which means he spends it with Logan, Tucker, Dean, and their girlfriends at the Di Laurentis summer home in the Hamptons. He drives over with Logan, Grace, and Tucker and tries not to think about where she is, even though he already knows that she’s with her family at her Dad’s. He definitely also tries extra hard not to think about the headlines of Luke retiring that greeted him when he opened his twitter account last week, or the team farewell party the coaches had set up for him in a couple days. And Luke is probably with her and her family, so Garrett does his best to avoid going on social media and seeing something that is going to derail his entire weekend.
Dean is in tacky board shorts with little dolphin prints all over them, shirtless, with crooked sunglasses sitting low on his nose when they finally arrive, spreading his arms wide and yelling, “There they are!”
Garrett rolls his eyes, but his lips are already betraying him with a fond smile even before he can get out of the car.
“There’s my rookie of the year!” Dean points at him with a wide grin. “How are you, man?”
“Please tell me you’re not drunk already,” Garrett says, exasperated, but Dean just throws one arm over him for a side hug which he easily returns.
Dean smirks. “Please. I’ve matured but I’m not boring.” And then he’s welcoming Logan and Tucker with the same enthusiasm, and Garrett feels something in his chest settle at the familiarity of it all, his brothers being in one space again.
“Come on,” Dean says, gesturing to the ridiculous glass door entry way. “Allie’s just doing some self-tapes but she should be done soon. There’s a grill, a pool, a bonfire, some fireworks. It’s going to be the best weekend ever, boys.”
And for a while, it really is. Garrett forgets about the looming practice schedule that was sent to his email the night before. He forgets about the tiny pang he always gets in his chest when he finds himself craving for his friends’ company and realizing they’re leading separate lives now. He forgets about the last time he saw her before Luke came back; the intensity of it; her nails branding scars in his back, her breath mingling with his, their eyes staying locked on each other the whole way. Sex had never felt more vulnerable and more painful, and Garret had watched her pack her bag and leave his apartment with a lump in his throat the entire time.
Tucker grills them the perfect steaks while he tells them all about his senior year at Briar and how he’s thinking of pursuing his major rather than a career in sports. Allie recounts the most absurd Broadway stories and interactions with famous people known to man. Garrett and Logan lay off on the hockey talk, even if Dean purposefully brings up his assistant coaching gig for a girl’s team in the city to bait them into it.
By sunset, they’ve somehow convinced themselves that each boy had to set off his own firework, so the four of them line up near the docks with Allie and Grace watching them with their phones out. Dean accidentally sets off too early and almost falls to the water in shock, causing the rest of them to follow along clumsily. The night sky begins to take over, dark blues and purples painting the above canvas as they double over in laughter, carefree and together.
Garrett and Logan build the bonfire afterwards, and they’re sitting there huddled around the warm flames when Garrett’s phone goes off. He glances down at it absentmindedly and immediately tenses up, because she is calling. It’s the fourth of July; he’s surrounded by his family and she’s with hers, and she’s calling him.
“Excuse me,” Garrett says to no one in particular, setting his bottle of cold beer down and standing up. “I gotta take this.”
He pays no mind to the curious looks he gets at that, instead shuffling inside to the kitchen and staring at his vibrating phone for a few seconds. With a quick glance to make sure the coast is clear, he hits accept. “Hello?”
There’s a pause for a moment, like she’s surprised he answered at all, before her voice fills his ears, soft and warm. “Hey.”
“What’s up?” He asks tentatively and then immediately winces at the poor choice of words. “I mean, is there something wrong, or…?”
“No, no, God,” she laughs breathily. The sound does something to his chest. Tightens it and loosens it all at once. “Nothing’s wrong, I just–I guess I just wanted to call you. Hear your voice.”
Garrett feels his shoulders slacken at once, a short exhale leaving his lips. “Yeah?”
“Don’t be annoying about it,” she warns, and the almost petulant way she does it finally gets him to laugh.
“How was your fourth?” He asks instead, leaning against the kitchen counter more comfortably. “Had any fun?”
“Yeah,” she answers. He can almost imagine how she looks; flushed from the day’s activities, hair windswept and flying all over the place. She’s probably somewhere private, too, like her childhood bedroom. Maybe she’s in the kitchen just like him, to be away from prying ears. “Mom cooked up all her signature dishes. I feel so bloated, I swear I’m not going to be able to fit in my pants tomorrow.”
Garrett chuckles, soaking in her voice and the casual way she tells him about her day like this is something they do. Only, they don’t. Not really. They text each other stupid shit from time to time. Mostly, though, it’s schedules and addresses and hotel room numbers. This is something new, and the abnormality of it makes his heart race. “I sincerely doubt that.”
“How about you?” she asks. “How’s the Hamptons?”
“Fancy,” he answers, his face still stretched by a too-wide grin. “But nah. Tuck made a feast and Dean had us setting off fireworks in the docks. For a second, I was fully convinced we were all going to lose a limb.”
“Yikes,” she says with a laugh. “I’d pay good money to see that.”
“I’m pretty sure Allie and Grace took some videos. I’ll send them to you.”
“Allie and Grace?” Something in the tone of her voice gets Garrett to pause a little.
“Yes,” he says carefully. “Dean and Logan’s girlfriends.”
“Oh,” she exhales. “I thought–never mind.” This time, when she laughs, it’s a little different; a little self-deprecating. “When are you getting back in the city?”
Garrett half wants to press her for more, even though he already has an inkling as to what she was thinking. But digging for more is exactly the kind of unspoken rule they have that would get her all silent and apologetic when he breaks it, and right now Garrett just wants to hear her voice, so he lets the moment go. “Uh, day after tomorrow. We got our new practice schedules already, so I want to get ahead and start training early or else that first day back on the ice with the team is going to kill me.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” she says. “Dad’s already talking about taking the cup this season. It’s insane.”
Garrett groans, lifting one hand to rub his eyes. “You should not have told me that. That’s just gonna get in my head.”
“Don’t you dare. You better give me a good season, Graham.”
“You’re the boss,” he shoots back, trying to not feel silly about the stubborn smile on his face that just won’t go away. “Can we meet? When I get back?”
She’s quiet for a few seconds, enough to make Garrett anxious. They’re deliberately skating over the big elephant in the room that is Luke’s retirement announcement the previous week, deliberately acting as if nothing in their dynamic is going to change now that she’s not exactly expected to come to most of their games without her boyfriend playing. That–combined with Luke’s sudden free time–has been plaguing Garrett’s mind the entire week. The truth is that he’s been waiting; for the other shoe to drop, for her to heed what he said to her at his apartment, for anything that will throw him a bone. Right now, this phone call is as close as he’s gonna get.
“I’ll try, okay?” She says softly, voice quieter now. It shouldn’t be enough. It shouldn’t. But in Garrett’s ear, with her sounding like that, it kind of is, and if he examines that too deeply, he’s going to feel pathetic, so he takes the words for what they are. “I miss you.”
Garrett closes his eyes at that. It’s unfair that she can undo him with just three words, a four-hour drive away and belonging to someone else. It’s unfair that Garrett lets it happen, anyway. “I miss you too. You left, like, a hundred hair ties at my place.”
That makes her scoff out a laugh. “I did, huh?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles with a smile. “I don’t know how a single human could have that many and still lose every single one. I’ve been finding them in the most random places.”
“Keep them for me,” Garrett can practically hear the smile in her voice. “I’m sure I’m going to need them some day.”
“Alright,” he says, biting down on his lower lip and pretending like his heart isn’t doing ridiculous gymnastic stunts in his ribcage. “I will.”
His friends are quiet when he gets back to the backyard, the loud conversation from before lulling to a peaceful silence you only get when you’re with people you trust enough to just exist around. Allie has drifted to sitting on Dean’s lap, her head resting over his shoulder and her hands gripping her fancy cocktail glass close to her chest. Logan is on the grass sitting in between Grace’s legs while she absentmindedly braids his hair. Tucker, funnily enough, looks like he’s about to doze off in his seat, eyes drooping and mouth slightly parted. They all turn towards him when he slides the door open, but it’s Logan who calls him out on his disappearance.
“Who was that?” He asks, eyebrows slightly furrowed.
Garrett stops in place, his mind scrambling for a decent excuse but somehow only coming up with, “Uh, no one?”
It’s the exact wrong thing to say, because it causes Logan to frown deeper, Tucker to blink awake, and Dean to form an almost evil look in his eye.
“Hold on a second,” Dean says, a slow smile growing on his face. “Don’t tell me–”
“Don’t,” Garrett stops him, which, again, is a terrible idea.
Dean laughs disbelievingly. “Holy shit. You were talking to a girl.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were.”
“Fuck off, Dean.”
“Fuck!” Dean laughs louder, jolting Allie in place and causing her to slap his knee in annoyance. “I cannot believe you’re hiding a girlfriend from us. Why didn’t you bring her here, man?”
He glares at each of his friends with enough vigor that it makes the situation worse. “Because I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Do we know her?” Tucker asks, completely disregarding his words.
Garrett sighs. “There is no her.”
“Then why’d you hide away inside for a little phone call?” Logan quirks an eyebrow at him.
He gapes. “I wasn’t hiding.”
Logan just gives him a look.
“Garrett has a girlfriend?” Allie asks, suddenly invested in their conversation. She sets her cocktail glass down. “Wait, I wanna meet her.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Garrett says with a shake of his head, then immediately realizes his mistake. “Wait.”
But Dean has already sat up in his seat, one finger pointed at him like he just discovered something world-changing. Logan’s eyes are popped open and Tucker is trying to hide his smile.
“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Grace says, leaning forward.
“Garrett,” Dean says, giving him a look. His voice is low, faux serious and all condescending. “Don’t be shy. Who’s the girl?”
Garrett trudges to his seat with heavy steps. He takes the beer he set on the floor and gulps it down, wincing at the now lukewarm liquid sliding down his throat. When he’s done, all his friends are looking at him expectantly. He has to hold back a groan. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Okay…” Logan nods, waiting for him to continue.
Garrett laughs again, more dryly this time. He runs a hand over his eyes and says the words he knows he won’t be able to take back. “She’s not my girlfriend because she already has a boyfriend.”
Silence.
Almost all of them have their jaws drop open, looking at Garrett in varying degrees of shock, confusion, and uncertainty. Dean, to his credit, doesn’t say anything stupid yet, though his lips twitch like he’s already thought of exactly the wrong thing to say to make him feel worse.
“Right,” Logan says, blinking stupidly. “So we’re going to need a few more details than that.”
Allie holds her hand up. “Wait. Are you telling us that you’re—what? A side piece? Garrett Graham is someone else’s—I don’t even know what to call it. What’s the male version of mistress? Boytoy?”
“Wow. Thanks, Al,” Garrett flashes her a sarcastic smile and raises his bottle up at her. “That makes me feel so much better.”
Tucker leans forward, sleepiness completely forgotten in favor of dissecting Garrett’s love life. “Dude. Seriously. What do you mean she has a boyfriend?”
Garrett tilts his head to look at the sky. It’s dark, but unlike in the city or in Boston, he can see the stars from here, sparkling and scattered prettily above him. He wonders blithely if somewhere in her childhood home, she had attempted to see them today as well, through the tall buildings and city smog.
He’s aware that he’s about to break another one of their unspoken rules: a flashing red sign that dramatically reads ‘no one can know.’ But Garrett has been carrying this secret for almost three months now, has been carrying his want for her for even longer, so he thinks he owes it to himself to at least try and unburden a little bit of the weight from his shoulders. “I’ve been…seeing someone.”
“Someone…who has a boyfriend…” Dean supplies, dragging the words out with his eyes narrowed almost mockingly.
Garrett glares at him, but it lacks the normal heat. After an ugly pause, he continues. “Yes. She’s been having an affair. With me.”
He watches them take his words in. It’s a true testament to his trust in their bond that he knows that while it’s within their right to judge him, he knows that they will never abandon him for what he’s doing wrong. They’ll be on his ass, sure. Logan is probably already mentally preparing a whole lecture on self-respect and boundaries for the ride back to Boston. Allie is looking at him like she’s curating a to-watch list of all the affair-adjacent movies she knows that ends in absolute disaster. Only Dean is looking a little unconcerned, his eyebrows raised in a way that tells Garrett he’s a little impressed.
“Do we…” Logan trails off, rubbing at his chin. “Do we know her?”
“I’m not telling you that, man,” Garrett says with a shake of his head. “I gotta–look. I gotta protect her, right? If this gets out, it’s going to look so bad for her.”
Grace chooses that time to quip, “So it’s someone important enough that the media will care if this gets out.”
Garrett gives her a look. Not helping. She raises her arms as if to say ‘sue me.’
Another stretch of slightly uncomfortable silence, and then Dean clicks his tongue.
“Wow,” Dean finally says, leaning back in his seat.
“What?”
“I just–yeah. Wow.”
“Dean.”
Dean glances around at them. Beyond the unaffected expression, Garrett spots something real slipping through the cracks. Concern, maybe. “Just…Why?”
There’s a pause. All of them seem to be waiting for his answer with an almost buzzing curiosity that would have been funny under different circumstances.
Garrett has to exhale at that, like his breath has been stolen from him, because isn’t that the age old question? Why? Why did he agree to this? He could maybe excuse the first time, charge it towards hormones and lack of control and getting a beautiful, taken girl out of his system. But the time after that, and the time after that, and the time after that…there’s no excuse. There’s no clean explanation that could justify what they’re doing. It’s not just her relationship and reputation they’re risking; it’s hurting other people deliberately. It’s lying. It’s Garrett’s freaking career. So why? Garrett doesn’t know if he can extract a correct enough answer, so he just tells them simply, “I don’t know.”
“Are you in love with her?” It’s Allie who asks, because of course she does.
“No,” Garrett says immediately, even if something in his chest protests at the words. It’s just not possible. How can he be in love with someone he hasn’t been given a chance to love? Sure, he knows how to kiss her and touch her and fuck her in a way that makes their blood sing in their veins. But love? “I–it’s casual. It’s not a relationship or anything. We just hook up sometimes.”
Allie looks like she’s about to call him out on his bullshit. Logan definitely smells his insincerity from where he’s sitting. But it’s all that Garrett can offer that at least resembles the truth.
"You're a good guy, G,” Logan begins to say, catching his eyes and refusing to let him look away. He does that sometimes; look at him like he knows something he doesn’t. Like something is written clearly and in bold font across Garrett’s forehead that he can read but is invisible to Garrett’s own eyes. It’s annoying and also comforting, because he knows Logan will never not have his back. “You know what you’re doing is wrong. You’re also an adult. No one else is privy to your decisions. You’re allowed to make mistakes. But... Take it easy, alright? I think I can speak for all of us when I say that no one here wants to see you get hurt.”
It already does, Garrett wants to tell them. It already hurts when he wants her by his side but she can’t come because Luke is with her. Or when she’s within reach but Garrett can’t cross the room and go to her. Or when they have real conversations in between the sex, like real people with real emotions, and she kisses him just to kiss him. It’s a bone-dry weight on his chest every time; an unhealing bruise that stings him sometimes when she presses on it too hard unknowingly. It already hurts.
“I don’t know how to stop,” Garrett confesses, looking down at his sandaled feet. He hates that his voice catches in his throat. It makes him sound like a kid begging for more candy. It reveals layers on his skin that never should have been exposed in the fourth of July air. “I know it’s wrong but I just–I don’t know. I need her.”
They don’t say anything more after that, probably because they all know that there’s nothing to say that would magically undo his mistake or give him the clarity he needs. Still, a part of Garrett wishes someone had said something, had given him instructions or a manual he can follow, because Garrett doesn’t know what to do. All he knows is that he drives back to Boston in two days, and the first thing he’s going to do is call her and make her go to his apartment because he misses her and he needs her close to him.
He leans forward and gets another beer bottle from the ice box next to him. The drink fizzles when he pops it open, foam spilling over and wetting his hands. His friends try to get the night back to normal, chatting idly among themselves, quieter now that something ugly and real has been exposed. And Garrett just sits there drinking his beer with sticky fingers and the knowledge that he’s on the precipice of a heartbreak that he’s not sure he can ever recover from.
Luke’s farewell party is held at some upscale rooftop bar a couple minutes away from TD Garden. Garrett almost doesn’t go. He had sat in his bed staring at his phone for almost an hour going over the e-invite sent to his mail and coming up with reasons why he couldn’t come. Maybe he went down with something; flu or chickenpox or diarrhea. Maybe he slipped in the bathroom and had to go to the emergency room. Maybe his car broke down, or he suddenly has a family emergency out of town, or he has a date he simply couldn’t miss. Every excuse is better than the bitter truth, which is that he couldn’t come because he’d rather not see the girl he’s been having an affair with play the part of the perfect girlfriend to his soon-to-be-retired team captain.
All of that is moot, though, because Logan bombards him with enough texts asking him where he is and telling him he’s already half an hour late and that if he didn’t get his ass to Luke’s party, he would drag him there himself. So Garrett puts on a pair of black pants and a white shirt, snatches the keys of his Jeep from his foyer and drives to the party in total silence.
He must’ve been a complete asshole in his past life, because he arrives at the bar just as they’re doing speeches, which immediately makes him want to scurry back to his apartment with his tail tucked between his legs. Logan is standing by one of the cocktail tables near the middle and he immediately raises a hand up to signal Garret to come over. It takes him forever to reach him, getting stopped at every turn by his teammates and coaches and other members of the Bruins staff. By the time he manages to squeeze himself beside Logan, he finally sees her.
She looks beautiful, which should be a given already but somehow still catches him off guard. The dress she’s wearing is gold and it moves like liquid over her body, catching the light in a way that feels like punishment to him. Garrett immediately zooms in on the arm Luke has thrown loosely around her waist. The touch is familiar, absent minded, the way people make contact when they don’t have to think about it too much. Garrett moves his jaw, just to get some of the tension out. And, because fate is playing him like a fiddle that night, she looks away from the marketing guy doing a speech on the makeshift stage and makes direct eye contact with Garrett.
He sees the way she registers his presence, the slight hitch of her breath evident in the movement of her chest.
Garret isn’t sure if he should wave or smile at her or avert his eyes completely. How do you face the woman you were fucking into your mattress less than 24 hours ago and greet her like an acquaintance? The answer is unclear, so he doesn’t greet her at all. He glances away pointedly, teeth grinding down together, and holds a finger up to order a drink–preferably something strong enough to get him through this godforsaken party.
When he turns his head, Logan is already looking at him with a concerned frown. Garrett immediately stiffens at the calculating look, especially when Logan’s eyes flash towards where she is standing by Luke’s side for a second before darting back to him.
“What?” Garrett asks, but already he knows the tone he uses is too defensive, too close to the truth.
Logan opens his mouth but pauses. He chances another look at her. “You okay, G?”
His drink mercifully arrives, and Garrett downs it with a wince. He tries to ignore the weight of her stare all the way from across the room. “Fine. I’m just fine.”
The VIP all-gender bathroom is clean and quiet. It’s one of those fancy ones with a sitting area and coffee table near the door, the smell of generic freshener wafting through the air. Garrett collapses on one of the cushioned armchairs and covers his face with both hands, head leaning back against the tiled wall.
He’s been at the party for close to forty minutes now. He’s done his part: he had smiled at all the correct people, gave away hugs and laughs like expected, chatted about the upcoming season, held his drink up in a toast at the announcement of their new captain. He did all these things while ignoring how much his eyes want to seek out where she is, so he thinks he deserves a little break. It’s not easy to long for someone ten feet away and not being allowed to show how much.
Logan has been unusually quiet all evening, too, and Logan quiet is basically a recipe for disaster. He knows Garrett too well; he wouldn’t put it past him to be able to put two and two together just from Garrett’s late entrance alone. So Garrett dials up the charm and the pretense, extra careful under his best friend’s scrutiny. He’s sure it doesn’t work either way, but if he tries hard enough, maybe Logan can just let it go.
He thinks of picking up a girl for the night. There are a lot of puck bunnies and friends of WAGs invited; he’s been approached by a fair few, himself. But the thought of even looking at another woman in that way makes him want to throw up, which he decides might be the most unfair thing in the world when he has to go the entire night watching the woman he wants be in somebody else’s arms.
The bathroom door clicks open, but he pays it no mind until a familiar voice startles him to put his hands down. “Oh.”
She is paused awkwardly by the door, one hand still on the knob and her lips parted in surprise.
Garrett sits up slowly, hands bracing on each arm of the chair. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she says back quietly. She cranes her neck to look at the hallway before stepping inside fully, locking the door with a flick. She approaches him in slow, tentative steps, only stopping when his knees are almost touching the fabric of her dress. “You were late.”
He looks up at her with a harsh swallow, one hand already reaching out to pull her waist. “Come here.”
She completely melts into him; there’s no other way to describe it. She sits down on his lap sideways, her arms going around his neck, her forehead meeting his, and her body relaxes to an almost ridiculous degree, all the tension leaving her body with the simple contact.
“Hi,” she whispers again, more softly this time.
Garrett tightens his hold on her. It shouldn’t make sense for them to fit together so perfectly, for their bodies to feel like they’ve been molded together by a separate entity in their past lives. She smells like expensive perfume and sweat and that distinct smell of her that he’s grown addicted to in the months that he’s been privy to know her scent privately. She bumps their noses together, like she’s doing some scent inventory of her own.
“You look beautiful,” Garrett says roughly, spreading his palms wide on the expanse of her back.
She exhales through her nose. “Thanks, baby.”
He examines her face, the perfectly done make up, her glossy lips. He can’t help himself, so he asks, “Can I kiss you?”
“Of course,” she almost frowns, pressing their foreheads harder together. “You never have to ask.”
So Garrett tilts his chin up and kisses her. It’s soft and slow and deep, and he hopes it conveys how shitty he feels as well as how much he could never stop wanting her. She hums against his mouth and gives back as good as she got. It’s a kiss that doesn’t lead to anything more than a simple pressing of two pairs of lips together; there’s no wandering hand or suggestive eyes or grinding hips. The warmth of it spreads from their point of contact and down to Garrett’s chest, where it blooms into something new and inevitable.
“I’m going back to my place tonight,” she says when they pull away, still close enough that the words paint butterfly kisses all over his face. “Can you meet me there?”
Garrett exhales shakily. “Of course, baby.”
She pulls back just enough to push some of his curls back, lower lip bitten in thought. He knows what she’s going to say before she even opens her mouth. “I’m sorry–”
“Don’t–”
“No, listen,” she insists, putting down her hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. Her eyes are deep and her eyebrows are furrowed slightly. “I’m sorry. I know tonight isn’t easy for you.”
Garrett squeezes her waist. “It’s okay.”
“You always say that,” she almost laughs.
“Because it is,” he shrugs. “Much better than the alternative, which is not having this at all.”
She falls silent at that. She looks down at one of her hands pressed to his chest. “That won’t always be true, you know?”
“What do you mean?”
She starts playing with one of the buttons on his shirt. Her throat moves like speaking has suddenly become painful. “One day, you won’t be okay with this. It’s not going to be enough. And you’re going to meet another person who can give you more than the secret moments that we steal away. That’s probably the best outcome, really.”
Deep in his stomach, Garrett feels panic settle slowly. “What are you saying?”
She still doesn’t look at him. “I’m saying that I won’t blame you if you wake up one morning and realize that you don’t want this anymore.”
Garrett’s already shaking his head before she can finish speaking. “I’ll never not want this.”
“I can’t leave him, Garrett,” she finally meets his eyes. Hers are wet and bright with tears, her face screwed up in guilt. “He’s all I’ve ever known.”
He feels that like a knife to the chest. “That’s not true.”
She gives him a confused look.
Garrett swallows. “It’s not. I’m here. You know me. You’ve been knowing me for months. You’ve been kissing me and touching me and branding yourself on my skin while pretending that you’re in love with a man who bores you to death. Who makes you feel small.”
“Luke doesn’t–”
“And it’s okay,” Garrett interrupts. His voice remains gentle even through the huge lump in his throat. “It’s fine. I can deal with that. And maybe you’re right. Maybe one day I’ll meet some girl who can give me what you can’t. But the same is true for you. Maybe one day, you’ll realize that you’re not duty-bound to stay with Luke just because he groomed you into the person you think you have to be.”
“Garrett…”
“And when that happens,” he continues, voice cracking. “I wanna be here.” He cups her face so she can look him properly in the eyes. “Baby. I wanna be here.”
That night, they fuck with a reverie that they’ve never felt before. The safe pretense of ‘casual’ and ‘just hooking up’ are thrown cleanly out of the window, and Garrett keeps his lips on hers while he thrusts inside of her so deeply it’s like he wants to engrave his name under the skin of her belly. They’re quiet, almost suffocatingly so, the air filled with gasps and whispers of each other’s names. She cards her fingers through his hair and looks at him with such undisguised wanting that Garrett feels his world tilt off its axis. He’s never going to stop wanting this. He’s never going to stop wanting her.
Allie’s words from the 4th come back to him, then. “Are you in love?” She had asked, in a way that hopeless romantic people who are in long, committed relationships tend to do whenever they find out you’re kind of seeing someone. Garrett had been quick to spout a denial back then, an immediate “no” that plagued him for the rest of the trip.
And now, pressing himself so closely to her body so he can convince himself that there is an end to this where he comes out on top, where he doesn’t get left behind, where she sees sense and actually fucking chooses him…
“Are you in love?” Allie had asked.
I don’t know, his mind answers. But if it’s not love, then it’s pretty fucking close.
Logan catches him after practice. He and Grace had invited him over for dinner, and Garrett had nothing better to do, so they agreed to just drive over to Logan’s place together. They’re at a stop light, Garrett leaning his head on the window and Logan tapping his fingers on the stirring wheel, when Logan turns to him and says, “It’s her. Right?”
Garrett sees more than feels the way his body stiffens in his reflection on the window. One of his hands forms into a fist, but he keeps it hidden from view, pressing it to the side of his thigh. “What?”
The light turns green, and Logan puts his car in drive. And then he says her name. “It’s her. The girl you’ve been seeing.”
Garrett turns to him with a frown, mouth open, a half-formed excuse already planning to fall out, but Logan continues.
“You don’t have to lie to me, G,” he says, eyes focused on the road and voice annoyingly calm. “I know you. I saw the way you two looked at each other at Luke’s party. And the way the both of you disappeared for like, fifteen whole minutes. I noticed.”
When Garrett exhales, it’s a twisted mixture of dread and relief. Because finally their most sacred rule is broken. Finally someone else other than the two of them knows. And maybe it’s the start of things beginning to change, because they’ve been stuck circling around this affair with no direction for so long. “Yeah. Yes.”
Logan at least looks somewhat shocked that he admits to it so quickly. “Fuck. Really?”
“You literally told me you figured it out,” Garrett says with a frown. “Why are you acting shocked now?”
Logan sputters. “Well–thinking it is different than actually having it be confirmed!”
Garrett sighs, more exasperated than panicked this time.
He feels Logan side-eyeing him. “You good, G?”
“What?”
“I mean–are you okay? How–how are you dealing with it?”
Garrett rubs one hand over his mouth. “I’m dealing with it.”
“I can’t believe you’re fucking Luke’s girlfriend,” Logan shakes his head with a small disbelieving chuckle. “It’s a good thing I never have to play with him. That would be so awkward. How did that even happen?”
Garrett shrugs. He hasn’t seen her in a couple days, and already he feels her absence like a limb. Sometimes he wishes he could want her a normal amount, as opposed to the living, beating, all-encompassing way he feels for her under his skin. “Some people just sneak up on you, I guess.”
It all comes to head a little over a month later, which Garrett should have seen coming. Things have been too good lately. They’ve been seeing each other too frequently. They text almost everyday. Whenever they sleep together, they don’t even pretend that it’s just for sex anymore. In fact, one night, he had been so tired from practice that they don’t fuck at all. But she still slept curled against him in bed, pressing soft kisses to the center of his back tattoo and rubbing her hands on his stomach to lull him to sleep. Garrett should have known that a shift would be coming. It always does when things get too good.
He’s been home for five minutes, curls still damp from his post-rink shower, when his phone lights up with a call: her.
He’s in a good mood; they’ve won their first few games, he has his best friend on the ice with him, he gets along with their new captain fine. The season’s looking to be another amazing one. So when he sees her name in the caller id, he thinks nothing of it at first. “Hey, baby. What’s up?”
It takes her a few seconds to respond, which immediately raises alarm bells in his head.
“Baby?”
When she speaks, her voice is croaky and small, like she’s been crying. “Can you come pick me up?”
He’s moving before he even registers the words properly, tugging his jacket from the coat rack and sliding his feet in some slides. “What happened? Where are you?”
She rattles off an address, some 24-hour fast food place a couple blocks away from her house. She’s breathing deeply enough that it makes Garrett feel rattled to his bones.
“Baby,” Garrett says again, fingers snatching his car keys from the counter. “What happened?”
“He knows,” she sobs out. Garrett feels his entire body freeze. “Luke knows, Garrett.”
The whole drive over is a blur. He asks her to stay on the line with him, but they both stay silent. Occasionally, she sniffs, or he hears her cry quietly, and it makes Garrett press down on the gas pedal a little harder. Finally, after what seems like both forever and a half second, he arrives at the location she sent. He parks haphazardly, but she is already jogging over to his car before he can even step out of it. He snaps the door shut and barely has time to brace himself before she’s throwing herself at him, her head tucking in his neck and sobs wracking her body.
“You’re okay,” Garrett says shakily, wrapping his arms around her tight enough to lift her off the ground. “You’re gonna be just fine. Come on, baby.”
She shakes her head, still hiding in his neck. He feels the wetness of her tears smearing on his skin. Feels the trembles going through her body.
“Baby,” Garrett’s voice catches in his throat. “Come on. Let’s get you home, yeah?”
The drive back to his place is even quieter. She has her arms crossed over her chest, mascara smudged and her hair a mess. She’s stopped crying by the time they reach his apartment, but her mouth remains shut and her eyes averted to the floor, like looking at Garrett would set her off again. Still, he keeps one hand gently on her lower back the whole way up his floor, partly so he can reassure himself that she really is here, that she’s okay and safe and with him.
“Let me run you a bath,” he says when they get inside and after he takes both of their jackets and hangs them up. She still doesn’t say anything, but she nods her head, a small movement that at least gets Garrett to breathe properly again.
He fills his tub and searches for her favorite bath gel from his vanity cabinet. He makes sure the temperature is just the way she likes it; he lights candles and tidies up the shelves and prepares a fresh robe and towel and some of her hair ties. When he gets back to the living room, she is on the couch with her arms wrapped around herself, staring blankly ahead.
“It’s ready,” he announces with a low voice.
She finally shifts her head to look at him. Her eyes fill with tears instantly.
“Baby,” Garrett sighs, coming closer so he can hug her again. “Come on. You’ll feel so much better.”
She lets him take her clothes off slowly. There’s nothing sexual about it; just pure care. He folds them neatly and stacks them in a pile on his counter. And then he goes around her and begins to tie her hair. He does a terrible job; her hair is too messy and he can’t be bothered to scourge his apartment for a hairbrush, and he’s never really tied a girl’s hair before. But she says nothing of it, even when he finishes and drops a kiss to her bare shoulder. The only sound she makes at all is when she sighs heavily as she finally steps into the bath and lowers her body down, the warm water reaching her neck.
Garrett bustles around for something to do. Puts toothpaste on her toothbrush. Lines up the skincare products she has for easy access. Fluffs and re-fluffs the towel. Finally, when he can’t pretend to be busy anymore, he puts a hand on his head, turns to her and says, “I’m just going to find you some clothes–”
“No,” she suddenly says with a shake of her head. “Please don’t go.”
Garrett lowers his hand slowly. “Okay…”
“I need to tell you,” she continues, her voice breaking midway. “What happened– I need to tell you.”
He comes closer until he’s right next to the tub, and then Garrett lowers himself to the tiled floor, uncaring about getting his pants wet. “Okay. Tell me.”
Her face breaks open, but she manages to hold off her sobs this time around. “Sorry. Sorry. I can do this.”
“Baby, if you’re not ready–”
“No, I need to say it,” she insists, tilting her head back. “He’s been suspicious for a while. Luke.”
Garrett gulps harshly. “He has?”
“It’s my fault,” she says with a cry, shutting her eyes tight. “I–I stopped.”
“What do you mean? Stop what?”
She looks over at him. She looks so hurt and guilty and terrified that Garrett feels his heart squeeze in his chest. And then she says something that completely unravels him: “I stopped sleeping with him. For–I don’t know. Three months now, maybe.”
Garrett leans back on his hands with a shaky exhale. He does the math in his head: three months was before their off-season vacation. Before they could get a taste of what it would be like to be together truly, without deadlines and secret meetings and schedules. Of what it would be like to sleep next to each other and wake up tangled up in bed. Three months was before Garrett could admit to himself that he wanted more.
“I told him some terrible excuse,” she laughs wetly. “Something about seeing my doctor and my moods being all wrong or whatever. And he bought it at first. It wasn’t that difficult to do. We didn’t live together and he was so busy with his retirement planning. I had grad school. But now that everything has dialled down…He started asking questions. And he would get this look on his face, like he knew I was hiding something.” She looks down at the water. Her voice grows quiet, but Garrett hears every word like a gunshot. “He tried tonight. He made dinner and had flowers and candles. But I–I couldn’t do it. And the second I stopped him, he just–he got so angry.”
Garrett feels his entire body freeze, except for his hands, which are fisted and shaking so violently by his sides that he has to move them to rid the trembles. He places them on the edge of the tub and grips that instead. “Did he hurt you?”
Her eyes widen at the words. “What? No, no, he didn’t do anything. He–he yelled. He was so angry. He kept saying these awful things but–he’d never–he didn’t do anything physical or–”
“Okay,” Garrett interrupts her, breathing deeply through his nose. The cold-fear is still there sitting underneath his skin. Abuse isn’t just physical. And he’d been noticing, hadn’t he? He’s been saying for so long how small and unlike herself she looks whenever she’s around Luke. And he didn’t do anything about it. “What did he say?”
She laughs again at that, in time with her tears falling to her cheeks. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”
“Don’t do that–”
“Garrett, I’ve been cheating on him for months,” she says. Her lower lip is trembling and so is her chin. The tears seem neverending. “I haven’t been in love with him for longer. And he–he went through my phone. He found our texts. We use nicknames, thank god, so he doesn’t know that it’s you. But he knows for sure that I’ve been having an affair. He knows it’s with another player. He was so angry and he looked disgusted at me and he kept calling me–” she interrupts herself with a shake of her head, like she can’t bear to repeat the words. “I couldn’t be there anymore. So I left and then I called you.”
“Why?” Garrett asks. When she shoots him a confused look, he grits his teeth and clarifies, “Why’d you stop sleeping with him?”
He hates that he’s fixating on that little fact. Hates that the words are out of his mouth before he could disguise them as something less selfish and pathetic. It shouldn’t matter. Not really. Not when she is obviously hurting. But his brain just can’t compute why.
She looks at him for a second, and then she says, “When’s the last time you slept with another person?”
Not since you, he wants to say right away. He wants to tell her that he hasn’t even looked at another girl since that first night in that Las Vegas hotel. But the words feel too much, even if they’re true, so instead he tells her through his throat, “A while.”
She smiles, small and sad. “There’s your answer.”
Garrett wakes up to sunlight slipping through the cracks of his black-out curtains. He tries not to shift too much, mindful of her sleeping body half on top of him, her face buried in his chest, one of her legs draped over his waist. She’s wearing his sweater and little else, hair all tangled from not being dried properly before she got to bed. She’s warm. Comfortable. Garrett thinks about staying still on his bed forever. He could do it, if he wanted to. Alas, he has practice in a few hours, and the problems the two of them were facing last night still haven’t gone away.
He shuffles carefully, arranging her in a way that doesn’t disturb her sleep. Even with her eyes closed and her mouth slightly parted, Garrett can still see the previous night’s marks on her face; red-tipped nose, eyes slightly swollen, dry tear tracks down her cheeks. He wishes he knows what to do to make everything better. Something more useful than running her a bath or holding her in her sleep. Something concrete that would take all of her pain and guilt away.
They made a mistake–that much, he can’t deny. Luke has every right to be angry. If he ever finds out that it was Garrett who she is having an affair with, he has every right to bash his face in. To ruin his reputation. All of these things, Garrett knows to be true, but he still can’t rationalize the protective instinct in him telling him to punch Luke’s smug little face for making her cry. For making her small. For letting her believe that she can’t escape their relationship even if she’s not happy anymore. For molding her to think that way.
It’s not textbook grooming.
He remembers her telling him about it on one of the recent nights they’ve begun to spend together, draped in honesty and words that are a little too vulnerable. They met when she was just sixteen at one of the last few games she had allowed her father to drag her to before college and before she had begun distancing herself from hockey and from her dad, though they didn’t really speak or converse with each other deeply whenever they found themselves together.
The next time they saw each other was when she was twenty; she had gotten drunk at a club and was so filled with drunken rage that she sat outside the curb of Warrior Ice Arena determined to confront her father. It hadn’t crossed her mind that Andrew had been retired for years and wouldn’t be showing up at all. It hadn’t crossed her mind that it was 4 AM in the morning and literally no one would be there. In her alcohol-fuelled brain, she was a little kid again, full of disappointment and resentment towards a father who was barely a father. Luke had shown up around five-thirty for some early ice time and seen her shivering on the ground. She said he saw someone helpless; Garrett thinks he saw an opportunity. A project.
It took them two months to make it official. By the fourth month, she was already spending Thanksgiving with Luke and her family, trying to repair her relationship with her dad. Everything fell so perfectly into place that Garrett has a hard time believing it wasn’t carefully planned.
He looks down at her again, her arms wrapped around a stray pillow now that he’s successfully gotten up from the bed without waking her. Garrett thinks about her 20-year-old self, lost, freezing on the curb at four in the morning, longing for a dad. He thinks about where he would have been around that time; sophomore year, trying to prove himself on the ice at Briar, trying to escape his father’s shadow and–more importantly–his wrath. Training himself to the ground. Chasing a dream he wasn’t sure was entirely his. If they had met then, they probably would have exploded in a bomb of paternal trauma and bad decisions. They probably would have been the worst for each other. But Garrett longs for this alternate reality, anyway, because then she would have been his before she was ever someone else’s.
Garrett keeps his movements quiet as he showers and gets ready for the day. He goes to the cafe on his street to buy them breakfast, grateful for the two weeks she had spent in his place because now he knows her coffee order like it’s his own. His brain begins coming up with itemized plans: talk to her. Find out what she wants to do. Do everything he can to make that happen. She wants to stay with him for a while? Drive her to her place to get her things. Clear out some closet space for her. Make sure her beauty and skincare products are well-stocked in his bathroom. Done. He wants that too, so it’s not like doing those things will be hard work. She isn’t sure what she wants? Fine. She can stay with him, anyway.
The TV is running an old sitcom when he gets back, the sound wafting through the morning air peacefully. She is on the couch, her knees hugged to her chest, still wearing his sweater. She’s slow to rise when she sees him, as if she’s not sure her feet could be steady. Garrett puts the food down on the kitchen island before approaching her in steady steps.
“Hey, baby,” he rasps out, scanning her from head to toe, looking for signs of last night’s distress. “I got breakfast and coffee.”
That pulls a small smile out of her. She reaches her arms out and wraps them securely around his waist, pressing her forehead to his chest before inhaling deeply. “Hey.”
“You okay?”
She pauses then says, almost shyly, “I woke up and you were gone.”
The words send a pang straight to his chest. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she laughs against his shirt, burrowing her face further until her words are all muffled from the fabric. “I’m just being silly. I figured you went out to get some food.”
“All I have in my fridge are, like, frozen peas.”
She snorts. “That tracks.”
“Alright,” Garrett scoffs defensively, squeezing her tighter. “Bully the guy who got you coffee.”
She lets out another amused sound, and then she inhales again, her arms tightening around him. “You smell good.”
His mouth ticks up. “I showered.”
“I figured.”
They stay there standing in the middle of his living room embracing each other for a while. Or maybe forever. Time doesn’t make sense when he’s with her, so he can’t be sure. Eventually, though, her hunger wins out, and she drags him by the wrist to the kitchen, making grabby hands at the brown cafe paper bag still sitting invitingly on the counter.
For a while, it was almost like last night hadn’t happened. She asks about how practice has been going, about how Logan is adjusting to the big leagues. Garrett makes her talk about the thesis paper she needs to do to complete her Master’s, and she rants about her adviser for almost half an hour straight, both in admiration and frustration. They hold hands the whole time that they’re eating, knees pressing together, faces never more than six inches apart. It’s a whole new kind of intimacy, one they hadn’t shared much with each other before. Garrett wants to box the whole morning and keep it in his jean pocket for safekeeping.
“I gotta go in a few,” Garrett says when they’re just about finished with breakfast, glancing at the wall clock to his right. “Coach is making us watch some tapes before practice. I think he’s nervous about this season’s starting line.”
She makes a face. “I think you’re projecting, but whatever.”
“I’m not projecting,” Garrett denies, but he knows she’s kind of right. “I just think it’s nice to be prepared.”
“You’re such a control freak,” she laughs with a shake of her head. “I bet you planted the tapes idea in his head. Actually, I don’t need to bet. I know.”
Garrett rolls his eyes, but his lips are tugged up traitorously with a smile. “Whatever. Do you need a ride?” He feels his heart pound in his chest, but he continues, “I can spare a couple minutes if you need to get some of your things or something. You’re welcome to stay here.”
She immediately tenses up. She tries to play it off, but they’re sitting too close together, and Garrett feels the movement even more than he sees it.
“What?” He asks, brows furrowing in concern. “What’s wrong?”
She pulls away from him slowly, the scrape of the chair pushing back against the floor sharp and grating to the ears. Her hands begin fiddling together, which is never a good sign. “Luke called me. While you were gone.”
Garrett feels his own shoulders tighten up. He knows without looking that his hands are already forming fists at the mention of him alone, knows his jaw is doing that pulsing thing that it always does when he gets pissed off. “Okay.”
“He said he wants to talk,” she continues, eyes trained on the kitchen island like it’s somehow became the most fascinating view in the room.
“Okay,” Garrett repeats, just because he feels like he should say something.
She chances a quick glance at him, a split second thing, before averting her gaze again. “He said he was still mad. Obviously. But that he thinks we can still work through this.”
“No,” Garrett immediately says, shaking his head. He feels his blood pounding violently in his head, feels his chest tighten at even the insinuation. Because last night–however horrible and painful and terrifying it was–that was supposed to be it. That was supposed to cut her ties with Luke clean. It wasn’t supposed to just be a blip on their relationship, an irrelevant fight that they could talk about over dinner like someone forgetting a date or failing to take out the trash. It was supposed to be it. “Tell me you didn’t.”
“We’re just going to talk–”
“Holy shit,” Garrett laughs without humor, standing up from his seat so suddenly the chair almost topples over. He walks several steps back, away from her, from her scent that’s now an amalgamation of his body wash and his laundry detergent, from her guilty eyes, from her touch that he craves but now makes him sick to the stomach at the same time. Because this is never going to end. She’s never going to leave Luke. Garrett’s never going to convince her otherwise. “You just–” He cuts himself off before he can say something he doesn’t mean.
She’s looking up at him with tears already lining her eyes, frozen in her seat like she can’t do anything else but watch him unravel in front of her.
“You’re never going to leave him,” Garrett finds himself muttering, almost to himself, though he knows his voice carries the message across from the way she holds herself even tighter upon hearing them. “You’re really never going to leave him. It doesn’t matter what I say or how you feel. It doesn’t matter that you’re not in love with him, or that you can’t even pretend enough to stand his hands on you. It doesn’t matter that I’m right here. I’m right fucking here.” Garrett rubs a hand down his face with another helpless chuckle. “You’re never going to leave him.”
Her voice breaks when she speaks. “Garrett–”
“And I’m starting to realize that…” he clenches his jaw. He doesn’t want to say the next words out loud. He knows what’s going to happen if he does. But Garrett just feels so fucking tired all of a sudden, like all the weight of the world has suddenly been put on his shoulders. He’s tired of always looking over his shoulder. Of feeling guilty for wanting her. Of being her dirty secret. He’s tired of her scraps.
“I can’t–” he shakes his head. “I can’t do this. I can’t do it. I can’t.”
He sees her face fall, panic taking over her features. “What are you saying?”
“I thought I could, but I can’t,” Garrett shrugs. His throat and chest feel tight, like oxygen is suddenly secondary to the white-hot pain. It shouldn’t hurt this much, he thinks. She’s not his girlfriend. She’s not his anything, really. “I know we said casual. I know I said I was fine with it. I know I said it was enough but that was before–fucking–I don’t know, before you started staying over like you belonged here, or before we started sharing pieces of our lives together, or before we started kissing just for the sake of kissing. I thought I could do it but I can’t. It’s not enough. It’s not.”
She shakes her head slowly. Tears are falling rapidly down her cheeks, but her body is still, like she’s afraid if she makes any sudden movements, the moment will escape her clutch and he’ll be out the door. “Please don’t.”
Garrett feels his chin tremble, so he has to tilt his head and look up at the ceiling. He shakes his head again and exhales deeply. “I can’t do it.”
“Garrett, please,” the crack in her voice is a wet and horrible thing. It grips at Garrett’s throat like a vice.
He knows if he looks over at her he’s going to lose all his composure. He knows if he sees her crying, sees her hurting because of what he’s saying, he’s going to take it all back and kneel at her feet. It’s for this reason that when he looks back down, he avoids looking at her entirely, focusing his gaze on the empty plates and paper cups of coffee instead, bracing both of his arms on the edge of the island.
“Listen, you don’t understa–”
“You can’t make a choice so I’ll make it easy for you,” Garrett interrupts her. His voice has gone quiet but no less resounding. He feels their weight in his tongue even before they’re out of his mouth, hears them crash into the space between them in loud, resigned thuds. “You don’t have to choose anymore.”
“Garrett.” A sob escapes her chest, guttural and almost animalistic. It makes him clench his eyes shut.
“You don’t have to choose anymore,” he repeats through gritted teeth. It takes everything in him to get the words out. Everything. “I have a practice I need to go to. I’m gonna leave, and– and when I get home, you won’t be here. You’ll be with him. And I’m done.” Garrett nods, like he’s trying to convince himself even more than her. He swallows thickly, and then he repeats his words, just so they could stick and land somewhere permanent. Just so he could pretend that one day, they’ll ring true. “I’m done.”
He snatches his car keys off the table and he walks out before he can change his mind.
Are you in love with her, Allie had asked.
Like there’s a reality in which he isn’t fucking head over heels.
The drive to the Warrior Ice Arena is a blur.
Garrett isn’t sure how he manages to get there uninjured and with his car in one piece. The only thing he’s sure about is how much his hands are shaking, and how he feels like he left his soul right there in his kitchen in the clutch of the loss of his life.
He parks almost haphazardly. Lifts the hand brake harshly. And for a few seconds, he just stares blankly ahead, his lips parted and his brain trying to catch up to the flashing pain he’s feeling all over his body. He had done it. He let her go and it fucking hurts.
His body seems to cave in at the same time that his heart does, and Garrett doubles over the stirring wheel with a shaky exhale, finally letting himself break.
This is how Logan finds him a couple of minutes later, knocking at his car’s window with his eyebrows furrowed in concern.
“Garrett, open the door,” Logan says, tapping on the glass continuously. His voice is muffled from being outside, but Garrett hears him loud and clear. Still, he blinks sluggishly at nothing for a couple of moments, not registering his best friend’s words yet. Logan taps more insistently. “Garrett.”
He reaches for the lock almost absentmindedly and clicks on the unlock button. In a flash, Logan is opening the driver’s side door, one hand pushing Garrett’s shoulder back to inspect him properly. “What the fuck happened to you, man?”
But Garrett can’t speak. If he tells Logan, if he says the words out loud, then that means this is real. He lost her. He let her go. And maybe he’s a coward. Maybe he’s weak. But he doesn’t want to face that reality yet, so he just shakes his head, his vision blurring even as he fights not to cry like a kid.
“I cant–” he shakes his head, staring at the way his fingers clench and unclench around the steering wheel.
He hears Logan exhale. “Okay. Okay. Come on. Get out of there. I’m driving.”
“What?” Garrett finally looks at him in confusion.
“You can’t drive when you’re like this. I’m not letting you.” Logan’s tone makes it clear that he’s not taking no for an answer. Garrett steps out of his car slowly, one heavy foot at a time.
He feels untethered. Like he’s going to float away any second now, or maybe sink into the ground. He had known heartbreak before. He had cried over losing his college girlfriend and had been sad for months afterwards. But the pain taking over his body right now feels crippling and brand new, which feels absurd because she and him were never serious in the first place. He had hoped, he can admit; in between lingering kisses and quiet conversations and laughter. He had hoped they would get there someday. Hoped to pull her close and kiss her without having to hide. But it never happened. They were glorified fuck buddies at best, and maybe that’s why the hurt is so surprising.
“Start thinking of a solid excuse why we’re missing practice, G,” Logan calls to him while he comes around to get to the passenger seat. “Everyone’s going to be on our ass.”
Garrett doesn’t say anything even after he gets inside the car and tugs his seatbelt on. He doesn’t question where they’re going or why Logan’s skipping ice time with him. He just leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes, content in letting his best friend take him away.
It’s only a couple of minutes–maybe half an hour–later that he feels the car pulling to a stop. Garrett looks around at the empty parking lot. The familiar curved shape of the building that he called home for over four years. The banners with the Hawks mascot. “We skipped practice so you can take us to Briar?”
Logan rolls his eyes, turning the car engine off. “Come on.”
The rink is empty. Practice wouldn’t be for another two hours, at least. Logan takes out a set of keys and wiggles them in front of Garrett’s face.
“You still have that?”
“Yep,” Logan says, popping the p. “I’m sentimental like that.”
The walk to the rink is so familiar Garrett feels like he traveled back in time. There are only a couple of lights turned on, and the quietness of the morning loosens his shoulders bit by bit. He follows Logan’s lead, and they walk until they reach the players’ bench just a few steps away from the ice. Logan sits first, then taps the space next to him pointedly.
Garrett drops down beside him with a heavy sigh.
“Remember the first time we stepped on this ice?” Logan suddenly says, a small smile taking up his face. “Freshman year summer tryouts.”
Garrett frowns but nods anyway. “Yeah. We were insufferable.”
“I was so excited to play college hockey, man,” Logan laughs, slapping his knee with his palm. “I just remember thinking to myself that I can’t fuck it up. I had to be the best freshman there because I wanted to make the starting line so bad. And then you fucking saunter in like you already own the place.”
Garrett lets himself smile. Even back then, he had a single-minded focus on becoming the best, on succeeding in a way that would finally get his dad off his back. A lot of universities had reached out to him then, offering him a place on their teams with just his high school stats and his father’s name backing him up. Briar hadn’t been one of them. He got invited to a tryout, like all the other college hopefuls there with him. Garrett won’t pretend that having Phil Graham as his dad didn’t make getting in easier for him. He’d be deluding himself if he did. But Briar at least had the decency to see how he played first before deciding he’s worth it. “I wanted it badly, too. I wanted to know how good I was without my dad breathing down my neck.”
“And you fucking killed it,” Logan tells him, making him scoff out loud. Logan elbows him harshly. “Just fucking take the compliment, G. I’m not giving those away for free.”
Garrett pauses for a moment. He looks at the ice, freshly resurfaced and so shiny the fluorescent lights are reflecting off it like a mirror. He thinks about all the hours he spent here–practices, games, more practices, sometimes skating just to skate. He could be angry or elated or fucking devastated and all he would do is come here and let the smell of the rink wash over his senses like water. Garrett clenches his jaw. “We were kids.”
“Yeah,” Logan agrees. “We were.”
A beat. And then, “We’re not kids anymore.”
He sees Logan look at him from his periphery, waiting for his next words. “No.”
Garrett feels his eyes begin to sting, so he averts his gaze upwards. “And growing up means…we have to make tough decisions. Because we know better. Because we need to take care of ourselves, too.”
Logan hums. “Doesn’t mean it still won’t hurt, though.”
Garrett finally turns his head to look at him, a humorless laugh falling from his lips. “No. It doesn’t.”
Another pause. Then Logan asks, “You love her?”
His throat tightens and he feels his shoulders sink. “I think…I don’t know how not to.”
They stay there for another hour, only leaving when the team finally arrives for their practice. Coach Jensen asks them to sign a couple of things. Tucker is so smug at being their friend that he practically grows five inches from it. They get lunch at Malone’s just the three of them for old times’ sake, sending a picture to the gc with Dean only replying with ‘fucking traitors.’ And Garrett pretends his chest isn’t caving in. Maybe if he does it often enough, it will come true.
Life goes on. That’s always been the cruel part.
A New Year’s Eve party after a win against the Capitals is a high like no other. The previous season, the Bruins played (and lost) on the 1st, when most of his teammates were hungover and Garrett had to go home embarrassed at their 6-2 score. Tonight, fresh off a win with no games scheduled in the morning, Garrett loses count of how many shots had been handed to him.
His stomach is twisting ever so slightly, not used to the overindulgence anymore, and Logan is hanging off of Grace’s arms by their table with glassy eyes and the most dopey smile in existence. Somewhere on the dance floor, Dean and Allie are dancing and/or most likely making out without a care for an audience.
Garrett leans against the bar. His body feels heavy with alcohol, his movements turning sluggish. He’s panting just a little—Dean had dragged him and Logan to the dance pit earlier, when a cheesy song from their college days began playing from the speakers. They jumped up and down more than they danced, and for a while Garrett forgets. But only for a while.
It’s been five months since he last saw her.
When he returned from his surprise trip to Briar with Logan, his apartment was empty. All of her things were gone—clothes, toothbrush, her skincare products and makeup that used to take up too much space in his bathroom. She didn’t leave a note. She didn’t text him or call him or beg for him to come back. She simply left and that was it.
Her break up with Luke hits the media a week later, and Garrett has to stop himself from reaching out. Because if she had finally escaped her relationship and she still never came back to Garrett, then that has to mean something. That has to mean that no matter how much it hurt, letting her go was the right thing to do. It’s harder to convince himself of that when he’s getting a box from under his bed a couple of days later and sees a stray hair tie hidden there, or when he’s on the ice and he subconsciously glances at where she usually sits. The only relief is that Luke and her’s joint statement names “mutual decision” and “growing apart” as their cause of break up, so Garrett doesn’t have to worry about her reputation any more than he worries about her well-being in general.
“Post-win blues?”
Garrett whips his head around to see a woman he doesn’t know–dark short hair, long lashes, thick eyebrows. She’s wearing a bedazzled, bodycon dress version of a Bruins jersey, and even in her heels her head only reaches Garrett’s shoulders.
“I’m Cara,” she introduces herself with a hand extended towards him. Garrett takes the handshake politely, gesturing to the bartender and buying her a drink, only because he feels like it’s the right thing to do.
She tells him about herself as he knocks back another shot–tequilla this time, the liquid burning down his throat pleasantly. Gun to his head, though, he couldn’t tell anyone a word that she’s saying, his mind floating far away from the party and into places that he knows he should have banned long ago. As she’s talking, Garrett catches Dean’s eye from the dancefloor; he has both of his thumbs raised up, his head nodding up and and down while an almost manic grin takes over his face. Allie’s clinging to his arms laughing, and Garrett has to try very hard to suppress an eyeroll at the two of them.
He downs shot after shot, maintaining shallow conversation with Cora the entire time. Before he knows it, the countdown to the new year is happening, and when the clock strikes twelve, Carol tilts her chin up at him expectantly while the entire club erupts in cheers and a cheery club mix of Auld Lang Syne. Garrett lets the moment run its course and kisses her, just to prove that he still could. Just to prove that she hadn’t broken him entirely. He even lets himself take her home to her place and fuck her against the front door, his pants pooling his ankles and her dress bunched up at the waist. It’s rough and quick and it makes him feel so dirty afterwards that he spends an hour in his shower when he gets home, scrubbing his skin raw.
In March, Garrett finds himself at the same Manhattan hotel when they play against the Rangers in New York again. He avoids the bar and the diner tucked in between an ice cream shop and a laundromat like the plague.
The playoffs this season is brutal, and by the end of April, Garrett feels ready to collapse on the ice. Every game is hard-won by the skin of their teeth, and every loss is a devastating knock down. Garrett’s not confident about taking the cup yet. It’s their first year playing with a new captain; the team’s dynamic on the ice is still rocky, and he feels it when they hesitate at times during passes that should have been second nature by now.
The pressure is a steady, pressing thing, especially now that they’re having their first home game in a while. Even Logan is a little psyched out, judging by the constant tapping of his foot, the skate guards thudding against the locker room floors annoyingly. “Grace just texted me. She said the crowd out there is insane.”
Garrett shoots him a look. “Not helping, man.”
“Right, right, sorry,” Logan mutters under his breath, foot still keeping the rhythmic tap-tap-tap on the floor. “How was your weekend with–what’s her name? Linda?”
“Lindsay,” Garrett sighs, already tired of the conversation. She was a friend of one of their teammates who he had been set up on a date with. Garrett let her pick the place: a Japanese restaurant in the city with dishes in small portions definitely unfit for a pro athlete like him. “The food was good, I guess.”
Logan actually laughs at that. “Brother, I’m not asking about the fucking food. I meant how was it? You know? How was Lindsay?”
“She was fine,” Garrett shrugs again, avoiding his best friend’s eyes.
“She was fine,” Logan echoes, leaning his head back. “I’m guessing there won’t be a second date, then?”
“I’m not looking for any dates,” Garrett corrects him. “I’m not really fit for relationships at the moment.”
Logan looks like he has something to say about that, but before he can open his mouth, their coach enters the locker room and everyone’s focus suddenly shifts to the home game they can’t afford to lose.
The Bruins easily take the first period, but the second period is where shit starts hitting the fan. Garrett takes a hard hit from one of the Flyers’ defensemen, leaving him to be benched for the entire period. He stews in the sidelines quietly, the only sound coming from him angry huffs that belong more to a comical movie villain than a supposed elite hockey player. If he’s being honest with himself, he knows the problem even before he stepped foot in TD Garden that morning.
The problem, as always, is her.
It was a 2AM mistake, which is funny because he shouldn’t have even been awake at that hour when he has an important game the next day. Garret wasn’t even thinking about her when he opened up his Instagram; he’d been thinking about the local Boston gossip page that posted a candid picture of him pulling up to 311 Omakase with Lindsay. Allie had sent the link of the post to his DMs, and the notification combined with his inability to sleep had him clicking on the app absentmindedly.
It was an alright picture, he guessed, at least as far as paparazzi pictures go. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and sunglasses despite the late hour, his head ducked ever so slightly. Lindsay is walking close to him in a short red dress, her arm brushing against his, lips pulled to a wide smile. It looked far more enjoyable than the entire date had been, though Garrett wasn’t really expecting anything different. No woman can pique his interest lately, and he’s not above pretending he doesn’t know why.
Clicking out of the gossip page was where things went wrong. The app led him back to his timeline, and the first thing that greeted him was her post from only a couple of hours ago. They didn’t block or unfollow each other–it would have been too obvious, otherwise. So Garrett just lets his team run his account for him, trying to avoid catching a glimpse of her life without him as much as possible. But now it’s all for naught, because she’s right there on his phone screen, hair almost as long as she had it when they first met a year ago, eyes crinkled, beaming down at the camera. She’s holding a thick hardbound thesis in front of her chest, and her caption reads: officially grad-waiting!
A couple of familiar people left congratulatory comments. Luke even liked it, which should have sent Garrett into a whole other kind of spiral, but he just couldn’t focus beyond seeing her face, her pretty smile lighting up the entire picture, her green eyes gleaming. She looked beautiful, of course she did, but more than that, she looked good. Happy. Lighter in a way that Garrett’s not sure he’s ever seen before apart from millisecond glimpses at moments caught off guard.
It had been months, and he’s getting better at not thinking about her, at not hurting about her, but in that moment Garrett felt another fissure form deep in his chest, cracking like concrete and spreading thin strands of breakage all over his heart.
He shut off his phone and darkness swallowed his entire bedroom. He tried not to think about the possibility of her seeing his face online and feeling her heart break too.
The score is 4-3 in favor of the Flyers when Garrett finally manages to get back on the ice. Logan is there with him, eyes narrowed in that deeply focused way that he usually gets when the game is too close a fight. Their captain is explaining a play he wants them to do when Garrett instinctively glances up at the stands.
The first person he sees is Andrew, which isn’t all that surprising. Even with his pseudo (ex) son-in-law retired, Andrew always goes to their games, especially home ones like tonight. What freezes Garrett’s entire body is the person sitting next to him, wearing a generic Bruins jersey, hair flying all over the place, the blush on the tip of her nose spreading all over her cheeks, glancing up at the scoreboard anxiously.
Her.
Beautiful, devastating, no-longer-his her.
Logan reads his body language immediately, following his gaze to the audience and exhaling shortly when he spots her sitting there. He pats a heavy hand on Garrett’s shoulder, finally getting him to look away from where she is. “I know this is a big deal but can you spiral later? We got a game to win.”
Before Garrett can say anything, the referee is already motioning for them to get back in position. Garrett looks back up to the stands. She’s smiling now, talking to her dad who’s gesturing wildly with his hands. Garrett hasn’t seen her in months. She’s been out of his life for longer than she’s been in it. But does it count when he feels like she never really left completely? When he knows for a fact that he can get his ribcage opened right this second and it’ll reveal her name?
His first few steps on the ice are shaky and clumsy, like he’s a toddler learning to skate all over again. But to his (and Logan’s) surprise, the next period is the definition of changing tides. Garrett plays like a fucking beast. He assists Logan into a neat goal only a couple minutes in, and he dodges all the opposing players with expert glides, reading their play like an elementary grade book. The last eight minutes of the game is practically a victory lap around the rink, and Garrett finishes it off with a clean goal that has the audience erupting in cheers.
6-4.
They won.
He gets roped to do an interview the second he steps off the ice. The Bruins captain is a couple of feet away from him, doing the same thing. Logan passes by with a two-fingered salute, making Garrett scoff under his breath.
“Garrett, what a game tonight!” The ESPN reporter gushes to him, standing on a small, square platform to be able to hold the mic up to his face. “You definitely played like you had something to prove today.”
Against his better judgment, Garrett’s eyes travel back to where she is sitting. He almost flinches when he finds that she’s already looking at him. Her smile is gone, lower lip bitten and eyes wide like she’s seen a ghost. She’s so beautiful his knees almost buckle at the sight. He’s glad he already saw her earlier, or he definitely would have embarrassed himself on live television. Heart in his throat, he looks back to the reporter and says, “I guess I did.”
“And did you?” She questions, holding the mic up higher. “Prove it?”
Garrett huffs out a laugh. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll see.”
He practically runs past the tunnel in his haste, which is probably why he almost trips the second he sees her waiting for him at the end of it, both her arms crossed, back leaning against the tiled wall casually. She stands back up when she sees him, and Garrett has to stop himself from barrelling into her and taking her in his arms.
“Hi,” he pants slightly, chest heaving up and down. With his skates still on, he towers over her even more, her head barely reaching his shoulders.
She’s standing one step away. It’s the closest they’ve ever been since that fateful day in his kitchen, when Garrett realized that he has to let her go before he loses himself in something that will swallow him whole. She had been crying then, and Garrett had been trying to keep it together. Now, with her looking up at him like this, her face unreadable but close enough to touch, Garrett feels all the hurt and longing slam back into him full force.
He misses her so much he can barely breathe.
“Hi,” shey says back, her voice soft, still looking up at him through her eyelashes like she can’t believe that they’re sharing space again. “Good game.”
“Good?” Garrett repeats with an amused frown. “It was amazing.”
She scoffs, and the sound steadily drains the tension out of both of their bodies. “Okay, now.”
“I was amazing. Admit it.” Garrett says, feeling the edges of his lip begin to lift in a helpless smile.
“Fine,” she smiles back slowly. “You were.”
His eyes scan her face like he’s memorizing every feature, like he’s comparing the woman from his memory to the one in front of him now, cataloguing the small differences like a scientist with a microscope. “How are you?”
“I’ve been good. Great.” She exhales a breathy laugh. “I just defended my master’s thesis, so that’s a big deal, kinda.”
He nods with a harsh swallow. “I saw. Congratulations.”
This time, when she sighs, it’s tinged with frustration. “Can we not do this?”
Garrett frowns. “Do what?”
“Make small talk like everything is normal,” she says with her eyebrows furrowed. “We both know it’s not.”
He feels his jaw clench, one hand coming up to rub down his face. “Why are you here?”
She looks down at her shoes. When she speaks, her voice is quieter, like what she’s about to say is a secret she’s been keeping close to her chest. “I wanted to talk.”
Garrett swallows thickly. “So talk.”
That makes her glare up at him before she turns her head to check their surroundings. Before he can protest, she’s dragging him by the wrist to the green room, legs moving swiftly and head slightly ducked, like they’d get less attention that way.
She closes the door behind them with a relieved huff, closing her eyes and leaning back with both palms still pressed to the door. Garrett’s busy looking down at his own wrist, his skin still tingling with the memory of her touch. “That’s better.”
Garrett just looks at her. He doesn’t know what to say, really. He doesn’t know what’s allowed. So he just looks, because he doesn’t know when he’s going to be able to do it again. If it’s going to be another nine months, or if at all. He takes her in greedily; her flushed cheeks, the Bruins jersey that should’ve had his name and number on it in another lifetime.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you play like that,” she begins, flitting her eyes on him for a quick glance before settling on something over his shoulder. “I mean–I knew you were good, but tonight…It was different. It was like you couldn’t wait to get to the other side.”
Garrett breathes out through his nose. He’s suddenly all too aware of how sweaty he is, his damp curls falling over his face, his jersey sticking to his skin. He probably smells like shit. Still, he can’t get himself to move from where he’s standing in front of her. “Because I couldn’t.”
When she looks at him questioningly, Garrett only lifts an eyebrow at her, because of course she knows. Of course she knows that her being here is going to change things. That ending the game means that small chance of getting to talk to her again, of seeing her up close.
She knows, and so she says what Garrett suspects she came here to say: “You really hurt me. That day at your place.”
He feels his face drop. His breath hitches on a protest, or an apology, but the air fizzles out before it can form coherent words.
“But I know I hurt you too,” she continues with a sad smile. “I know that I dragged you to the end of your rope. And I’m sorry.” Her voice breaks at the last word.
Garrett clenches his fists by his sides. He doesn’t move a muscle.
“And I wanted to thank you, as weird as that sounds,” she chuckles wetly, one hand coming up to cup the back of her neck. “I think I needed that. I needed to hurt. I needed to lose you so I could understand that–” she cuts herself off with a shaky exhale. “To understand what it means. To truly be in love with someone, you know? Because I thought I knew. I thought I had it with Luke, so much so that even when I knew that I didn’t feel anything about him anymore, I just couldn’t let go. I needed to see you walk away so that I could figure out that keeping him as my safety net isn’t worth the heartbreak that cost me you.”
Garrett feels his breath leave him entirely. He doesn’t know what his face is doing, but he knows his mouth is slightly agape, his chest tight and his eyes stinging something awful. His heart is pounding so loudly that he thinks the entire arena must be able to hear its violent thud-thud-thuds against his ribcage. His brain is blank. It feels like a dream but also the most awake he’s ever been.
“I thought I liked myself with Luke,” she tells him with a small sniff. “I liked that he got me out of my cringy rebellious funk. I liked that he got me closer with my dad again. I liked that I didn’t have to think with him because he’s already ten steps ahead of me. I liked that version of myself; that put-together, stable grad student who doesn’t do shitty, self-destructive things like get blank-faced drunk and push away her family and, I don’t know, cheat on her boyfriend and fall in love with another guy.”
“I–”
“Let me finish, please,” she rushes out, one tear falling rapidly down her face which she immediately intercepts with a wipe of her hand. “That’s the girl I wanted to be. The girl that Luke convinced me I had to be so I could tell myself I wasn’t a sad excuse for a human being. But you–” her chin trembles, and she has to let out a slow, shaky breath before continuing. “You never made me feel like I had to contort myself in order to be better. You just wanted me, period. And I guess I thought that if I got to keep you while I kept pretending to be this other person with Luke, then I’d get the best of both worlds. Because I didn’t know who I was anymore. Was I the lonely college girl waiting outside an arena for a dad who wouldn’t come or was I the perfect trophy girlfriend? Was I the girl you met at that diner or the one who called you on the fourth because hearing your voice made me feel like flying? I didn’t know. And for months, I’ve been trying to figure it out.”
Garrett takes a slow step forward. “Did you? Figure it out?”
“Not everything,” she laughs, wiping at her eyes again. “I did realize one important thing, though.”
Another step. Garrett feels lightheaded in the best way. “What?”
“It’s been nine months since we broke it off,” she begins. “I’ve tried therapy. I’ve tried soul-searching out-of-the-country trips. I finished my master’s thesis. I got drunk a lot. I made friends. I even went on a handful of dates. And still, at the end of the day, when I get to my bed at night, all I find myself thinking about is how much I want you there with me. How right it feels when you’re pressed against me. Like we just slot together perfectly.”
Garrett releases a breath. “You really hurt me.”
“I know.”
“I know it was hard for you to face the reality of what’s going on with you and Luke. It’s hard to unlearn the only relationship you’ve ever known, but–” Garrett blinks heavily. “You made me feel like I wasn’t enough. You’d get my hopes up so high some days that I would think this is it. She’s really going to leave him this time. I couldn’t be the only one feeling this. But then the next second, you’re leaving me and going to him. It’s–it really fucked me up.”
Her voice is smaller when she repeats, “I know.”
“And it’s been really frustrating because, like you said, it’s been nine months. I should’ve gotten you out of my system by now.” She visibly flinches at that, but Garrett continues, because he doesn’t know when else he could muster up the right words to her face. “I’m not saying you were the only one to blame. We both fucked up. You cheated because you didn’t know how to leave a toxic relationship. I slept with you despite knowing you were taken. We’re fucked up people, apparently, and what’s even more fucked up is that I still want this. I still want you like I’ve never wanted anyone before.”
Her face breaks open. The hope lining her eyes is a blinding thing, and it’s enough to get Garrett to say the next sentence he’s always wanted to say: “I’m in love with you. I hate that this is how you’re hearing it for the first time but it’s true. I’ve been trying to convince myself I didn’t love you when the whole time I was just–fucking–gone. I love you.”
“You do?” Her voice breaks at the question.
Garrett closes the distance between them, until she has to crane her neck to look up at him, until he can feel the heat coming from her skin on his own. “Yeah. I do.”
She laughs, or maybe cries–it’s a weird combination of both, but the sound goes straight to Garrett’s chest anyway. “That’s great.”
“That’s great?” He repeats in disbelief. “That’s all you’re going to say?”
Her arms slowly reach up his neck. Tentative, like she’s still not entirely sure this is really happening. Garrett feels the same. “I missed you. So fucking much I felt like I couldn’t breathe sometimes.”
He pulls her closer by the waist. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she nods with another wet smile. “I love you, Garrett. I’m sorry it took so long. I’m sorry we had to hurt each other before we could get here. But I love you. And I think I’m going to be loving you for a very long time.”
Garrett feels his own eyes sting at that, but he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed. “So we’re doing this? For real?”
“For real.”
“No more casual? No more sneaking around and hiding our relationship?” Garrett continues asking, making her nod at each question eagerly. He pauses, then says, “No more boyfriends?”
She presses even closer. “Just the one. If he’ll have me.”
“Fuck,” he breathes out, and he can’t take it anymore, so he walks her until her back is flushed against the door, ducks his head, and kisses her like he’s been aching to do since he saw her at the stands earlier that day. Since he walked out on her and felt every inch of distance like a gun to his chest. He kisses her like he loves her, because he fucking does.
The moan she lets out at the contact goes straight to his crotch. She parts her lips slightly, and Garrett doesn’t waste any time tangling his tongue with hers, tasting her spit and familiarizing himself again with how her mouth feels all wet and open for him.
“I love you,” she says against his lips, and Garrett has to squeeze his eyes shut at how euphoric the words make him feel. “Garrett, I love you.”
He pulls away so he can press a kiss on either of her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her eyelids still wet with tears, her jawline, down to her neck, everywhere his mouth can reach. “I love you.”
“You can’t leave me again,” she tells him, pulling him back by his jersey to press their lips together again in a chaste kiss. “I don’t think I can handle it.”
Garrett shakes his head. “Never. Not happening.”
“Good,” she grins, and then they’re kissing again. It turns filthy fast, and soon Garrett’s fighting back a groan while she grinds their hips together so they could feel even closer. “Missed you. I need you so bad.”
Garrett feels his heart stutter. One of his hands snake down from her waist to grope at the globe of her ass, making her whimper against his mouth. “Yeah?”
“Fuck,” she hisses, pulling their mouths apart with a wet sound. Her cheeks are bright red and her pupils are blown wide. Her lips are swollen and wet with their combined spit. Garrett knows he doesn’t look any better, and it’s like she’s only just registering how disheveled he looks with his filthy jersey and sweaty hair, because she laughs out loud and pushes a curl back with her fingers. “You’re gross.”
Garrett rolls his eyes but drops another quick kiss to her lips. “Someone accosted me before I could go to the locker room and shower.”
“Shut up,” she scoffs before biting down on her lip, eyes going over his frame darkly. “Do you think we’re moving too fast? Because I really want you to bend me over this door and fuck me senseless.”
“Jesus Christ," Garrett huffs, squeezing her against him. “You can’t say shit like that to me. I’m going to fucking die.”
Her eyes widen in amusement. “Well, don’t do that. I need you alive for a very very long time.”
Garrett laughs and kisses her again, but he pulls away before it can turn deeper. “I want to. I really fucking want to. But I’m not fucking you for the first time in nine months in the fucking green room. We can do so much better than that.”
“Can we?”
He nods, like he’s already got something planned. “We can.”
She laughs breathlessly, and then one of her hands reaches down to intertwine with his, already pulling him to the door. “Let’s go, then.”
“Wait,” he tugs at her gently, causing her to look back at him in question. Garrett pauses. There’s still that old lingering doubt floating in his chest that he knows they’re going to have to work hard to eradicate completely. There’s still a part of him that’s not sure if this is for real, or if they need to start hiding again, so he asks, “Are you sure?”
Her face melts into something soft. She squeezes his hand tightly. “Very sure. Didn’t you hear? Garrett Graham is my boyfriend now.”
He lets out a relieved chuckle, feeling his cheeks and ears burn. “Alright,” he nods, then copies her words. “Let’s go, then.”
She gives him another smile–beaming, bright, so beautiful it makes him weak–and together, they walk out of the green room hand in hand.
Pairing: garrett graham x childhood best friend!reader
Summary: when the granddaughter of the former head coach of the New York Rangers transfers to BriarU, people don’t expect you to be so attached to captain of the Briar Hawks hockey team, garrett graham. what everyone didn’t know was that you are his childhood best friend. don't forget the guys who welcomed you with unconditional support and became family like you’ve never expected.
Warnings: childhood best friends to lovers trope. (they act like they’re married and have been together for 30 years) one-bed trope. no mention of y/n, pet names are used to refer to the reader: petal and angel. found family to the absolute max, along with dean being a menace. wholesome love all around. reader is given princess treatment.
a/n: worked my butt off for this one, and i hope you all love it as much as i do. i'm such a sucker for the found family trope. also a little family healing for garrett, and did i mention that garrett is completely gone for the reader? (let me know what you think!)
Word count: 13.1k
masterlist
“Did you guys hear about the granddaughter of the former New York Rangers coach transferring here from Columbia?” Logan asked Dean and Tucker from the kitchen. “We’re out of beer.”
Just as he made the statement, Garrett walked through the front door holding a case of beer: “I come bearing gifts.”
“Our saviour,” Logan jokingly praised as he opened his welcoming arms for Garrett to hand the case over to him.
“Logan, is she hot?” Dean chirped from the couch.
“What girl caught your eye?” Garrett teased, walking over to the pantry in search of a snack.
“Not yet. I was asking the boys if they heard about the new transfer from Columbia. Apparently, she’s the granddaughter of the former Rangers coach,” Logan explained.
His words had Garrett pause his rummaging and slowly turn around to face Logan. “Where’d you hear that from?” Garrett’s voice came out more snippy than he had meant.
“A couple of the guys in the locker room mentioned it today at morning practice,” Logan shrugged, not noticing Garrett’s shift in mood.
Garrett’s breath hitched at the mere thought of guys he knew talking about you.
The girl he grew up with. Of course, he knew you.
He couldn’t even remember the number of times you two would go off and explore an arena wherever the Rangers were playing. Even when someone would catch the pair of you somewhere you probably shouldn’t have been, no one could ever say anything against the pout that you would pull out when you were kids. It helped that you were the Rangers’ head coach’s granddaughter.
Your families have been connected since before both of you were born. His father met yours when he first made the team at 18. Your father was 20 and determined to prove that he deserved to be on the team, not just because his father was the coach. Both felt like they had something to prove and became a fierce pair on the ice.
Your mothers bonded quickly when they were first introduced. It wasn’t easy with husbands who were always in the limelight.
They marveled when they found out they were pregnant around the same time. Garrett was born exactly one month before you. Which was something you never heard the end of during your childhood. He would always claim that it was his job to make sure you were safe.
They would always gush when you two were together as children. Garrett was always trailing behind or beside you like a protector, and he was always the first one to help you up when you stumbled over your feet. Sometimes, it felt like he knew you better than he knew himself.
Garrett remembered all the family vacations that you guys shared. The way that his father would put on an act and pretend that they were this picture-perfect family, but you didn’t buy it.
You’ve hated Phil Graham from the moment you overheard an argument between Garrett’s parents when you were 8 years old. You were staying over for a couple of days as your parents were away traveling. Garrett had begged you to ask your parents if you could just stay with his family instead of staying with your grandparents.
It didn’t take much convincing for your parents to let you stay with the Graham family. Granted, they didn’t know what happened behind closed doors.
A memory flashed in Garrett’s mind of the first Halloween without his mom and the first time his father laid hands on him.
“Gare, you don’t have to be brave with me.” You were inspecting his bloodied knuckles. The first aid kit sat next to you on the bed. “This is going to burn a bit.”
“Petal, just do it already.” he tried to squirm away, but you kept a firm grip of his hand in your lap.
Garrett redirected his focus from the pain to you. He watched as you took care of his hand, making sure it was clean before putting ointment over the split knuckles and wrapping it with such care. He looked at you like you were the only thing that brought light to his life.
“Okay, all done,” you muttered quietly while you started putting all the stuff from the kit away. You walked over to his closet to put it back in the corner where you first stashed it when you saw bruises on his mother’s wrists years ago.
“I hate him.”
“I know you do.”
“He’s a monster. He’s cruel. He never treated my mom right, even before she got sick. He’s always been so mean,” Garrett sniffled. He looked down at his wrapped hand and clenched his other fist tightly. “I never want to be like him.”
His words caught your attention, and you sat back over to him. You took his hands in yours and brought them close to your heart. “You, Garrett, are nothing like your father. You are nothing but kind and caring. You always look out for me even when you don’t need to. You are so special, and I never want you to think otherwise.” You told him with fierce invigoration.
Even at 12 years old, Garrett knew then that he would never love someone as much as he loved you at that moment.
“G? You all good there?” Logan snapped his fingers in front of Garrett’s face, hoping to pull him out of his daze.
Garrett shook his head slightly as if to clear the thoughts that scrambled through his mind about you. “Sorry, what’d you say?” His eyes flickered over to Logan, but he still seemed distracted.
“I was telling you about that girl. I heard from a couple of the guys that it hasn’t even been confirmed that she’s transferred officially.” Logan explained to him.
Garrett let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. That news made him feel better that it was just rumors. His chest felt tight at the thought that you wouldn’t share such big information with him. Especially considering he last talked to you a week ago, and you didn’t mention anything about the possibility of transferring to Briar U.
“Hey, G? Do you know her? With your dad being a former Ranger,” Tucker speculated, making his way over to the kitchen to grab a beer. “Maybe a connection?”
Dean joined the rest of the group. “If you do, can you put in a good word for me?”
“Not a chance,” Garrett snorted. “I’m leaving this conversation.” He started to walk away from the boys and headed for the stairs.
“G? You didn’t answer the question!” Garrett heard Tucker yell out from the kitchen. Ignoring him, Garrett made quick work of taking out his phone and pulling up your contact.
His thumb hovered above the call button until he got to his room and closed the door behind him.
“Hey, bub! What’s up?” you answered. Just from hearing your voice, Garrett’s body relaxed. He felt the tension that he held in his shoulders melting away while listening to you. “I actually have some news for you!”
Garrett shook his head. He flopped back against his bed, softly laughing to himself, “Just wanted to talk to you.”
“Love, we just talked last week. Did something happen?” The concern in your voice was obvious. “You know you can call me anytime, right? No matter what.”
“I know, Petal.” A warm smile crept onto Garrett’s face. “Is it a crime to just want to hear your voice?”
“You’re such a sap.” Your laugh came through the phone, and Garrett almost forgot the reason why he called you.
“You said you had something to share with me?” Garrett turned the conversation back to you.
“You know how I’ve been telling you I want a change of pace? I feel stuck here, and I love my family, but I need some space to breathe without someone asking me for Rangers tickets or if I’ve ever wanted to hook up with any of them,” you rambled, beating around the bush of the actual news. “I just want to feel like I’m on my own for once. Wow, I sound entitled. I am so sorry for that–”
“Don’t apologize. I’m always here to listen to you.” Garrett cut you off, knowing that if he didn’t, you would continue apologizing for something you never had to be sorry for. “And I get it. Trust me, I do.”
“I miss you, Garrett.” You admitted it so softly that he almost missed it.
“I miss you, Petal.”
“You’ll be sick of me when I transfer to Briar U.” You snuck the surprise in. “I’m serious, you’re never going to get a moment alone again.”
The moment he comprehended what you said, he couldn’t stop his smile from widening. “Petal, don’t play with my heart like that if you’re not serious.”
“Garrett Graham, did you hear what I just said? I am serious.” You mockingly defended your words. “Love, I mean this. I already submitted the paperwork. I’m waiting on my credits to transfer over, so I can get my new schedule.”
“When will you be here?” The urgency in Garrett’s voice and the question got a giggle out of you.
“Maybe a week or two. I’m still trying to solidify my official housing situation. They offered me a suite on campus, but I’m considering looking for a place off campus,” you explained the small conundrum. “Gramps said he would pitch in if I find a place because he says that he knows the ‘kind of boys that could live on the same floor’ as me. Which is verbatim to what he said, by the way,” you laughed to yourself, thinking back to the conversation with your grandfather.
“I one hundred percent agree with Gramps. Don’t even worry about finding a place. Just stay with me, Petal,” Garrett offered without a single thought or hesitation. “I’d know you’re safe. Gramps would feel better knowing that you’ve got four giant hockey players to protect you. Your dad might not be the biggest fan of it cause he hasn’t met the other guys, but he’ll trust me with you.” Garrett was reasoning with you.
“Love, I couldn’t intrude on you or the rest of your housemates. This is a big thing, and I’m a big girl. I can figure this out…” You trailed off. You had to admit to yourself that what Garrett offered sounded nice. From your search, most places close to campus were already filled since it was midway through a semester. You saw a few that caught your eye, but the drive was 25 minutes away from campus.
“Petal, this isn’t up for discussion.”
“Yes, it is. Especially considering I’m almost positive that when you were moving in, you told me that there were only four rooms.”
“I’ve got the master bedroom, Petal. It’s plenty of room for you and me. There’s an ensuite bathroom. Honestly, it’d just be how it was when we were little and used to go on vacation,” Garrett countered you. “Baby, please just stay with me.”
The softness of his voice almost made you cave at the spot. “You have to ask your housemates.”
“Done. They won’t have a problem with it.”
“You ask them now, Garrett. Go downstairs and throw the idea out there for them. Keep me on call, so I can hear their reactions,” you instructed him.
“Yes, Ma’am.” Garrett shot out of bed and headed for the door. “Boys! I got a question for you!” Garrett yelled out to them, hoping they could hear him over the TV blasting the sounds from their video game.
“Bub, that was straight in my ear,” you pointed out, reminding him you were still right next to the speaker.
“Oh shit, sorry, Petal,” Garrett muttered as he hurried down the stairs.
Dean was the only one to catch what Garrett had said. He pointed it out to Logan. “Petal?”
Logan looked up from the screen. He twisted his head to glance at Garrett. “What’s up, G?”
“Who are you talking to?” Dean quipped at the same time as Logan.
The exchange took Tucker out of the game and left him watching the people around him. He muted the TV, leaving the house quiet.
Garrett’s posture gave away his nervousness about finally bringing you up to them. He never purposely tried to avoid any topics that could relate to you, but that also meant he chose to never bring it up. He got enough questioning about his ‘legendary’ dad and what it must have been like to grow up in that environment. That’s all anyone ever cared about anyway.
“The granddaughter you were asking about?” Garrett answered, hoping his tone was enough to signal to them to be cool about it.
“What do you mean ‘the granddaughter,’ G?” Logan questioned. His eyes widened by the moment.
“How do you guys feel about getting another roommate?” Garrett blurted out. He never thought it would be nerve-wracking to mention you to the guys. He felt like he had to share a part of you that he only ever wanted to keep to himself.
“We only have four bedrooms,” Dean pointed out the obvious.
Tucker gave him an up slap against the back of his head, “He knows that, dingus.”
Garrett ran a hand through his hair as he scanned the guys for their reactions. “What’d they say, Bub?” You weren’t even on speakerphone, but it was loud enough in the silent house that the others could hear you clearly.
“You’ve known who I was talking about this whole time? You just pretended to be stupid or something?” Logan's thoughts gathered quickly to make the connections. “Let me sound like some idiot going on about it.”
“Yeah. She’s transferring from Columbia.” Garrett swept over Logan’s realization.
“G, I don’t know any girl that would want four guys as their roommates,” Tucker claimed, because it seemed laughable that a girl would ever want to live with guys who eat, breathe, sleep hockey.
“She’ll be fine. I’m not asking you to give up any of your rooms. Mine will be fine. I don’t want her to be in the dorms. You know how the guys over there are. I’d feel better knowing she’d be close,” Garrett explained with a rare softness in him that no one ever really heard other than you.
“She’d be more than close,” Dean muttered under his breath. Logan nudged him in the side with his elbow.
“Are you sure she even wants to move in?” Logan asked him honestly.
“Gare, put me on speaker, please?” You requested politely. Garrett abided and shoved the phone more in the guys’ direction. “Can they hear me?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” All three of the guys affirmed for her.
“Unbelievable.” Garrett guffawed at the three in front of him.
“Garrett’s just being overdramatic about this. I don’t want to force myself into your guys’ space–”
“Petal.” Garrett cut you off with a tone that didn’t leave room for much argument.
“Love, you can’t just ask them something like that and expect them to be completely okay with it.”
“Petal, I will call Gramps. Please don’t make this more complicated.”
“Garrett Graham! Don’t you dare!” You yelped on the phone.
Garrett’s mind was only focused on the sound of your voice, as if the rest of the world melted away from him. Logan, Tucker, and Dean all raised eyebrows at each other because of the pair of you. They had never heard Garrett be like that with a girl. Hell, they never saw him interact with many girls unless it was for a night, and they were always quick to leave.
“Petal, all you have to do is say yes.” Garrett implored.
“Would you guys be okay with it? If not, I’ll work something else out, don’t worry about me.” You asked them, uncertain about Garrett’s plea.
“If you’re important to Garrett, you’re important to us. You’re welcome here anytime,” Tucker answered for the three.
Dean raised a finger in the air to signal he was about to chime in. “Get ready for some serious game nights,” he joked.
Logan added, “What’s your drink of choice?”
“A cosmo,” you answered simply, with humor lacing your voice.
“Bullshit, it’s always a strawberry mojito,” Garrett called out to counter.
“Besides the point,” you brushed off.
“Honey, we have to go attend the fundraiser.” Your dad’s call from the hallway broke you away from the conversation. He knocked against your door softly.
“Come in,” you told him.
“You talking to someone, Sweetie?” He said from the door.
“Just Gare, Dad,” you announced to him as he started to enter your room.
“Hey, son! I saw a clip from your last game, and you’re looking real good out there. With this one transferring over, I’m going to have to attend some games in person finally,” your dad happily spoke to Garrett. Who had made his way to the kitchen and placed his phone on the counter while he searched for a drink.
The other three scrambled from the couch to the counter to continue to listen to the phone call. All of them actively started to slowly get more and more geeked out at the mere presence of your dad’s voice.
“Hey, Pop! Thanks, it’s been quite a season out there, but our next home game is in two weeks. Will you be in town?”
“Yeah, I’ll get the lot to come out since it’ll be Petal’s first home game because she originally chose a school with no hockey!” Your dad bellowed out in a laugh. “We have to cheer for you while we can.”
“Gramps, still mad at me for Boston?” Garrett queried.
“Like Gramps could say mad at you, Bub,” you snorted.
Logan, Dean, and Tucker were in utter disbelief at what they were witnessing. They had never seen Garrett at peace and content, talking to people on the phone. He was never like this when he was on the phone with his dad.
They started to question the relationship that Garrett had with you and, presumably, the rest of your family. It was evident that he was close with your family, but it seemed deeper than that. A casualness that only came around when you were talking to family, but they assumed he was somehow also romantically linked to you. Maybe it was both, but the scene in front of them was creating bounds of confusion.
“He’ll get over it once he sees you on ice,” your dad assured him. “Anyways, Garrett. Petal and I have to seriously head out now before the Missus has both of our heads.”
“It was good talking to you, Pop.”
“Bye, bub. I’ll let you know when I get back later. I love you!”
“I love you too, Petal.” Garrett grinned to himself, and the boys officially thought they had lost the Garrett Graham that they knew. The call ended, and Garrett turned back to the boys. “You shitheads are actually okay with this, right?”
And just like that, Garrett Graham was back the way they knew him to be. “G, what the hell was that?” Logan was baffled.
“The former Rangers’ head coach is going to attend our next game,” Dean said in a daze.
“You gotta tell us what’s going on, man,” Tucker said, exasperated by no explanation.
It was clear that Garrett didn’t even know where to start. His mouth opened and closed exactly three times before he even let anything out. “What do you guys want to know?” He thought it was a great question to gauge where the guys’ heads were at.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been with her this whole time, and you’re still with bunnies,” Logan chastised him. “That’s not cool, man.”
“No. No, we’re not dating,” Garrett responded, putting his hands up to somehow show his innocence. “We grew up together.”
“No way there’s nothing there, G,” Tucker protested.
“So you wouldn’t mind?” Dean gave Garrett a look that explained what he had meant.
“Dean, you’re not getting with her. Don’t even think about trying anything,” Garrett warned.
“Oh, you’re in love with her.” Logan snapped his fingers at Garrett.
“Dude, I thought we already knew that,” Tucker said to Logan.
“Wait, how is it going to work with her moving in here? This is not exactly a five-star hotel.” Dean gestured to the slight mess around them. While it was cluttered, the house wasn’t too bad at its current state. It looked lived in. “I mean, if you’re not dating her, but she’s going to share your room with you. I’m just trying to understand this, man. Because that means no more bunnies for you like ever.”
“There’s not going to be another bunny,” Garrett said as if it were the most simple thing.
“He’s a changed man, Dean,” Tucker whooped as he made his way over to Garrett and gave him a good slap on the shoulder. “G, this girl means a lot to you, and if you want her to live here. We’re seriously cool about it.”
“Thanks, Tuck.”
After much discussion, your family thought it was best if you had a week to settle in. Since you weren’t moving into your own place, you didn’t need to bring much other than clothes and necessities. You and Garrett had talked about what he had and what you still needed to buy, but agreed that you could just go shopping together rather than getting anything beforehand. Everything you needed to bring was able to fit in your G-Wagon.
While you didn’t officially start until next Monday, you were finally at Briar to pick up your schedule and really take in the new campus without the rush of trying to figure out where your classes were.
It was Friday, and students were still scattered around campus for those who still had classes. You were walking around aimlessly, trying to find a cafe that Garrett recommended that you might like.
Meanwhile, the guys were finishing grabbing lunch on campus after their practice. They headed out of the dining hall together. Garrett was looking down at his phone as he checked your location, knowing you would be at Briar already.
Garrett cocked his head to the side because, according to the phone, you were in his vicinity. “Holy shit, look at her. She’s like an angel,” Dean guffawed as he stopped the guys in their tracks.
“She’s beautiful,” Logan commented.
“Out of your league, dude,” Tucker added on.
Garrett tilted his head back up to see what Dean was going on about. There you were, about 20 feet away. He had half a mind to tell Dean off, but he agreed with him.
You hadn’t noticed the group staring at you. They watched as you pulled your phone out as if you were making a call. You held the phone to your ear while still looking around, but not fully catching the four boys.
Garrett’s phone rang in his hand, the other three’s heads snapped to look at his phone. He accepted the call. “Hey, Petal.”
“Bub, I think I’m lost,” you told him.
“You look so cute, though. Like a lost little duck,” he continued to admire you from afar.
He watched the realization dawn on your face after his words. You scanned your surroundings and finally saw them. Your face lit up at the sight of Garrett. He did just the same when he saw you start to head in his direction. You hung up the call and slid your phone back into your purse. Garrett slid his to his pocket to free up his hands.
The three guys stayed back as Garrett walked to meet you. They watched as your grin spread across your face. It was so bright that it could make anyone melt if they knew it was directed at them.
The sight of you starting to jog towards Garrett in pure joy was something to behold. You met each other halfway and practically crashed into one another. His arms wrapped around your waist automatically. Your arms locked around his neck. Neither of you was particularly interested in letting go.
“You’re actually here,” Garrett mumbled into your hair. His grip tightened even as he pulled back to look at your face. His eyes crinkled at the corners from the way he was smiling in genuine delight. “I’m never letting you go anywhere without me again,” he chuckled as he picked you off your feet and spun you around.
Your laugh was blissful. Students flowed around you both while they pointed out Garrett and the ‘mystery girl’ he was with. But in the moment between you and Garrett, all of them were forgotten, like the rest of the world.
“Gare, let me down!” you yelped, laughing. Garrett missed that laugh. More than he’d realized.
Garrett set you back down, but you stayed in his arms. You reached up to fix a piece of hair that had fallen across his forehead. Without any hesitation. Without any thought. Like you had done it a thousand times before. Garrett didn’t even react. He was fully occupied by admiring you.
Back to the Dean, Logan, and Tucker. The three guys nearly choked when they saw that. “I thought he said they aren’t dating?” Dean pointed to you two. “She fixed his hair.”
“I was not expecting them to run into each other’s arms,” Logan quipped.
“What is happening?” Dean was utterly confused by the scene in front of him.
“I don’t know.” Logan shook his head.
“I’ve never seen him smile that much.”
“Neither have I, Dean.”
“They have to be dating,” Dean declared.
“If they’re not now, I hate to see them when they are,” Tucker cackled, clapping his hands together. “C’mon, let’s introduce ourselves to our new roommate.”
You tore your eyes away from Garrett’s and glanced over to where the guys were. “Your friends?”
Garrett turned back and saw them walking toward you two. He sighed, “Unfortunately.” He watched as Dean cheesed and happily waved to you. “Oh, my God.” Dean was mortifyingly enthusiastic.
You broke an arm away to wave back. “Are they on something?”
“Worse.”
“Perfect.”
You dropped your arms down and attempted to pull away from Garrett to get ready to greet them. Which Garrett’s response was laughable. Instead, he moved to stand behind you and keep his arms around you. The guys caught how Garrett’s stare stayed on the side of your face. The kind of smile plastered on his face was something his friends had never seen before. It was warm. He looked hopelessly gone.
“Let me guess, the one leading the pack is Tucker, Dean is obviously the blond, which leaves Logan, who has that brooding brunette look to him.” You humored him.
“The second they get over here and meet you. They’re never going to leave us alone,” Garrett said, exasperated. You laughed and moved one hand to lightly grip his forearm while you waited for the three to make their way over.
“Can’t believe he waited a week before she transferred to tell us that he knows her,” You heard Dean tell the guys.
“Hey, you guys! Garrett, you remember we exist, right?” Logan greeted,d joking.
Dean was the first one to offer you a hand. You moved your hand from Garrett’s arm and shook Dean’s waiting hand. “Hi, Angel.”
“Angel?” you whispered to Garrett in question as you pulled away from the handshake.
Garrett just scoffed, but luckily Dean was there to explain, “You look like an Angel, unless I can call you Petal?”
“You’re pushing it,” Garrett warned. Dean smirked and raised his hands to motion to back off.
“Okay, but Angel, if things don’t work out with him, let me know. I’ll only be a few doors away.” Dean winked at you playfully, signalling he was really only saying it to mess with Garrett.
Garrett looked about a second away from committing a felony. You felt his arms tighten around you and pull you to press against him. Logan noticed and burst out laughing. You nearly choked. “You’re a fun one, Dean.”
“Call me Six Flags,” Dean nodded at you.
“I hate you,” Garrett told him.
“No, you don’t, Graham.” Dean smiled.
“Don’t mind him,” Tucker pushed Dean out of the way. “I’m Tucker, well, John, but Logan is also John,” Tucker introduced himself. He opened his arms slightly, and you tapped on Garrett’s arms to let you go. You giggled and accepted the hug. “We cleaned the house for you, Ma’am,” he whispered as you guys parted.
“Oh, how very kind of you all,” you told him.
Logan watched with a grin on his face that reflected genuine. Like he’d decided within the past few minutes that you belonged with them. “We’ve heard nothing but your name for the past week, and honestly, I’m just happy you’re here.”
Your expression softened. “That’s really sweet. And seriously, thanks for being so cool about this. I really appreciate you guys.”
“Any time, Angel,” Logan replied. Dean snorted at the use of the name.
“Not you too, Logan.” Garrett rubbed at his temples. He reached an arm out to you, and you naturally wrapped your arms around him. “Do you have everything with you already?”
“Yeah, my car is packed to the brim right now,” you answered. “Are you guys done for the day?”
“We cleared the schedule, so we can help the Missus move in,” Dean claimed.
“Perfect! Would any of you mind if you drove my car to the house?” You reached into your purse to grab your keys and dangled them in front of the guys. Dean nodded and opened the palm of his hand. “Thank you, kind sir,” you teased, dropping the keys into his waiting hand. “I parked it in the lot near admissions! It won’t be hard to miss.”
Dean finger-saluted you. “I’ll see you all at home?”
“Yeah, we’ll meet you back there.” Tucker motioned to himself and Logan before breaking away from the group with Dean.
“See you in a bit,” Garrett responded, waving goodbye to the three.
When Garrett pulled up to the house, it was bigger than you expected, but at the same time, it made complete sense for the four hockey players.
Well.
Four college hockey players, and apparently you know.
Even after Garrett had parked the car, you knew better than to try to just get out yourself. You waited patiently while Garrett rushed over to your side to open the passenger door and offer a hand to you.
With your hand laced with his, you guys made your way to the porch. The front door swung open. Dean stepped outside, twirling your car keys around one finger. “Your car is officially here.”
“My hero,” you pretended to gush. “Thanks, Dean.”
“No problem, Angel.”
Dean tossed the keys in your direction, but Garrett intercepted and caught them. He kept hold of them and pointed them to pop open the trunk. The movement was so familiar that neither of you really reacted. Unfortunately, Dean did, and so did Logan and Tucker, who were right behind him.
Immediately. They exchanged a look. You pretended not to notice. Garrett definitely noticed.
“Alright,” Garrett announced. “Let’s move this circus inside.”
You all turned to look at your car and the full trunk. Silence. You cleared your thoughts. “What?”
Logan pointed to the mountain of boxes. “You know you’re sharing a space with G, right?”
“We’ll make it work.” You shrugged.
Tucker went to pick up one of the boxes, and he immediately regretted it. “What is in this?”
“Just books.”
“All of them?”
You nodded proudly, “I like reading.”
“Nobody likes reading that much,” Dean retorted.
You pulled your hand away from Garrett to snatch the box away from Tucker. “Give me my children.”
Garrett laughed, and the sound made you smile before you could stop yourself. “Come on,” he said, taking the box from your arms before you could protest.
“Hey!”
“No, Petal.”
“I can carry it,” you defended.
“I know.” He said, heading into the house.
Instead of arguing, you sighed, picked up another box, and followed him inside. Dean, Logan, and Tucker were standing still, which, in passing, you told them, “I thought you guys were going to help?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” The three all got a box of their own to carry in.
The inside of the house was exactly what you expected. A little chaotic, but you could tell that they made an effort to tidy up the house for your arrival. It was comfortable. The kitchen looked surprisingly clean.
“I’m a mean cook, Angel. Just you wait,” Tucker boasted before going up the stairs to drop off the box in Garrett’s room. Well, now your shared room.
Any nerves that you had about transferring to Briar and moving in with the guys disappeared. This didn’t feel like walking into a house of strangers. It felt like walking into a place you’ve somehow already been a hundred times.
Maybe because Garrett was here, or that his friends welcomed you without hesitation. Everyone kept making room for you without even realizing they were doing it.
By the time the second trip down to the car was made, you were already helping Dean and Logan make fun of Garrett’s habit of neatly folding laundry.
By the third trip, Tucker is asking you what your favorite meal is, so he can try to make it. Then Logan explained the house’s completely unnecessary ranking system for takeout restaurants, and somehow you’re laughing through all of it.
Dean placed the final box onto the floor. “Important question.”
“Which is?” you asked back while looking through a box full of shoes in dust bags.
“You’re completely okay with just moving into his room,” Dean gestured around Garrett’s master bedroom.
“He offered,” you shrugged, “And it’s not like we haven’t shared rooms before. Growing up on summer vacations, our parents always figured that we would sneak into each other’s rooms anyway, so they just started putting us together by the time we were seven.”
“That clarification should’ve come when we first called last week,” Logan said.
“I hate living here.” Garrett rubbed a hand over his face.
“No, you don’t, G,” Tucker mumbled.
By midnight, only a few boxes were left to unpack, and you guys gathered in the living room for some late-night pizza. The kitchen light was off, the room was illuminated by the TV, and six pizza boxes had taken over the coffee table.
Dean was on his fifth slice and in full interrogation mode. “Okay,” he said, pointing at you and Garrett. “We have questions,” he said, pointing to Logan, Tucker, and himself.
“Yup, we all do,” Logan added, leaning back against the couch.
Tucker nodded. “Especially because he’s acted weird for an entire week.”
“I haven’t acted weird,” Garrett tried to pass off. All three of the roommates stared at him.
You laughed into your drink. Garrett looked betrayed.
Dean pointed dramatically, “First question: how long have you two known each other?”
You and Garrett answered at the same time, “Since birth.”
No response.
“Literally?” Logan blinked. “He neglected to mention that he had a childhood best friend.”
“Literally,” you repeated. “Our moms were best friends before we were born.”
“How?” Dean gaped.
“Buddy, I think you all know who our dads are.” You gently parented him.
“And your grandfather?” Logan asked.
“Former head Rangers coach, as you guys know. Only stepped down after my dad retired from hockey,” you told him while reaching for another slice. Before you had to get up from your place next to Garrett, Tucker plopped another slice on your place. “Thanks, Tuck.”
“Who’s older?” Dean went.
You rolled your eyes at the question, knowing what was coming.
“Me,” Garrett claimed proudly.
“By one month,” you scoffed. “You guys would never believe how many times he pulled that out in an argument.”
“I’m older,” Garrett dismissed.
“By thirty-one days.” You deadpanned.
“Still older.”
“You brought it up constantly.”
“Because it’s true.”
Logan looked delighted. “This explains so much.”
“What does it explain?” Garrett questioned.
“Why you two act like a married couple.” Logan’s words had you choking on your drink. Garrett nearly did the same, but he was quick to rub your back in soothing motions. The action really didn’t help your case. Dean howled in laughter after catching it. Logan and Tucker snickered to themselves.
After calming down, Dean moved on to his next question. “How have we never heard of you before?”
The room went a little quieter. Garrett mumbled, “You guys know I don’t really talk about home.”
No one pushed. They all knew that much.
The boys knew Garrett didn’t like interacting with his dad and that his mom had passed away when he was younger. What they didn’t know was that you had been there through it all.
You nudged his knee with yours, and he glanced at you briefly. Just for a moment, but his shoulders loosened a little.
“There was never a reason to bring me up. I was away in New York, and god knows that Columbia kept me busy enough to have any downtime,” you explained. “And you guys were always away when I would visit during the summer.”
“Wait, a damn minute.” Dean paused mid-bite.
“What’d you just say?” Logan was taken aback.
“What do you mean by that?” Tucker probed.
Garrett shook his head and poked you in the side. “They didn’t know that, Petal.”
“Well, now they do.” You finished the last bit of your slice and put your plate on the coffee table. You leaned back against the couch and tucked your feet under you. Garrett lifted his arm, and you scooted closer to his side.
His arm came behind your waist, and his hand landed on your hip. He tugged you to be snug against his side.
“Now, a serious question,” Dean remarked, even though he felt like he was interrupting something.
“Dangerous start.” Your laugh was airy, with tiredness starting to dawn on you.
“Who said ‘I love you’ first?”
“Straight for the kill,” Logan snorted.
“Oh god,” Tucker mumbled into his drink.
“So help me, god.” You heard Garrett mutter under his breath. You turned your head to look at Garrett and found him already facing you. “We’re not answering that,” Garrett scoffed.
“There was a first time!” Dean gasped.
“Everyone has a first time,” Garrett attempted to brush him off, but he replied too quickly to seem casual.
“That is not helping your case, G.” Logan chuckled.
Dean sat back, feeling victorious. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?” you asked.
“That whatever this is–” Dean gestured between you and Garrett, “–has been happening for years.”
Garrett groaned.
Tucker nodded thoughtfully. “Honestly, I’m just glad you finally showed up. He’s been unbearable this week.”
“I have not.”
You laughed again, and before you could think about stopping yourself, you leaned your head against Garrett’s shoulder.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because it was, and Garrett didn’t even hesitate before leaning back.
Dean, Logan, and Tucker exchanged identical looks like before. None of them said a word. They didn’t need to. The answer to every question was sitting right there on the couch for them to see.
The next morning, you woke up to Dean banging against the bedroom door. The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds. You turned slightly and felt your cheek brushing against Garrett’s bare skin. The bed was a sight of tangled limbs and Garrett’s head tucked into the crook of your neck.
The persistent knocking caused him to shift in his sleep, an arm instinctively tightening around you.
“Gare, I cannot breathe.” You attempted to pull yourself away from his grasp.
“Baby, it’s too early,” Garrett murmured in your ear, not aware of the knocking yet.
“Guys, wake up, we want to go to breakfast!” Dean yelled from the other side of the door.
“Dean, just come in,” you permitted him.
The door creaked softly, and Dean entered the room with a hand covering his eyes. “Angel, are you guys decent?”
“You wish I wasn’t.” You chucked a pillow at him, which he annoyingly caught.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Garrett grumbled, realizing Dean was in the room.
“The guys and I want to get breakfast at Malone’s, and Angel hasn’t been yet, so it’s perfect.” Dean begun. “We’re leaving in 30 minutes.”
“That sounds great. We’ll be ready,” you told him.
“Okay, okay, now get out,” Garrett shooed Dean away.
“Angel, you see what we’ve had to deal with?”
“Try dealing with him for your entire life,” you countered.
“You’re a strong woman.”
“The best. Now, seriously, man, out.” Garrett pointed an arm to the door.
“Fine, but you guys better be downstairs soon!” Dean said as he shuffled out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Finally,” Garrett mumbled, tucking his head back into your neck.
“Bub, we have to get up.” You ran a hand through his hair. You felt him smile against your skin. “Come on, let me up,” your hand continuing to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Baby, I haven’t woken up with you in my arms for months. You’re breaking my heart here.” Garrett expressed, trying to be serious, but the whisper of a smile played at the edges of his lips.
“You are being dramatic.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Fortunate for me.” He pressed a kiss against your forehead and finally loosened his grasp around you.
You rose from the bed and stretched. You looked out the window. “This is nice.”
“Yeah,” Garrett replied. You turned back to face him.
You found him already staring at you.
The drive to Malone’s was chatterful. Your car was chosen, but the designated driver was Garrett. You were seated in the passenger seat, holding Garrett’s hand in your lap. The backseat arrangement was laughable. Dean, Tucker, and Logan, in that order, were squeezed into your back seats, which you always felt like were spacious when driving with your friends. But with three hockey players in place, they were like a tin of sardines.
When Garrett finally parked, Logan was the first out of the car and almost tripped over his own legs, with Tucker trying to push him to get out faster.
Logan beat Garrett to opening your door. “Angel,” he said, a smirk pinching at his cheeks while he offered his hand to you.
“You’re doing this on purpose.” You stifled a laugh as you peeked at Garrett, who was five steps short of your door.
“Let me have this one?” Logan whispered. You took his hand and got out of the car. Rather than letting go of your hand, he wrapped your arms together and guided you to the entrance of Malone’s. “You are going to love this place, Angel.”
“Petal.”
You heard him say from behind you, turning back to look at him. “Yes, Gare?”
Garrett Graham would never admit to pouting, but lo and behold, a sliver of a pout was edging his lips. “You’re just leaving me behind?” he gaped. Instead of responding, you let Logan lead you guys in.
“Snubbed by your own girl, that’s got to be tough.” Dean clapped a hand on Garrett’s shoulder.
“G, stop moping and let’s go. I’m hungry, man,” Tucker told him, heading in after you and Logan.
Inside, you and Logan were waiting by a booth. Logan slid into one side, and you to the other. Tucker sat next to Logan. Dean dragged over a spare chair, spun it around backwards, and sat at the end of the booth. Garrett stopped at the edge of the booth. “Oh, now you want to be next to me?”
Ignoring his dramatics, you looked up from the menu. “What do you guys usually get?”
Garrett sighed pitifully. He slid next to you and snaked his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. You automatically put the menu in front of both of you. “You’ll like the berry waffles.”
“Sounds yummy.” You leaned your head against his shoulder.
“You’d think they didn’t wake up next to each other,” Dean teased. “Garrett, get a grip, dude.”
Even with the teasing, Logan, Tucker, and Dean enjoyed seeing Garrett like this. A kind of softness that he never really displayed to people besides you. The tenderness as he whispered to you as if no one else existed. The way the menu was shared, and Garrett was pointing out all the things he thought you would like to try at some point.
A waitress came by with coffee. Without asking, Garrett reached over and slid a mug in front of him before adding two sugar packets. Then a splash of cream. He stirred it once before pushing it toward you. “There.”
“Thanks, baby.” You took a sip. “Perfect.” You pressed a kiss against his jaw.
“You didn’t even watch him make it,” Logan commented.
“I don’t have to?” Your eyebrows pulled together, showing your slight confusion.
“You just trusted whatever he put in it?”
“He’s made my coffee since I first started drinking coffee.”
Logan blinked. “They’ve killed me.”
“God, I forgot that you guys have been married for years,” Dean joked.
Tucker ignored the rest of the group and got to ordering. The rest of you followed suit.
Around the diner, people had definitely started noticing. Mostly because four starting hockey players were difficult to ignore, especially when one of those players is the captain, Garrett Graham. What really stuck out was you, the unfamiliar girl who leaned into his side as if you belonged there.
Whispers bounced between tables.
“Who is she?”
“Is that the new transfer girl people have been talking about?”
“How does she have Graham bringing her with the guys?”
“I thought he said he doesn’t do girlfriends.”
Two girls near the counter glanced over one too many times. One leaned toward the other. “I’ve literally never seen him with a girl before.”
“Maybe she’s his sister.”
You happened to laugh at something Garrett said, but the smile that was plastered across his face said it all.
One of the girls frowned. “Definitely not his sister.”
Dean noticed before anyone else. Without turning around, he spoke just loudly enough for it to reach anyone sitting at the counter. “Man.” The others looked at him. “It’s amazing how people forget that minding their own business is free.”
“It’s ridiculous,” Tucker said bluntly. The whispering behind him immediately quieted.
Logan casually leaned back in the booth. “It’s almost like we have our own lives.”
There was a softness that came over your features. It radiated such appreciative affection for such new, devoted friends. The guys defended you as if you were their own, without a second thought or hesitation.
Dean caught your eye and winked at you. “We’ve got your back, Angel.”
“Always,” Logan added.
“You’ve got us for life, Angel,” Tucker finished.
“You guys are going to make me cry.” You teared up a bit, and your face flushed with heat at the gesture. Garrett rubbed at your side soothingly. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Angel, we’re practically family already,” Logan reasoned, sending you a sweet smile.
“I am going to be the best uncle ever,” Tucker claimed, nodding his head.
“But I get to be the Godfather,” Dean asserted in full seriousness, but the act dropped quickly with a grin spreading across his face.
“We’ll play rock, paper, scissors for it.” Logan contended, waving a hand at Dean.
Garrett snorted, shifting the attention to him. “Unlikely,” he scoffed jokingly under his breath, but it wasn’t quiet enough for the guys not to catch it, and especially not for you.
You pressed a hand against the one he had on your side. Your thumb rubbed circles against his knuckles.
“Listen, buddy, we never said you had to be the dad,” Logan tutted at Garrett.
You felt Garrett stiff beside you. “That’s not even funny, man.”
“Oh, this is gold.” Tucker snickered at Garrett’s obvious displeasure at the mere idea of you creating a life with someone else.
“I’m fine.” You all caught on to Garrett’s voice and how defensive he sounded.
Dean wasn’t ready to end Garrett’s suffering just yet. “You want blond babies, Angel?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. “They’d be beautiful.”
Your whole body shook with laughter at Dean’s insinuation. You didn’t see Garrett’s face, but the guys did. The way his brow wrinkled into a deep frown. His right eye twitched while he was glaring down at Dean. “Godfather, typically means you’d have to be alive for the role.”
Dean paled slightly. Instead of replying, he took a long sip from his water, gulping awkwardly.
Tucker had put his hand to muzzle his laugh that was threatening to spill out.
Logan was suddenly very interested in a ketchup bottle. “These ingredients are so funny.”
The waitress came up to the table with breakfast, unaware of the scene she was walking into. “Hope you all enjoy,” she said, setting plates in front of each of you. She refilled your waters before finally walking away from the booth.
Garrett’s frown dropped just like that. Before you could reach for the syrup, Garrett poured it perfectly on your waffles. You grabbed a piece of bacon off his plate. You took a bite of about half of it before you offered it up to Garrett’s mouth. He ate the rest without questioning.
Neither of you looked exactly at each other, but the way you moved with ease and avoided bumping into one another said it all.
Neither of you broke the conversation either. Garrett asked if you liked the waffles. You nodded sweetly, taking another bite. He hummed, satisfied in response. It happened so naturally that it was obvious that neither of you even processed how you guys were.
Across the table, Logan stared.
Then at Tucker.
Then at Dean.
“I think we’ve been upgraded from roommates,” Logan muttered to the two.
“We’re just watching these two domesticate each other in real time.” Tucker looked a bit in awe at how evidently you both were in tune with one another.
Dean nodded solemnly, “I think we’re witnessing a thirty-year marriage before the first date.” He took another bite of the pancakes. “They’re hopeless.”
You and Garrett looked over. “What?” you both asked at the same time.
The three roommates burst into laughter. You and Garrett looked at each other, and despite having no idea what was so funny. You both started laughing, too.
Della, from behind the counter, watched the way the five of you fit together. She had never seen the boys the way they are right at this moment. She immediately decided that you were a missing piece in a very chaotic puzzle of hockey players. You belonged at that table.
Breakfast lingered long after the plates had been cleared.
The conversation drifted from hockey to classes, then somehow to the time that Dean accidentally set the kitchen toaster on fire. “It was defective,” Dean insisted.
“It exploded because you put a Pop-Tart in sideways,” Tucker replied.
“That’s a design flaw.”
“More like user error.”
You laughed at the pair, shaking your head. You tapped against Garrett’s thigh. “I’ll be right back.”
“Bathroom?” Garrett slid out of the booth to let you out.
“Mhm.” He helped you out like a gentleman and kissed your hand before you walked away from the table.
You did head toward the hallway for exactly seven steps. Then you quietly veered toward the register, looking over your shoulder, and the guys were busy talking about the next home game coming up in a week.
The waitress looked up with a smile. “Everything okay, honey?”
“Perfect, actually.” You pulled out your card that you had sneaked into your pocket before you left earlier. “I’d like to pay for our table.”
She glanced toward the booth. “The hockey boys?”
“Yeah.” You smiled.
“They’re usually fighting over who pays.”
“I figured.”
“You sure? Honey, I’m positive that none of those boys would want you to pay.”
You looked over your shoulder again. The four of them were full of laughter. Logan was dramatically reenacting whatever play he was retelling. Tucker looked like he regretted encouraging him. Dean was adding in parts that Logan was leaving out. And Garrett. He was watching the conversation with that quiet little smile he’d worn almost all morning.
It tugged at something in your chest. “They’ve been really good to me.”
The waitress followed your gaze. “You’ve known them for a long time?” She wondered.
“Just the one I was sitting next to.”
She rang up the bill. You tipped her generously when signing off the receipt. When she handed your copy, you tucked it into your pocket along with your card before anyone could notice.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure, sweetie.”
When you returned, Dean looked up. “That was fast.”
“I think we’re ready to finish up here,” Tucker said.
“I physically cannot move.” Dean leaned back and rubbed his stomach.
“You had seven pancakes,” Logan reminded him.
“I regret nothing.”
Garrett politely signalled for the waitress’s attention. She placed the check holder at the edge of the table. “Huh,” Garrett muttered when he reached for it.
“What?” Logan asked.
“It’s empty.”
Dean frowned. “What do you mean it’s empty?”
“The bill.”
“You guys already paid?” Tucker questioned.
Garrett looked at the others. “I didn’t.”
“I was waiting for him,” Dean said, pointing to Garrett.
“So was I,” Tucker admitted.
The waitress walked by carrying another tray to pick up the empty plates off the table. “You boys are all set.”
Four heads turned. You busied yourself with applying some lip balm. “What?”
Logan shook his head.
“It was taken care of already.” The booth fell completely silent.
Four pairs of eyes turned toward you.
“Petal,” Garrett said.
“No.” You stopped.
“You paid?” He scoffed.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You absolutely paid,” Logan retorted.
“You didn’t have to do that, Angel,” Dean said.
“I didn’t do anything,” you shrugged.
“Bullshit,” Garrett muttered.
“Breakfast seemed like a pretty cheap way to say thank you for letting me into your lives so easily.”
The table was quiet for another moment. Then Dean stood up. “Oh.”
“What?” You glanced at him. Tucker and Logan slid out of the booth to stand as well. Garrett did the same. Your eyes flickered to each of them. They all shared a look and nodded. In a blink, you were bombarded by the four. They hugged, keeping you in the middle. “Guys, I can’t breathe.”
“Too late,” Logan mumbled.
“Petal, we don’t need that.”
You were holding up two different colored fluffy throw blankets. “Do you like the dark blue better or the gray?” ignoring Garrett’s statement.
“You’re not going to use it, and it’ll end up on the floor.”
“I can use it in the living room.” You brushed him off.
“Okay, fine, just get both. One for the living room and the other for the bed.” Garrett gave in.
You hummed to yourself triumphantly. “You see, that wasn’t so hard.” You brushed a faint kiss against the left side of his jawline before you put the blankets in the cart.
A husband who was in the same aisle with his wife had watched the short interaction between you and Garrett. He had a fond expression written across his face. “Son, happy wife, happy life.” He simply said before following his wife out of the aisle.
“Are you planning a proposal I don’t know about yet?” You teased Garrett, grinning at him. Your faces were inches apart.
Garrett brought a hand to your face with his thumb gently stroking your cheek. His face carried a relaxed smile. His gaze was locked into your eyes. “Not yet. But eventually.”
You wished his words would surprise you, but in reality, it was more of a confirmation than anything else. “I think we’re skipping a few steps.” You placed a hand on his chest, and you could feel the beating of his heart.
“Like there would be anyone for me other than you,” Garrett murmured.
You could tell he was holding himself back. The way he brought himself closer to you and tilted his face to yours. His pupils dilated, and you could feel his heartbeat start to quicken. “You know, for a second there, I thought you were finally going to do it.”
“If I kissed you, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.”
“Who said you had to?”
His lips brushed against yours. It felt like he was trying to test the waters. Your hand slid from his chest to his jaw. The hand on your cheek pulled you in even closer, if that was possible. His lips smiled against yours.
The gap finally closed. The way his lips parted against your own so gently. The kiss was chaste since you both were standing in a store. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He said, pulling away to look back into your dazed eyes.
You pecked his lips again. “We never stood a chance.”
“Against what?”
“Us.”
“It’s you and me forever, Petal.”
The next week breezed past you before you knew it. The transition to classes was easier than you were expecting. Another thing you thought was going to be difficult was you and Garrett, but really, other than stolen kisses in hidden hallways or late nights in the kitchen. The pair of you hardly had to change anything.
Sure, Garrett was even more affectionate than usual, but it wasn’t overly done where the guys caught on to you two. It kind of felt fun keeping it between you and Garrett. Not that either of you meant to keep a secret. It just hadn’t come up, and anyone who had been around lately either assumed you were already dating or, like the guys, just got used to the fact that you and Garrett were suspiciously close.
Plenty of people on campus just thought that the new transfer student finally locked down the infamous Garrett Graham. Not many knew or cared to find out that you guys knew each other prior. No one found that you had moved in either, not that it was any of their business.
As much as you tried not to let it get to you, the puck bunnies were hard to ignore. Especially with the Briar Hawks having a home game soon, everyone was buzzing around you. From the guys’ endless practices and workout sessions to students’ nonstop chatter about the game and after-parties.
Garrett was quick to assure you that the minute he found out that you were coming to Briar. He hadn’t even thought about another girl since. Not that mattered anyway. It wasn’t like you were a saint in New York. You had your fair share of dates that Garrett, over the years, pretended didn’t bother him when you would call him excitedly to prepare for one.
You could hold your own, but that didn’t stop the irk you would get overhearing the bunnies talk about “whatever” you and Garrett had would never last long before he got bored.
You didn’t doubt your new relationship with Garrett. Even your mothers were rooting for you two to end up together, the second they found out about each other’s pregnancies. Garrett was yours just as much as you were his. It’s been like that since the two of you could walk.
“Baby, I’ll see you and the family later at the game, I got to run to meet with coach. I love you.” was the last thing you heard from Garrett at seven in the morning before he hurriedly pressed a kiss against your forehead before heading out the room. You weren’t even fully coherent enough to reply. Just hummed happily before dozing back off.
You decided that around nine it was time to get up for the day. You had the house empty to yourself. The first time since you moved in. Even with everyone’s hectic schedules, there was usually at least one or two other people home. Not that you minded the company, it let you know the guys better and their habits, which some were admittedly messier than others.
Your feet padded down against the staircase. You found yourself looking for something in the fridge to make for lunch. With the game being later into the night, you had plenty of time to get ready for it. Right now, you chose to make lunch for the guys. You had bought a huge slab of salmon the other day and decided that it was the perfect thing to pair with some rice and steamed vegetables for the guys. Just like your dad’s game day lunch.
Music blasted in the house while you cooked. You set out individual meal prep containers that you hadn’t had the chance to use since you bought them. You portioned out a slice of salmon, rice mixed with quinoa, along with steamed broccoli and cauliflower to each container. It was close to noon, and you knew by the time you got to the arena, it would be perfect timing for lunch.
You hadn’t told anyone that you were planning to stop by to drop off the food. The players were still on the ice when you entered the arena. You stopped to sit down a few rows behind the players’ bench while you waited for them to finish their drills. No one had noticed you yet, except for Coach Jensen.
His brows drew together as he tried to figure out if he recognized you. At first, he assumed you were a bunny trying to sneak into watching practice, but his eyes landed on what seemed to be a thermal food bag.
“Definitely a girlfriend.” He thought to himself.
He saw how you watched the boys with trained eyes. It was as if he could see you mentally noting what some of them could work on. That piqued his interest. “Okay. Let’s head to lunch!” He called out to the players on the ice. “I thought I said no girlfriends during practice.” He threw in right after, causing you to snap your head in his direction and see him already looking back at you.
“I’m just dropping off lunch!” You sheepishly called out. You made your way down, and Garrett was quick on the ice to make it over to you. “Hey, bub.” You smiled, watching him take off his helmet.
“That’s the missus, coach!” Logan hollered from across the ice.
“Angel!” Dean’s voice boomed with the sound of his skates coming to a stop near you and Garrett.
Tucker was the only one out of the four to catch what you told Coach Jensen. “I heard lunch?”
“I hope that’s for us too and not just, G!” Logan called out, making his way over.
“Missus?” Coach Jensen questioned to himself more than anyone in particular.
“Is that the transfer from New York?”
“I want lunch, too.”
“She’s the one G was with when we saw him at Malone’s the other day.”
“I didn’t know bunnies made lunches.”
That was the chatter that was amongst some of the other players.
Garrett tuned them out and honed his attention to just focus on you. “You didn’t have to bring lunch for me, Petal.”
“Great! Because I didn’t make it just for you.” Your voice was loud enough for Logan to hear, resulting in him whooping out a cheer. You brought the bag to your front and shook it ever so slightly at the four. “If your coach is okay with me bringing food to feed some of his players…” You trailed off, glancing back at Coach Jensen, who simply was amused by this whole interaction. Never in his life had he seen his star player/captain turn so soft in a matter of seconds, or give any girl the time of day on a game day.
“Whatcha got to feed these hooligans?” He walked over. You opened the bag for him to take a peek in. He could see the stack of meals you prepared for the guys. His eyes spotted how you made sure to take into account protein and grains along with the vegetables. “Not too bad.”
“Approved?” you said hopefully.
“Just make sure they get back to me after lunch is over.” He winked at you in approval before making his way to the locker room.
“Give us a bit, Petal. We’re going to take off the gear, and we’ll come back out. Make yourself comfy on the bench.” Garrett pressed a kiss against your cheek before skating off the ice.
The other three saluted you as they passed by, following Garrett to the locker room. It didn’t take them long to find their way back to you. By the time they returned. They noticed the four containers neatly laid out with a fork sitting on top of each lid, with a napkin placed underneath it.
Dean whistled out, “Angel, you’re my favorite.” He started to pass around a container, so each one of them had one.
Tucker had been the first to open it and see what you made. “Smells delicious, Angel. Is that rice mixed with quinoa? Oh, you’re good.” He complimented, blowing you a kiss.
“Our savior,” Logan greeted you with a side hug and a kiss against the top of your head. Before grabbing a container of his own and taking a seat. “Oh, TIGS.”
“Dude, what does that even mean?” Dean questioned him. “This is good shit?”
“No. This is god sent.”
“Thanks, baby,” Garrett murmured to you in appreciation. He had found his place at your side. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Yeah, it’s dad’s game day lunch.” You two were sat pressed next to one another. Your eyes scanned over to the other guys. A satisfied smile wreathed your lips.
Dean closed his eyes, letting out a blissful sigh as he swallowed. “G, you’re evil for not introducing us to Angel sooner.”
Tucker paused to chew, pointing his fork at the salmon. “This is delectable. Thank you, Angel.”
Logan mumbled, his mouth still half-full. “Angel, where were you the past three years on game days? This is so good.”
Garrett just laughed at the three’s antics. “And this is why you didn’t meet them until now.”
“We heard that,” Dean called out.
“How are you guys feeling about tonight?” you asked them, shifting the conversation.
“We got to make sure we win your first Briar hockey game,” Logan affirmed.
“Not her first Briar game,” Garrett corrected before taking another bite of the food. The remark made the other three pause mid-bite/chew.
“She’s been to one before?” Logan raised a brow at him
“Angel, we could’ve known each other much sooner!” Dean yelped dramatically.
“Not the first hockey game, but my first official home game,” you explained.
“When did you see one?” Tucker asked you.
“I’ve been to a few,” you admitted. “My first one was Garrett’s first game playing because how could I ever miss that? Then I’ve been to a couple away games you guys had when it was close to New York. Most recently before the transfer, I went to Garrett’s first game as captain.”
“Hold on a minute,” Dean said. “You’ve been to all these games, and we never knew?”
“Never needed to bring it up,” Garrett shrugged.
“Wait, is that you got so weird at some of the away games? I always thought you were nervous or some shit,” Logan said in an epiphany. He snapped at Garrett’s direction, “I knew it was weird when you didn’t come out with us after.”
“Like that Clovers game! I just figured you were meeting up with a bunny–” Dean was cut off.
“No, I took Petal to dinner after the game.”
“Oh, that was the nice Italian place!” You recalled it in your memory.
“We don’t get taken to dinners after games,” Logan scoffed playfully.
“We’ll take you to dinner tonight, Angel,” Dean offered with a grin.
“Even better, I’ll cook you dinner, Angel.” Tucker winked.
“Sorry, boys. Not tonight. Gare’s got the family coming in to see this game. I’m sure Gramps will want dinner together tonight.”
“Your family is coming tonight? Like actually? I thought that was just like a joke your dad was making.” Logan gaped. “And your grandfather wants dinner?”
“Not with you shitheads,” Garrett snickered.
You smacked his arm lightly. “Be nice. They can come if they want to.”
“Family dinner with hockey royalty,” Dean said, a bit starstruck.
“G, how are you not shitting in your pants?” Tucker said, baffled.
“Her dad is okay with her living with us, right?” Logan brought up.
“More importantly, he knows that you guys are sharing a bed?” Dean added.
Garrett put down the now empty container. “Guys.”
“Yes, my dad is perfectly fine with my living situation. He knows that we’re together, and he trusts Garrett. Well, I think the entire family has had a bet going on since we were conceived.”
“Ma, definitely had one with Mom. You remember when we went to Vancouver for vacation?”
“That was what? When we were ten?”
“Yeah, Ma slid over twenty bucks to Mom during dinner when I was cutting your steak–”
“YOU GUYS ARE TOGETHER?” Dean yelled out the second it clicked in his head.
“Honestly, quicker than I expected,” Tucker claimed.
“Let’s not kid ourselves. They were always together.” Logan retorted.
You tore your eyes from Garrett’s and looked back at the guys. You felt heat flush your face, realizing what you casually said. “Yeah, we’re together.” You couldn’t help the smile that threatened to lift the edges of your mouth.
“Since when?” Tucker questioned.
“The day we brought back the blue blanket from the couch.”
“Oh, I love that blanket,” Logan noted.
“I know, it’s so soft!” You happily clapped your hands together.
“It’s really warm, too,” Logan added.
“You didn’t tell us sooner?” Dean wondered.
Garrett kept his eyes on you. How you animatedly expressed your love of the blanket. The way your eyes lit up when you talked. “Honestly, just slipped my mind. I mean, it’s just so natural being with her.”
“You talking about little old me?” You playfully fluttered your eyelashes at him. “I love being with you, too, love.” You kissed the corner of his mouth, pulling away with a gentle smile.
By the time warm-ups began, the arena was already loud. Student sections were filling with painted faces and homemade signs. Lots of 44 were seen around the arena. The pep band was halfway through the fight song.
Garrett tapped his stick against the boards before skating another lap, absently scanning the stands. He always looked. Even when there wasn’t anyone to find.
But tonight was different. Halfway up behind the home bench sat you, your parents, and grandparents. Your dad had a custom Garrett 44 hat, with your mom sporting 44 on her cheek. You spotted him almost immediately and stood, waving both hands over your head.
Garrett couldn’t help but smile. You were wearing his jersey. His actual jersey. Not one you’d buy from a gift shop. One he’d given you the second you started talking about wanting to plan your outfit.
You gestured to your parents excitedly. Garrett came to a stop, and he scanned the seats next to you. His pause was noticed by Logan. He lifted his stick toward the stands.
“What a night,” Logan looked over in its direction.
Dean nearly skated into Logan. “Man, what are you looking at?” Then he saw them too.
Tucker answered before anyone else. “That’s the family.” His eyes looked over two seats next to you, and rest assured, your grandfather sat there with the quiet confidence of someone who’d once stood behind an NHL bench for nearly twenty seasons.
Dean examined your grandfather. He looked older now compared to clips from his coaching days. The former head coach of the New York Rangers. A living legend. Not to mention your father, who sat next to you. Dean looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe. “They came for him.”
Your grandfather looked down toward the ice. He spotted Garrett and raised one hand. Garrett’s smile widened even more. He lifted his glove and waved back. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. Logan stared.
You laughed from the stands and leaned over to say something to your dad. He smiled, then cupped his hand around his mouth. “ATTABOY, SON!” The words echoed faintly across the ice. Garrett let out a laugh, then tapped his stick twice against the glass in front of them.
The announcer interrupted, “Ladies and gentlemen.” Warm-ups were over.
The game was fast and physical. Two teams were fighting to lead the conference. By the end of the first period, it was tied one to one.
Logan threw a huge hit that brought the crowd to its feet. Dean blocked a shot that probably should’ve gone in. Garrett had two chances and saved both. Every time he returned to the bench, his eyes drifted toward your section.
To the same five people who always cheered him on and like how they always would.
Late in the third period, it was still a tie game with only three minutes left. The arena buzzed with nervous energy. Coach Jensen leaned over the boards. “One more shift.”
Garrett nodded, and the puck dropped. Tucker won it clean, and it was back to Dean, then across Logan, who’d carried through center before slipping it wide. Garrett caught it in a stride. There was one defender. Garrett cut inside and the defender bit. Open lane. For the smallest fraction of a second, everything went quiet. He had snapped the puck.
Top corner. Bar down. Ping. The sound rang through the arena. The red light exploded with the building erupting. Goal.
Students leapt to their feet, and the bench emptied over the boards. Logan tackled Garrett first. Dean nearly knocked both of them over. Tucker arrived a heartbeat later. The arena shook with applause. You were already screaming with both hands over your mouth and tears filling your eyes.
Your dad was on his feet, clapping so hard that his palms had turned visibly red. Your grandfather stood beside him, grinning with unmistakable pride. The television camera caught them easily. “Hockey royalty celebrating that goal,” one commentator laughed. “Looks like they approve.”
The final horn sounded moments later. Briar Hawks won.
When Garrett stepped off the ice, an arena attendant waved him over. “They’re waiting.” He didn’t need to ask who. The family entrance hallway smelled faintly of popcorn and fresh ice.
The moment that Garret rounded the corner, “There he is!” you ran to him. He caught you before you even reached full speed, lifting you clean off the floor as you wrapped yourself around him. “I almost lost my voice!”
He laughed into your hair. “I heard.”
You pulled back just enough to kiss him. Like it belonged there with such ease. When you stepped aside, your dad opened his arms. “Come over here, son.” Garrett didn’t hesitate and hugged him tightly.
“Good game, Pop.”
“You kidding?” Your dad squeezed his shoulder. “That release would’ve beaten me.”
“You don’t have to say that,” Garrett attempted to be modest.
“I know,” your dad brushed Garrett’s hair back from his face. “But I mean it.”
Next came your mom. She cupped his face in both hands before pulling him into a hug. “You look exhausted.”
“I feel exhausted,” Garrett admitted.
“You eating enough?” Your mom tapped his cheek.
“Ma.”
“I asked a question.” She persisted.
“Yes, Ma.” Your grandfather stood, waiting with his hand tucked into his coat pocket. Garrett stopped in front of him. “Hey, Gramps.”
The older man looked over him for a long second and nodded, “I’m proud of you.”
Garrett swallowed hard, “Thanks.”
“You earned that one.” The former coach clapped him firmly on the shoulder. “Now stop standing around me and go stand next to Petal.” You immediately slid back to Garrett’s side. Your grandfather pointed between you two, “Took you long enough.”
Your mom laughed. “I was beginning to think I should’ve agreed to a betrothal that your mom and I talked about once.”
Your dad shrugged, “I would have given them another year.”
Garrett rubbed the back of his neck. “It was obvious?” Every member of the family stared at him. He sighed, “Never mind?”
“Hey!” Another familiar voice echoed down the hallway. Dean, Logan, and Tucker rounded the corner, still carrying pieces of their gear. They stopped the second they saw your family. Every single one of the three stood a little straighter.
Dean whispered, “Oh my God.”
Logan elbowed him, “Be normal.”
“I’m trying,” Dean told him.
Tucker quietly failed to hide his awe.
You laughed, “You guys! Come over here!” You motioned them over. “This is Dean, Logan, and Tucker,” you introduced them to your family. The three hockey players suddenly looked like nervous freshmen again.
Your father smiled first and shook each of their hands, “Good game, boys.”
Dean looked as though he might frame the handshake. “Sir, I watched your highlights growing up.”
Your father laughed. “Now I feel old.”
“You are old,” Your grandfather commented.
“I walked right into that one,” Your dad admitted.
The former head Rangers coach shook hands with each of them too. “I like watching your line.” The three roommates collectively forgot how words worked.
“Thank you, sir,” Logan managed.
“That means a lot,” Tucker remarked.
Your grandfather smiled, “You boys play the game the right way.”
Dean quietly leaned toward Garrett and you, “I’m never washing this hand.”
Garrett snorted, and you laughed, leaning into his side, “I figured.”
Your mom looked around the group. “So, who’s hungry?” Every hand went up, and she laughed, “Perfect, go get changed and let’s head out.”
The players immediately obeyed. Garrett kissed the side of your head. “I’ll be back out.”
As the guys started walking together, Dean drifted beside Garrett. “So…”
“What?” Garrett glanced over at him.
“They really are your family.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He looked back to the group waiting for them. At the people that had supported him through everything. Then looked back at the guys, the friends who had become brothers. Then back to you, watching as you shooed him to hurry along.
Summary: You're out of school for the summer which means full time at Central Perk. You're miserable, and Chandler happens to be hiring.
warnings: MDNI, oral m!receiving, praise kink, dirty talk, light choking, readers first time giving head.
masterlist
-----
July 1st, 1994
The air in Central Perk was thick with summer heat and half-melted foam art. You were already sweating through your second coffee-stained apron, your hair sticking to the back of your neck in a way that felt almost biblical in its cruelty.
You emerged from the back, face flushed and jaw tight, just in time to hear Chandler sigh dramatically into his cup like it was a stress ball.
“I swear to God,” he muttered, “if one more executive asks me to ‘circle back’ on a spreadsheet that they themselves lit on fire with incompetence, I’m quitting and becoming a mime.”
Phoebe blinked. “You’d be a great mime. Lots of repressed emotion.”
Monica leaned over from her spot beside Rachel. “Rough day?”
He snorted. “Rough year. I’ve aged six months since this morning. And, my desk is so buried in memos and paperwork I think it’s trying to unionize. I’m pretty sure my filing cabinet has declared war on me..”
Rachel sipped her iced tea. “You said that about your printer.”
“Because my printer is plotting against me. It jammed on purpose the other day.”
Phoebe nodded. “Sounds like you need to hire someone.”
Chandler threw his hands up. “That’s what I’ve been saying. I need a secretary. An assistant. A competent adult with fingers and a basic grasp of the English language. I’m drowning in WENUS reports.”
You perked up from the bar. “Wait. You’re hiring?”
“No,” he said immediately, pointing at you like he knew where this was going. “Not you.”
“But why not me?”
“Because you already work here. And you’re my--" He gestured vaguely. “You’re you. It’d be like hiring a raccoon I sometimes feed crackers to and then suddenly expecting them to run payroll.”
“I’m very organized,” you countered, approaching with your hands on your hips. “And I’m desperate.”
Joey looked up from his sandwich. “Oh man, she’s using the desperate voice. That means she’s serious.”
Chandler leaned back like he was trying to physically distance himself from the conversation. “It’s a terrible idea. Mixing business with… whatever this is,” he gestured between the two of you, “has disaster written all over it.”
“So you admit there’s a this?” you teased, smirking.
“Nice try.”
You pressed a hand to your chest. “Please. I’m begging you. I’ll be the best assistant you’ve ever had. I’ll alphabetize your memos, I’ll manage your appointments, I’ll even smile at the guy who wears cologne that smells like axle grease.”
“You threatened to punch that guy last month.”
“Because he snapped his fingers at me,” you snapped. “But in an office setting, I’ll just write a strongly worded post-it.”
Chandler narrowed his eyes, but you could see the cracks forming. You went in for the kill.
“And I’ll bring you coffee,” you added. “The good kind. Not that sludge from the lobby.”
Still he hesitated.
And so, with the flair of someone who had officially run out of dignity around noon, you dropped to your knees in the middle of the coffeehouse.
Monica gasped.
Rachel slapped a hand over her mouth to hide her laugh.
Joey straight-up choked on his soda.
Phoebe beamed proudly. “She’s really committing to the role.”
Ross groaned. “Oh my God. You should probably say yes before she starts offering to laminate things topless.”
Monica smacked his arm, scandalized. “Ross!”
“What?!”
You clasped your hands like a Victorian ghost. “Please. Chandler. Free me from this café-shaped prison. Just for the summer. Let me answer phones and complain about printer toner instead of mopping up whipped cream disasters.”
“I am so uncomfortable right now,” Chandler muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
“I’ll even learn Excel,” you whispered like it was a sacred vow.
“Alright, stand up,” he groaned, reaching out and hoisting you back up like a lost toddler. “This is Central Perk, not Broadway.”
“So I can do it?”
He sighed, long and dramatic. “You get a one-week trial, but if you try to feng shui my cubicle or bring crystals to ward off bad meetings, you’re out.”
You beamed. “Deal.”
Joey raised a hand from the couch, genuinely curious. “Wait-- do crystals actually work?”
Chandler didn’t miss a beat. “If they did, I wouldn’t still be employed.”
“They do work,” you said solemnly. “You just have to believe.”
Chandler stared at you like you were plotting an exorcism with office supplies. “I already regret this."
“Place your bets now. I give it three days before she’s the one in charge.” Monica said to Phoebe.
Rachel sipped her drink. “I give it two.”
As you skipped back behind the counter, still grinning, Chandler sank into the couch like a man who knew exactly what kind of chaos he’d just unleashed.
But maybe-- just maybe-- he didn’t mind all that much.
July 4th, 1994
Chandler swiveled in his office chair, watching the clock tick toward 8:59. One minute before she was supposed to arrive. He wasn’t sure what he expected-- maybe her running late with a donut in one hand and a Bowie tape in the other, maybe her dramatically apologizing for having to wear something “business casual, whatever that means.”
What he didn’t expect was the sharp knock, followed by the door swinging open at exactly 9:00.
You stepped in, toting a canvas tote bag and wearing a pencil skirt that somehow still had a little personality. Your hair was pulled back, but your smirk was firmly in place.
“Good morning, Mr. Bing,” you said sweetly. “Your 9:00 has arrived.”
Chandler blinked. “You’re… punctual.”
“I know,” you said, shutting the door behind you. “It’s disgusting.”
You tossed your bag on the side chair and pulled out a legal pad. “So. First order of business-- what fresh hell are we walking into today?”
Chandler gestured to the mountain of files on his desk. “That is all the paperwork I’ve been ignoring since April. It has now reached sentience and occasionally threatens my kneecaps.”
You clicked your pen and approached his desk. “Don’t worry, I’m fluent in bureaucratic nonsense.”
“You know this place uses a very specific color-coded filing system, right?”
You reached out, flipped through a few folders, and started sorting them with mechanical ease.
“I read your department’s file manual last night,” you said casually. “It was riveting. Five stars. Would recommend.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You read the file manual?”
You shrugged. “Well. I skimmed it. During a rerun of Columbo."
“…This is terrifying,” he muttered. “I might actually owe you money already.”
You glanced at him over your shoulder. “Careful. That sounded dangerously close to a compliment, Mr. Bing. Very unprofessional.”
“Right. My mistake,” he said dryly. “From now on I’ll only compliment your handwriting. Which, by the way, looks like it belongs to someone who doted on her Lisa Frank binder collection.”
You turned, faux-offended. “Excuse me, my handwriting is extremely legible and charming. Unlike someone’s tie collection.”
When you finished sorting the first stack of files, you looked around. “Where’s your coffee?” You asked.
“In the break room. Past the land of despair and next to the guy who smells like ham.”
You gave him a look.
“Don’t worry,” he added. “I usually grab it after suffering through the Monday morning rundown.”
You snatched a folder from his desk. “I’ll get it. I mapped out the building this morning. I like to know where my exits-- and caffeine-- are.”
“You what?”
But you were already halfway out the door.
By the time Chandler had finished signing three memos and rechecking a budget form, you returned-- with coffee, a sticky note of reminders, and a mild insult about the tie he was wearing.
“You look like you lost a bet with a stockbroker,” you said, setting the mug in front of him.
He sipped. “This is actually good.”
“Of course it’s good. I made it."
“You’re… disturbingly efficient,” he said slowly. “And alarmingly cheerful.”
“Don’t get used to it. I’m only nice on my first day.”
You perched on the edge of his desk. “So what’s next?”
He gestured to the pile on the left. “That entire stack needs to be sorted, flagged, and filed by department.”
You popped a piece of gum in your mouth. “Done.”
“I mean now.”
“I know,” you said, already picking up a folder.
Chandler leaned back in his chair and studied you for a moment-- feet crossed, gum snapping, making sarcastic remarks between categorizing memos like a pro. You didn’t look like anyone else in the office. You looked like you belonged somewhere louder, somewhere with better music. But somehow… you fit.
You looked up, caught him watching, and grinned.
“Don’t worry,” you said. “If I start alphabetizing your socks or decorating your Rolodex with glitter pens, you have permission to fire me.”
“Please don’t glitter my Rolodex.”
“No promises.”
Chandler tried to suppress a smile but failed. “…You’re actually pretty damn good at this.”
You raised your eyebrows. “You said a swear and a compliment in the same sentence. Are you feeling okay?”
He threw a paperclip at you. You caught it midair, grinning like a criminal.
Across the hall, someone called Chandler’s name. He stood with a sigh, straightening his tie.
“Duty calls,” he said. “Try not to unionize the office while I’m gone.”
“Too late,” you said. “I’ve already convinced a guy from accounting to stage a lunchtime protest.”
“You are a menace,” Chandler muttered as he walked to the door.
You gave him a mock salute. “You knew what you were signing up for.”
As the door clicked shut behind him, you turned back to the stack of files with a self-satisfied smirk.
Day one: crushed it.
Friday, July 8th, 1994
4:57 p.m.
The office had thinned out. Phones quiet. keyboards still. The scent of burnt coffee hung faint in the air, but your desk was cleared, your clipboard stacked neatly with completed forms, and the papers Chandler had been drowning in on Monday now sat blissfully in their designated folders.
You clicked your pen one last time and spun it across the desk like a coin. “Well,” you announced, “I either fixed your entire system or permanently reorganized it in a way only I understand.”
Chandler looked up from his chair, eyebrows raised. “You’re saying I won’t find anything ever again unless I bribe you with cassette tapes?”
“Exactly,” you said, standing and dusting imaginary lint from your skirt. “I work for music and spite.”
He pushed back from his desk and stood, hands in his pockets. “I have to admit… I didn’t think this would work.”
“Oh, I know,” you said smugly. “The hesitation. The trial run. The subtle hinting that you’d rather hire a stapler.”
He smirked. “In my defense, the stapler doesn’t try to organize my lunch drawer.”
You crossed your arms. “You had six mustard packets and a sock in there, Chandler.”
“One man’s chaos is another man’s filing system.”
You gave him a look, then softened. “So…?”
He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “You’re hired.”
You blinked. “Wait-- seriously?”
“I mean, unless you spontaneously combust over the weekend or decide to pursue your lifelong dream of becoming a backup dancer for Madonna-- yes. I want you here.”
Your face lit up. “I knew it! Suck it, Gunther!”
Before he could respond, you surged forward and threw your arms around him.
It caught him off guard, but only for a second. His arms slipped around you too, warm and firm, the kind of hug that said this is familiar and don’t let go yet.
And you didn’t.
Not right away.
The moment stretched. You loosened your grip slightly, just enough to pull back and look up at him. His hands stayed on your waist. Yours hovered near his shoulders. Both of you paused, breathing in the closeness.
Then-- like a magnet pulling the inevitable-- you kissed him.
Soft at first. Testing. His lips moved against yours like he’d been holding back for too long. One hand slid up to your cheek, and your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like you couldn’t help it.
When you broke apart, it was only for breath, foreheads nearly touching.
You looked at each other-- really looked.
Not “was that a mistake?”
Not “should we stop?”
Just… Should we keep going?
The answer was written across both your faces.
And then the hunger caught up with you both.
You moved together-- messy, urgent. His hand slipped from your waist to your cheek, then slowly down. Tracing. Holding. He kissed your mouth like he was drinking you in, and then his hand stilled at your throat, not tight, just there, as if he wasn’t sure what would happen if he let go.
Your hands gripped the front of his shirt, anchoring yourself as your back hit the nearest wall. He pressed into you, mouth hot and insistent, and you moaned--quiet, almost surprised at yourself.
He froze just slightly.
You opened your eyes.
And then you both surged forward at the same time.
The little couch in the corner of his office groaned under the weight of you both as you collapsed onto it together, half-falling, half-dragging each other down in your rush. He caught himself with one hand above your head, the other never leaving your throat.
You tugged him down with you.
It was all breath and friction and murmured curses between kisses. He muttered something about “breaking at least three HR rules,” and you whispered, “you don’t even have an HR department,” before biting his lower lip.
He groaned-- low and filthy.
His mouth dragged down your jaw, teeth grazing your neck. You arched up into him instinctively, your fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt. His hips met yours with too much pressure to be accidental.
You kissed him harder.
And for a moment, there was no coffeehouse. No friend group. No line you weren’t supposed to cross.
Just you and him.
Alone in his office. Finally out of excuses.
He kissed you like he’d missed it. Like he was trying to memorize every noise you made.
And you let him.
5:13 p.m.
You were already breathless when you pulled back just slightly, lips parted, hair mussed from where his hands had tangled in it minutes earlier.
You were now on top of him, straddling his lap, your thighs ached from the pressure, and your heart thudded like it had no interest in slowing down. Your lips were swollen. His shirt was wrinkled and half-untucked. And you couldn’t stop staring at him.
“Hey,” you said, quieter now.
Chandler blinked up at you, his thumb still resting against your cheekbone like he hadn’t realized he was holding your face. “Yeah?”
“I want to…” you swallowed, cheeks warming. “I want to make you feel good.”
His brows lifted faintly. “You already are.”
You rolled your eyes with a crooked smile. “I mean--” You bit your lip. “I want to go down on you.”
Chandler froze for a second. Then softened. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” you said again, a little firmer. “I’ve just… never done it before.”
Something in him shifted. Less heat now, more reverence. He cupped your jaw again, fingers gentle. “Okay. Then we go slow. You don’t have to prove anything.”
“I’m not trying to prove anything,” you murmured. “I just want to see what makes you lose your mind.”
He let out a stunned laugh-- giddy and breathless. “Jesus.”
You slipped from his lap and knelt between his legs.
The carpet was rough beneath your knees, but you barely noticed. His legs parted instinctively, tension already creeping up his thighs, visible even through his slacks. Your hands trembled as you reached for his belt, but he didn’t rush you. He just watched you with eyes half-lidded and jaw tight, like every second of waiting was driving him mad.
You undid the buckle, then the button, then eased his zipper down. The sound felt deafening in the silence.
He hissed in a breath when you reached in and wrapped your fingers around him. You stilled at the weight, the heat. It was one thing to imagine touching him. It was another entirely to feel him twitch in your palm.
“…Okay?” he asked, voice wrecked.
You nodded, cheeks warm. “You’re big.”
He laughed, a quick, breathless sound. “Don’t say things like that unless you want me to propose to you right now.”
You grinned, then leaned forward and kissed the tip of him. A tease. Experimental. His whole body jolted like he’d been electrocuted.
“Holy shit.”
“You said slow,” you reminded him, trying to stay calm even though every part of you was buzzing.
“I did. I did. That’s-- yeah, keep doing that.”
So you did. You took him into your mouth-- awkward at first, then smoother. His voice helped. Low praise, gentle instructions, muttered curses that made you ache with want.
“Use your hand too. That’s perfect. Just like that.”
When you looked up through your lashes, his head tipped back, groaning so deep it vibrated through the floor.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered. “You are actually going to end me.”
The confidence in you bloomed.
“You’re doing so good,” he murmured, voice rough with awe. “So fucking good for me.”
The praise hit you like a shockwave. Your breath stuttered, and a soft moan slipped out before you could stop it. Instinctive, involuntary, it curled low in your stomach, heat blooming behind your ribs.
Chandler swore under his breath, hips giving the smallest, startled jerk. “Jesus. Do you have any idea what that sound does to me?”
You looked up at him, dazed and flushed, your mouth still wrapped around him, cheeks hollowing just a little more as you pressed your tongue in the way you learned he loved. He groaned, rough and unraveling, and his hand slipped into your hair like he needed something, anything, to keep him grounded.
It made you feel powerful. Worshipped. Starved for more.
So you hummed, soft and deliberate, just to see what it would do.
Chandler’s reaction was immediate. He gripped the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles went white, a strangled curse leaving his throat as his hips jolted. One leg tensed under you, thigh trembling. His chest heaved beneath his open collar.
“You’re-- shit, you’re gonna kill me,” he choked out.
You glanced up through your lashes. His tie was askew, eyes locked on you like you were a hallucination; something too good to be real. That look? That look burned.
Your jaw ached, just a little, but you didn’t stop. You wanted to see him fall apart -- for you. You wanted to be the one who left him speechless. The fact that it was his mouth falling open, his hips shifting restlessly, his hands gripping your shoulder like a lifeline? You’d never felt more in control. Never more turned on.
“F-fuck--" His voice cracked. One hand gripped your hair. Not to pull, just to hold. Just to anchor.
His thighs tensed again. A low, drawn-out groan rolled from his chest, and you knew-- knew-- he was close.
“Don’t-- don’t stop--” he choked out, and then his entire body went taut.
His breath stuttered once, then he came with a broken gasp, hips jerking, fingers fisting in your hair and the edge of the couch. You swallowed instinctively, the taste unfamiliar but not unpleasant, your heartbeat thudding in your ears. You stayed with him through it, only pulling back when his body started to relax under your hands.
When you glanced up again, his head was thrown back against the couch, shirt rumpled, hair mussed, chest still heaving. He looked completely undone. Like he’d just been rewritten from the inside out.
Your lips were swollen, your own thighs clenched together, and something warm flared in your chest; satisfaction, sure, but also something quieter. Intimate. Electric.
Then his head dropped forward. His eyes found yours-- blown wide and dazed-- and he reached for you blindly, fingers brushing your cheek, curling behind your neck.
“Wait--” he whispered, still breathless. “Wait, come here. I need--” He tugged you gently into his lap, voice wrecked. “Jesus Christ, I need to kiss you right now.”
You melted into him instantly, lips crashing together like you hadn’t just had your mouth on him. His hands were everywhere: your back, your waist, your face. And yours weren’t much better.
When you finally pulled away for air, you were dazed and flushed.
“Okay?” he asked again, voice soft now. Earnest.
You nodded against his mouth. “I think I liked that more than you did.”
Chandler stared at you for a second, totally stunned, then burst into laughter. He pulled you tighter into his chest, lips at your hairline.
“Remind me to give you very thoughtful raises this summer.”
Your head dropped to his shoulder, and he held you there, his hand still cradling the back of your head like he didn’t want to let go just yet.
And you didn’t want him to.
Not for a second.
You were still curled in his lap, lips kiss-bitten and flushed, his shirt wrinkled beneath your cheek. The office smelled faintly like coffee and paper and something new; something that hadn’t been there before. Him. You. This.
Chandler’s arms were around you, fingers lightly tracing the curve of your spine, his touch uncharacteristically soft.
But your mind, now that the heat had settled and the adrenaline was fading, had started to spiral a little.
You shifted slightly in his lap, not pulling away, but not quite melting into him either. Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to.
“I… wasn’t terrible, right?”
He blinked. Then frowned. “Wait, what?”
You pulled back just enough to glance at him. “I mean, I’ve never… you know. Done that before. So if I was, like… awkward or--”
Chandler stared at you like you’d just confessed to a felony. “(Y/N)."
You blinked, unsure.
“That was… I mean-- Jesus. You swallowed, and I saw eternity. I saw my ancestors. I think I need a cold compress and a support group.”
You snorted. “That’s dramatic.”
“Not dramatic enough,” he said, dead serious. “It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Like, I think I forgot my own name for a minute.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but he wasn’t finished.
“You could’ve stopped halfway through and insulted my tie and it still would’ve been the highlight of my entire existence.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Okay, now you’re exaggerating.”
“I am not,” he said, holding up a hand like he was swearing an oath. “I think I transcended space and time. Pretty sure I reached enlightenment right around the second you--”
“Okay, okay!” You buried your face in his shoulder, laughing as you smacked his chest. “Jesus.”
“You know, I knew it’d be hot, but it turned me on way more than I expected.” You admitted, still flushed.
He grinned smugly. “You say that like it didn’t ruin me.”
You laughed under your breath, but he wasn’t done.
“If that turned you on,” he said, voice low now, threading with heat again, “just wait until I go down on you. Let’s see how turned on you are then.”
You made a soft, startled noise-- half gasp, half laugh-- your thighs involuntarily tightening around him.
"Jesus.” You repeated.
He smirked. “Told you. Religious experiences.”
You buried your face in his chest again to hide your flustered grin, but he just wrapped his arms tighter around you, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw.
Then, more softly, “You’re not just good, (Y/N). You’re everything.”
You pulled back enough to see his face, the teasing still lingering but giving way to something gentler underneath.
“Yeah?” you asked.
He nodded, brushing your hair behind your ear again. “You didn’t just turn me on. You wrecked me. In the best way.”
You let out a quiet, breathy laugh as you melted into him again.
“…You okay?” he asked, voice low, warm.
You nodded, curling your fingers in the fabric of his shirt. “Yeah. I think I just needed to hear it.”
“You’ll be hearing it a lot,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Assuming you don’t quit to go work at some rival soul-crushing corporate job.”
“I’ll consider it,” you teased. “Depends on the benefits.”
“I’ll make you a new mixtape.”
You grinned into his neck. “Now that’s an offer.”
He rubbed slow circles into your back, the quiet intimacy between you stretching soft and golden in the low office light.
“We should probably get going,” you said reluctantly.
“Yeah,” Chandler echoed, but neither of you moved.
And for a long moment, there was nothing but warmth, the thud of his heart, and the quiet buzz of something deep and undeniable settling between you.
𝜗ৎ in which - you come into the villa for casa amor, your ex Caleb was also into the villa. His situation with kenzie led to you and her having it out on movie night.
semi based off this request, sorry it's not like the full prompt
masterlist , taglist
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You knew exactly what you wanted walking into that villa. You were already casted for casa, and while sulking in your hotel room waiting for the time to come you saw a familiar face on the love island tv screen. Caleb McDaniel. You knew everyone at home was probably freaking out, you had no form of communication while in your fiji hotel.
Caleb was your ex boyfriend of about a year, things broke up of natural causes thou you couldn't help but smirk knowing you'd blow up the whole show walking in there.
You kept up with the show throughout the next week, you watched as Kenzie treated your boy like absolute shit. All those times he'd say, "You're the best I've ever had." Were finally going to come in handy. You were over him for the most part, but you knew you'd run back in a heartbeat if you were ever given the chance and now here you were, about to show Kenzie just who's ex she fucked around with. You never played around when it came to him, you walked him like a dog all the time. Never let a girl even stare at him.
The day had finally come for you to enter the villa, and lucky for you, Caleb was first in line for the heart rate challenge. You were dressed in a skimpy black cat outfit, the black body suit clinging to the perfect curves of your body.
You watched Caleb's eyes widen as he saw you, not in a bad way, judging by the smirk tugging at your lips. You walked up to him, hips swaying side to side. "Good to see a familiar face," you whisper in his ear, loud enough for the others to hear, "Fuck y/n" he groans, the boys all bat an eye at his knowledge of your name. "I just can't escape you huh?" He says in his thick country accent.
"Never," you reply, putting his finger in your mouth and lightly sucking at it. "Hey what is she talking about Caleb?" Sincere asks from the other side of the couch, everyone releases a confused chuckle. You begin pressing kisses against the sensitive spot just under his ear, "Still sensitive?" You say coming up, looking him directly in the eye. "Only for you." he answers, looking up at you with his big blue puppy eyes.
You climb off of him just as it gets good, just to annoy him. You make your way over to Bryce, "Watch yourself." He calls out, you flick him the finger with a smug look on your face in response. You go through the rest of the guys, allowing yourself to glance back at Caleb a few times, and each time you did he had the most annoyed, jealous look on his face.
Once you finish, you walk to the two other girls blowing him a kiss as you walk away. "What the fuck just happened." Kc asks, still mind blown from your performance. "It's my ex." Caleb replies with a chuckle, "I didn't know she'd be here." He adds. All the boys drop their jaw nearly to the floor at the information they just received. You watched as other girls came and did their thing, slightly annoyed at the fact they got to do it to Caleb.
Once it was over you all walk back to the boys and introduce yourself, "I'm y/n" You announce, "So you didn't know Caleb would be here?" Zach asks, looking around at the other boys. "No, they casting people asked me I didn't even sign up" You answer. All the boys looked like they had just seen heaven.
"Clearly it's good I came," You add, "It's clear I need to put some people in their place for lying to his face."
Everyone's eyes widen, knowing exactly who you're talking about.
𝑴𝑶𝑽𝑰𝑬 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻
Everyone sat packed together on the couch in front of a big screen. One of the most anticipated nights had finally arrived, movie night. People had already started bickering at the sight of unknown kisses and flirting, even some bad mouthing here and there.
You knew you wouldn't be safe, and since casa amor everyone kept it a secret that the two of you were ex's. Not because it needed to be a secret, but because it became such a known topic in casa everyone just forgot the others didn't know.
You see your face pop up on the screen, a clip of you right after the heart rate challenge. It repeated the conversation between you and the boys, admitting to you being his ex and saying, "It's clear I need to put some people in their place for lying to his face, like that little blonde bitch Kenzie." The video played. You completely forgot you said that, you were in for a real treat tonight.
You and Kenzie weren't exactly friends in the villa, given you had seen her treat someone you love like they were nothing. You chose to keep your distance, it was pretty much a subconscious habit. Everyone had a reaction on their face, Kenzie turned her head to you right away, giving you some type of look as if you were wrong.
You press your lips together, trying not to laugh. "What do you mean by that?" She asks, clearly pressed and offended by your words. "I mean it seems pretty clear to me," you reply, "I watched the show, you lied straight to his face and then laughed behind his back." You add. There was no holding back.
"I literally didn't lie to him, I just went with my best connection." She answers. "Sure, you went with the best connection, but you led him the fuck on, you lied to him about kissing Corbin and then went right back to the kitchen and kissed him. I saw it with my own two eyes, so did everyone else in America." you snap back.
She looks around at everyone else as if she's innocent, they all sat with a straight face knowing damn well you were telling the truth, "Isn't that the point of this fucking show though? I was exploring my connections" she says with a petty laugh and God was her voice annoying. "You can do that while being truthful to Caleb, if that's how the show goes then why are you too pussy to say it to his face? I just don't understand." Her jaw was completely dropped as you spoke, this woman deserved a grammy, she was so great at playing victim.
Caleb also seemed whiplashed at the sudden knowledge of her lies, he knew she was sneaky but not this sneaky. "You think you run this shit you don't, you run of lies and being a mean girl. You turned a good guy down just to find out you chose a fuck boy who gave up on your connection the second I sat on his lap." Everyone around you takes the back seat, watching as it all unfolds.
Her cheeks turned bright red, clearly embarrassed and defeated. "Whatever." She says with an eye roll. That got you going even more. "No, it's not just whatever, you need your shit rocked for being a bitch on national television. Seriously, you should be embarrassed, all your family and friends watching you sneak around." You bark, your voice now beginning to raise. "Genuinely why do you think it's okay to lie, I just don't understand, please enlighten me." Your hands waving in the air as you speak.
She finally opens her mouth again, tears beginning to form in her bright blue eyes, "I don't know, I just didn't want to upset him." She defends, trying to hold back her voice quivering. "Clearly you didn't care that much, you were loud as fuck the next night from what I've heard." You bite back, the guys around you trying to hold back their reactions. "Alright alright." Caleb and Sincere say standing up to remove you from the situation, "Ratchet bitch." You say as they drag you out.
They walk you into the bedroom, Caleb sitting beside you on the edge of the bed and Sincere on the one beside you. "You feisty as hell huh?" Sincere says with a teasing laugh. "I just don't understand her brain, I'm mean seriously, I understand if she's happy with Corbin but that doesn't give her the right to be disrespectful." You reply. Caleb wraps his arm around your shoulders, you lean your head on him as he traces patterns on your arm. "It's okay" He assures, his voice calm and patient with you, "I'm sorry" you say looking up at him, "I didn't mean to cause a scene."
"I'm gonna give you two a minute." Sincere says, getting up off the bed and exiting the room. "You don't need to be sorry, you know I like it when you get passionate like that. It's cute." He replies, "I'll walk out of here with you right here right now, I should've realized what I had when I had it." He admits. His words bring a sense of warmth to your heart and a calmness to your brain. When you were invited to the show you never expected it to rekindle your connection with your ex, in fact you didn't even think your ex would be here yet here you were, on national television coming to a realization that you could've come to at home.
"She shouldn't have done that to you." you repeat, all you could think about was how dirty she had done him. You knew this sweet boy inside and out and even watching the show from that hotel room, if you didn't know him you still would've stood up for him. His personality shined like the sun across everyone, it was obvious. "It's okay, it led to better things." he replies. You felt yourself grow upset, the whole situation was giving your whiplash. Warm tears begin to pile up in your eyes, "You're tired, let's go get you ready for bed." Caleb says, pressing a kiss against your forehead.
The two of you get up, everyone else stayed quiet and spread out around the villa. He walked you to the makeup room, sitting as you removed your makeup and got into comfy clothes. Once you were done, he tucked you into bed, quickly changing into his comfy clothes before sliding into bed, cuddling warm against you.
Pairings: Garrett Graham x ChildhoodBestFriend!Y/N, mentions of Dean x Y/N and Kendall x Garrett
Genre: fluff, a touch of angst, and smut ;), Best Friends to Lovers!
Warnings: adult themes, sexual content, mentions of parental death, daddy issues, partying, and alcohol.
Words: 6.1k
Summary: You're visiting Garrett at school for the first time. But both you and Garrett don't realize that what you needed is right in front of you. When Garrett re-evaulates what he wants in a partner, the answer slaps him in the face.
Garrett Graham has been your best friend since boarding school. You remembered the day he came. All of the boys in your grade would fawn over his dad or talk to him about hockey. He didn’t have many friends, mainly because he was transfer and tended to be more closed off. One day in the cafeteria, you decided to approach him.
“Hi I’m Y/N! What’s your name?”
Garrett looked up to see a girl with big, round glasses, a perfectly ironed school uniform, and a smile with pink braces. She continued to sit down despite Garrett trying to give her a hint to leave him alone at his table.
“My name’s Garrett.” he spoke in a monotone voice, while poking at some broccoli on his plate.
“You’re in my world history class, you’re pretty smart.” You continued to smile.
“History’s cool, I guess.”
“Where are you from? I’m from New York.”
Garrett looked up at you. He was worried you’d talk about his dad.
“I’m from Boston. So, do you know who my dad is?”
“Nope.”
“Phil Graham?”
“The only Graham I know are graham crackers.”
Garrett laughed, “My dad was really great at hockey, played in New York.”
“My family is more into baseball, but we’re split between Yankees and Mets fans. Does your mom do anything cool for work?”
Garrett's face immediately went blank again. He was about to well up some tears, but held them in, not wanting to cry in front of the girl.
“Oh, no, she died. Lung cancer.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, I’m sure she was a great mom. My mom passed away when I was a baby.”
Garrett then met his eyes with yours. He had finally met someone he could relate to, and not be flooded with Phil Graham fanboys. It made him realize that he could finally talk to someone about it without people listening or commenting out of pity.
“Do you ever miss your mom?” Garrett asked you.
“All the time, when I do well on an exam, when I don’t do well on an exam. But I know she’s always with me. This is from her.” You started fiddling with a silver heart necklace your mom has had since you were born.
Your words somehow reassured Garrett, and for once, Garrett Graham had finally made a friend. You remained friends throughout high school, eventually becoming best friends. You were the one who taught Garrett to drive, almost crashing your car several times. He made it up to you when, on his 16th birthday, he got a brand new Jeep and drove you wherever you wanted. Garrett would show up for your track and debate team competitions, always cheering the loudest in the room. You often went to his hockey games, even though you didn’t understand the sport. You’d scream from the bleachers when Garrett got a puck in the net. You were there the day Garrett signed to play for the Briar U Hawks, as his dad didn’t have time to fly out. You were the closest thing to family for him. Garrett was also on FaceTime as you anxiously opened your Harvard college decision. The speakers in your computer could’ve blown out from Garrett’s cheers when you both saw that you got in. Before graduation, you promised each other you would visit one another, no matter the distance. Luckily, Harvard and Briar U were not so far away.
Freshman year for both of you was hectic. Slammed with school and extracurriculars, you found no time to visit each other. It also didn’t help that the campus didn’t let freshmen keep cars on campus, so you and Garrett had to leave your cars at home. But you made an effort to see each other during breaks or to FaceTime occasionally. You’d also watch Garrett’s games when he’d come play at Harvard, a little biased since you wanted Harvard to win. Garrett would also follow the social media of the clubs you were in, whether it was the debate team, running club, or Women in STEM. He’d always text you a funny zoomed-in photo of your face, commenting how you were so photogenic when you had a clear resting bitch face.
But sophomore year was different. You both had your cars and were nosy about each other’s campuses. After comparing your schedule to Garrett's, you decided to come during Labor Day Weekend. That way, Garrett wasn’t busy with hockey and school and could focus on showing you around Briar. Garrett even kindly offered to let you stay at his house. Despite having three other guys as roommates, it wasn’t as different as boarding school. Garrett said you could take his bed while he slept on the couch.
“Guys, remember, Y/N is coming and staying the weekend. I don’t want you horndogs scaring her.”
“Your childhood friend with the big glasses? Trust me Gar, you got nothing to worry about.” Dean laughed.
“Doesn’t she go to Harvard? Studying biomedical engineering?” Logan shouted from the kitchen, trying to snake the sink drain.
“I’m sure she will be nice, didn’t you say she’s from New York?” Tucker added.
“Yes to all those questions, idiots, don’t be weird around her ok? It’s the first time she’s visiting Briar.”
He heard your car honk outside his house.
“She’s here! Act normal, I’m serious. Also, pretend you don’t know all that information.” Garrett opened the door to meet you at your car.
Dean walked over to the window to peek at Garrett swiftly going down to meet you. Dean sees your hair pop out of the car as you walk around to give Garrett a big hug. You pop your trunk to give him your small pink luggage and backpack for the weekend. Garrett grabs both and escorts you up to the house.
“Holy shit,” Dean remarks.
“What now, Dean?” Logan walks over, curious.
“She’s hot.”
Tucker got up to also take a peek through the window. Garrett had only shown them photos of you from high school. You looked like a typical nerd. Big glasses, oversized clothes, braces, you even kept your hair in a long braid. But instead, they saw a girl in leggings and a sports bra with an athletic build. No glasses, no braces, and your hair was down at a medium to short length, blown out in small curls. But one thing was still the same: you loved pink.
As Garrett and you got closer to the door, the roommates dispersed, heading back to acting all casual. Garrett puts your things down as he calls out to them.
“Guys, she’s here!”
You smile and give them a wave. “It’s nice to meet you all.”
“These are my roommates, Dean, John Logan, and John Tucker. But we call the Johns by their last name.”
They all said hello, looking semi-stunned as they looked at you.
“Where should I put my stuff?” You inquired.
“You can leave it in my room, it’s upstairs, last one at the end of the hallway.”
“Thanks, do you mind if I shower and change? I didn’t have time after my morning run.”
“Sure, I have my own private bathroom so feel free to use it.”
“Thanks Garrett, you’re the best.”
You grabbed your things and went upstairs to Garrett's room. Funny enough, it looked similar to his room in boarding school. Neat bed, hockey posters, and a photo of him and his mom by his bedside. You noticed it smelled of his clean laundry and expensive cologne, gifts from his dad, no less. Garrett left a towel for you, folded neatly on his bed. You started to unpack your things in a corner, not wanting to disturb his space.
“Dude,” Dean spoke up.
“What?”
“Since when are nerds from Harvard hot?”
“Gross, Dean.”
“You seriously don’t see it? She’s completely different than the photos you sent of her. She doesn’t even have those huge glasses anymore.”
“He’s got a point there G.” Logan chimes in.
Garrett gives a disappointed look to the group, annoyed that they’d talk about you that way when they don’t even know you. Garrett continued to bicker with Dean about you, claiming you were the same person regardless of how much you’ve changed since high school. As if they had summoned you, you came downstairs shortly after your shower in those huge glasses Dean had mentioned.
“Hey, Gar? Do you or any of your roommates have contact solution? I forgot to pack some on my way over.”
“I don’t think so, we can stop by the campus store if you need some.”
“Sure.”
“But…”
“What?” You looked down at your Harvard Engineering school shirt.
“You should probably change your shirt. If we go on campus, people are going to mock you.”
“Fine.”
You went back upstairs to change.
“You were saying?” Garrett looked at Dean.
“I hate to say it but the big glasses only made her look hotter.” Dean smirked.
“You’re ridiculous.” Garrett snarled at Dean.
“Nerds are hot now! What can I say?”
You came back down in a Paramore shirt.
“Ready to go?” Looking at Garrett.
“Yep.” You and Garrett said goodbye to his roommates. You and Garrett walked out to his Jeep.
You inhaled. “God I missed this car.”
Garrett laughed.
“It even smells the same, I see you still use the Black Ice car freshener after I gave it to you once.”
“I like the smell ok? And they’re cheap.”
“I never throught Garrett Graham would appreciate something cheap.”
“Oh shut up.”
You laughed as Garrett drove you to campus. You both walked around enjoying the nice day.
“I can’t believe how much nicer your campus is. Even the buildings look brand new.”
“Well, doesn’t help if your school was built when dinosaurs were around.”
“Hey, there’s some old school charm there. One day there are going to be kids complaining about how old your school looks.”
Garrett laughed as he noticed Kendall in the distance. She waved to Garrett as she approached both of you.
“Hey, Garrett.” She said flirtaciously.
“Hey, Kendall.”
“Who’s this with you?”
“Oh, this is Y/N, she’s my friend from boarding school. She came to visit for the weekend.”
“Hi, I’m Kendall. It’s nice to meet you.” She reached out a hand to you, and you shook it.
She had perfectly blown-out blonde hair and a full face of makeup. She had matching gold hoops and a necklace that said “Kendall” around her neck. She wore a low-cut black top, a denim skirt, and platform wedges. Compared to you in your Paramore shirt, leggings, and giant glasses, she didn’t really see you as much of a threat.
“Will I see you later Gar?” You looked at Garrett with confusion.
“Uh, yeah, I’ll see you later.” Garrett looked a little embarrassed.
“Great!” She kissed him on the cheek before continuing to walk wherever she was going.
Garrett turned his attention back to you, suggesting you two head to the campus store so you could get some contact solution. You agreed while continuing a conversation about the interaction.
“So, is she your girlfriend?”
“Nah, she’s just a girl I’ve been seeing.”
“Also, how is she going to see you later? I thought you said I was taking your room for the night.”
“Oh shoot, I forgot to tell you. Last minute Dean and the boys wanted to host a last minute party. It’s just for close friends though.”
“A party?”
“What? They don’t throw parties at Harvard?” Garrett said with a touch of sarcasm.
“They do asshole, I usually don’t have time to go to them.”
“Well, no better time than the present!”
You and Garrett reached the campus store. You grabbed a small travel-sized contact solution and looked around at shirts you could crop for tonight's party. You found a pink Briar U Hawks shirt that looks decent enough.
“Am I already convincing you to transfer?” Garrett joked.
“Hilarious. I’m only buying this so all your college friends don’t give me death stares for going to Harvard. Plus I need something to wear to the party.”
“You’re wearing that to the party?”
“Relax, Ralph Lauren, I’m going to crop it and style it a bit.”
You both walked to check out, and before you could even grab your wallet, Garrett paid for you. You bickered with him about it on the walk and ride home. Insisting you pay for drinks or dinner to thank him for letting you visit and stay at his house for free. Garrett waved you off, saying it was nothing. He brought up how you’d always give him his cookie at lunch when you were younger, so this was him paying you back.
You both eventually returned to the house to find Logan now underneath the sink, trying to fix it. Tucker was holding some kegs, about to load them into a car to fill them up before the party. He kept yelling at Dean to come help prepare for the party. Dean yelled out that the shower was clogged and Logan needed to come fix it. Garrett went to grab a keg from Tucker to help him bring it out to the front porch. Tucker kept insisting that Dean help out, since Dean had to go with him to get the alcohol. Dean threatened that he’d come down naked and do it, showing up on the banister with nothing but a towel around his waist.
“Dean! Dude, we have guests!” Garrett yelled out behind you.
“Sorry Y/N.” Dean winked at you. You immediately felt a flush on your face, and you were too flabbergasted to do anything.
“Sorry, he’s an animal, if you can’t tell.” Garrett spoke before heading upstairs.
You followed shortly behind, putting a small shield on your eyes, not wanting to see Dean shirtless again. Garrett apologized for Dean again, but you reassured him it was ok. You briefly stepped to the bathroom to put your contacts back in and heard Garrett visibly groan on his bed. You came back out to see Garrett lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
“What’s wrong?”
“It was my dad, he called me again. He wants me to meet his new fiance.”
“Still not talking to your dad?”
“Nope.”
“Gar, I know you hate your dad, but at least he’s still trying.”
“It doesn’t matter. All he cares about is hockey.”
“At least your dad makes an effort to call you.”
Garrett perked up his head to look at you and sat up on his bed. You sat down to join him.
“Is your dad seriously still mad you went to Harvard instead of Columbia?”
“Yep, brings it up at every family dinner. Always says it's embarrassing that his one child didn’t choose the school he went to, and is closer to home.”
“Your dad was always doting on you. Wanting to make sure you knew he was there for you.”
“Yeah, I bet moving to another state didn’t help. Every time I visited your dad it always seemed like a business meeting. So serious.”
Garrett laughed at your sentiment.
“Anyways, where are you taking me to dinner? I know you can’t beat the clam chowder in Cambridge.”
“I’m taking you to Malone’s, they have the best burgers and fries in Hastings.”
“You know I’m always down for a good burger.”
“I know, when I visited you in New York City, I’ve never seen you down so many Shake Shack burgers.”
You threw a pillow at his head for teasing you. Garrett laughed as he motioned for both of you to get up so you guys could go. Garrett noted it was cold out now and gave you one of his hoodies. It wasn’t a big deal. You and Garrett shared clothes all the time. You asked him where your Guns N’ Roses shirt went. You let him borrow it once because he got pizza grease and crumbs all over his shirt during movie night. He claims he left it at home, but you know it’s definitely buried somewhere in his dresser and worn out.
You both pulled up to Malone’s as Garrett opened the door for you. It was a cute, small diner, of what you’d expect, nothing too crazy. The waiter came over as Garrett ordered for you. You were flabbergasted that he remembered your order.
“I’ll have a Diet Coke and a double cheeseburger with everything on it and a side of fries. She will have a chocolate milkshake, a double cheeseburger but no pickles or tomatoes, and fries as well.”
You thanked the waiter as you scolded Garrett for ordering for you.
“But was I wrong?”
“No…”
“See, I knew you couldn’t resist a chocolate milkshake cause you like to dip your fries in them. Which, by the way, is still disgusting.”
“Don’t hate on my sweet and savory preferences, I think it’s gross that you eat pickles.”
“I think that's only your problem.”
“I’ve watched you eat a whole jar of pickles AND drink the pickle juice.” You visibly gagged.
You enjoyed this time catching up with Garrett. It was like time never passed. You both reminisce about how stupid your bunkmates were in boarding school or about how Garrett almost ran your car into a tree while learning to drive. Eventually, both your burgers came out with your drinks, and they looked and smelled amazing.
“Ladies first,“ Garrett gestured to you, awaiting your reaction.
“Oh my god, it's so good.” Garrett smiled as he began to also dig in and ask the waiter for ketchup.
You dipped your fries into your milkshake, and you gave a satisfied hum to Garrett as you both finished your burgers in 10 minutes flat. You sat back in the booth, leaning against your belly with your new food baby.
“So, did you like your meal?” Garrett joked.
You laughed, “It was horrible, I’d never come here again.” You sarcastically remarked.
Garrett laughed before trying to fight him across the table to pay for dinner. You even tried to throw cash at him before he gave it all back, insisting it was his treat. You had both gotten back to see Tucker in the kitchen making food, Dean setting up the drinks, and Logan scolding Dean for finding a condom in the bathroom shower.
“Hey guys!” Garrett called out.
“Hey G! Look what I found in the shower.” Logan showed both of you as you visibly made a disgusted face. You excused yourself to get ready for the party, letting the boys deal with whatever was going on.
“How was dinner?” Tucker asked while pouring tomato soup into some cups.
“It was great, she loved Malone’s.”
“Ah, your classic date spot,” Dean added.
“It wasn’t a date! We were just catching up as friends.”
“Word of advice, G, if I knew a chick who’s known me for that long and was smokin’ hot, I wouldn’t let her go.” Dean patted him on the back before grabbing a beer from the fridge.
Garrett rolled his eyes.
“Is Kendall coming tonight?” Logan asked, trying to change the subject.
“Yeah, she actually ran into us on campus.”
“And…she didn’t set Y/N in flames when she saw her?”
“No, she just seemed excited to come tonight.”
Logan looked a little suspicious before dropping the conversation. Garrett went upstairs to check up on you. He knocked before coming in.
“Hey Garrett, look!” You showed Garrett your new cropped, off-the-shoulder top and lightly revealed the white bralette you had underneath. Garrett had to catch himself from taking a peek.
“That looks…nice.” Garrett tried to sound casual.
“Thanks.”
You had walked to the bathroom to curl your hair and do your makeup. Garrett lay on his bed, anticipating the party. You could hear him doing some deep breaths.
“Gar, I can hear you from the bathroom. What’s wrong?”
Garrett hated how well you could read him.
“The party, I guess I’m nervous about why Kendall is excited to see me later.”
“She just wants to talk to you and spend time with you, it's nothing to get worked up about. Do you like her?”
That question panged at Garrett’s heart. He thought about Dean’s comment. Did he actually like you? Or did he only see you as a friend? Would his answer break your heart? But why did he care about whether it would hurt your feelings?
“I…I don’t know.”
“It’s ok not to know Gar, but from what I can see, she really likes you.”
“How do you know that?!” Garrett sat up, staring at you in the bathroom defensively.
“In case you forgot, I’m a girl, girls don’t kiss random dudes on the cheek if they’re not into them.”
“Since when did you become so analytical.”
“I go to Harvard, dumbass.”
Garrett laughed as you finished up in the bathroom, stepping out. You were in your top, a white tennis skirt, and your hair was curled. Something Garrett immediately noticed was how you tended to keep your makeup light. A little mascara, eyeliner, and glittery eyeshadow. You were only wearing clear lip gloss, a little blush, and highlighter. In the back of his confused mind, he thought for a second you would look prettier without it, and he missed your big, round glasses.
“Ready to head downstairs?” You asked.
Garrett nodded as you both walked downstairs. A few people had shown up, including Kendall. You turned and gave Garrett a wink before noticing Kendall staring daggers at you, and then noticing Garrett behind you. You mentioned you were going to get a drink so you could leave him and Kendall alone.
You headed over to the kitchen to grab an alcoholic seltzer from the fridge. Dean then appeared in front of you.
“Y/N, I like the top, feeling like a hawk already?”
“I can definitely see why Garrett likes it here so much. You guys are great friends to him.”
“Well, I definitely can’t beat the girl who’s doing biomedical engineering at Harvard.”
You looked up a Dean, a little confused.
“What, you think Garrett wasn’t going to tell us all about you?”
“I guess that makes sense,” You laughed.
“But…he did leave out how beautiful you are.” Dean began to approach you closer.
You blushed, not used to guys flirting with you outright. Sure, you had been hit on at school, as your major was mainly guys. Your first week alone at school, three guys tried to ask you out. But they were mostly socially awkward, nerdy types, not beefy hot hockey guys. Even the guys on the Harvard hockey team were nothing compared to the guys at Briar.
“Thanks, Dean.” You remarked.
“Do you wanna play a game of pong?”
You nodded as you noticed Kendall and Garrett snuggled up in a corner. She was smiling at something Garrett said before he looked over at you with Dean putting his arm around your waist at the pong table. Garrett didn’t know why, but the sight of that made his jaw clench a little. Kendall reeled him back in, putting a hand on his cheek to bring him in for a kiss. Garrett smiled at her, and she motioned for them to go upstairs. Garrett obliged, following her.
“There go the love birds,” Dean noted.
Across the table, you were playing against Logan and Tucker.
“Maybe he’ll finally have the guts to tell her out, they’ve been sleeping together since last semester,” Logan added before attempting to shoot a ball into a cup, missing by a hair.
Your throat began to hurt. Why didn’t he tell me about her? Are things going to change if he gets a girlfriend? What if he has to stop talking to me? Dean snapped you out of your thoughts, reminding you to shoot your shot. You threw a ball and made it in. Dean excitedly hugged you, jumping up and down. Now, you both have one cup left.
“C’mon, man, she’s cheating,” Tucker whined.
“Maybe next time, partner up with a genius from Harvard,” Dean spat back.
After a failed attempt by Logan and Tucker, it was finally your and Dean’s turn. You then heard a slam upstairs and Kendall rushing down the stairs in tears. She left before saying goodbye to anyone. Garrett slowly came back downstairs, looking slightly disappointed with himself.
“Trouble in paradise?” Dean chirped before making the last cup.
You both cheered into another hug before pulling back for Dean to look at you. You can’t lie, Dean is gorgeous and has those baby blue eyes you wanted to fall into. Dean leaned in to kiss you before you heard the back porch door slam, and Garrett was nowhere to be found. You pushed Dean back, apologizing, then found Garrett outside on the back porch. He was sitting down staring at the bonfire, looking like he had something on his mind.
“I take it something went wrong with Kendall?”
Garrett sighed. “You were right, she likes me.”
“So… what's wrong?”
“She liked me so much she asked me out.”
“I’m not hearing a problem here, Gar.”
“But when she asked me that, I asked her why, and she couldn’t even come up with an answer that wasn’t about my looks.”
“Oh, I’m sorry about that, Garrett.”
“I asked does she even know my major? What’s my favorite color? How do I like my coffee? What’s my mom’s name? What’s my favorite band? She couldn’t even answer one of those.”
“You’re a history major. You like the color black. You like iced coffee with a splash of milk. Your mom’s name is Elizabeth. Your favorite band is AC/DC or Guns N’ Roses, but you claim you also don’t like One Direction, but I remember catching you singing Kiss You in the shower that one time.”
Garrett was flabbergasted that you knew all those answers. You knew him inside and out like a book. Jealous Garrett couldn’t help but tease you.
“I see Dean’s warmed up to you.”
“Eh, he just wants a hot girl to fuck, definitely not boyfriend material. He wouldn’t even know my favorite color or show if it slapped him in the face.”
“Your favorite color is pink, all shades, and you love Grey’s Anatomy, you basically forced me to watch it every night in high school.”
“See? Why can’t people just read our minds, it would make dating so much easier.”
There was a silence in the conversation. Out on the porch, you can only hear the light cricket noises and the crackling of the bonfire.
“Y/N?”
“Yes, Gar?”
“Have you ever… never mind.”
“Garrett.” You grabbed his hand. “Whatever it is you know you can tell me.”
“That’s the thing, it could ruin us.” Garrett sighed and swallowed the giant pill down his throat.
“Have you ever imagined what it would be like if we dated?”
You perked up at his question, looking at him, but he refused to make eye contact with you. You let go of his hand and moved to sit on his lap, which he didn’t protest. You grabbed the sides of his face, rubbing your thumb across your cheek. You gave him a small, gentle kiss on his lips.
“So how was that?” You looked at him in anticipation.
Garrett looked at you wide-eyed, unsure of what had happened. You laughed while hitting his arm in embarrassment.
“Are you kidding me, Garrett? The one time you don’t say anything.”
Garrett then pulled you in for another kiss, as slow and as gentle as the one before. You felt his warm hands cup the back of your neck.
“I really liked that,” Garrett smiled.
You smiled as you laughed at how awkward the situation was. Tucker innocently walked out to see the both of you canoodled up against each other.
“Yo Logan! You owe me $20!” Tucker called out. Logan came rushing to the back porch.
“Oh c’mon, Y/N, you couldn’t have just ignored G’s charm?”
You both laughed as you joined everyone. Dean approached both of you with Garrett possessively, now having his arm around your shoulder.
“If you ever break up with Gar, give me a call, gorgeous.” Dean smiled at you.
You rolled your eyes as you smiled at Garrett.
“So I take it that you’re not sleeping on the couch tonight?”
“If you learn to not hog the blanket, I guess I could join you.”
“Hey! That was one time!”
“And I was freezing cold.” Garrett pouted.
“You had flannel pants and a shirt on, plus you’re the one who decided to put on The Conjuring.”
“Hey that cinematic universe is a masterpiece.”
Garrett gave you a kiss on the forehead, apologizing that he had made you watch it late at night. You agreed not to steal the blankets as you both moved ot go upstairs into this room. You both showered separately and brushed your teeth. You saw that Garrett instinctively took the left side of the bed. You laughed at him.
“What?”
“It’s scary how well I know you. You take the side of the bed that is farthest from the window because you don’t like being woken up by the sun.”
Garrett stood up from the bed and came over to you. He threw you down on his bed and started to tickle you.
“You like being a smartass, huh?”
“I- ha- go to -ah an Ivy.”
You were fighting, trying to push him off, when he pinned your arms to the side of your head. Garrett’s big frame hovered over you, and you blushed at him staring at you. Garrett leaned in for a kiss, which made both your limbs melt. Garrett pulled you onto his lap, where you straddled him, enveloped in a deep kiss. Your mouths escalated as your tongues were swirling against each other, fighting for dominance. You let out small moans into his mouth, and you can feel Garrett’s bulge growing in his pants.
Garrett tugged at your shirt as you swiftly took it off, revealing your bare chest. Garrett instinctively kissed down to your chest, sucking a deep hickey on it while fondling the other.
“You’re so gorgeous, Y/N.”
You pulled on Garrett’s shirt as he took it off to reveal his perfect abs and wide chest. You gripped onto his shoulders as his arms came to grab your ass. He gave it a smack as you moaned out loud before attempting to cover your mouth.
“So, there are things I don’t know about you.”
You pulled on Garrett's hair, pulling his face back to look at you. He groaned and gave you a satisfied smile.
“You too.” You smirked.
Garrett then lay you down, kissing you until he reached the lower part of your belly. He pulled on your skirt before you nodded letting him proceed. He expected nothing less, you wore pretty light pink lacy underwear that was making him drool.
“Fuck.”
Garrett kissed the sides of your thighs before making his way back up to kiss you. He reached a hand down to your core, rubbing small circles against your clit through the fabric of your panties. A soft moan left your lips as you continued to give Garrett sloppy kisses. He felt your core become slightly wet as he paused, kissing you before taking his middle finger into his mouth.
“Please, Gar.”
Garrett moved his hand back down and his finger made its way inside. You kissed the nape of his neck as another moan escaped your lips.
“Good girl,” Garrett cooed before kissing your temple. Garrett can feel your nails sink into his back. Garrett moved his digits at a slow pace, before picking it up to match the pace of your moans. He briefly pulled his finger out letting a whine out of you, before he quickly moved two fingers inside of your core. You couldn’t think you could get any louder and your eyes started to roll back. Garrett moved at a fast pace, he moved his other hand to grip your face to kiss him. He was growing harder by each wet pump.
“Gar, s-slow, do- ah, down.”
You could feel you losing yourself amongst the immense pleasure. He then moved his thumb to rub against your clit. You hated how good he was at this.
“Ah- don’t, Gar, please!”
Garrett chuckled as he kept moving faster and faster. You soon felt yourself release as you came all over his thick fingers. You also didn’t realize some liquid had begun to come out of you until you saw it squirt out against his fingers. Garrett slowed down the pace before looking at you with a satisfied smile. You looked flushed, embarrassed.
“I-I’m so sorry, I’ve- I’ve never done that before.” You looked away from Garrett. He gave you a small kiss on the forehead.
“Well, I’m happy I could be your first.”
You smiled as Garrett reached into his bed side drawer to pull out a condom. He pulled his pants down to show his throbbing cock, as it shot right up against his belly. “Turn over gorgeous.”
You obeyed, turning over on all fours. He slapped your ass as you let out a moan. He pushed your back down, creating an arch and you moved your arms to lay your face into his pillows. Garrett licking his lips he put his wet tongue against you. Still a little sensitive you tried to move away from him, but he gripped his hands against your thighs. He lapped your wet core before giving you a slap on the other cheek, You moaned deep into his pillows before hearing him rip open a condom. Garrett wrapped it around his cock, you could hear a small hissing noise coming from him.
Garrett then lined himself up on the bed and slowly moved inside you. His cock was so thick you were worried it wouldn’t fit. Once he was all the way in you both let out moans in sync.
“Fuck, you’re so tight.”
Garrett then began to pick up the pace. You couldn’t control yourself, gripping on his sheets moaning louder into his pillows hoping any noise would muffle. Garrett then reached down to form your hair into a pony tail, tugging on it lightly to where your face moved above the pillows.
“I want to hear your pretty moans. I want this whole house to hear you.”
Garrett pulled your hair and motioned you to move up a little, where your back was against his chest. Garrett moved in faster pumps as he began to lay kisses against your shoulder and started to leave a red hickey on your neck.
“You think Dean could fuck you as good as this?” Garrett growled into your ear.
When you didn’t respond as quickly, you were caught up in the immense pleasure. Garrett slapped your ass again.
“Ah- n-no, I only w-want you,” You replied.
“Good, cause you’re mine.” Garrett grabbed your face to turn to kiss him. You grabbed and pulled on his hair. You felt him getting faster and his moans getting louder. You felt Garrett cum inside you, as his pumps slowed down. He let go of you and you collapsed on the bed. Garrett pulled the condom off himself before throwing it out. You, still face down, were still coming off the high of the pleasure. Garrett quickly scooped you up and brought you to the bathroom to pee and cleaned you up. He carried you back and delicately laid you down. He handed you your panties and gave you one of his shirts. You put it on and looked down to see it was your Guns N’ Roses shirt.
“Hey! I thought you said this was at your house!”
“I only said that so you wouldn’t dig through my clothes.”
“Well, I’m never giving this back.”
Garrett smiled before grabbing a drink from his mini fridge. He took out a protein shake while he handed you a lemon lime seltzer.
“I can’t even be surprised by you anymore.” You laughed, noticing Garrett knew you liked to drink seltzer at night before bed. He knelt down to you, kissing your knees.
“Do you need anything else, gorgeous?”
“You know what I could go for right now?”
“McDonald’s. You want a ten piece, fries, and an Oreo McFlurry.”
“...and?”
“With sweet and sour sauce, you’re not a psychopath.”
“...and?”
“An ice cold sprite. Do you know what I want?”
“You want round 2.”
“...and?”
“Then go to McDonalds, where you’ll get a Big Mac, steal my fries and a diet coke with lemon.”
“Well, let’s not waste any time then.”
Garrett tackled you onto his bed for a second round, you never wanted this night to end. Garrett knew you like the back of his hand. Both of you were smitten idiots who never realized the person who knows them like no other was right in front of them.
A/N: Ahh I love this trope! I hope you guys enjoyed reading!
Summary: Somehow you find yourself co-parenting with the biggest manwhore in all of Briar U.
⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ I'm so glad people are liking the series, like I said I will be writing this kind of in my free time so updates might not be super consistent (but also if I am in the mood I'll write and right now this seems to be the only thing I can manage to write), let me know if you have any ideas you'd like to see and I might incorporate them in somehow! Also we'll probably get to the show timeline in the next 2 or so chapters! (And I don't plan on making these series super long so idk how many chapters there'll be)
taglist is closed (for now) (sorry)
College Baby masterlist
Start of the spring semester - your apartment - early morning
"Alright, you're going to be fine, I'm going to be fine, we're all going to be fine" You say to Seb who stares at you with those wide curious eyes and gummy smile.
"You realize he's been to the daycare before and you have had college classes before as well right?" Dean gives you a weirded out look.
You narrow your eyes at him "What are you even doing here anyways?"
"Contrary to popular belief, I am not a deadbeat"
"Literally no one believes you're a deadbeat" You tell him picking up your tote and triple double checking for the 20th time this morning if you have everything.
"Okay, either way I wanted to drive you for your first day of school" He rolls his eyes taking the baby into his arms, Seb immediately becoming distracted by the chain under his shirt.
"You do realize I've had college classes before right?" You throw his words back at him making him scoff.
"Let's go" He turns to the door and then whispers loudly to your son "Your mom is not good at firsts, I should know, I've been there for a few of them"
"For fuck's sake Dean, I was not a virgin the first time we slept together!"
"I didn't say anything about that, get your head out of the gutter, I meant your first time skating, and your first time in New york, oh and get this… Your first time giving birth!" He makes jazz hands that get him a roll of the eyes and a push as you walk ahead of him through the door, he just laughs and makes sure the door is locked behind him.
Malone's - Later the same day
"I think I might just find myself a sugar daddy" You sigh stacking napkins, you're in the middle of a shift complaining to your co-workers and new friends, Hannah and Allie "I forgot how much I disliked school"
"Okay" Hannah drags on the word "And what's that supposed to mean exactly?"
"Well… we share a kid so anything else would only complicate things" You tell them.
"Okay but what if it doesn't?" Allie perks up "Like what if you two fall madly in love and it all works out and you end up being the perfect little family? You should always give love a chance"
"Or, we find out we don't work out as a couple and maybe we realize it too late and then we have a nasty split that leaves Seb in the middle of a custody battle" You shrug "It's too big of a chance to take, plus Dean Di Laurentis? Not a settling down kind of guy"
"But-" Hannah doesn't let Allie keep arguing.
"Listen, Allie is a romantic, she's going to keep arguing for you to give it a chance, so I'm going to play devil's advocate" Allie frowns "And say, if you think it is not a good idea then don't force anything, but if you choose to give it a chance, we'll back you up"
You're surprised and moved by her words, you have not known the two for that long but the best friends have basically adopted you in the short time you've been around "Thank you guys" You say "But Hannah, I'm not sure that's how devil's advocate works"
"Whatever" She shakes her head "You still got my point"
Hockey House - Wednesday night
The house is filled with chatter when you walk in, the guys have probably the entire hockey team plus a good amount of football players plus girlfriends in here.
"Hey! You're here" Logan greets you as you're setting your things on the table by the door.
"Yeah, something smells good" You say walking towards the smell curious on what Tuck's preparing for the group they've assembled tonight.
"Oh! Thank god you're here!" Beau exclaims, there's a crowd of around 10 guys in the kitchen, your son in a football's player you can't remember the name of arms throws himself your way the second he spots you, thankfully the football player has good reflexes and grips him tighter before safely passing him over.
"I am! What's all this?" You eye the kitchen counter while Seb slaps you with a wet 'kiss' that's more of a blubbering smack with his whole face "Oh thank you"
"Last night I couldn't sleep so I called my mom and she gave he all the baby pureed food recipes I ate as a baby and then I also got some more from a mom website so I thought we could run a taste test with Seb and find out what he likes" Tucker explains with an excited glint in his eyes "But we wanted to wait for you"
"Okay" You nod "And the party you have going on here?" You look at the full house.
"Oh, some of the guys on the team heard about it and were curious"
"And then Dean mentioned it and I might have invited my teammates" Beau adds.
"Cool" You resign yourself, at least you knew people would show up for your son if ever needed.
Some time later Dean has Seb in his lap while you sit infront with a spoon and the bowls, so far you've discovered he loves peaches, bananas and carrot and hates squash and apples.
"That looks like diarrhea" Beau grimaces at the bowl Tucker hands you next.
"It's literally just pumpkin" The curly haired chef narrows his eyes at the quarterback "And if your shit looks like that I think you should get checked up"
"Can we not talk about shit while feeding the baby?" Garrett complains.
You ignore them and give Seb a taste of the puree, he doesn't even give it a chance, as soon as it touches his pursed lips he slips his tongue out letting whatever little food had gone in out and squirming when you try to give him some more.
"See" Beau points "Diarrhea"
"I'm actually curious about the taste" Nick, a football player says and you hand him the bowl with a disgusted look, you've tried not to make faces so Seb tries all the new flavors unbiased but he's already decided he doesn't like this one and the smell is quite frankly, nauseating. You all pause and look at Nick as he takes a big spoonful into his mouth, the regret is instant and he runs to the sink to spit out and rinse his omouth making you all laugh, Sebastian joining in.
"Okay this is the last one" Tucker hands you the bowl, this one's bright green and when you look up you can already see Beau making a face at it "It's broccoli"
"All right, open up Seb" Dean grimaces behind as your son tries reluctantly, surprising you all when he opens up his mouth for more, giving you a satisfied hum as he savors it, you offer him more half expecting him to throw it out but he eats it and claps his hands "Oh he likes broccoli"
"There's no way" Beau shakes his head "Give me some" He takes the bowl and spoons some up bringing it to his mouth, Seb screams then making grabby hands at the bowl clearly angry at Beau for taking his food "Yeah, no, all yours kid" The quarterback grimaces handing the food back to you as everyone laughs.
Hockey house - Thursday afternoon
Garret has been awkward around the baby ever since he was born, being an only child and not having any younger cousins he had never been around kids that small before. Today he's the only one in the house, Logan out with Jules, Dean on a quick trip to New York for a family emergency and Tucker probably still on campus. His plans? To melt into the couch while watching as many of the Jurassic park movies he can get through until he falls asleep.
His plans, however, get interrupted only a few minutes into the first movie when you burst in through the front door with the baby bag in one arm and the baby in the other.
"Tuck!" You call out.
"He's not here yet" Garrett lets you know from his spot on the couch.
"Shit" You curse contemplating your options before walking his way "Okay, I'm so late, Tuck agreed to watch him over and-" Your phone buzzes, Tucker letting you know he's late and will be there in 15 minutes "Oh, he'll be here in 15 minutes but I can't wait so can you just-"
Garrett almost jumps when you plop the baby on his chest "Uh-"
"Tell Tuck I said thanks and I'll Dean will be here in a few hours! Thanks G, bye!" You don't let him get any words out before you're gone.
The brunette blinks at the baby who stares back at him with a gummy smile devouring his own fist, drool spilling down into Garrett's chest. "Okay… um… no, yeah, we're okay" He sits up slowly making sure to keep Sebastian as safe as possible "Do you uh… you like Jurassic Park?" The baby makes a noise and slaps him on the chest "No… okay sure, no dinosaurs how about um… what the fuck do babies like?" He whispers to himself "Oh i meant frick, shit, no, I'm sorry, don't tell your mom"
He pulls out his phone and texts a 'hurry your ass home' to Tucker who replies with a thumbs up and nothing more.
For the next ten minutes Garrett awkwardly sits on the couch with the baby in his lap, his duck plushie clutched in the hand he's not chewing on as he stares curiously at the man holding him and every time the baby so much as shifts Garrett holds his breath, eventually Sebastian grows tired rubbing his eyes and settling into his uncle's chest, droopy eyes closing and soft snores escaping.
"Great, now stay like that until Tuck gets home and we'll be fine bud" He whispered settling back into the cushions and pressing play on the movie again.
Just a few minutes later, under the heat of the baby on his chest, Garrett falls asleep too.
It's not until hours later that he wakes, Sebastian now turned the other way around, eyes wide on the screen that's now playing cartoons but still on his lap and Dean, Tucker and Logan sit around him with plates of food with their attention also on the tv.
"Welcome back to the land of the living G" Dean greets him shoveling a forkfull of steak into his mouth.
"How long have you guys been home?" Garrett asks all confused "And why didn't you take your kid?"
"I tried" The blonde shrugs "But every time I got close to getting him off of you he'd cry so I just let him do his thing"
"Okay well, take him" Garrett motions to the baby that's now looking up at him with a smile, completely unaware of the awkwardness coming from the man holding him.
"Fine, look for yourself " Dean puts his plate down, by now Logan and Tucker are watching intently "Hey bud, come with daddy" The baby's smile disappears the moment his dad puts his hands under his armpits to get him up and instead he complains with a screech and flailing of his arms "See? Seb, son, we need to change your diaper at least before you leak all over uncle G"
Garrett grimaces at the sentence "Get him off please"
"I'm trying!" Dean argues picking Sebastian off finally, the baby wailing immeidately "Yeah, yeah, I'm such a bad dad for not letting you stay with Garrett even though your diaper is full and you can get a rash" He rolls his eyes "So dramatic, you get this from your mom"
Your apartment - Saturday afternoon
"So this one then?" You're on a facetime call with Allie and Hannah while trying on different outfits.
"Yeah, that one makes your boobs look fricking amazing" Hannah says, Allie agrees.
"Okay great, and then do we think hair up or down?" You're getting ready for a date, your first one since before having Sebastian, a date with a guy from the Tennis club "Wait, I think Dean's here"
Lo and behold, when you open your apartment door Dean stands there with a bright smile and a paper bag he lifts proudly "Uncle Tuck sent some snacks for Seb"
"God bless uncle Tuck" You say letting him in "Thank you so much for agreeing to babysit him tonight"
"I'm his dad" Dean deadpans "It's not babysitting, just taking care of my kid while his mom has a deserved fun night out, so you going out with friends? Hitting Malone's, someone's apartment, what is it?"
"See, most guys don't see it that way, especially on a Saturday night when they could be out partying" You point out "And neither, I'm going on a date"
Dean chokes on nothing "A date?"
You shrug "Yeah" And walk back to your room to finish getting ready and say goodbye to Hannah and Allie. Dean's already texting Beau about it.
"So… do I get to meet the date?" He asks trying to act nonchalant and failing.
"Well, I'm meeting him at the movie theater so no" You tell him putting on your shoes "But if it all goes well maybe next time"
"He's not even picking you up?" The blonde asks in disbelief "Who is this guy?"
"Goodbye Dean!" You ignore his questions and walk out the door.
The movie theater - Just a bit later
"Dude, I've always wanted to do espionage" Beau whispers loudly to Dean, both guys looking obvious as hell as they stand in the movie theater lobby dressed in black and with sunglasses even though they are inside, Seb sporting his very own little pair strapped into his dad's chest too.
"Lowkey, me too" Dean admits "Probably not for this but hey, we have to make sure she's not dating a complete douche"
"Look! There she is" Beau points at you, the two wait until you're walking into the room and follow a minute later, somehow managing to make it to their seats, three rows behind you without you noticing "Are you sure you won't just think whatever guy she dates is a douche anyways?"
"No" The blonde frowns "Only the ones who deserve the title" Beau hums unconvinced.
The movie, as it turns out, is an action one that has Beau hooked, but Dean can't stop looking at you and your date, noting every move he makes and scoffing at them. Then, something in the screen explodes loudly, Beau gasps, Seb wails in fear, that's when you turn around and notice them, Beau looks scared, Dean is trying to calm the baby down and you sigh offering your date an apology and telling him you have to go before walking up to Dean, taking Seb and walking out of the movie.
Dean immediately follows behind but you don't turn, too busy trying to calm your baby down until he stops you by your elbow, finally you look at him with anger "What?" You snap.
"I'm sorry" Is all he can say.
"Oh yeah?" You chuckle and that's when he understands how badly he fucked up "For what exactly? For bringing our seven month old baby into a loud action movie and scaring him to death or for ruining a perfectly fine date for me?"
"Everything"
"No Dean, I don't think you understand" You sigh, Seb's cries have calmed now and he tucks his little head into the crook of your neck as you continue to rock softly "That" You point to the movie room where you left your date "Is probably the only guy in all campus that's not repulsed by me being a mom and you've ruined it for me"
Dean's heart breaks a little at your words "No one is repulsed by you"
"You don't get it" You are about to cry out of frustration "You are Dean Di Laurentis, girls bow at your feet, you can have your pick every single night, you get to keep your perfect body. I don't have that Dean, guys won't even give me a second look, I can't just date around or sleep with someone because they all know I am Dean Di Laurentis' baby mama" He hates the way his name comes out of your mouth like it's venom "And if they do, they see someone with stretch marks, and loose skin and-" You choke on your words "You'll never get it Dean, how can you?" He says your name and you don't let him say anything more "Can you just drive us home?"
Now, Beau did notice you two leave earlier, but he didn't think you'd forget about him, I mean, surely you didn't just abandon him at the movie theater right? Well, now that the movie is over and he's done two laps around the parking lot with no luck finding Dean's BMW he realizes he's been left behind.
"Damn blind idiots" He mutters pulling his phone out to order an Uber "God how I hope they get their heads out of their asses and realize they love each other so they stop doing this shit"
Summary: Somehow you find yourself co-parenting with the biggest manwhore in all of Briar U.
⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ welcome to the series that will hopefully become something! taglist is closed!
College Baby masterlist
Hockey house - Thursday afternoon.
"Yo, whoever flushed the blue package baby wipes when they clearly say do not flush next time you're the one's unclogging the toilet" Logan wipes his sweat covered forehead with his forearm and points at his two teammates sitting in the living room "And where the hell is Dean?"
"Seb emergency" Garrett answers without looking up from his textbook "Apparently he lost his ducky and wouldn't stop crying"
"I will never get over you saying the word ducky" Tucker snickers.
"Dude, you've been singing the itsy bitsy spider for days" Garrett shoots back.
"She's a ver determined spider" The curly haired guy almost looks offended at the quip.
"I'll take the itsy bitsy spider over baby shark any day" Logan's putting his toolbox away in the cabinet under the sink when he notices the bright yellow plush he's all too familiar with "Hey I found ducky!" He lifts it up with a triumphant smile.
The baby's cries are loud against his ear when he calls Dean "Fuck you want?" The clearly stressed dad answers the phone, in the background Logan can hear you yelling at him for swearing in front of the baby.
"Now, that's no way to talk to your savior" Logan frowns.
"I stopped going to church when I was 12" Dean snaps back "But maybe I need to take this kid in for an exorcism"
"Stop talking about our son like that!" You complain, probably taking the crying baby out of his arms because Logan notices the cries are more distant now.
"Anyways, I found ducky" Logan says.
"I fucking love you" The blonde sounds so relieved, already moving to get his car keys "Seriously, this weekend, drinks on me and you get first dibs"
When you, Dean and Seb show up at the house a little while later you look like you've been in combat for weeks. Both your hair desheveled, your clothes crumpled and faces flushed and if it wasn't for the milk stain on your shirt and the crying child in Dean's arms, your friends would be sure that you had been fooling around in Dean's car before walking in.
"Hey bud" Logan regards the squirming kid belting his little heart out "Look what your favorite uncle found for you"
"You're not the favorite shithead" Garrett says from the couch.
"Neither are you" Tucker adds.
Sebastian stops crying when he notices the yellow duck plushie in Logan's hands, instead of loud wails he just hiccups with big wet blue eyes as he's handed the stuffed animal.
"I would so get mad at you for cursing in front of him but I'm too tired for that" You tell Garrett already on your way upstairs to Dean's room, probably for a well deserved nap.
"Here" Dean plops the now calm child into Tuckers lap ignoring the laptop he was working on "You're the least likely to let him die" And walks away "He's due for a feeding in like an hour"
"So when do you think mom and dad will realize they're soulmates?" Logan asks the sleepy baby over the couch.
Malone's - Saturday morning.
"You know, you could always just bring him in with you" Della offers, you're going over your new job as a waitress.
"That won't be necessary" You tell her "He's going to the campus daycare and Dean's looking after him when he's free, but thank you so much"
"Of course hon, just know the option is there if you ever need it. As long as you do your job I have no problem with the little dude joining you" She sends a smile your way and walks away leaving you at the counter with your breakfast.
"Here you go, sorry for the wait" Hannah, who you've learned you're going to be sharing many shifts with places a glass of orange juice in front of you.
"Thanks" You say back.
The bell on top of the door dings and you hear the rowdy hockey players that have become your baby's family and therefore your family walk in.
"Hey mama" Dean plops down next to you, Seb strapped into that ridiculously expensive baby carrier he insisted on buying "What are you doing here so early?" He steals your glass of juice and drinks it whole in one big gulp, you give him an annoyed look.
"I was coordinating everything with Della" He looks confused "The job? As a waitress? I told you about it last night when I dropped Seb off?"
"I was half dead by the time you dropped by" He admits "I woke up at 4 am for the roadie and didn't get to nap at all in the bus, sorry" He then waves Hannah over "Can I get the big daddy breakfast with extra sausages and another orange juice please? Oh and a coffee, one cream two sugars"
"You got it" Hannah mumbles.
Dean turns back to you at the same time as he grabs Seb's hands that are outstretching towards the napkins in front of you "Anyways, why the hell are you getting a job?"
"Because I have things to pay?" You deadpan "I also have a meeting with the financial advisor in 40 minutes, the school agreed to let me hold onto my scholarship but even then, the rest of the money is still a little too much and I don't want to drain all my savings like that so… job" You motion to the place.
"Thanks" He tells Hannah when she places the three big plates, orange juice and coffee cup in front of him "Why didn't you tell me you needed money?"
"Because I don't need money from you" You shrug "Don't worry, Seb's getting all he needs, this is just for my stuff"
"You know I've gotchu whatever you need" He says, your mom reflexes save his breakfast from Sebastian's curious hands smashing into it.
"Thanks but I'm good" He doesn't like this, but he knows he's not going to win the argument so he just hums already planning how he's going to increment the money he sends you for Sebastian in a way that you won't instantly notice "Hand him over so you can eat before he faceplants into the eggs"
Your apartment - Monday night
"So I was thinking" Dean starts, he's on the floor doing tummy time with Sebastian.
"Oh no"
"Shut up" He shakes his head "I was thinking, if we make it to the frozen four this year, this little guy will be old enough to come see daddy play"
You make a face "I don't know"
"Oh come on, we can get him those huge earmuffs and get the puck bunnies to bodyguard" See, the thing about the puck bunnies is you shouldn't like them, but you can't help it. Sure, they are known for sleeping with the hockey players, but if you really think about it, they have a type and a limited dating pool in the school but they really don't harm anyone and they are nice once you get to know you. Oh and they love your kid because he is Dean's kid so really, you have no problem with them.
"How about this" You sit next to him with a yogurt cup that will most likely be stolen from your hands in just a few seconds "If you make it to the finals and the trip is not too long we'll make it"
"Great, going to order the ear muffs now" You know he's being truthful because he's already pulling up Amazon on his phone, the season is barely halfway through.
The Hockey House - Tuesday afternoon
"Dean if you don't pick your shit up I will throw it away" Tucker's yelling up the stairs when you walk into the house with Seb in your arms "Oh hey guys!"
"Hey Tuck" You give him a tired smile, at only six months old, Seb's decided that sleep is no longer something he's interested in.
"You look like you're about two seconds from collapsing" He frowns taking both the baby and baby bag from you.
"Feel like it too, he's decided he's allergic to sleeping more than 20 minutes at a time" You drop onto the couch with a sigh.
"I can watch him for a bit if you wanna nap" You throw up a thumbs up, your eyes already closed "Okay bud, today you're learning how to make a peach cobbler"
A while later you wake up to find Tuck cleaning the kitchen whit the baby strapped into his chest while humming a country song you don't recognize, the surprising thing? Seb's totally asleep, mouth open, little snores, drooling all over Tucker's chest asleep.
"Holy shit" You whisper making your way to the kitchen "You are magical Tuck"
"Huh?" He looks confused, then notices your gaze on the baby "Oh! He's been asleep for a while, I was explaining how to pick the perfect peaches to him and he just conked out" He shrugs as if it's nothing.
"John Tucker I think I might be in love with you" Of course that's the moment your baby's father decides to walk into the room, furrowed brows in annoyance at your words because although you two are not together he's not sure how he feels about you saying those words to one of his best friends.
"What the fuc-" He doesn't get to finish his sentence though because you practically throw yourself into him to cover his mouth, he catches you by your waist pressing you flush against him, frown still present in his face.
"Shut up" You whisper shout at him "I've been trying to get him to sleep for forever and he wouldn't settle now look at him"
Econ 201 - Wednesday morning
"Dude I have a problem" Dean's sitting next to his new friend, Beau, in class.
"You have a lot of those" Beau keeps taking notes of the board "It's the reason you're a hockey player"
"This is serious" Dean insists.
"What level of serious?"
"Camille tried sexting me last night and I didn't text back" Beau's pen basically drops from his hand and suddenly he's not into class at all becuase his buddy needs serious help if this problem is stopping him from sexting Camille freaking Green back.
"You have my undivided attention" The brunette says, his whole body turned to the blonde.
When your name comes out of Dean's mouth Beau gasps, yes, this is very clearly a serious problem if you're involved.
"Yesterday she told Tuck she was in love with him" Beau's eyes go impossibly wide at Dean's words "And it's been bugging me ever since"
"No bro like that's totally valid" Beau nods "If my baby mama said she was in love with my best friend I would go crazy too. So what happened next?"
"She told me to shut up because the baby was sleeping" Dean continues with his story "And then the other guys got home and we had dinner and then she left so we didn't get to talk but-"
"Gentlemen" The professor called, the class eerily quiet around them, all their classmates staring at the two "Anything to share with the class?"
Malone's - Wednesday night
"So" Garret plops down next to Tucker in the booth, throwing his arm around him "How's it feel to be a step dad?"
"Fuck you talking 'bout?" Tucker asks confused.
"It's all everyone on campus is talking about, John Tucker, the dad that stepped up" Logan says teasingly sitting on the other side of the booth, Tucker's still confused.
"Word on the street is that you'r dating Dean's baby mama" Garrett finally explains making the curly haired guy choke on his water.
"Where the hell is that coming from?" He asks "Wait, is that why everyone's been giving me weird looks?"
Dean arrives then with Beau by his side, the quarterback dapping him up before joining his own teammates leaving Dean to find his roommates.
"Why do you two look like you've pulled the prank of the year?" He asks Logan and Garrett who can't help but to cackle.
"Hey Tuck, I can give you a baby of your own if you want" A girl walking by winks at the Texan who gives his friends a mortified look.
Dean gives the table a questioning look "Apparently someone's been saying Tuck's dating your baby mama and has become" Garret starts, Logan joins with a big smile and at the same time they both say "The dad that stepped up"
"Wait… what?"
"Dean!" You barrell towards their table "What the hell did you do?"
"I didn't do anything" The blonde raises his hands.
"Then why is the whole campus thinking I'm in love with Tuck?" That's when it dawns on Dean.
"Beau you motherfucker!" The named looks up with confusion and then fear when he sees you by his friend's side "I'm going to break both your legs!"
chandler bing x reader | suggestive content | slow burn
Summary: You offer Chandler some incentive to quit smoking-- and then you follow through
a/n: based on season 1 episode 3, the one with the thumb!
masterlist
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March 20th, 1994
You were curled up in the armchair beside the orange couch, sipping lukewarm coffee and flipping through a zine you’d grabbed at that record store near campus. Monica, Phoebe, Ross, and Joey were spread out across the couch, half-listening to Rachel ramble behind the counter about something a customer had done earlier that day.
It was peaceful. Calm.
Until you caught a faint whiff of smoke.
Your eyes narrowed. You looked up-- just in time to see Chandler casually lighting a cigarette.
Monica shot up from the couch like she’d been electrocuted. “Oh my God, Chandler!”
“Seriously?” Joey said, recoiling like someone had just waved a fart in his face.
“Put that out,” Ross barked, waving a hand in front of his nose. “You’re not even supposed to smoke in here!”
“Ugh!” Phoebe fanned the air dramatically. “Chandler, come on. You’re gonna get cancer, and then we’ll all feel like jerks for yelling at your urn.”
Chandler rolled his eyes and took a drag. “Wow. Judgment and a guilt trip. You guys should start a band.”
“Oh my god,” Monica groaned again, waving toward the window. “Go outside!”
“Hey, this is so unfair!” Chandler protested, gesturing with the cigarette like it was on his side.
“Oh yeah?” you said, finally lowering your zine with a look. “What’s unfair--lung privileges?”
“No! I have one flaw, and suddenly I’m public enemy number one? Meanwhile, Joey cracks his knuckles every five seconds like he’s trying to summon Captain Planet--”
“Hey!” Joey protested again.
“--and Ross,” Chandler went on, “acts like he’s narrating a PBS documentary every time he talks.”
Ross sat up straighter. “I articulate. It’s called having a command of the English language.”
“And Monica,” Chandler added with a flourish, “has that weird little snort when she laughs. Like a piglet getting tickled.”
“I do not snort,” Monica said indignantly.
"You totally do,” you muttered into your mug.
“Oh, and you,” Chandler turned to you, finger pointed. “With your whole ‘I’m better than everyone because I know the exact day every Bowie album dropped’ superiority thing. And that weird food ritual where you never finish your plate. You eat 85% of a sandwich and then abandon it like it said something offensive.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t have to explain my sandwich habits to a man who smokes indoors."
“God forbid someone smoke a single cigarette around Miss Precision Sandwich Eater of 1994.”
“Say that again when you’re hacking up a lung in your thirties,” you shot back. “We’ll see who wins then.”
there's a pause.
“…So, does the knuckle cracking actually bother everybody?” Joey asked, eyebrows raised.
Ross looked slightly guilty. “Well… I could live without it.”
“Okay but is it, like, ‘quirky habit’ annoying,” Joey pressed, “or like… Phoebe chewing her hair annoying?”
Phoebe blinked, mid-chew, and immediately pulled her hair out of her mouth.
“Don’t listen to him, Pheebs,” Ross said gently. “I think it’s endearing.”
Joey turned to him, mockingly sincere. “Ohhh, you do, do you?”
Monica snorted--actually snorted--and immediately covered her mouth, eyes wide.
Chandler just grinned. “There it is.”
“There’s nothing wrong with enunciating,” Ross said stiffly, crossing his arms.
“Indeed there isn't.” Rachel imitated Ross from behind the couch, then glanced at the espresso machine. “I should really get back to work.”
“Yeah,” Phoebe muttered, “before someone accidentally gets what they actually ordered.”
“Oh-ho-HO. The hair comes out and the gloves go on,” Rachel snapped.
The entire room descended into chaotic, overlapping bickering.
You got pulled into it-- snarking and sparring like it was second nature. You accused Monica of weaponizing passive aggression. Joey said you were just bitter because you were always cold. Ross tried to quote Latin. Phoebe said she liked your 80% sandwich thing. Rachel asked what a Bowie was, earning herself a death glare from you.
And somewhere in all that noise, Chandler was gone.
You scanned the room, eyebrows pinching. The door was still swinging slightly on its hinge.
That bastard.
You sighed, stood up, and slung your cardigan tighter around your shoulders as you made for the door.
“Where are you going?” Rachel asked, coffee mug in hand.
You didn’t look back. “To go kill the Marlboro Man.”
And just like that, you disappeared after him, zine abandoned, door shut behind you.
You caught him halfway down the sidewalk, leaned casually against the window, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth like he was trying out for a 1940s heist film.
“Smooth escape,” you said, approaching him.
He glanced at you sideways, amused. “Thank you. That was my own version of smoke and mirrors.”
“Clever.” You folded your arms. “So what’s it gonna take to get you to quit?”
He puffed once. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve already had five guilt trips, three lectures, and a surprise intervention this week. None of it worked.”
You shrugged. “Alright. What if I sweeten the deal?”
Chandler raised a brow. “I’m listening.”
“If you go a full week without smoking…” You tapped your chin. “I’ll buy you that vintage Batman comic you’ve been hunting for. The one with the misprint cover.”
His eyes lit up slightly-- then narrowed. “Tempting. But not tempting enough.”
You nodded slowly. “Fine. I’ll throw in those black licorice things you like that taste like regret and despair.”
Chandler took another drag. “Closer.”
You stepped in, lowering your voice just enough that only he could hear it. “If you can go one week without a cigarette, Chandler… I’ll show you my boobs.”
He froze.
The cigarette fell from his fingers and hit the sidewalk with a tiny hiss.
“…A week, you said?”
You smirked. "I'll even provide the nicotine patches."
He looked genuinely conflicted for a second-- then sighed dramatically and stomped out the cigarette.
“Fine. For the sake of my lungs… and your very generous offer-- I accept.”
You beamed. “See? Bribery works better than judgment.”
Chandler shook his head with a crooked smile. “God, you’re dangerous.”
You leaned in, already walking backward toward the coffeehouse. “Only when properly motivated.”
He watched you go, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets, trying not to look too smug-- or too flustered.
March 24th, 1994
Chandler looked like a man on the edge.
He sat on the couch with a cup of coffee (his fifth), hunched over and twitchy, leg bouncing like a nervous rabbit. You were sitting on the floor in front of him, sipping iced tea and pretending not to notice how he’d muttered “kill me” under his breath at least twice in the past ten minutes.
Joey leaned back in the chair beside the couch, squinting at Chandler with cautious admiration. “Dude… not to jinx it, but… this is, what, day four?”
“Day four and seventeen hours,” Chandler said, rubbing his face. “Not that I’m counting. But also I definitely am.”
Monica walked over with two fresh mugs. “I’m honestly impressed. I didn’t think you’d last this long.”
Phoebe nodded. “Yeah! You’re usually all talk and zero follow-through. It’s very inspiring.”
“I hate all of you,” Chandler muttered. “And I hate this coffee. And I hate the air. And my lungs feel too clean.”
You patted his thigh like he was a feral cat. “You’re doing great, champ.”
Rachel came over from the kitchen with a knowing smirk. “Okay, but seriously--what’s the real reason you’re actually doing this? You didn’t even quit when Monica threatened to replace your cereal with celery.”
Chandler hesitated.
You looked down and busied yourself with a cracker from the coffee table.
Phoebe narrowed her eyes. “Wait… wait a minute. You’ve never made it four days unless something’s in it for you.”
Joey gasped. “Oh my god. Are you getting paid?”
Monica stared. “Did you bet on your own lung health?”
Chandler opened his mouth. Then closed it.
And then Ross-- who had just emerged from the bathroom with a face like he’d walked into something he shouldn’t-- sat down on the arm of the couch.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Oh!” Phoebe beamed. “We’re figuring out why Chandler quit smoking.”
Ross raised a brow. “Wait. Still? You’re on day four, right?”
“Four days and seventeen hours,” Chandler corrected.
Ross tilted his head. “Why? Did someone die?”
Phoebe leaned toward you suspiciously. “You did something, didn’t you?”
You raised your brows, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Joey pointed back and forth between the two of you. “Wait a minute. This is just like that one time--remember when he stuck to that diet for a whole month because that girl from work promised him a peek at her--”
“Boobs,” Chandler blurted. Then winced.
The room went silent.
“What?!” Ross was scandalized.
You took a slow, measured sip of your drink.
“…So,” Monica said slowly. “Let me get this straight.”
“Please don’t get it straight,” Chandler muttered.
“You promised to quit smoking,” Phoebe said.
“And she said if you made it a week…” Joey’s voice trailed off as he nodded in admiration. “That’s… actually genius.”
Rachel’s eyes widened. “Wait, is this, like, a scheduled thing? Are we counting down to Boob Day?”
“Oh my God,” you groaned. “Can we please stop talking about my tits?”
Ross looked like someone had just set his coffee on fire. “Yes, thank you! I didn’t even know this was on the table!”
Phoebe, unbothered, turned to you. “But wait, so--was it, like, part of a larger strategy? Did you offer anything else first?”
You nodded, dry. “I tried candy and comics. Nothing worked.”
Rachel leaned over the arm of the couch, grinning. “So if he makes it to seven days…”
“He gets the view,” Joey filled in.
“You don’t have to narrate it,” you deadpanned.
Phoebe tilted her head thoughtfully. “But technically, she’s still in charge of the reward. That’s so powerful.”
“I mean,” Monica said, licking her spoon, “you could just change your mind. Or make it conditional. Like, no boobs unless he also gets a haircut.”
You made a face. “Okay, first of all, I would never make him get a haircut.”
Everyone turned toward you at once.
You immediately added, “Not because I like it or anything. I just--he’d look weird with, like, short hair. His whole thing would fall apart.”
Chandler grinned. “My whole thing?”
You shrugged, sipping your tea, ears turning pink. “Yeah. Like, your sarcasm wouldn’t hit the same if your hair was too neat. You’d lose your edge.”
Phoebe tilted her head. “So you do like his hair.”
“No,” you said quickly. “I respect it. Like a… cultural artifact.”
Joey pointed at Chandler. “Your hair is a museum piece.”
Rachel cackled.
Chandler looked mildly stunned but definitely pleased, while you resolutely avoided his eye.
Ross, still trying to catch up, gestured vaguely in the air. “But--so what if he doesn’t make it? Do you just… revoke the boobs? Or is there some kind of punishment clause?”
You gave him a flat look. “Ross. There were never any boobs. That’s the whole incentive.”
Monica laughed so hard she nearly spilled her yogurt.
Chandler slumped into the couch cushions like a man accepting his fate. “This was supposed to be a quiet, dignified week of personal growth.”
You mockingly patted his thigh. “Aw. Poor baby. You’re just trying to better yourself and everyone’s obsessed with your hypothetical sex prize.”
Chandler looked at you with pained affection. “You’re evil.”
“I’m effective,” you corrected.
Monica clapped her hands once. “Okay, now I need to see if he actually makes it to day seven.”
Phoebe nodded solemnly. “For the sake of nipples everywhere.”
March 27th, 1994
Chandler was sprawled on the couch like he’d just survived a hostage situation.
He looked pale. Grumpy. Deeply betrayed by the world. He was also seven days cigarette-free.
You were curled next to him, one leg tucked under you, gently running your fingers through his hair--part comfort, part victory lap. His eyes were closed, head tilted toward your touch like a cat soaking up sun.
“You know,” you said, voice light, “you’re shockingly tolerable when you’re detoxing. I expected more weeping.”
“I did weep,” he mumbled. “In the frozen food aisle. Over a bag of peas. Maybe some eggos”
You snorted.
Monica entered from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. “It’s almost time!”
Phoebe and Joey followed, each holding a cookie in one hand and buzzing with anticipation. Rachel leaned against the counter, arms crossed and smirking.
“I still can’t believe you made it seven days,” Rachel said.
“Neither can I,” Chandler groaned. “Everything smells better. Food tastes better. I feel emotions now. It’s terrible.”
Monica set the mugs down. “Timer’s got thirty seconds left.”
Ross glanced at his watch, nodding. “Ah, the final countdown. This is better than any sports game.”
“I swear,” Chandler said, eyes still closed, “if someone lights a match and I inhale by accident, I will throw myself out the window.”
You smiled down at him. “Oh, come on. You’ve been a delight. Moody. Cranky. Deeply dramatic. But a delight.”
Phoebe held up a cookie like a microphone. “So, are you ready for your prize?”
Joey leaned in with a grin. “Do you have a speech prepared?”
Chandler sighed. “I didn’t think I’d make it this far. I’d like to thank spite, coffee, and her boobs for getting me through it.”
Ross chuckled softly. “Her… boobs? Not exactly the typical quitting incentive, but hey, whatever works.”
The timer dinged.
A beat of silence. Then the group exploded into applause.
“Seven days!” Rachel whooped. “No cheating, no sneaking?”
Monica narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t just, like, sneak one in the hallway, right?”
Chandler raised a hand like he was swearing into court. “I swear on Joey’s cholesterol levels.”
Joey nodded solemnly. “That’s sacred.”
You gave Chandler’s hair a final ruffle, then stood up with a satisfied stretch. “Well then. A deal’s a deal.”
Chandler bolted upright. “Wait. Now?”
Rachel’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god, are we actually doing this?”
“I mean,” Phoebe said brightly, “we were here for the buildup.”
Monica raised a hand. “Nope. No way. You two take that weird sexual tension to your room like civilized roommates.”
You turned to Chandler with a grin and wiggled your eyebrows. “Shall we?”
He scrambled up from the couch like he was being offered backstage passes and a winning lottery ticket.
Rachel covered her eyes. “This is too weird. I live here now. I need walls.”
Joey called after you, “Make it count, man!”
Phoebe added, “Don’t blink!”
Monica just groaned. “Please don’t scar me emotionally.”
You pulled Chandler toward your bedroom by the wrist, looking completely smug. “Come on, Bing. Let’s get this over with.”
“Romantic,” he muttered.
“Oh, you’re gonna cry. Guaranteed.”
“I already did. Over the peas, remember?”
You disappeared into your room with him stumbling after you, clearly overwhelmed but absolutely not protesting.
You shut the door behind the two of you and turned slowly to find Chandler standing in the middle of your room like he’d just wandered into a holy site. Hands in his pockets. Jaw slack. Trying very hard not to stare at your chest but clearly already halfway to heaven.
“You okay?” you asked, eyebrow raised.
“I’m great,” he said quickly. “I’m fine. I’ve never been better. I’m just--uh--trying to process that I’m in your room for boob-related reasons and it’s not a hallucination brought on by nicotine withdrawal.”
You took a slow step toward him. “Still want the reward?”
He nodded so fast it looked like whiplash. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything. And I’ve wanted things. Pizza. Sleep. Parental approval. But mostly pizza."
You circled him, slow and deliberate, fingers trailing up his sleeve. “You sure you’re ready?”
“Born ready,” he said, then added quickly, “unless this is a trick. Is this a trick? Are you gonna hit me with a water balloon or something?”
You laughed softly and stopped in front of him. “No trick.”
Then, with complete calm, you reached behind your back.
His eyes widened.
You unhooked your bra under your shirt, sliding the straps slowly from your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor with a light, traitorous thump.
Chandler made a sound that could only be described as a prayer.
“Oh my god,” he whispered. “Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here, right? You’re trying to kill me. This is a slow, beautiful murder.”
You shrugged one shoulder, innocent. “I thought I’d give you a preview. You’ve earned a little anticipation.”
“I will write songs about this moment,” he said, eyes locked on you like you were a mirage.
Then, finally, you gripped the hem of your shirt.
Lifted it. Slowly.
His breath caught audibly in his throat.
You held it just long enough to drive him insane, then raised it fully--bare, lit softly by the lamplight behind you.
Chandler didn’t speak.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t move.
Then--finally--he exhaled, a stunned, reverent whisper:
“…Thank you.”
You laughed--not at him, but softly, surprised, like his sincerity had caught you off guard.
“Wow,” you said, tugging your shirt down as you reached for your bra. “That was unexpectedly polite.”
He didn’t move. Just stood there, dazed. Giddy. Slightly ruined.
You passed him, casually patting his chest like a congratulatory coach. “You did good, Bing.”
“I’m in love,” he said automatically, then winced. “With the moment! The moment. Not you. That’d be weird. Haha.”
You paused in the doorway and glanced back at him, smug.
“Oh, don’t worry,” you said sweetly. “You’ve got about three more weeks of clean lungs before I flash you again.”
He pointed at you helplessly. “You’re evil.”
"Proud of you, Bing. Still a menace, but now a smoke-free menace." You said, walking out, leaving him completely shell-shocked in the middle of your room, muttering under his breath:
“…Best. Bet. Ever.”
----
Anything Goes by: Frank Sinatra OR Anything Goes by: Guns N' Roses if you're feeling more rock and roll
"So you want to do a no date pact?" (Y/N) asks with doubtful look on her face.
"Yes." Chandler nods aggressively. "No dates. Just us seven."
"You really think you can pull that off?" (Y/N) quips again, not believing Chandler will be able to go through with his proposition.
"Okay, you know what, (Y/N)," Chandler begins slightly aggressive. "I don't need your negative comments, alright? Now who's with me? I say this year, no dates, we make a pact. Just the seven of us. Dinner." He tries his hardest to make it sound appealing.
The rest of the group mumbles in agreement, not truly that interested in his idea. Chandler scoffs, "You know, I was hoping for a little more enthusiasm." He looks at them slightly offended.
Everyone sarcastically begins cheering louder to please his ego. He smiles gratefully and (Y/N) can't help but shake her head in amusement as she takes a sip of her coffee. She doesn't think this pact will last more than a day. Maybe less.
Especially with how things seem to be going for Phoebe and the guy she called out while singing onstage. She smirks and leans back to look up at Chandler, "Still think this whole no date pact thing is gonna work?"
"Oh shut up." He grumbles.
"Hey, that guys going home with more than a note." Joey chimes in, clearly impressed with Phoebe.
(Y/N) snorts out a laugh and sends Chandler a sarcastic thumbs up. The man simply rolls his eyes and goes to sit on the other side of the couch, farthest away from (Y/N).
»»————- ⚜ ————-««
About two hours later, (Y/N), Rachel, Monica, Ross, Chandler, and Phoebe all sit in Monica's apartment decorating the tree to make it look more festive for the party. (Y/N) and Chandler begin to detangle the golden tinsel as Rachel looks back at Phoebe.
"Pheebs, I can't believe he hasn't kissed you yet. I mean God, by my sixth date with Paolo, I mean he had already named both my breasts!" Rachel laughs lightly until she realizes what she just said. She pauses, "Ooh. Did I just share too much?"
Ross scrunches his eyebrows, "Just a smidge."
"David's like, y'know, Scientist Guy. He's very methodical." Phoebe explains.
"Well, I think it's romantic." (Y/N) smiles.
Monica nods in agreement as Phoebe begins to light up with excitement, "Me too! Oh! Did you ever see An Officer and a Gentleman?"
"Yeah."
"Well, he's kinda like the guy I went to see that with. Except, except he-he's smarter, and gentler, and sweeter... I just- I just wanna be with him all the time. Day and night, and night and day... and special occasions..." She begins to trail off, giving a not so discreet side eye to Chandler.
The man throws his hands up, "Wait a minute, wait a minute, I see where this is going, you're gonna ask him to New Year's, aren't you? You're gonna break the pact. She's gonna break the pact." He announces, looking around at everyone.
Phoebe gasps, "No, no, no, no, no, no." She says getting on her knees on top of the couch. She looks at all of her friends and then gives in. "Yeah, could I just?"
They all collectively gasp, everyone besides seemingly Chandler. (Y/N) looks at him accusatorially as he nods his head to the side, "Yeah, 'cause I already asked Janice."
(Y/N) furrows her eyebrows, not expecting Janice the be the one he ended up asking. While she does feel an extreme sense of bragging coming on for her calling that the no date pact wasn't going to work, this new revelation almost made bragging not worth it.
"What?!" Monica asks, has agape.
"C'mon, this was a pact! This was your pact!" Ross says incredulously.
Chandler shrugs, "I snapped, okay? I couldn't handle the pressure and I snapped."
"Yeah, but Janice?" (Y/N) raises an eyebrow. "That was like the worst breakup in history!"
"I'm not saying it was a good idea, I'm saying I snapped!" Chandler defends.
"Clearly." (Y/N) mutters irritatedly.
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Chandler asks, furrowing his eyebrows.
"Nothing." She replies quietly.
Suddenly the door flies open to reveal an elf Joey with shoes that jingle as he walks. Everyone stares at the man, mouth wide. (Y/N) gasps and begins to cackle as Chandler smirks.
"Hi. Hi, sorry I'm late."
"Too many jokes... must mock Joey!" Chandler exclaims happily.
"Nice shoes, huh? " Joey asks as he wiggles his foot, making the bells jingle once more.
(Y/N) can't believe what she's watching, "You're killing me." She continues laughing.
Rachel looks in between (Y/N) and Chandler, "It's like having two of you." She says to Chandler.
Marcel, Ross's monkey jumps over into the kitchen and knocks over multiple kitchen appliances. Monica looks at her brother exasperatedly, "Ross! He's playing with my spatulas again!"
"Okay, look, he's not gonna hurt them, right?" Ross counters, defending his monkey.
"Do you always have to bring him here?"
"I didn't wanna leave him alone. Alright? We- we had our first fight this morning. I think it has to do with my working late. I said some things that I didn't mean, and he- he threw some feces..." Ross explains upset, making (Y/N) have to hold in her laughter again. She loves the chaos her friends emanate.
"Y'know, if you're gonna work late, I could look in on him for you." Chandler offers.
(Y/N) scoffs, "Chandler taking care of something. Never thought I'd live to see the day." She smirks playfully.
"You're on one today, you know that?" He quips back.
(Y/N) shrugs happily, satisfied to know she successfully got under Chandler's skin.
»»————- ⚜ ————-««
"So tell me something. What does the phrase 'no date pact' mean to you?" Ross asks harshly to Monica, who just revealed she got a date for the party.
"I'm sorry, okay. It's just that Chandler has somebody, and Phoebe has somebody- I thought I'd ask Fun Bobby." Monica explains gently to her brother as she takes a seat on the couch.
"Fun Bobby? Your ex-boyfriend Fun Bobby?" Chandler tilts his head.
"Yeah." She confirms.
(Y/N) looks at Chandler, "You know more than one Fun Bobby?"
"I happen to know a Fun Bob." Chandler justifies.
Rachel comes up from behind them all with a mug of coffee for Joey, "Okay, here we go..."
"Ooh ooh ooh ooh, there's no room for milk!" He complains.
Rachel glances at Joey and then at his coffee. She leans down and takes a large sip from the top. "There. Now there is." She shrugs.
"Okay, so on our no-date evening, three of you now have dates." Ross looks in between all of them, still upset about it.
"Uh, four." Joey adds.
"Four." Ross deflates.
"Five." Rachel chimes in.
"Five." Ross hides his head in his hands.
"Six." (Y/N) raises her hand. Taking a sip from Chandler's cup.
"Hey!" Chandler exclaims.
Truthfully, Chandler didn't mind (Y/N) taking a sip of his coffee. He found it slightly endearing. He actually really enjoyed her company due to the fact that both of them happen to be extremely sarcastic.
The brunette man furrows his eyebrows, just now processing what (Y/N) revealed. He pauses, "Wait, you have a date?" He asks her.
"Yes Mr. Bing." (Y/N) responds sarcastically. "Try to hide your shock please." She rolls her eyes.
"I-I didn't meant it like that. I was just interested in hearing you had a date considering two weeks ago you said you didn't plan on dating for awhile." He says, sipping his coffee awkwardly.
(Y/N) tilts her head, "Since when do you pay this close attention to what I say?"
Chandler shrugs, "I don't know..." He mumbles.
"I just can't believe everyone has a date but me." Ross leans back in his chair, crossing his arms to pout.
"Sorry. Paolo's catching an earlier flight."
"Yeah, and I met this really hot single mom at the store. What's an elf to do?" Joey shrugs.
"Yeah, and I met a cute guy at the grocery store when I was shopping for stuff to make my cheesecake." (Y/N) tells him sympathetically.
Ross looks up, "Is it your Oreo one?"
"Yes Ross." (Y/N) smiles.
"You're forgiven." He nods. "But the rest of you are not."
"Oh, c'mon. We'll have, we'll have a big party, and no-one'll know who's with who." Rachel tries to comfort him.
"Yeah, well I'll know. Hey, y'know, this is so not what I needed right now." Ross shakes his head.
"What's the matter?" Monica looks at him concerned.
"Oh, it's-it's Marcel. He's angry with me again. I have no idea why. He keeps shutting me out, y'know? He's walking around all the time dragging his hands..."
"That's so weird, I had such a blast with him the other night." Chandler says, moving his arm behind (Y/N), lightly touching her back. She furrows her eyebrows, but doesn't say anything.
"Really?" Ross looks at him, hurt evident on his face.
"Yeah, we played, we watched TV.. that juggling thing is amazing."
"What juggling thing?" Ross asks as his body begins to sag sadly.
"With the balled-up socks?" Chandler tells him. "I figured you taught him that."
"No." Ross frowns.
Chandler goes to continue once more, but (Y/N) puts her hand on his, "Just stop. You're making it worse." She whispers.
"Noted." He nods, keeping his mouth shut. He leans down to whisper since Phoebe's boyfriends friend walked in. "You know, you never told me what the name of your date was."
"You didn't ask." (Y/N) responds.
"Well, now I'm asking." He looks down at her, his eyes never leaving her figure.
"Well, if you're really that curious, his name is Wren." She whispers back to him.
He looks at her with a scrunched up face, "What the hell kind of a name is Wren?"
"A model name apparently." She responds smugly, taking his coffee from his hands, sipping it once more.
"He's a model?" Chandler looks at her, suddenly losing all confidence.
"Yeah. I figured he could give Joey some good contacts too. So, it's a win-win." She smiles, not noticing Chandler's change in demeanor.
"Yeah." He says grouchily. "Win-win."
»»————- ⚜ ————-««
(Y/N) walks into Monica's apartment, she smiles at all of her friends as the part is in full swing. She watches as everyone begins to mingle and she makes her way over to the snack table. She places her Oreo cheesecake on the table and grabs her own plate, getting some of Rachel's artichoke dip in the process.
Before she could escape, Chandler and his date Janice come up to the table and the latter gets a big scoop of the same dip (Y/N) just got. "I love this artichoke thing!" She says boisterously and does her signature Janice laugh, making (Y/N)'s eyes go wide.
"(Y/N), you remember Janice." Chandler gives her a fake smile, clearly already annoyed with his date.
"Vividly." She replies with an even faker smile. "How are you?"
"Oh, I am fantastic! Now, you know what's totally amazing? It's just like we have been back together for...like what...like 10 minutes. And-"
"Is that all?" Chandler interrupts, making (Y/N) smirk.
"it's just like we were never apart. Y'know I mean. Of course, we were... but forgive and forget. Well...forget." She laughs once more when a knock sounds at the door.
(Y/N) nods, and her eyes follow after Monica, begging to be saved. "Well Janice, lovely seeing you again, but Monica needs help... opening the door. So, catch you guys later." She rushes out and follows after her raven-haired friend.
Chandler watches as (Y/N) walks away, his eyes slowly looking over her body. He didn't really notice until now, but she looked absolutely stunning. The dress she was wearing fit her body perfectly. It hugged her in all the right places.
"Oh honey," Janice starts. "You've got a little drool on your chin." She laughs, wiping it off for him.
(Y/N) approaches Monica and a very disheveled Rachel. She gasps at the sigh of her friend and the bruises that decorate her face. "Oh my gosh! Rachel, honey.. are you okay? Where-where's Paolo?" She asks as her and Monica pull her inside the apartment.
"Rome. Jerk missed his flight." She scoffs angrily.
"And then... your face is bloated?" Phoebe looks at her concerned.
"No. Okay. I was at the airport, getting into a cab, when this woman- this blonde planet with a pocketbook- starts yelling at me. Something about how it was her cab first. And then the next thing I know she just starts- starts pulling me out by my hair! So I'm blowing my attack whistle thingy and three more cabs show up, and as I'm going to get into a cab she tackles me. And I hit my head on the curb and cut my lip on my whistle." She stops and looks around, noticing everyone staring at her. "Oh, everybody having fun at the party?" She leans over to (Y/N) and Monica, "Are people eating my dip?"
(Y/N) and Monica nod as the (h/c) haired girl shows her the plate she has in her hand. Rachel smiles gratefully as Phoebe grabs Rachel's hand and escorts her into her room. (Y/N) huffs and goes over to sit next to Ross and Chandler who both seem to be sulking in the corner.
"What are you boys doing?" She asks with a glass of wine in her hand, sitting right next to Chandler.
"Hiding from Janice." Chandler whispers, peeking around the corner. "I haven't had a moment to breathe since I've been here."
"What did you expect?" (Y/N) chuckles. "It's Janice."
"Yeah." He huffs out, leaning his head against (Y/N)'s arm. She places her hand on his head, playing with his hair mindlessly. Chandler's eyes close as he enjoys the sensation of (Y/N)'s hands in his hair.
The two sit like that for a moment, just enjoying each others company. (Y/N) looks up from Chandler and notices Ross staring longingly at his monkey who seems to be ignoring him.
"You doing okay Ross?" She asks genuinely.
Ross sighs, "Look at him. I'm not saying he has to spend the whole evening with me, but at least check in." He pouts.
Before (Y/N) could respond a loud voice rings out, causing her and true two men to jump. "There you are! Haaah, you got away from me!" She says to Chandler, waking him from his almost peaceful slumber. Janice practically sits on his lap, making him look at her grumpily.
"But you found me!" He imitates her.
Janice looks over at (Y/N) and hands her a camera, "Here, (Y/N) , take our picture." (Y/N) reluctantly takes the camera and begins to snap photos. "Smile! You're on Janice Camera!"
"Kill me. Kill me now." Chandler looks at (Y/N) with pleading eyes.
The woman smiles and sends him a playful wink as she snaps another photo of the couple. "Keep smiling Chandler, you're on Janice camera." She says mockingly.
Another knock sounds through the house and Monica goes to look through the peephole. She smiles excitedly, "Hey everybody! It's Fun Bobby!"
Everyone cheers loudly as Monica opens the door. She goes to greet him cheerily but quickly notes the depressed look on his face. "Hey, sorry I'm late. But my, uh, grandfather, he- died about two hours ago. But I-I-I couldn't get a flight out 'til tomorrow, so here I am!"
Fun Bobby goes towards the couch and begins to talk about his grandfathers funeral. Janice grabs (Y/N)'a attention once more, forcing her to take more photos of her and Chandler.
(Y/N) dejectedly turns back around and comes face to face with Janice kissing Chandler. (Y/N) clenches her jaw jealously as she aggressively snaps a photo of the two kissing. Chandler notices (Y/N)'s posture become much more tense. He pulls away and sends (Y/N) a curious look.
"Oh, I'm gonna blow this one up, and I'm gonna write Reunited in glitter." Janice exclaims happily as she continues to try and maul Chandler's face.
(Y/N) scoffs under her breath and shakes her head. She goes to turn around but Chandler's voice stops her. "Alright, Janice, that's it! Janice... Janice... Hey, Janice, when I invited you to this party I didn't necessarily think that it meant that we-" He gestures between the two of them.
"Oh no. Oh no." The woman puts her hand up, tears forming in her eyes.
"I'm sorry you misunderstood..." Chandler trails off.
(Y/N) can't help but feel happy at the scene unfolding in front of her. She really did hate seeing Chandler with Janice. Or any female for that matter. Little did she know was that Chandler felt the exact same.
"Oh my God. You listen to me, Chandler, you listen to me. One of these times is just gonna be your last chance with me." Janice exclaims as she storms off.
(Y/N), not able to help herself, snaps a photo of Chandler being left on the spot. The man rolls his eyes, "Oh, will you give me the thing." He snatches the camera from her hands making her giggle at his irritation.
"So grouchy." (Y/N) teases as she begins to walk back over to the snack table, Chandler in tow.
"I know this sounds terrible," He starts. "But I am so happy she left." He breathes out relieved.
"You and me both." (Y/N) laughs. "I'm sorry, but her laugh drives me insane."
"You're not the only one." He answers with wide eyes.
"Hey, but at least she's gone now." (Y/N) smiles optimistically.
"And so is my chances of getting a kiss at midnight." He huffs, leaning back in his chair.
(Y/N) shakes her head at him, "Is that really all you're worried about?"
"Yeah, aren't you?" He queries. "Speaking of, I haven't seen your model man date." He tells her mockingly. "Did someone lie about having a date?"
(Y/N) rolls her eyes, and shows him a photo of the man, making his eyes widen at how beautiful he is. "That's not natural." Chandler shakes his head.
"But no, I didn't lie about having a date." (Y/N) stares at him. "He just bailed last minute. Said he took a job in LA at the Marc Jacobs show tomorrow morning so he had to fly out."
"Well, he's a jerk." Chandler states matter of factly. "Leaving you high and dry like that."
(Y/N) shrugs, "I'm not to broken up about it. Plus, I'm right where I wanna be." She smiles softly, squeezing Chandler's hand.
The man's heart leaps in his chest as the beautiful woman in front of him stares at him with her piercing (e/c) eyes. "Really? Sitting here, no date, with me." Chandler raises an eyebrow. "That's where you wanna be?"
"Why wouldn't I want to be here?" (Y/N) tilts her head. "I'd rather be here with you than anyone else."
(Y/N) glances over at the TV, "There's twenty seconds til midnight." She reveals.
"And the moment of joy is upon us." He smiles sarcastically.
(Y/N) listens as the group of people begin to count down. Ross, Monica, Rachel, Joey, and Phoebe seem to have formed their own little group in the other corner of the house. Everyone besides them seem to gather in their own little couples as they begin to count down.
3...
(Y/N) looks over at Chandler and stands up. The man looks at her with a confused look on his face. "What are you doing?"
"Get up." She commands.
2...
"What why?" He looks around rapidly, not understanding what's going on.
"Just get up." She repeats. "Trust me." She extends her hand out for him to take.
"Why do I have a feeling this isn't going to end well?" He asks warily.
"You tell me if it ends badly."
1...
"I don't understand-" Chandler furrows his eyebrows but is swiftly cut off by (Y/N) grabbing him by the collar and pulling him closer to her.
Happy New Year
(Y/N) smashes her lips onto Chandler's. The man sits in shock for a moment before settling into the kiss. He reciprocates her passion and continues kissing her happily. He grabs her waist and pulls her even closer than she was before. He digs his fingers into her side, causing her to gasp. He slips his tongue into her mouth smoothly and she sighs happily. Her hands shoot up into his hair, her thumbs rubbing the back of his head.
"Chandler's kissing (Y/N)!" Ross exclaims. "(Y/N)'s kissing Chandler!" He points over to the couple like a child catching his parents putting presents under the tree.
(Y/N) and Chandler reluctantly pull apart and both of them look over to their group of friends who are staring at them with blank faces. Chandler wraps his arm around (Y/N)'a waist.
"Well, Happy New Year everyone." He clears his throat. "But I think (Y/N) and I are gonna head back to her apartment."
(Y/N) nods rapidly, "Bye guys." She waves as the two frantically escape Monica's apartment, desperate to undress each other.
The group watches after them and Joey sighs, "It's about damn time." He exclaims.
Everyone nods and mumbles in agreement as they go back to the party. The tension between them has been palpable for awhile. It was truly only a matter of time.
synopsis: you knew that Logan was into you, and so were you. but none made the move. tonight after he helped you out, you presented him with a sight that changed everything between you.
word count: 3k words. got too into the juice
warnings: the reader recently moved in, neighbours to something, mutual masturbation, pining (in capital letters), consented voyeurism, desperate!logan. i cannot remember more.
a/n: hi honeypies! this is my first time writing smut so please bear with me. btw i had this idea as i was listening to she by tyler and frank ocean. if you guys show some tlc to this fic i promise i'll provide you babies an even sexier pt.2. have fun reading 🫶
The week went away with a buzz– the constant dealing with the Housing Staff because you and your roommate had a feud. You could not deal with her nagging, her strict rules, which she overran more times than you can tally, and called it an “exception” and claimed that we both had “three strikes”. Which she so wonderfully forgot when I intentionally ate her stash of chocolate chip cookies when I was drunk and hungry– claiming that she never created the rules. How can one even tolerate that– nobody can keep their cool when your roommate steals your favorite tube top for a party, which, amazingly, her boyfriend tears apart while they were having sex. On a lot of terms and a lot of convincing, Mr. Williams, your RA, finally agrees to having you move to another dorm. And to your bliss, he would hold her accountable for her actions. Party for you!
However, they did not have another room for allotment in Bristol House or any other house. So the Housing Staff decides to put you in one of those university-owned residential houses, with kitchens and all, which was your biggest wet dream ever. They claimed that they will soon put you with more students, and that didn’t seem like a problem. But for you, a greater problem lived right beside you, metaphorically and practically. And you realised that when your overloaded car with cartons and Allie stuffed in the backseat, pulled up on the driveway of your residence. You lived right beside the hockey boys. It was a bigger nightmare than your ex-roommate, but for Allie, it was no greater than a hot dream– as you could hear from her now, pitched voice.
“OH, MY GOD!” Her squeal pierced through my eardrums. “Honey, you are living just beside Dean?! I finally have a place where Hannah and I can crash.”
“Oh, so now you guys would just visit me for stalking your boyfriends the entire day”, You say with a feigned mournful tone.
With a chuckle, she replied as she got out of the car, “We love you, honey. It's just we love you more now.”
After turning off the car, you get out and stand right beside Allie, from where she admires the proximity of the houses. With a squeal, she gives you a quick kiss on the cheek, which catches you off guard, and rushes out to the porch, where she stands waiting for the key. You take the key out of the jacket and throw it to her. She does the honour of opening the door to your now haven and enters the house with loud thumps of her boots. You start taking out the boxes from the car and keeping them on the porch.
At a distance, a door clicks open, and someone emerges from the house beside you. You sense the movement from your periphery as you tie your hair up after keeping up the last few boxes of bedding on the porch. You look beside you, and there he stands, John Logan. He apparently picked up his gaze at the same time, and your eyes met. You’ve met Logan more times than you can think– at parties where he was the one who drove you to your dorm as you drank too much, at Malone’s where he either came for pickup or you waited on him and his teammates, a few times you both struck up small conversations when Allie and Hannah took you to their house on weekends because they couldn’t tolerate staying away from their beaus. So, this wasn’t the first time you both met, but you sensed something even greater. You sensed from each secret stare at parties and those hangouts that he was interested in you– but he was the shy type, and you were one of the unapproachable, bold girls whom men hesitated to talk to. So you played, and neither of you did anything.
He flashed that same smile to you, that he did whenever he met you– the one that came on his face whenever he spotted you, and his heart jumped. He rushed down the stairs, and in a blink, he stood just near the stoop.
“So you’re the new move-in?” He asked, his happiness barely containing.
“Yeah,” you responded with a relieved sigh. “The roommate drama is now over.”
“Alone?”
“Not for long. They’ll probably accommodate the transfer students with me,” I say.
“That’s so nice,” He replied as he looked away for a second and kept the toolbox on the first stair. He’s probably headed somewhere for a fixer-upper.
“We’re gonna be neighbours now.” He now looked down, his hand on his hips as he stared at his shoes as if it was the most lovely thing ever. It was almost like an unforgettable dream that the girl of his dreams now lived a few doors away from him. But it also meant that his soul will always stay alert even in his room, because now he will think that she is always watching him.
“Wait, are you headed for your work somewhere?” Your voice interrupted his flight of thought.
“Not really, I was just headed to Professor Evans' house to put up his new TV.” He stammered. You knew that he did these small gigs of fixing whenever he could to earn some extra money. “But it's fine, I still have almost an hour till I leave.”
After a few seconds of silence, he realised that you were standing with a box in your arms, visibly struggling to hold it up. “Wait, let me help you.”
“Oh no its fine, I can manage–” before you could continue, he came up the stairs and took the box from your hands and rushed inside to keep it. For you, that became the hottest thing ever.
He lent a hand in moving the boxes and arranging a few things whenever you asked. In some long conversations and laughter with Allie on the couch, time passed away. “I think it's time for me to go.” Logan said after taking a glance at the time on his phone, “I have to go to Professor Evans, too.”
“But I just ordered Chinese for us to eat?” Allie suddenly sat up on the couch and stared at Logan, like he had committed a crime refusing orange chicken, as he was now walking towards the door.
“It's okay. You guys can have my part.” He reached for the door. “Professor Evans is going to grind me if I am late.”
“That’s fine. You helped out a lot, honestly.” You leaned against the marble counter of the kitchen island. “I owe you tonnes.”
“It’s fine. It was just a little thing.”
“No, seriously, I owe you, Logan.”
Logan swallowed hard, his eyes lingering on yours just a beat too long. There was a strange, vulnerable softness in his expression and an unknown tension in the air.
“You don’t owe me anything. I promise,” he said, his voice unusually quiet. “I wanted to help.”
Before the weight of those words could fully settle between us, he checked the time again and, with a sudden jolt of forced panic, bolted out the door. I stood frozen by the kitchen island. The way he had said I wanted to help echoed in my head. You wondered how a simple conversation turned so tense. You could practically feel his composure faltering.
"Back to the earth, genius," Allie called out, waving a hand from the couch. "Are you going to keep staring at the wood grain, or are we going to talk about how Logan is completely down bad for you?”
Seems like she had already found a topic to talk about now, I understood from the smirk that now played on her face.
For Logan, the rest of his day went messily. Setting up Professor Evan’s television took longer than expected because he mixed up screwdrivers and messed up even the simplest instructions in the manual. He was constantly struck by the moment before he left– how your breathing changed and your smile dropped when you heard him say that he just wanted to help. Did you figure out that he’s insane about you? Was he so transparent?
He just wanted to rest and get you out of his head. He entered the room and sat on the left edge of his bed, from where he could see the window of your room. Your blinds were not closed yet; he could see the warm lighting of your room and the blue, floral print of your bedding. He sat on the edge of his bed, and the moment relapsed in his mind when you both were arranging the room.
“Yeah, you can keep the mirror near the window.” You said as you were putting the sheets on the mattress. He did as you said, and when he looked up, he noticed that the proximity of the houses allowed him to get a good view of his room from your window.
“Hey,” the tone of his voice made you look towards him. “You can see my room from here,” he said, and then he realised how creepy that sounded. It probably made you think of how he would snoop into your room like a pervert. Instead, a small laugh erupted from you. It made his anxiety ebb a little.
“Isn't that nice?” you said as you were draping the sheer, light pink canopy on the bedpost. “I could wish you good morning whenever you wake up.” That made him smile.
His train of thought was immediately broken as soon as he sensed some movement in front of him. From the window, he saw you emerge from your main door, and this sight of you made his mind haze a little. You just came fresh out of the shower, your towel still hanging on your arm. You wore a strappy pink tank top, and your pink lace trimmed panties– which stirred something in his mind that he could not comprehend. An unknown desperation that he cannot claim you made this even worse,e you truly made him something that made him curse himself. He gripped his sheet and tried to look away– trying not to let his sinful thoughts of you over him flood his brain.
You walk towards the mirror, in his mind, nd you're striding like a heroine in a movie, slow and intentional. You first head to your vanity from where he can't see what you're doing and then to your full-length mirror, where you're staring at your reflection. You run your hands from under your chest, through your belly,lly and then move to the side of your hip before settling on your back. He's like a deer standing frozen by the glowing headlights. He feels stupid, insane, or even perverse for staring at you in such a manner.
Before he decides to get up and close his curtains, you see him– and his heart drops to his stomach. What if you think that he is like those weird guys who sneak into a woman's house? And then he notices, you smile at him– but it didn't seem like a smile. It looked more like a smirk, like you planned to do all of this to make him insane and hold onto his last speck of sanity. You ruined him, and you knew that very well.
Your mind also raced with so many possibilities– what if you misinterpreted his actions? But you knew that this had to mean something; either you make a move or lose a friendship that matters. However, what you both had was not friendship, and you knew that. So you turned back as you moved your hair on one side of your shoulder, letting him get a good view of your ass. Only if you could see his room, you could see how bothered he was now becoming. You wanted it, Logan wanted it– but neither of you took the step. Maybe this could be one.
You walked towards your bed and sat on the edge of it, waiting till he sat on his too. He took slow steps back on his bed and sat on it, shifting his gaze away from you. You trail your fingers from the back of your neck to your sternum on your hands, landing your breasts– cupping them just enough. You massage them, running your thumbs over your nipples as your lips part to let out a soft sigh.
Logan swears that he felt his breath hitch at your such intimate sight, he couldn’t believe he saw this side of you, and that made him bothered. He tried to control himself from getting hardened like a teenage boy, but you looked so appealing, displaying yourself so beautifully for him. How can a man resist this sight of yours?
Your fingers skimmed through the light heat of your inner thighs and landed on your covered sex. You spread your legs enough for him to get a sight of your clothed pussy, before you gently glide your fingers along the slit. You felt so exposed, just for Logan– that riled you up even more. And poor him, he did not know what to do. He ran his hands through his thighs and palmed himself as he stared at you pleasuring yourself for him– so pretty and so perfect, just for him.
You kept staring at him as you continued, he was now leaning back with one hand resting on the bed and the other massaging his hard on through his jeans before he quickly took off his jeans. You stopped on your tracks, which made him stop too. You took your fingers in your mouth and lapped them. How he wished that those fingers were his, before they circled your clit beneath your underwear. You threw your head back at the heightened feeling. Logan swears if he didn’t have a speck of self-restraint in him, he would’ve busted in his boxers.
He took off his shirt, and the sight of his body made your breath hitch, and that made him chuckle a little, how he wasn’t the only desperate one. His shirt was now followed by his boxers, which he held between his fingers to show you as you slowed your movement, before he threw them somewhere at a distance. That gave you the sign; it's his turn. You lay back flat on the bed before you slid off your panties slowly through your lifted legs, as Logan leaned back. His breathing got heavier at the erotic display before his hand firmly stroked his cock. You got up and held the lace between your fingers as you smirked at him. You swear you could almost hear him sigh as his thumbs brushed over the head. Only a moment before, he could see what lay behind, what flooded his mind every night, lies.
Your underwear lies somewhere in your room. You ached so badly now, how you wanted him to barge into this room and consume you all over, turning you over and having his way on your body. The thoughts took over your head as you spread your legs apart and rubbed your clit, the sensation rushed through your whole body as you gripped the sheets beneath your resting hand. On the other side, Logan choked on his moan as he slowed his movements. His breathing grew ragged at the sight of you, watching you half-lidded, pleasuring yourself like a mess for him. He picked up his pace– rubbing his head and spreading his precum all over. You allowed yourself to lock your eyes on him, watching as his fist pumped steadily along his shaft. He leaned back a little when he noticed your eyes, allowing an unobstructed view. And then both your eyes met.
He gasped at your lips, letting out a sigh, your chest rising as you tease your entrance with your fingers. The eye contact made your pussy flutter around your fingers. You both picked up your pace; every curl of your finger sent sparks through your whole body. The sight of Logan made you ache even more.
You moaned as pressure coiled in your stomach. Logan also picked up his pace– his lips parting to let out soft moans and groans. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer. Your eyes met his again– and he could just break down the way you stared at him, your eyes trying to maintain contact, your cheeks so flushed, and you crying out for pleasure. He is edging himself, etching closer and closer to his orgasm at your display. A restrained groan erupted from his throat as ropes of his release landed all over his hand, stomach, and thighs, electricity surging through his whole body as you kept your eyes on him.
You also didn't take much time to follow. Soon, your body shook from the intensity of the orgasm it hit you with, your fingers coated with your arousal as wanton cries left your throat. You back bowed, and your free hand shifted its grip to your bedpost as immediate relief hit both of you.
Logan’s hand moved away, and he grabbed a bunch of tissues to clean himself up as you lay back on your bed to take a moment from the heat that just hit you both. This could be a bad decision, which can make every interaction awkward; or it could shift everything between you both, something that you both anticipated.
As you stare at your ceiling, coming down from the high, your phone rang on your bed. You saw that it was Logan calling you. With a smirk, you picked up the phone and sat up.
“What did we just do?” his voice sounded rougher than you expected, which immediately sent sensations between your thighs.
“I said I owed you”, your voice came out raspy. You could hear him chuckle on the other side.
“After what you did to me, you owe me something greater than that.” Your stomach fluttered at the tone of his voice.
tw: swearing, 18+ (sex, sex mentions, dick mentions, dicks, everything in off campus, ed's) reader is sort of depicted as on the chubbier side. Talk of past sexual assault and past physical assault. Heavy eating disorder talk in this chapter. This ED is based on my personal experience, i'm not an expert and am not claiming to be. i read Dean's book and felt like his he experience was kind of brushed under the rug, so I wanted to go into it a little more
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I wake up to the sun pooling in, reaching over slowly, trying not to wake Y/n as i press the button for the blinds to close. She sniffs, sighing in her sleep and nuzzling closer to me, making me smile as hold her to my chest. I brushed my hand over her hair, remembering last night so vividly I could rerun it in my head without missing a detail.
I feel my cock stiffen beneath her thigh that had slid between my legs. I felt a little bad before shrugging it off, she was gorgeous, and I was in- woah.
I cleared my throat, gulping. Was this...?
No. Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, it was. I'd know her for a fucking week and I was in love with her.
Maybe this was another side effect of being a manwhore for so long.
She hums in her sleep, moving again before her pretty eyes peek open and slide up to mine. She smiles sweetly when she sees I'm looking down at her.
"Good morning, beautiful."
"Mor'nin," she slurred, pulling the blankets up more and tucking her head back under my chin. "G'night."
I chuckled, kissing her head. "Goodnight, baby." I murmured, slipping right back into sleep with her.
I wake up again a couple hours later, reaching for her and being met with an empty bed. I groan, dragging a hand over my face. I know she hadn't left, her earrings were on the bedside table- or maybe she had dashed and just forgot them.
I slid out of the bed and went into the adjoining bathroom, grabbing my toothbrush and brushing my teeth. If she was here, I'd kiss her, and I'm sure she'd appreciate no morning breath. I glanced down by chance and smiled, seeing one of the extra bamboo toothbrushes in the trash. She was here.
I headed down the metal stairs, seeing her in the kitchen. "Getting all domestic on me?" I ask, seeing her pretty face turn to mine, warmth in her eyes. She was dressed in one of my shirts and I smiled again with the knowledge that she'd raided my closet.
"All this is for me, I dunno what you're gonna do." She said, wincing.
"Mm," I slide behind her, running my hands under her/my shirt and pressing a deep kiss to her neck. She sucks in a breath, pushing around the eggs in pan as I raise her shirt before pausing. "Can I touch you?" I ask.
"You're so horny." She snorted.
"Old habits." I muse, making her hum before nodding.
I smile, dipping my fingers between her legs and feeling her bare pussy. I felt her clench around nothing just from my fingers brushing over her lips. "Spread your legs more, beautiful."
She did, making me hold back a 'good girl,' since she seemed to not like it last night. I slid my middle finger between her folds before sinking inside, ring finger following, my other hand slinking around to rub her clit. She gasps, head tilting back as she pushes away the pan, not wanting the eggs to burn.
"Sensitive?" I asked.
"Mhm," she nodded, biting her bottom lip. I pulled my fingers out, lifting her onto the kitchen island.
"Lift your legs, over my shoulders." I say, sinking to my knees and burying my face into her pussy, groaning at how wet she is. Her legs dip over my shoulders, heels digging gently into my broad back.
"Dean, fuck- Dean," she moaned, her hands fisting in my hair, not that I minded. I'd proudly go bald if it meant she had a good time. Though, maybe not because then she'd miss my hair.
I suckle on her swollen clit, the nerves vibrating until my tongue. I can feel her fucking heartbeat as I touch her, my fingers curling inside her and pulling out a guttural moan, one that makes my cock jump. Her orgasm comes just as quick as it did last night and I smile up at her, my lips wet, she squeals when I stand and try to kiss her.
"No!"
"It's yours!"
"Still!" She giggled, making me smile. I huffed and went to the sink, turning the water on and splashing my face, turning it off and wiping my face with a dish towel before going back over to her.
"Now?"
"Good boy." She mused, making me snort.
"Oh, so it's okay for you to say but not me?"
"Exactly, you learn so quickly."
"Enough with you, woman." I huff, kissing her deeply, matching her moan with my own, her tongue sliding languidly with mine. I debate having sex with her right there but decide against it when her stomach growls.
"Mm, hungry?" I muse.
"No, not really." My brow furrows at her answer.
"I just heard your stomach growl."
"No, it just does that sometimes."
"..Yeah, when you're hungry." I chuckle.
"I ate earlier."
"So are you not hungry or did you eat earlier?" I ask, brow raising.
"Uh, both."
"What'd you eat?"
"I had eggs."
I hum, seeing the way her eyes dart away just once, meeting mine again as she swallows.
"...I don't believe you. Do you want to talk about it or leave it be?" I ask, rubbing her hips.
"...Leave it." I nod at her.
"Okay. Let's not lie, though. I'm never going to make you talk about shit you don't want to, so don't feel like you can't let me know something's up."
She nods her head, her eyes distant. I tilt her chin up, eyes meeting hers before I press my lips to her forehead.
"I'm sorry," she says quietly.
"Don't be," I say, shaking my head and pulling away before she speaks up, blurting out,
"I used to have BED."
"BED?"
"Binge eating disorder- I'd um..I would eat a lot of food in a short amount of time. Sometimes I'd try to uh..get it out, and other times I'd just sit with what I'd done and punish myself with starving for a few days after."
I listened to her speak, waiting to see if she says anything else, she does after a minute.
"I got help, kind of. I don't really binge anymore? At least not like I used to. I started going too far in the other direction though, sometimes I just..I feel like I don't deserve to eat? I dunno. I ate a salad yesterday which was good but then I had a slushie which is like 'okay, you had this many calories yesterday, so you can only eat this many today'."
I take a breath. "I..I don't know exactly how to help you, or if you even want my help, you're perfectly capable on your own, we both know that." She nods softly so I continue. "You deserve to eat, sweetheart. Everyone needs food. Balance is good, salad and a slushie is fine- but for the whole day?" She nods and I frown before schooling my expression into neutrality. She didn't need pity, she was sharing this with me, not for help, but so I knew.
"Maybe you eat what you can with me? Eggs are good, yeah? Protein, you need that."
"Yeah." She nodded, making me smile gently. "Protein's okay."
I run my hands up to her jaw, tilting her head up to look at me. "Thank you, for telling me." She smiles, a little shy, but genuine.
We decide to head back tonight, spending the rest of the day watching a few musicals she's forcing me to watch. Somehow, the topic of awful high school relationships comes up ans after she tells me about a guy sending around a girl's nudes, I sigh and start telling her about Miranda.
"She started getting really clingy, constantly texting, calling, showing up. We were at a party and I pretty much got blackout drunk, I just wanted to stop caring about everything for a night. She was drunk too, at least she said she was but she lied about stuff after so I don't know. We slept together that night, I can't even remember it enough to know how I actually felt in it but the next few weeks she got crazy and I finally broke things off."
"She threatened me with saying I took advantage of her- which was crazy because I was the drunk one who couldn't remember anything." I snort, not seeing the horrified expression on Y/n's face as I continued. "Anyway, she told her dad—who was my coach, that I'd gotten drunk and slept with her. She had told me she had sex before but that night, she'd been a virgin and had lied to me before. Her dad punched me, my mom wanted to press charges but there was no proof at all so we just moved schools."
I finally look up, expecting her to laugh like I did when I thought about it, but her lips are parted.
"What?" I ask.
"...I'm sorry- you were sexually assaulted and then physically assaulted by her dad?"
I chuckle, shaking my head. "I was sexually assaulted."
"..If a guy takes a girl up to a room and sleeps with her while she's blackout drunk, no matter if she's saying yes or not, isn't that still non-consensual? Especially if he lied to her beforehand."
"Uh," I paused, "I mean, yeah, but that's a girl."
"There's no difference."
"Yeah, there is, she's- you know." I gesture vaguely.
"She's a girl? So she's not capable of it?" She asked,d making me pause again.
"I mean, I suppose she is, but- I-I never felt like I was assaulted."
"I mean, I guess that's better than remembering it and hating the memory."
"Huh." I wrack my brain with how I'd felt about it over the years. I'd never really dwelled on it but thinking back on it, I did hate it, and that was the last girlfriend I ever had.
"Do you want to talk about it?" She asks, making me shrug.
"I wouldn't know what to talk about, I don't remember it. It's in the far past. I brushed it off back then, no point in bringing it up now and rethink it over." I say, making her nod.
"Okay, good." She smiled, I found myself matching it.
I pulled her into my lap, my boxers the only clothing separating where we connected.
"If you try to fuck me after talking about that—I may think you're a little crazy." She said, making me chuckle.
"Relax, I just wanna hold my girl. My girlfriend." I fix.
"You can call me your girl, I like it."
"I didn't want to sound too possessive."
"I like a little possession. Not too much though." She warned playfully, wagging a warning finger at me.
"I'll hold back as much as I can, babydoll."
"Mm," she winced at the name and I smiled.
"Cross that one off the list?"
"Please." She hummed. I leaned forward to peck her lips, eyes softening when we pulled away and hers met mine. I was in love with her.
That night, we got into the BMW, her dressed in her leggings from the night before and one of my hoodies. I bit my lip every time I glanced at her, this perfect woman, in my car, in my clothes, my hand in hers, was mine. And I was hers.
We switch halfway and I let her drive the rest of the way, taking her seriously when she talks about not driving while tired. Upon finally reaching the house, we see no cars in the driveway. I figured G would come back early, even if I told him not to, he never listened anyway. I was ecstatic he chose to this time.
If I wasn't exhausted, I'd make love to her in my bed tonight, fuck her until my name was the only thing on her lips and hers on mine, but when I looked at her, I saw the tiredness in her eyes that matched mine and decided against it.
"Sleepy?" I ask, arm wrapping around her shoulders as we head inside.
"Getting there. I think I need a shower."
"I'm sure your stuff is still here, Hannah mentioned that you both had the same shit."
"Nice," she nodded, turning to me and biting her lips, hesitating.
"Come to mine when you get out, need you in my arms tonight. And maybe every other night too." She chuckled at that but the blush on her cheeks told me she liked it.
"Shower too, I'm not getting in bed with you if you smell."
"I smell like roses and sex appeal."
"Shower, Mr. Sex Appeal." She ran up the stairs and I watched her, amusement in my eyes as I shut and locked the door behind me, following her up.
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