freckled french bitch @luciddaizey - Tumblr Blog

Dressing Room • Beau Maxwell

Pairing: Beau Maxwell x friend!reader

Summary: You’ve been crushing on Beau for a little while now, but it’s been impossible to tell if the feeling is mutual. After some liquid courage and a chaotic night at drunk Shakespeare, you’re tired of guessing.

Warnings: 18+, Mentions of alcohol, dry humping, slight dirty talk, kissing, heavy touching, not full smut

The cool October air settled over campus, crisp enough to sting your cheeks as you stepped out of the theater with the guys. Behind you, the doors swung open and shut every few seconds, releasing bursts of drunken applause, butchered Shakespeare, and laughter loud enough to echo across the quad.

Drunk Shakespeare had somehow managed to be exactly what everyone promised—a train wreck in the best possible way.

Dean snorted beside you, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket as another actor inside dramatically bellowed something that sounded vaguely like To be or not to be before immediately forgetting the next line.

“I swear,” Dean laughed, shaking his head, “if Romeo slurs through that balcony scene one more time, I’m going in there myself.”

Garrett rolled his eyes. “You’d somehow make it worse.”

“Damn right I would.”

The group laughed, and without thinking, your eyes drifted toward Beau.

They always did.

He stood a few feet away beneath one of the old brick archways outside the theater, hands tucked into the pocket of his Briar football hoodie, his head tipped back as he laughed at something Tucker said. The warm glow from the streetlamps softened the sharp angles of his face, catching the slight curl in his dark hair that never seemed to stay in place after practice.

God.

He looked unfairly good doing absolutely nothing.

You’d been hanging around the hockey house for a few weeks now. Long enough that you no longer felt like a complete outsider. Long enough to know Garrett’s sarcastic comments always hid genuine concern, Dean flirted with anything that breathed, Tucker somehow made everyone feel welcome, and Logan could fall asleep almost anywhere.

And Beau…

Beau had become your favorite part of every day before you’d even realized it. Even though he didn’t live with the guys, he was always at the house.

It was little things. The way he’d automatically save you the seat beside him. How he’d text you random pictures throughout the day just because they reminded him of a conversation you’d had. The lingering glances across crowded rooms. The easy smiles that always seemed reserved just a little more for you.

Maybe you were imagining it. Maybe that was simply the kind of person Beau Maxwell was.

Friendly.

Warm.

Impossible not to like.

But every now and then he’d look at you in a way that made your stomach twist, and you’d spend the rest of the night wondering if you’d imagined that too.

Dean’s phone buzzed loudly in the middle of another joke. His brows furrowed slightly, but you didn’t miss the smirk that crossed his face briefly.

Garrett glanced over. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “I gotta take this. I’ll be back.” Without another word, he wandered toward the edge of the parking lot, already answering the call.

One by one, the conversation dissolved until it was just you and Beau standing together near the side entrance of the theater.

Neither of you rushed to fill the silence. It wasn’t awkward anymore. Somewhere between late-night food runs, football games, study sessions, and countless nights at the hockey house or his fraternity, silence with Beau had become…easy. Comfortable. The kind that didn’t demand conversation.

You leaned against the brick wall beside him, folding your arms against the cool breeze. “So…” Beau said after a second.

“So?”

Before either of you could say anything else, one of the backstage doors burst open. A tidal wave of noise exploded into the alley. Someone screamed dramatically. Another actor shouted in what was probably supposed to be an English accent. A prop sword clanged against concrete. Someone yelled, “Where’s my crown?” Then came roaring laughter.

Beau winced. “Jesus.”

The door slammed shut again, but the muffled chaos continued through the walls. He glanced toward the building before looking back at you. “There are dressing rooms back here.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“They’re usually empty during the show.” He nodded toward a narrow side hallway. “Come on. It’ll be quieter until Dean gets back.”

You hesitated for all of half a second before smiling. “Okay.”

He held the heavy backstage door open for you. The noise from the theater immediately dulled into a distant rumble as the two of you stepped inside. The hallway was dim, lit only by a handful of aging sconces mounted along faded brick walls.

Old production posters covered nearly every inch of space—shows dating back years, their corners curling with age. Costume racks crowded one corner. A fake suit of armor leaned against the wall. Someone had abandoned a plastic skull on top of an old trunk.

Beau walked ahead like he’d been backstage a hundred times before. “I came here freshman year,” he explained over his shoulder. “Dean somehow convinced an actress to let us hide back here after the show.”

“That sounds like Dean.”

He stopped outside one of the dressing rooms and pushed the door open. Inside, it was surprisingly cozy. A worn couch sat against one wall beneath a row of framed playbills.

Across from it stretched a long vanity lined with oversized mirrors surrounded by glowing bulbs. Half-used makeup palettes littered the countertop beside curling irons and bobby pins. A rack of elaborate costumes occupied the far corner, feathers and velvet peeking from protective garment bags.

It smelled faintly of old wood, hairspray, makeup powder…and theater. Beau dropped onto the couch with a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank God.”

You laughed quietly before sitting beside him, leaving enough room between you to feel appropriate. Not awkwardly far. Not close enough to mean anything. Just…Safe.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Outside the room, muffled applause echoed somewhere beyond the walls. Beau leaned his head back against the couch cushions.“I needed five minutes away from those lunatics.”

“They’re entertaining.”

“They’re exhausting.

You smiled. “I think that’s the point.”

He chuckled before turning toward you. “So…”

You already knew what was coming. Football. It always came back to football eventually. “You watched the game Saturday, right?”

You nodded. “I caught most of it.”

He groaned dramatically.

“What happened?”

That was all the invitation he needed. Immediately he sat forward, elbows resting on his knees as he launched into a detailed breakdown of every play that had gone wrong. “No, seriously, third quarter should’ve changed everything.”

His hands came alive as he talked, tracing imaginary routes through the air. “We called a slant because they kept showing Cover Two before dropping into zone. Easy read.”

You nodded despite understanding maybe ten percent of what he was saying.

“But then our left tackle completely missed his assignment.” Beau shook his head. “I step into the pocket expecting another second, and suddenly I’ve got two linebackers in my face.” He demonstrated with both hands. “I’m scrambling left, trying to extend the play, but the receivers never adjusted.”

You smiled softly. He was completely invested. Eyes bright. Hands moving constantly. Talking faster the more excited he became. “…if we’d checked into the screen instead of forcing the throw over the middle, we’d have picked up the first down. Instead…” He sighed dramatically. “Sack. Fumble. Momentum gone.”

You murmured something sympathetic. Truthfully, you had stopped following football several minutes ago. Your attention had wandered somewhere far more dangerous.

To him.

To the way his hoodie stretched across his shoulders every time he gestured. To the roughness in his voice after yelling all afternoon at practice. To the soft brown eyes that somehow managed to look warm even when he was frustrated. To the faint scent of cedar and clean soap drifting between you every time he shifted on the couch.

He looked so comfortable. So completely himself. You wondered, not for the first time, if he had any idea what he did to you. Whether he noticed how your eyes found him first whenever you walked into a room. Whether he realized your favorite nights of the week were the ones everyone ended up at the hockey house because it meant you’d inevitably spend a few hours sitting beside him.

Whether the lingering touches…the smiles…the constant excuses to be near each other meant as much to him as they did to you. Or if you were building castles out of coincidences.

“…and then Coach wants to blame the audibles,” Beau continued, shaking his head with a laugh. “Like, okay, sure, maybe I should’ve changed the protection call, but with that crowd noise—”

His words faded. Not because he’d stopped talking. Because your heart had started beating so loudly you couldn’t hear anything else.

You were tired of wondering. Tired of analyzing every glance. Every accidental touch. Every smile. You wanted—needed—to know.

Before your brain had the chance to catch up with what your heart was doing, you reached out. Your fingers brushed gently against the side of his face. His sentence broke off instantly. Brown eyes blinked in surprise as his head turned toward you.

For one suspended heartbeat, neither of you moved. He simply looked at you. Questioning. Searching your face. Your pulse thundered in your ears. Then, before fear could convince you to pull away, you closed the distance between you and pressed your lips softly against his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative on your end but charged with all the pent-up wanting you've been holding back. His mouth is warm, surprisingly yielding for someone caught off guard.

For a heartbeat, everything freezes—the football rant, the distant theater noise, the world outside this little room. Then you feel him respond, a quiet exhale against your lips as one of his hands comes up to rest lightly on your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer. It's not rushed or overwhelming; it's real, the kind of kiss that says everything you've been too afraid to voice.

When you finally pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your heart is hammering, cheeks flushed. Beau's staring at you, that easy confidence momentarily replaced by something softer, more intense—surprise mixed with a spark of understanding, maybe even relief. The air between you feels electric now, the couch suddenly much smaller, the quiet room holding its breath for whatever comes next.

You feel the shift in him immediately—the way his hand tightens just slightly on your waist, not pulling away, not hesitating. His lips move against yours with growing certainty, deepening the kiss as surprise gives way to something warmer, hungrier. It's like a dam breaking after weeks of careful restraint, all that unspoken tension rushing forward in the quiet of this little room.

Beau's other hand comes up to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing gently along your cheekbone as he angles his head and kisses you more fully. His mouth is soft yet firm, tasting faintly of whatever he'd been sipping earlier—something sweet and sharp. You sigh into it, your fingers sliding from his cheek into his hair, threading through the thick strands at the nape of his neck. He makes a low sound in the back of his throat, appreciative and surprised all at once, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

The kiss builds slowly, exploratively. He nips at your lower lip, soothing it immediately with his tongue, and you open to him without thinking. The slide of his tongue against yours is electric, unhurried but thorough, like he's savoring every second of this unexpected turn. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the solid strength of his quarterback frame so close now. His hoodie is soft under your free hand as you rest it on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart picking up speed to match yours.

You lose track of time in the rhythm of it—pulling back for a breath only for him to chase your mouth again, capturing your lips in a series of kisses that grow hotter, more insistent. One of his hands trails down your side, settling at your hip with a gentle squeeze that makes your breath hitch. There's no rush, no pressure beyond the mutual exploration, just the intoxicating push and pull of learning each other's responses. When his teeth graze your bottom lip again, you press closer, your body instinctively leaning into him on the couch.

The distant hum of the theater fades completely. All that exists is the warmth of his mouth, the faint scrape of stubble against your skin, the way he smells even stronger up close—clean soap, cedar, and something uniquely him that makes your head spin. Your thoughts scatter: *Finally. This is real. He wants this too.* The uncertainty that had been gnawing at you dissolves with every kiss, replaced by a heady rush of want.

Eventually, the angle on the couch isn't enough. You need more—more contact, more of him.

Without breaking the kiss, you shift, swinging one leg over his lap in a smooth motion. Beau lets out a quiet, surprised exhale against your mouth as you settle astride him, your knees bracketing his hips on the worn cushions. The new position brings you flush against him, your hands bracing on his shoulders for balance. He's solid beneath you, all athletic muscle and warmth, his hands automatically sliding to your waist to steady you.

"Fuck," he murmurs against your lips, the word half-lost in another deep kiss. His grip tightens, not guiding but holding, like he can't quite believe this is happening either.

Straddling him like this changes everything. You're eye-level now, or close enough, his face tilted up to meet yours. The kisses don't stop—they intensify. You rock forward slightly as his tongue teases yours again, slower this time, more deliberate. One of his hands drifts up your back, slipping under the hem of your shirt just enough to press warm fingers against your skin, sending sparks everywhere he touches. You thread both hands into his hair now, tugging lightly, and he groans softly into the kiss, the sound vibrating through you.

You make out like that for what feels like forever but can't be more than minutes—slow, deep kisses that turn languid and exploratory, then hungry again in waves. His mouth trails briefly to the corner of your lips, your jaw, then back to capture yours fully. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours, the subtle flex of his thighs beneath you, the way his body responds to every little shift you make. There's no rush to go further; it's just this—the heat building between you, the taste of him, the quiet sounds of shared breath and soft sighs filling the room.

Beau pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes half-lidded and dark, his breathing uneven. His hands stay on your hips, thumbs brushing small circles over the fabric of your clothes. "Been wanting to do that for a while," he admits, voice low and rough, before leaning in to kiss you again, slower this time, like he's sealing the words with action.

You smile into the kiss, heart soaring, the world outside this couch and this moment feeling impossibly far away.

You stay straddling him, lost in the slow, heated rhythm of his mouth against yours. The kisses have grown deeper, more consuming, your bodies pressed close on the old couch in the quiet back room. Beau's hands roam your back and sides with increasing confidence, warm and sure, while yours stay tangled in his hair or gripping his shoulders. Every slide of his tongue, every gentle nip, sends sparks racing through you.

Then you feel it—the unmistakable shift beneath you as he hardens, his growing erection pressing up against the heat between your thighs through the layers of denim and fabric. The realization hits you like a spark to dry tinder, a rush of heat flooding your body. He's reacting to you, to this, just as intensely as you are. A small, involuntary sound escapes your throat, half-moan, half-whimper, and you rock your hips forward experimentally, grinding down against that firm pressure.

Beau groans into your mouth, the sound low and ragged, his fingers digging into your hips as he instinctively lifts up to meet you. "Shit," he breathes against your lips, but he doesn't stop kissing you. If anything, the contact seems to fuel him, his tongue stroking deeper, more urgently, as you start to move.

You set a slow, deliberate pace, rolling your hips in a languid grind that drags your core right along the thick ridge of his cock. The friction is delicious even through your clothes—teasing, not quite enough, but so intensely hot it makes your toes curl. Each downward rock presses you harder against him, feeling him throb and swell further beneath you. Beau matches your rhythm perfectly, his strong hands guiding your hips without forcing, helping you rock against him in these long, unhurried strokes.

The making out never stops. Your mouths stay fused, lips sliding wetly, tongues tangling in time with the movement of your bodies. When you grind down particularly firmly, he sucks on your bottom lip, then soothes it with his tongue. You tilt your head, changing the angle, and he chases you eagerly, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, holding you close. The room fills with the soft, intimate sounds—wet kisses, shared breaths, the quiet creak of the couch cushions, and the occasional low groan from deep in his chest.

It's slow and torturously good. You can feel every inch of him through his jeans, hard and hot and insistent against your clothed pussy as you roll your hips in smooth, sensual circles. The pressure builds with each grind, the seam of your pants rubbing perfectly against your clit on every forward motion. Heat pools low in your belly, spreading outward until your skin feels flushed and oversensitive. Beau's thighs are tense beneath you, powerful quarterback legs flexing as he bucks up gently to meet your grinding, creating that perfect counter-pressure that makes stars flicker behind your closed eyes.

You pull back just enough to catch your breath, foreheads touching, lips brushing with every shared exhale. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with want, cheeks faintly flushed. "You feel so fucking good," he murmurs, voice husky, before capturing your mouth again in a deep, consuming kiss. His hands slide down to grip your ass, kneading the flesh as he encourages your movements, pulling you tighter against his throbbing length with each roll of your hips.

The dry humping intensifies gradually, still slow but gaining a steady, hypnotic rhythm. You rock harder now, grinding down in long drags that have you both gasping into each other's mouths. The friction is addictive—the way his hardness rubs right where you need it, the heat building between you until it feels like you're both burning up. Sweat beads lightly at the small of your back, and you can feel the warmth of his body radiating through his hoodie. One of your hands slips down to his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart, the way his muscles tense and release with every thrust of his hips up into you.

Beau breaks the kiss to trail his mouth along your jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot just below your ear before soothing it with his tongue. "Don't stop," he whispers hotly against your skin, then finds your lips again, kissing you like he's starving for it. Your hips keep moving in that delicious, unhurried grind—pressing, circling, dragging—building the tension higher and higher. Every shift sends sparks of pleasure shooting through you, the slow burn of dry humping turning the air thick and heavy with want.

You're both fully lost in it now, bodies moving together in perfect sync on the couch. The distant sounds of the theater might as well not exist. There's only this: the wet slide of tongues, the steady, heated grind of your hips against his rock-hard cock, the way he groans your name—low and wrecked—into your mouth when you roll particularly firmly against him. It's hot, intimate, and achingly slow, drawing out every sensation until you're trembling in his lap, chasing that building edge together.

You keep rolling your hips in that slow, torturous rhythm, grinding down against the hard length of him through your clothes. The friction is addictive, every drag of your clothed pussy along his throbbing erection sending waves of heat pulsing through your core. Beau's hands are firm on your ass, guiding you, squeezing with each downward motion as your mouths move together in deep, messy kisses. His groans vibrate against your tongue, low and needy, and you can feel how hard he is—fully erect now, straining against his jeans, pressing right up into the heat between your thighs.

His hands start to wander higher, sliding up your sides under the hem of your top. You’re thin, always have been, but your chest has always been fuller, a contrast that draws attention whether you want it to or not. Beau seems particularly captivated now. One of his large hands cups the underside of your breast through your bra and top, squeezing gently at first, then with more intent as he feels the weight and softness of you. A shiver runs through you at the touch, and you arch into his palm, pressing your tit more firmly against him.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmurs hotly against your mouth, breaking the kiss just long enough to look down between you. His other hand joins the first, both of them palming and kneading your tits with growing hunger. He squeezes them together, thumbs brushing over your hardening nipples through the layers of fabric, and the sensation makes you grind down harder on his lap, a soft whimper escaping you.

You don’t stop him when his fingers find the bottom of your top. Instead, you lift your arms slightly, letting him tug the fabric upward. He pulls it over your head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside, then reaches behind you to unhook your bra with surprisingly deft fingers for someone so worked up. The straps slide down your shoulders, and you let him pull everything down until the bunched fabric rests around your waist, leaving your upper body bare to him. Your larger breasts spill free, nipples already tight and sensitive from the attention and the cool air of the room.

Beau’s eyes darken with obvious desire as he takes you in. “Fuck,” he breathes, voice rough. One hand returns immediately to your chest, cupping the full weight of one tit while his thumb circles the stiff peak. He leans in, capturing your mouth again in a deep kiss as he plays with you—squeezing, rolling your nipple between his fingers, tugging lightly until you’re moaning into him and grinding faster against his cock.

Then his mouth trails lower. He kisses along your jaw, down your neck, nipping at your collarbone before finally reaching your chest. You arch your back, offering yourself to him, one hand threading into his hair to guide him. Beau doesn’t hesitate. He latches onto one nipple, sucking it into the wet heat of his mouth with a groan that vibrates straight through you. His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud, flicking and teasing before he sucks harder, hollowing his cheeks. At the same time, his other hand continues to knead and pluck at your free breast, pinching the nipple just enough to send sparks shooting down to where you’re still grinding against him.

The dual sensation is overwhelming in the best way. You rock your hips in long, slow drags along his hard length, feeling every thick inch of him pressing up against your aching pussy through your pants. The wet sounds of his mouth on your tits mix with the quiet creaks of the couch and your shared heavy breathing. He switches sides, lavishing the same attention on your other nipple—sucking, licking, gently biting before soothing with broad strokes of his tongue. His free hand never stops exploring, squeezing the soft, heavy flesh of your breasts, molding them in his palms, pressing them together so he can alternate between them more easily.

All the while, the dry humping continues, slow and relentless. You roll your hips in deep, sensual circles, dragging your core along his erection with increasing pressure. Each grind makes your tits bounce slightly in his hands and against his mouth, which only seems to spur him on. Beau groans around your nipple, the vibration making you tremble, and he bucks up to meet you, his cock twitching and throbbing beneath you. The friction against your clit is building that sweet, aching tension higher and higher, your panties growing slick beneath your clothes.

You’re both lost in it—his face buried in your chest, sucking and playing with your tits like he can’t get enough, while your bodies move together in that heated, clothed rhythm. Your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging in slightly through his hoodie as pleasure coils tighter in your belly. Beau pulls back from your breast with a wet pop, lips shiny, eyes glazed with lust as he looks up at you. He captures your mouth in another searing kiss, one hand still massaging your tit, thumb flicking over the sensitive, spit-slick nipple, while the other grips your hip to help you grind down harder against him.

The pace stays deliciously slow, every roll of your hips deliberate, every suck and squeeze of his hands and mouth drawing it out. Heat radiates between you, the room feeling smaller and hotter with every passing minute. You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge just from this—the combination of his mouth on your tits, his hard cock rubbing right where you need it, and the intoxicating way he touches you like he’s been dying to for weeks. Beau seems just as affected, his breaths coming in ragged pants between kisses and licks, his hips jerking up to chase the friction you’re giving him.

You keep grinding down against him in those slow, deliberate rolls, your bare tits bouncing softly with every movement as Beau lavishes them with attention. His mouth is hot and insistent on one nipple, sucking deeply while his hand kneads the other, rolling the stiff peak between his fingers. The wet sounds of his tongue and lips fill the small room, mixing with your soft moans and the rhythmic creak of the couch. The friction between your clothed pussy and his rock-hard cock is driving you both higher, the heat building unbearably slow and intense.

Beau pulls back from your chest with a gasp, lips shiny and swollen, eyes dark with lust as he looks up at you. His hands stay on your tits, squeezing them together, thumbs brushing over your sensitive, spit-slick nipples. “Fuck me,” he rasps, voice low and wrecked, his hips bucking up to meet your grinding. “You’re gonna make me cum in my pants like this if you keep going.”

The words send a fresh wave of arousal through you. You lean down to kiss him deeply, tongues tangling as you roll your hips harder, pressing your soaked core right along his throbbing length. His cock twitches beneath you, straining desperately against his jeans, and you can feel how close he is—the way his thighs tense, his breaths coming faster against your mouth. He groans into the kiss, one hand sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him as the other continues to play with your breast, pinching your nipple in time with your movements.

You’re both right there on the edge, lost in the hot, slow dry humping and the intoxicating feel of his hands and mouth on your body. His hips jerk up more urgently now, chasing the friction, and you can tell he’s only seconds away—

“Beau? Y/N? You guys back here?”

Dean’s voice echoes from down the hallway, casual but getting closer, accompanied by the sound of footsteps. The words cut through the haze like a bucket of cold water.

You both freeze for a split second, eyes wide. Then chaos. Beau curses under his breath, his hands reluctantly leaving your chest as you scramble off his lap. Your heart pounds wildly as you stand on shaky legs, the sudden loss of contact leaving you aching and flushed. Beau adjusts himself quickly in his jeans, grimacing at the very obvious tent straining against the front of his pants.

You fumble with your bra, hooking it back into place with trembling fingers, the cups still damp from his mouth. Your nipples are hypersensitive, brushing against the fabric and sending little aftershocks through you. You snatch your top from the floor, yanking it over your head and tugging it down around your waist, smoothing it hastily. Your hair is a mess, your lips swollen, cheeks burning—but there’s no time.

Beau gives you a quick, heated look—equal parts frustration and promise—before the two of you step out into the hallway together. Dean is standing there, arms crossed, a faintly amused expression on his face as he takes in your flushed appearances.

“You two good?” Dean asks, his gaze flicking between you and Beau, lingering a beat too long on his friend.

You force a smile, trying to sound casual despite the way your body is still humming. “Yeah. Just needed a quieter place to talk. It was getting too loud out there.”

Dean nods slowly, that smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth again, but he doesn’t call you on it. You shift on your feet, the adrenaline and leftover arousal making you restless. “Well, I’m gonna head home. Goodnight, guys.”

You give them both a small wave, avoiding Beau’s eyes for fear of what you might do if you linger, and start walking down the hallway toward the exit. Your steps are quick, heart still racing as the cool night air hits you outside. Behind you, you hear the low murmur of voices as Beau and Dean are left completely alone in the hallway.

Once you’re out of earshot, Dean turns to Beau with a full-on grin, shaking his head. “Seriously, dude?” he says, voice laced with disbelief and amusement. His eyes drop pointedly to the very obvious bulge still tenting the front of Beau’s jeans. “Nice tent.”

Beau rolls his eyes trying to shove past him but Dean keeps going. “No seriously, I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re back there feeling her up like it’s the locker room after a win.”

Beau lets out a frustrated laugh, running a hand over his face and shifting uncomfortably. “Shut up, man. It just... happened.”

Dean chuckles, clapping him on the shoulder as they start walking. “Yeah, sure. ‘Just talking.’ Looked real conversational with you about two seconds from busting in your pants. You gonna tell her you’ve been into her this whole time, or are we pretending this didn’t happen tomorrow?”

The conversation fades as they head out, the night air carrying the weight of everything left unfinished between you and Beau.

#off campus #off campus fic #off campus smut #beau maxwell #beau maxwell fic #beau maxwell off campus #beau maxwell smut

Always Watching • Off Campus

Pairing: Beau Maxwell x reader x Dean Di Laurentis

Summary: while out at the bar with friends, you and your boyfriend Beau sneak away for some alone time in a dim hallway, but a certain blonde can’t help but watch your intimate moment unfold from around the corner.

Warnings: straight smut, cheating, dirty talk, literally just porn dude idk

Beau’s hand was firm on the small of your back as you slipped through the crowded bar, the bass from the music vibrating through the floor and up your legs. It was a random Thursday night, but after a long week of classes, you’d both needed to blow off steam. A few drinks had loosened everything—the laughter, the touches, the heated glances across the sticky table. Now, with alcohol and desire buzzing under your skin, you let him guide you toward the back hallway, past the restrooms, to a dimly lit storage alcove tucked behind a set of heavy swinging doors with small frosted windows.

The area was secluded, rarely used this late, the noise of the bar muffled but still present. Beau pushed you gently against the cool brick wall, his brown eyes dark and hungry in the low light.

“Been dying to get my hands on you since you walked out in that top,” he murmured, voice low and rough. His mouth crashed down on yours before you could reply, deep and claiming. One large hand slid down your thigh, gripping behind your knee and hiking your leg up around his waist. You followed with the other, wrapping your legs around him as he pressed his hips forward, letting you feel how hard he already was through his jeans.

“Beau,” you gasped into his mouth, fingers threading into his brown hair.

He broke the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, sucking lightly at your pulse point. “Can’t wait anymore, baby. Need you right now.” His hands were already tugging at the neckline of your fitted top, pulling it down roughly over your shoulders and breasts until the fabric bunched around your waist, leaving you bare from the ribs up. The cool air hit your skin, making your nipples tighten instantly.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned, cupping both breasts in his hands, squeezing them together as his thumbs brushed over the sensitive peaks. “These perfect tits out for me in public like this. So fucking pretty.” He leaned down, sucking one nipple into his hot mouth, tongue swirling before he bit down gently and tugged. You moaned, arching into him, your back scraping lightly against the brick.

His other hand kneaded your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers, pinching just hard enough to send sparks straight to your core. “Love how they fit in my hands. Love how sensitive you get when I play with them.” He switched sides, lavishing the other nipple with the same wet, hungry attention while grinding his hard cock against your covered center through your jeans.

Your head fell back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure built fast. “Beau… feels so good. Don’t stop touching me.”

“I’m not stopping, sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin, voice thick with need. “Gonna make you feel so good tonight. Want to bury myself inside this tight little pussy right here. Want to feel you come on my cock while I’m playing with these gorgeous tits.”

You opened your eyes then, hazy with lust—and froze for a split second.

Through the small frosted window in the swinging door, partially obscured but clear enough in the dim hallway light beyond, Dean was standing there. Beau’s best friend. Tall, broad-shouldered, watching with wide eyes. He looked like he’d been about to turn away, one hand still on the door frame, clearly having stumbled upon you by accident. His expression was a mix of surprise and something hotter—appreciation, heat—before he started to step back, respecting boundaries like a good friend would.

But your gaze locked with his. Eyes meeting his through the glass. You didn’t look away. Instead, a thrill shot through you, sharp and unexpected. Your lips parted on a soft moan as Beau continued sucking on your breast, oblivious, his back to the door.

Dean hesitated, eyes darkening as he watched your face. He should leave. This was his best friend’s girl. But you held his stare, your cheeks flushed, and slowly slid one hand down Beau’s chest toward his belt. Your fingers worked the buckle open with deliberate, teasing tugs, the metal clinking softly.

Beau groaned against your tit, lifting his head just enough to speak, his breath hot on your skin. “That’s it, baby. Touch me. Been hard for you all night.” He pinched both nipples at once, rolling them between his fingers while grinding harder against you. “You’re so fucking wet already, aren’t you? I can feel it through your jeans.”

You kept your eyes on Dean as you popped the button on Beau’s jeans and slowly dragged the zipper down. Dean’s hand tightened on the door frame. He didn’t leave. Instead, he shifted slightly deeper into the shadowed alcove on his side—still hidden from anyone else in the bar, invisible to Beau. His gaze stayed glued to your face, then dropped to where Beau’s mouth was latched onto your breast again.

A rush of heat flooded you. You bit your lip, maintaining eye contact as you slipped your hand into Beau’s boxers and wrapped your fingers around his thick, hard cock, stroking him slowly from base to tip.

“Fuck, baby,” Beau moaned, voice low and praising. “Your hand feels so good. Squeeze me tighter, baby—just like that. God, I love how eager you are for my cock.” He thrust into your fist, still playing with your tits, kneading and tugging at your nipples while his hips rocked. “You’re my perfect girl. So beautiful with your tits out, letting me play with them while I fuck your hand. Gonna make you feel so full soon.”

Dean’s breathing was visibly heavier through the window. He glanced once over his shoulder, confirming no one else was around, then his hand moved down to palm himself through his jeans. You watched, mesmerized, as he rubbed the growing bulge, eyes locked on your exposed breasts and the way Beau worshipped them. You stroked Beau faster, twisting your wrist at the head, smearing the bead of precum.

Beau’s head dropped to your shoulder, groaning. “Shit, baby, you’re gonna make me lose it if you keep that up. Your tits are so perfect in my hands—soft, full, these pretty pink nipples begging for my mouth.” He sucked hard on one again, teeth grazing as he pinched the other. “Tell me how much you want it.”

“I want you,” you breathed, but your eyes stayed on Dean. You watched him unzip slowly, pulling his own cock out—thick and hard, stroking himself in time with your hand on Beau. The sight made you clench around nothing, arousal soaking through your panties. “I want you so bad, Beau. Right here.”

Dean’s fist moved faster, his jaw tight, eyes burning as he watched you get manhandled so sweetly by his best friend. Your free hand reached up, cupping the back of Beau’s head, holding him to your breast while you maintained that heated stare with Dean. A silent, filthy understanding passed between you.

Beau switched breasts again, lavishing the neglected one with wet sucks and bites. “That’s my good girl. So responsive. Your nipples are so hard for me. Love how they taste.” His hand slid down between you, popping the button on your jeans and shoving his fingers inside your panties. “So fucking wet. This pussy is dripping down your thighs, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

You moaned louder, stroking Beau with long, firm pulls while Dean matched the rhythm on the other side of the glass, his hand flying over his cock. You rolled your hips against Beau’s fingers, eyes never leaving Dean’s.

“Yes—Beau, please. Touch me more,” you gasped, voice breathy. Dean’s lips parted, his strokes growing erratic as he drank in the sight of you half-naked, legs wrapped around Beau, tits bouncing slightly with every movement.

Beau curled two fingers inside you, pumping steadily while his thumb found your clit. “I’ve got you, baby. Gonna make this pretty pussy come first, then I’m burying my cock in you. Want to feel you fall apart against this wall.” He bit down gently on your nipple, tugging as his fingers worked faster. “You’re clenching so tight already. Such a good fucking girl for me.”

Your thighs trembled around his waist. The dual stimulation—Beau’s skilled fingers and mouth on your tits, combined with the intense, forbidden eye contact with Dean stroking himself while watching—pushed you over the edge hard. You came with a choked moan, eyes locked on Dean’s as your walls pulsed around Beau’s fingers. Dean’s grip tightened visibly on his cock, his chest heaving, but he held back, still watching your face intently.

Beau worked you through it gently, murmuring praises against your breast. “That’s it. So beautiful when you come. Love feeling you soak my hand.” He finally lifted his head, kissing you deeply, still unaware of your audience. “Ready for my cock, baby? Want me to fuck you right here?”

You nodded, breathless, your hand still stroking him steadily while you kept your gaze fixed on Dean. Dean stroked faster now, clearly close, his eyes dark with lust as he took in your flushed, exposed body.

The night had taken a filthy, thrilling turn, and you weren’t stopping it anytime soon.

Beau kissed you hard again, tongue plunging into your mouth as his fingers continued to pump slowly inside you through the aftershocks. “Good girl,” he murmured against your lips, voice thick with lust. “You came so pretty for me. Now I need to be inside you, baby. Need to feel this tight pussy squeezing my cock while I play with these perfect tits.”

You nodded, breathless, your green eyes still locked on Dean through the small window. Dean hadn’t left. He stood there in the shadowed alcove, cock in hand, stroking himself with slow, firm pulls as he watched your flushed face and exposed breasts. His eyes were dark, jaw clenched, clearly torn between guilt and overwhelming arousal. Your lips parted on a soft, needy sound as you held his gaze, your hand still wrapped around Beau’s thick cock, stroking him steadily.

Beau, oblivious with his back to the door, shoved your jeans and panties down just enough to free one leg, keeping the other hooked high around his waist. He lined up the blunt head of his cock at your slick entrance, rubbing it through your folds, coating himself in your wetness. “Fuck, you’re soaked. Dripping down my cock already. Such a good, eager girl for me.”

He pushed in with one deep, steady thrust, burying himself to the hilt. You gasped sharply, your walls stretching around his girth. Your eyes fluttered but you forced them open again, staring straight at Dean as Beau bottomed out.

“Shit— so tight,” Beau groaned, forehead pressed to yours for a moment. “You feel incredible, baby. Every fucking time.” He started moving, slow, deep rolls of his hips that ground against your clit with every thrust. One hand stayed on your breast, kneading and pinching the nipple while his mouth latched onto the other, sucking hard enough to leave faint marks.

You moaned loudly, the sound echoing slightly in the small alcove. You kept one arm wrapped around Beau’s shoulders for balance, the other still working his belt and jeans open further so you could feel more of him. Through the window, Dean’s hand sped up on his cock, matching Beau’s rhythm. His gaze flicked between your bouncing tits, the place where Beau’s cock disappeared inside you, and your eyes—always returning to your eyes.

Beau thrust harder, picking up pace as he fucked you against the wall. “That’s it, sweetheart. Take my cock just like that. You’re doing so fucking well—legs wrapped around me, tits out for me to play with. God, I love these.” He squeezed both breasts together, sucking on one nipple then the other, alternating with rough pinches. “They’re so sensitive tonight. Look how red and pretty they’re getting from my mouth.”

“Beau—harder,” you gasped, your voice breathy and desperate. You rolled your hips to meet his thrusts, never breaking eye contact with Dean. The forbidden thrill of it made everything sharper—Beau’s thick cock stretching you, the cool wall against your back, Dean’s hungry stare as he jerked himself faster, precum glistening on the head of his cock.

“Yeah? You want it rougher, baby?” Beau growled softly, obliging with deeper, more powerful snaps of his hips. The wet slap of skin on skin was muffled by the distant bar noise but unmistakable in your little corner. “I’ll give it to you. Love fucking you like this—holding you up while I fill this perfect pussy. You’re mine. All fucking mine.”

Dean’s breathing was ragged enough that you could see his chest rising and falling. He braced one hand on the wall beside the door, stroking himself with long, tight pulls, twisting at the head just like you imagined Beau might. His eyes were locked on your face now, watching every moan and flutter of pleasure cross your expression. When you deliberately licked your lips and let your gaze drop pointedly to his cock before returning to his eyes, Dean’s hips jerked forward, his fist flying faster.

Beau switched his mouth to your other breast, biting down gently on the nipple before soothing it with his tongue. “You’re clenching so tight around me, baby. You love when I play with your tits while I fuck you, don’t you? These pretty nipples are so hard for me.” He pinched both at the same time, rolling them between his fingers as he pounded into you. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“So good—Beau, fuck—” Your voice cracked as pleasure coiled tighter. You were speaking to Beau, but your eyes were on Dean, watching him stroke himself to the sight of you getting railed. The eye contact felt electric, filthy, intimate in a completely different way. Dean mouthed something you couldn’t hear—maybe “fuck” or your name—but the raw lust on his face made your pussy flutter harder around Beau.

Beau groaned at the sensation. “That’s my good girl. Keep squeezing me like that. Gonna make you come again on my cock, then fill you up. Want to feel you milking every drop out of me while I’m buried deep.” His thrusts grew faster, more erratic, the angle perfect to grind against your clit with every stroke. One hand stayed mauling your breasts, the other gripping your ass to hold you steady.

Your thighs started trembling around his waist. You maintained your stare with Dean, watching as his strokes became frantic, his free hand bracing harder against the wall. The sight of him—Beau’s best friend—jerking off to you pushed you right to the edge.

“I’m close—Beau, I’m so close,” you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Come for me, baby,” Beau demanded hotly, sucking hard on your nipple as he drove into you relentlessly. “Come all over my cock. Let me feel it. You’re so fucking perfect—tits bouncing, pussy dripping, taking everything I give you.”

You shattered with a muffled cry, eyes locked on Dean as your orgasm crashed through you. Your walls pulsed and clenched rhythmically around Beau’s cock, soaking him. At the same moment, Dean’s body tensed visibly. He stroked himself through his own release, thick ropes of cum spilling over his fist as he watched you come. His mouth fell open in a silent groan, eyes never leaving yours until the last spasm.

Beau fucked you through it, groaning loudly. “Fuck—yes, just like that. So tight, baby. Gonna come—gonna fill you up.” With a few final, deep thrusts, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, pulsing hot and thick inside you. “Baby—shit, I love you like this.”

He stayed buried deep for a long moment, kissing you softly now—tender, reverent kisses on your lips, cheeks, and neck while he gently played with your breasts, soothing the marks he’d left. “You okay, sweetheart? Did I get too rough?”

You finally tore your gaze away from the window. Dean had already tucked himself away and was quietly slipping back down the hallway, disappearing from view. Your heart raced, a secret thrill settling warm and filthy in your belly.

“I’m perfect,” you whispered, kissing Beau deeply. “That was… intense. You always make me feel so good.”

Beau smiled against your mouth, slowly easing out of you and helping you stand on shaky legs. He carefully pulled your top back up, covering you, then helped you fix your jeans while cleaning you both with some napkins he grabbed from a nearby shelf. “Let’s get out of here and go home. I want to take care of you properly—maybe draw you a bath, then spend the rest of the night in bed.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist, guiding you back toward the main bar with soft praises and gentle touches the whole way. You leaned into him, smiling secretly to yourself, the memory of Dean’s eyes on you burning hot in your mind as you stepped back into the crowd.

A few days later—another casual night out with the group had slowly thinned as people headed home. Beau had stayed inside to settle the tab and grab one final drink for the road, leaving you to step out the back exit alone for some fresh air. The alley behind the bar was the same dimly lit stretch, lit by a single flickering bulb, shadowed with stacked crates and a quiet corner tucked away from the main street.

Dean was already there, leaning against the brick wall, scrolling on his phone with a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers. He looked up sharply when the door clicked shut behind you, his expression shifting from casual to startled.

“Shit—hey,” he said, voice rough. He straightened up, eyes darting past you toward the door as if expecting Beau to appear any second. “I was just… clearing my head. Didn’t think anyone else would come out here.”

You stepped closer, eyes still carrying that same dark hunger from the other night. The risk felt even sharper now on a different evening, with the group scattered and Beau only minutes away inside. “You didn’t walk away last time either,” you said softly, stopping right in front of him.

Dean swallowed hard, gaze dropping to your lips, then lower to the way your top still clung a little crooked from earlier teasing touches. “He’s my best friend. That was already crossing every line. This… this is fucked up.”

“I know.” You reached out, fingers boldly tracing the growing bulge in his jeans. He was already hardening again at the sight of you. “But you’re still hard just thinking about it. About watching him fuck me.”

Dean groaned low in his throat, the cigarette dropping forgotten to the ground. He grabbed your wrist but didn’t pull your hand away—instead, his grip tightened, holding you there as you squeezed him through the denim. “You’re trouble. Real fucking trouble.”

You pressed closer, rising on your toes to brush your lips against his jaw, then his neck. “Just once. Quick. He’s still inside settling up. No one has to know.” Your hand stroked him more deliberately through his jeans. “You want it. I saw how you looked at me while he was buried inside me, playing with my tits. How you came watching us.”

That broke him completely. Dean cursed under his breath, spun you around, and pressed your front against the cool brick wall. His taller, broader body covered yours from behind, one hand sliding up under your top to cup your breast roughly while the other yanked your jeans and panties down just enough to expose you. The night air kissed your bare skin, making you shiver.

“Fuck, you’re soaked already,” he growled hotly in your ear, thick fingers sliding through your folds, still slick from earlier. “Still thinking about the other night? Or is this all for me now?” He pushed two fingers inside you without warning, pumping them deep and curling them just right. “He just had you and you’re dripping like this? Dirty little thing, aren’t you?”

You moaned, pushing back against his hand, bracing your palms on the rough brick. “Yes—Dean. Touch me. I’ve been thinking about this since I saw you stroking your cock while he fucked me.”

He didn’t waste another second. He freed his thick, hard cock, stroking it once before rubbing the blunt head through your slick folds, teasing your entrance. “This is so fucking wrong,” he muttered, voice strained with lust and guilt, but he thrust in deep in one smooth, powerful stroke, burying himself to the hilt. Both of you groaned at the tight, wet heat.

“Shit—you already fucked him tonight, didn’t you? you’re still full of him,” Dean hissed, starting to move in hard, deep thrusts that rocked you against the wall. “So fucking slippery. Feels filthy. Feels so goddamn good.” One hand stayed under your top, pinching and rolling your nipple while the other gripped your hip, pulling you back onto his cock with every snap of his hips. “You liked me watching you get railed, huh? Liked knowing I was jerking off to my best friend pounding this pussy?”

“Yes,” you gasped, bracing yourself as he fucked you harder. The risk—the knowledge that Beau could step out any moment—made every sensation sharper. Dean’s cock was slightly different than Beau’s: a little longer, with a curve that hit new, devastating spots inside you. “I couldn’t stop looking at you. The way your hand moved on your cock while he sucked on my tits and fingered me…”

Dean’s rhythm faltered for a heartbeat, then sped up, pounding into you with rough, relentless snaps of his hips. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed quietly in the alley, barely masked by distant bar noise. “Goddamn. You’re so tight. So wet. Taking my cock right after his like a perfect little slut.” He reached around, rubbing your clit in fast, tight circles. “Bet you loved having both of us hard for you that night. Bet you’re soaked thinking about it right now.”

You whimpered, pushing back to meet every thrust, thighs trembling. “Harder, Dean. Please—I need it.”

He obliged, gripping both your hips now and driving into you relentlessly. He pulled your top down again, freeing your breasts so he could grope them freely, pinching and tugging your nipples while he railed you against the wall. You bit your lip hard to keep from moaning too loudly, eyes half-closed in overwhelming pleasure.

Dean leaned in, biting your shoulder lightly through your shirt. “You gonna come on my cock while my best friend is inside paying for your drinks? Come for me. Let me feel this pussy squeeze me tight.”

The combination of his filthy words, the angle of his cock, and the sheer wrongness of it sent you crashing over the edge. Your orgasm hit hard and sharp, walls pulsing and clenching rhythmically around him as you gasped his name quietly. Dean groaned, thrusting through every wave, drawing it out before pulling out suddenly. He spun you around, lifted one of your legs around his hip, and thrust back in deep, face to face now.

“Wanted to see your eyes,” he panted, fucking you with shorter, harder strokes. “The same eyes you had locked on me while he was sucking on your tits and fingering you.” One hand played with your exposed breast, squeezing and tugging the nipple as he drove into you. “You’re so fucking pretty like this. Flushed, fucked out, taking me right after him.”

You clung to his shoulders, green eyes locked on his as another wave built fast. “Dean—I’m close again—”

“Yeah? Come on my cock one more time. Then I’m gonna fill you up too—mix it all together.” His thrusts grew erratic, desperate, hips slamming into yours. “Fuck— you feel too good—”

You came a second time with a choked moan, nails digging into his back as your pussy fluttered and squeezed around him. Dean followed right after, burying himself as deep as possible and spilling hot, thick pulses of cum inside you, mixing with Beau’s. He stayed buried deep for a long moment, breathing hard against your neck, then kissed you—quick, rough, and guilty.

“Shit,” he whispered, pulling out slowly and helping you fix your clothes with shaky hands, wiping you gently with the hem of his shirt. “This never happened. We can’t do this again.”

You smiled, dazed and glowing, pulling your top back up and smoothing your jeans. “Never happened.”

You slipped back inside first, heart racing wildly, the combined evidence of both men leaking warmly down your thighs. You found Beau at the bar with two fresh drinks, looking relaxed and happy when he spotted you.

“There you are,” he said warmly, pulling you into his side with a gentle kiss to your temple. “Ready to go home, pretty?”

You took the drink, leaning into him with a secret, satisfied smile. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The delicious, burning secret stayed hot between your legs the whole ride home.

#off campus #off campus fic #off campus smut #beau maxwell #beau maxwell fic #beau maxwell off campus #beau maxwell smut #dean di laurentis #dean di laurentis fanfic #dean di laurentis off campus #dean di laurentis smut

Any Chance of a Threesome? • Off Campus

Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x Reader x Beau Maxwell

Summary: Based off the part of the book where Beau asks Dean & Allie for a threesome

Warnings: ngl ts straight porn so just be prepared, if ur under 18 GO AWAY

You and Dean stumbled out of the bar bathroom still flushed and half-dressed, your panties shoved into Dean's pocket as the pair of you tumbled into the waiting rideshare. The ride back to the hockey house was a blur of hungry kisses and wandering hands, neither of you caring if the driver noticed the way Dean's fingers kept slipping under your skirt to tease your swollen pussy.

You and Dean had been hooking up for a few months, behind everyone’s backs. Assuming the place would be empty with Garrett and the others still at the away bar, the second the front door slammed shut you guys were on each other again, mouths crashing together as Dean walked you backward until your shoulders hit the living room wall.

Deans hand dove straight under your skirt without hesitation, two thick fingers sinking into your slick heat while his thumb found your clit, rubbing in tight circles that made your knees buckle.

You moaned into his mouth, hips rocking forward to grind against his palm, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the quiet house as he pumped deeper, curling to hit that spot that always made you see stars. You genuinely didn’t know how you’d ever be able to hook up with anyone besides Dean ever again, no one touched you like this. His free hand pinned your wrists above your head, his body crowding close so you could feel the hard line of his cock through his jeans pressing against you thigh.

"You guys know I'm awake right?" Beau's voice cut through the haze from the couch, casual but laced with heat. "And now I'm hard as a rock, so I'm just gonna ask —any chance of a threesome?" Dean froze for a split second, fingers still buried inside your pulsing pussy, his dark gaze locking with yours as the offer hung in the air between them.

You honestly couldn’t tell if Beau was joking or not, but Dean already had you so worked up that your arousal was convincing you to do things you wouldn’t normally.

Dean's gaze stayed locked on you, heat flaring in his eyes as the tension crackled, but instead of pulling away he gave a slow, deliberate nod, his fingers continuing to work lazily inside your slick pussy. "Your call," he murmured, voice rough with that possessive edge, though the hunger there made it clear he wanted this too. Your heart raced, walls clenching around his fingers as you whispered, "i want to," the words thick with need and the thrill of something new.

You eased off his hand with a soft whimper, legs unsteady as you crossed the room to Beau on the couch, the football player's eyes dark and hungry as he sat up. You climbed into his lap without hesitation, straddling him and claiming his mouth in a deep kiss, your tongue sliding against his while your hips rolled forward, grinding your bare, wet pussy against the hard ridge of his cock straining through his sweats. The friction sent sparks through your core, your tits pressing to his chest as you rocked harder, soaking the fabric between you guys. Dean stepped in close behind you, his broad frame caging you both as his lips found the nape of your neck, sucking a mark there while his hands slid up to cup you breasts, thumbs flicking your tight nipples through your top.

"That's it, show him how this pussy gets for us," Dean growled against your skin, his teeth grazing your ear as you moaned into Beau's mouth, hips circling faster, the wet heat of your arousal smearing across Beau's lap while Dean's cock pressed hot and insistent against you ass.

Beau's hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he thrust up to meet your grinding, his tongue tangling with yours in a messy, desperate kiss that left you breathless. The entire interaction had you shocked, a little bit with yourself but mostly with Beau. He was always so sweet, you did not expect this energy from him at all.

Dean's fingers returned to your pussy from behind, two thick digits pushing inside alongside the grind, stretching you as he pumped in time with your movements, the dual sensation making your pussy clench and drip down onto Beau's sweats. "Fuck, she's soaked," Beau groaned against your lips, and Dean chuckled low, nipping your neck harder.

"She always is."

You arched your back into Dean's chest, your body trembling between them, every nerve alight with the forbidden heat of the hockey house finally breaking its own rules.

You moaned softly into Beau's mouth as Dean's fingers curled deeper inside you from behind, the stretch sending fresh waves of heat through your core while Beau's cock throbbed insistently against your bare pussy through his sweats. You rocked harder, grinding your slick folds along his length until the fabric grew even more damp and clinging, your clit catching on every ridge with each roll of your hips. Dean's breath was hot against your neck, his free hand shoving your shirt up to palm your breasts roughly, pinching your nipples again until you gasped and arched harder into both of them.

"That's it, ride him just like that," Dean rasped, voice thick with dark approval, his teeth scraping your shoulder as he added a third finger, pumping in slow, deliberate strokes that made your pussy flutter and drip onto Beau's lap. Beau groaned low, his hands sliding up to grip your ass and spread you impossibly wider, letting Dean's fingers work deeper while his own hips thrust up to meet your desperate grind. "Fuck, she's dripping all over me already," Beau muttered against your lips, tongue plunging back into your mouth as the wet sounds of your arousal filled the living room. Beau might’ve even been a better kisser than Dean, which you didn’t think was possible.

Dean chuckled darkly, withdrawing his fingers only to press the head of his own cock-freed from his jeans—against your entrance from behind, teasing your slick pussy with shallow thrusts that coated him in your wetness. "Gonna take us both now," he growled, one hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head back for a bruising kiss, the possessive edge in his touch blending with the raw heat sparking between the three of you. Your body trembled with anticipation, walls clenching around nothing as Dean lined up and pushed inside in one smooth thrust, stretching your pussy full while Beau's cock rubbed against your clit from the front. The dual pressure made you cry out, hips jerking as you sank down to take Dean deeper, her breasts bouncing with each shared movement. Sweat slicked your skin, the air thick with the scent of sex and the faint risk that the rest of the house could return at any moment, heightening every thrust and grind as you lost yourselves in the tangled heat of the moment.

With a shared glance, the boys shifted, Dean easing out and guiding you onto your knees on the couch cushions while Beau slid between your spread thighs, his mouth descending without hesitation to drag his tongue flat and hungry through your dripping folds. You moaned around the head of Dean's cock as he fed it between your lips, sucking him deep while Beau's tongue circled your clit and plunged inside your slick pussy, lapping at the mingled arousal coating you.

Your hands braced on Dean's thighs as you bobbed your head, taking him to the back of your throat with wet, eager sounds, spit trailing down his shaft while Beau sucked your swollen clit and thrust two fingers into your heat, stretching you with each pump. You had to try and stop yourself from the rising thoughts that Beau might’ve been better at this than Dean, and maybe you’d started hooking up with the wrong friend…shit.

Dean's fingers tangled in your hair, hips rocking forward to fuck your mouth in shallow thrusts, his voice rough with praise. "That's it, baby, choke on my cock while he eats this pretty pussy—fuck, you look so good getting devoured like that." Beau groaned against your folds, the vibrations rippling through your core as his tongue worked relentlessly, tasting every inch and drawing fresh wetness that coated his chin. The living room filled with the obscene sounds of suction and slick friction, your tits swaying as pleasure built fast between the two men claiming your body.

Your thighs quivered around Beau's head, pussy futtering under his skilled mouth while you hollowed your cheeks around Dean's thick length, the risk of discovery only making you suck harder and grind down against Beau's tongue. Dean's grip tightened, pulling you deeper as his cock throbbed against your tongue, his free hand reaching down to pinch your nipples and heighten every sensation. Beau's fingers curled inside you, hitting that sensitive spot with each stroke as he sealed his lips around your clit and sucked hard, sending you spiraling toward release in the heated tangle of limbs and desperate need.

With a low groan Beau pulled back, his mouth shiny with slick, and flipped you onto your back on the couch cushions. He shoved his sweats down just enough to free his cock, thick and flushed, the head already leaking as he notched it against your dripping entrance and thrust in deep with one smooth roll of his hips. You’d never notice how hot Beau was till now.

You cried out around Dean's length, walls stretching to take Beau's girth, the wet slap of skin echoing as he set a hard rhythm that made your tits bounce forward. Dean eased his cock from your lips with a wet pop, stepping back just enough to fist himselt, stroking slow and deliberate while his eyes locked on where Beau's shaft disappeared into your pussy. "Fuck, look at that—your cunt's swallowing him so good, baby. Tell him how it feels stretching you open." Your voice broke on a moan, hips lifting to meet every thrust. "So good, Beau, harder, please please."

Beau grunted, hands pinning her thighs wide as he drove deeper, the couch creaking. "She's tight as hell, Dean —clenching around me already, dripping all over me?" Dean's fist pumped faster, precum slicking his strokes.

"Make her cum so I can fill her mouth again.“

Your moans rose between them, body arching as pleasure coiled tighter, the living room thick with sweat, sex, and the sharp edge of their shared hunger.

Your body arched harder into Beau's thrusts, moans turning into a desperate whimper as the coil inside you snapped.

You pushed at beaus chest with both hands, flipping your positions in one fluid motion so you straddled him on the couch, his thick cock still buried deep in your dripping pussy. "Fuck yes, ride him," Dean growled from the side, his fist pumping his shaft faster as he watched you sink down fully, walls clenching around Beau.

Beau's hands clamped onto your hips, guiding you into a hard grind. "That's it, baby,— you’re so fucking tight and wet, like you were made for it. Bounce on it while your boyfriend watches." You rocked your hips in a steady rhythm, ignoring the boyfriend comment as your tits bounced with each drop, slick arousal coating Beau as you rode him deeper, faster, your clit grinding against his pubic bone.

You reached out blindly for Dean, wrapping your fingers around his cock and stroking him in time with your bounces, twisting your wrist on every upstroke to smear precum down his length. "Yeah, jerk him off," Beau panted beneath you, thrusting up to meet you, his voice rough with hunger. "Stroke him while you ride me—gonna fill this pussy up while he paints your tongue."

When did Beau get so hot what the fuck?

Dean groaned low, hips jerking into your fist. "That's right, baby, work that hand— your mouth's gonna be open and waiting when I come. Fuck, your tits look perfect bouncing like that. Tell us how good it feels." Your moans spilled out freely now, the living room echoing with the wet slap of your pussy swallowing Beau again and again, grip tightening on Dean's shaft as you angled him toward your parted lips, tongue flicking out to taste the head with every stroke.

Dean's breath hitched, his free hand tangling in your hair to hold you head steady.

Your walls fluttered around Beau as you leaned in, mouth open and eager, hand working Dean faster until his cock pulsed and he spilled hot ropes across your tongue, the taste sharp and salty as you swallowed what you could, the rest dripping down your chin and onto your tits. Beau groaned at the sight, hips snapping up relentlessly. "Fuck, that's hot—keep riding me, cum on my cock while he watches you take it."

Beau's hands clamped tighter on your ass, lifting and slamming you down to meet his upward thrusts as your body shuddered through the aftershocks of swallowing Dean's release. Your pussy clenched rhythmically around his thick cock, the wet squelch of your joining growing louder with every bounce, clit grinding hard against his pelvis until the pressure built to a breaking point.

"That's it, come for me," Beau grunted, his voice strained, hips pistoning up to bury himself deeper while your walls fluttered and pulsed, milking him as your orgasm crashed through you in hot, trembling waves. You cried out, back arching, breasts bouncing wildly as slick arousal gushed around his shaft, coating his balls and the couch cushions beneath them.

Dean watched with dark, possessive eyes, his cock twitching back to halt-hardness at the sight, one hand still tangled in your hair.

"Fuck, look at you falling apart" he rasped, voice thick with renewed hunger, his free hand sliding down to rub your swollen clit in tight circles that prolonged your climax. You moaned brokenly, hips rolling through the intensity, inner walls squeezing Beau's dick as he groaned and thrust up one final time, burying deep to spill hot pulses of cum inside you. The sensation of being filled by both men sent fresh sparks racing up your spine, body trembling between them while the empty house creaked

Beau eased you off him slowly, his softening cock slipping free with a wet rush that left his seed trickling down your thighs. The moment Beau eased out of you with a slick sound, Dean was on you, flipping you onto your back on the couch cushions and shoving your thighs wide apart. His cock, already stiff and glistening from your earlier strokes, notched against your dripping pussy and thrust inside in one deep, claiming stroke that stretched your freshly used walls around him. "My turn," he growled, hips snapping forward with relentless force, the wet slap of skin echoing as he fucked you hard and possessive, one hand gripping your throat lightly while the other pinned your wrist above your head.

You moaned his name, body still trembling from the last climax as Dean pounded into you, his pubic bone grinding against your swollen clit with every brutal thrust, the jealousy and need from the night flaring hotter now that he was reclaiming you right there in front of Beau. Sweat slicked your skin, the air thick with the mingled scents of sex and cum, and Dean leaned down to claim your mouth in a bruising kiss, tasting himself on your tongue as he drove you toward the edge again, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside of you until your pussy clenched tight and you shattered once more, walls pulsing around him as he followed with a guttural groan, spilling deep inside of you to mix with Beau's load.

Dean didn't pull out right away, his cock still twitching deep inside of your cum-filled pussy as he ground his hips in slow, deliberate circles, stirring the mess of his and Beau's loads together. "Fuck, feel that? Your greedy little cunt's overflowing with both of us now," he rasped against your lips, voice thick and possessive, "but you’re still mine to wreck whenever I want. Say it, baby—tell Beau whose pussy this really belongs to while his cum leaks out of you." You whimpered, walls fluttering around him as the filthy words sent fresh heat flooding through you, your body pinned between the two men on the living room couch. Beau leaned in from the side, his hand sliding up to cup your right tit and pinch your nipple hard, adding, "Goddamn."

Dean finally eased back, pulling you up with him so you straddled his lap again, his half-hard length still nestled inside of you as Beau's fingers traced the slick mess trailing down your thighs. "Don't think we're done yet," Dean growled, one hand fisting in your hair to tilt your head back for another bruising kiss while his free hand smacked your ass lightly, "gonna fuck this pussy full again while you suck him clean, remind you no one else gets to stretch you like this." You moaned into the kiss, hips rolling instinctively as the dirty promises coiled fresh need low in your belly, the empty house still holding that sharp edge of risk that only made you clench tighter around him. Beau's mouth found your neck, sucking another mark while his hand dipped between your legs to rub your swollen clit, the three of you tangled in sweat-slick heat as the night stretched on.

You gasped into Dean's mouth as Beau's fingers worked your clit in firm, insistent circles, the slick mess of their combined releases making every touch glide hot and obscene across your swollen flesh. Your hips rolled down onto Dean's thickening cock, feeling him swell back to full hardness inside your cum-slick pussy, the stretch burning sweet and familiar while Beau's tongue traced the pulse point on your neck. Dean broke the kiss to watch your face, his eyes dark with that possessive fire even as he shared you, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. "Look at you, taking us both like you were made for it," he rasped, voice hoarse, thrusting up slow and deep so you felt every inch drag against your sensitive walls. Beau groaned against you skin, his free hand guiding your hand to wrap around his own hardening length, stroking him in time with Dean's lazy pumps. The living room air grew heavier with the wet sounds of their bodies, sweat-slick skin sliding together, the faint creak of the couch beneath them a constant reminder that anyone could walk in.

Your thighs trembled as pleasure built again, Dean's cock grinding against that perfect spot inside while Beau's fingers pressed harder on your clit, circling faster until your breath came in ragged pants.

You leaned forward to take Beau's cock into your mouth, lips stretching around the thick head, tasting the salt of his earlier release mixed with your own juices as you sucked him off.

Dean's hand slid up her spine to fist in her hair, guiding her rhythm while he fucked up into her from below, hips snapping with renewed force. "That's it, baby—suck him clean while I fill this pretty pussy again," he growled, the jealousy in his tone twisting into raw hunger as Beau thrust shallowly into your throat.

Your pussy clenched tight around Dean's length, milking him as another orgasm crashed through you in pulsing waves, wetness gushing out to soak his balls and the cushions below. Beau cursed low, hips jerking as you swallowed around him, and Dean followed seconds later with a guttural groan, pumping another hot load deep inside you until you overflowed around his shaft.

You stayed locked like that for long minutes, hearts hammering in sync, your body limp and trembling between them as Dean's softening cock slipped free with a wet rush. Beau eased back first, pressing a lazy kiss to you shoulder before pulling his sweats up, the three of you catching your breath in the quiet house. Dean tugged you closer against his chest, his lips brushing your ear with a murmured promise that this secret would stay yours—no matter how many lines you crossed.

#off campus #off campus fic #off campus smut #beau maxwell #beau maxwell fic #beau maxwell off campus #beau maxwell smut #dean di laurentis #dean di laurentis off campus #dean di laurentis smut #dean di laurentis fanfic #dean x beau

Falling into You • Dean Di Laurentis

Series Masterlist

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning, Bailee avoided the kitchen entirely.

Not because she was scared of Dean.

Okay maybe a little because of Dean.

Mostly because every time she thought about the laundry room from last night, heat crept violently up her neck all over again.

I haven't hooked up with anyone since you.

The words had replayed in her head approximately seven thousand times since midnight. Which was annoying. Because she absolutely refused to unpack why hearing that affected her so much.

So instead, she stayed upstairs for as long as possible pretending to organize her room while the sounds of the boys yelling downstairs drifted through the house.

Logan complaining about protein powder. Tucker threatening violence over burnt pancakes. Garrett loudly singing off-key.

Normal.

Then her phone buzzed.

Dean:

You alive?

Bailee stared at the message for a second before typing back.

Bailee:

Three dots appeared instantly.

Dean:

come downstairs

Bailee:

Dean:

coward

Her jaw dropped slightly. Bailee rolled her eyes despite smiling a little. Ten minutes later she found herself wandering downstairs anyway. Which honestly felt embarrassing.

The kitchen was chaos when she walked in.

Garrett and Logan were arguing over whether ketchup belonged on eggs while Tucker cooked aggressively at the stove. Dean sat at the island scrolling through his phone looking completely unbothered.

Until she walked in.

His eyes lifted immediately.

And there it was again.

That look.

Steady.

Focused.

Too intense.

Bailee's stomach flipped hard enough to annoy her.

"Finally," Garrett said. "Tell Logan ketchup on eggs is psychotic."

"It's normal," Logan defended.

"It's a crime," Tucker snapped.

Bailee laughed softly, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge while trying very hard not to look at Dean again. Which became difficult approximately thirty seconds later when she felt him step behind her.

Too close.

Her pulse jumped instantly.

"Move," she muttered under her breath.

Dean leaned down slightly beside her ear. "No."

Heat rushed straight into her face. From across the kitchen, Garrett remained tragically oblivious. "Bee," he said suddenly, "you should actually come to Chase's game today."

Dean went still behind her. Bailee bit the inside of her cheek immediately to stop herself from smiling. "Maybe," she answered casually.

Dean's hand landed lightly on the counter beside her.

Garrett kept talking. "Seriously, it's fun. And Chase texted me asking if you were coming."

Oh.

That was new.

Dean's jaw flexed once.

Tiny.

Sharp.

Bailee noticed anyway.

When she finally turned slightly toward him, his eyes were already on her.

Heavy.

Possessive enough to make her stomach twist.

And suddenly she remembered exactly how his voice sounded last night when he said:

There's a reason I don't like him looking at you like that.

"Anyway," Bailee said quickly, needing space immediately, "I'm gonna go shower."

She slipped out of the kitchen before anyone could answer. Her heart was beating way too fast by the time she reached the upstairs hallway.

And unfortunately—She barely made it three steps toward her room before a hand caught her wrist.

Bailee gasped softly as Dean pulled her suddenly backward into her bedroom. The door shut quietly behind them.

"Dean—"

His mouth crashed into hers before she could finish the sentence.

Hot.

Immediate.

Possessive enough to steal the breath straight from her lungs.

Bailee stumbled back against the closed door with a startled sound as Dean's hands grabbed her waist hard, pulling her flush against him like he'd been thinking about this all morning.

Maybe he had.

The kiss felt nothing like their usual teasing ones.

This was rougher.

Needier.

Like Dean was trying to prove something.

His hand slid into her hair, tilting her head back slightly while he kissed her deeper, and God—

Bailee's fingers curled instinctively into the front of his shirt.

"Dean," she breathed against his mouth.

He kissed her again immediately before she could say anything else. Like he didn't want talking right now. Only this. Only her. The realization sent heat spiraling low in her stomach.

His hands tightened on her waist when she made a soft sound against his mouth. "Still wanna go watch lacrosse?" he murmured between kisses.

Bailee actually laughed breathlessly. "You're unbelievable."

Dean kissed her harder.

"Answer"

"You're jealous," she whispered.

"Mhm."

The honesty shocked her enough that she pulled back slightly. Dean's forehead rested briefly against hers, both of them breathing harder now. "You think this is funny?" he asked quietly.

"A little."

His eyes narrowed slightly before his hand slid up her side slowly, deliberately, until it settled just beneath her ribs.

Possessive.

The look on his face made her pulse stutter. "You're mine when you're with me," he said softly.

The words hit her like a punch straight to the chest.

And before she could even process them, Dean kissed her again.

Bailee let out a soft startled sound against his mouth as her hands slid instinctively up into his hair, fingers tangling through messy curls while Dean backed her harder against the door.

His mouth moved against hers slowly at first, then deeper when she kissed him back immediately, and God—The possessiveness in it made heat rush straight through her.

Dean's hand tightened at her waist.

"You think I'm joking?" he murmured against her lips.

Bailee's pulse was all over the place now.

"Dean..."

"You know what the worst part was?" His voice stayed low and rough while his thumb brushed slowly against her side beneath the hem of her shirt. "Watching him flirt with you while I had to sit there acting like I didn't care because your brother was watching."

Her stomach flipped violently.

Dean never sounded like this.

Never.

Not even when they first started sneaking around.

And she liked it.

Bailee swallowed hard. "You don't get to act possessive now."

Dean pulled back just enough to look at her.

His hair was a mess already, mouth slightly swollen from kissing her, eyes darker than usual in the dim light filtering through the curtains.

"Don't care," he admitted quietly.

That should've made this easier.

Instead it made her heart kick harder against her ribs.

Dean's gaze dropped briefly to her mouth again before he kissed her once—slow this time, almost teasing.

Then again.

Like he couldn't stop himself.

"You gonna go?" he asked softly against her lips.

Her fingers tightened slightly in his hair. "Maybe."

Dean laughed quietly under his breath. Not amused. Dangerous.

His hand slid from her waist up along her side until it settled lightly at her throat, thumb brushing beneath her jaw.

"You're enjoying this way too much."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Bullshit."

Bailee smiled a little despite herself. Dean stared at her for a second like that smile personally offended him. Then his eyes narrowed slightly. Dean kissed her hard enough to shut her up immediately.

The breath caught in her throat as he pressed closer, one hand braced beside her head now while the other stayed firm around her neck like he physically couldn't stop touching her.

Dean pulled back just enough to look at her again, breathing a little harder now.

"If he touches you," he said quietly, "we're gonna have a fucking problem."

Bailee stared at him for half a second before laughing breathlessly. "You're actually insane."

"Don't care."

His mouth brushed hers once more.

Slower this time.

Like the anger and jealousy had burned off just enough for something softer to slip through underneath it.

Bailee hated how much that affected her.

Dean's forehead rested briefly against hers while both of them tried to catch their breath, his hand still curled lightly around her throat, thumb dragging once over her bottom lip.

"You're trouble," she whispered.

A quiet laugh left him.

"You like trouble."

Dean looked at her for another second like he was debating kissing her again. Then finally he stepped back.

Barely.

Just enough space for her lungs to start functioning again. "Go shower," he muttered, eyes still on her mouth. "Before I stop pretending I have self-control."

Heat rushed straight into her face. Dean smirked slightly at her reaction before leaning down to kiss her one last time.

Quick.

Soft.

Then he opened her bedroom door like absolutely nothing had happened and disappeared back downstairs. Leaving Bailee standing there dazed with her heart trying to beat out of her chest.

—

By the time she actually decided to go to the lacrosse game later that afternoon, she was already regretting it a little.

Not because she didn't want to go.

Mostly because she knew Dean was going to lose his mind.

Which—

Okay.

Maybe part of her enjoyed.

Just a little.

The lacrosse field sat on the opposite side of Briar's campus from the hockey stadium, packed with students despite the cold. The stands buzzed with noise while music blasted through speakers near the field, players warming up below beneath bright stadium lights.

Bailee tugged her jacket tighter around herself as she climbed the bleachers alone.

Garrett and the boys had another team meeting after practice, which meant for once she was here without the entire hockey team surrounding her.

Honestly?

It felt... nice.

Down on the field, players jogged through drills in Briar jerseys while students shouted from the stands.

Then—

Chase looked up.

And immediately spotted her.

His entire face changed instantly.

Like he genuinely hadn't expected her to come.

Bailee's stomach flipped embarrassingly hard as he smiled across the field before jogging toward the sideline.

A few girls nearby immediately noticed.

One whispered:

"Oh my God, Chase Reynolds."

Another:

"He's so hot."

Honestly?

Fair.

Chase stopped at the fence below the bleachers, slightly out of breath from warmups, dark hair messy already beneath the late afternoon sun.

"You came."

The smile in his voice made heat creep into her cheeks.

"You invited me."

"Yeah, but I figured hockey boy over there would threaten your life if you actually showed up."

Bailee laughed softly. "Dean? He doesn't control me."

Something flickered briefly through Chase's expression at that.

Interest.

Definitely interest.

"Well," he said easily, leaning against the fence, "I'm glad you ignored him."

Her stomach flipped again.

God.

He was smooth.

Not in Dean's cocky teasing way.

Just naturally charming.

"You better be good if I came all the way out here," she teased.

Chase grinned immediately. "Oh, now I have performance anxiety."

Bailee laughed again.

There was no tension tangled into every conversation like there was with Dean lately. No secret underneath every look.

Chase just openly liked her.

And maybe after weeks of sneaking around and feeling guilty and constantly overthinking every interaction, that simplicity felt nice.

"Alright," Chase said reluctantly, pushing away from the fence. "I should probably go before Coach benches me for flirting during warmups."

"Probably smart."

His eyes stayed on hers for another second. "Stay after?"

Bailee blinked slightly. "What?"

"I'll walk you out after the game."

Heat curled softly in her chest. "Okay," she answered before she could think too hard about it. Chase smiled again. God, that smile was a problem. Then he jogged backward toward the field, pointing at her once teasingly before turning back toward his teammates.

Bailee sat down slowly in the stands afterward, trying very hard not to think about the fact she was smiling a little.

Because honestly?

She kinda liked him.

Across campus, the hockey team meeting was dragging painfully.

Coach paced slowly in front of the projector screen while game footage replayed behind him for what felt like the thousandth time. "...completely unacceptable defensive coverage," Coach snapped.

Nobody responded. Mostly because the entire team looked dead. Logan was slumped so far down in his chair he was practically horizontal. Tucker kept sneaking snacks from his backpack. Dean sat leaned back near the end of the table, only half paying attention while he spun a hockey puck slowly beneath his palm.

Then Garrett's phone buzzed.

He glanced down absently.

And immediately started laughing.

Coach stopped talking. "Something funny, Graham?"

Garrett looked up still grinning. "Sorry, Coach."

One coach went back to his rant, Logan squinted at Garrett suspiciously. "What?"

Garrett shook his head once, still looking entertained. "Bailee actually went to Chase's game."

Dean's hand stopped moving on the hockey puck instantly.

"Wait seriously?" Tucker asked.

Garrett snorted. "Yeah. She just texted me."

Dean stared straight ahead at the projector screen with an expression so blank it immediately became threatening.

"Honestly good for her," he continued casually. "Girl needs friends outside this house before she develops actual brain damage."

Logan laughed.

Dean didn't.

By the end of the game, Bailee's hands were freezing.

The stadium lights were bright against the dark evening sky while students slowly filtered out of the bleachers around her, Briar's lacrosse team celebrating loudly down on the field after their win.

And honestly?

Lacrosse was actually kinda fun to watch.

Fast-paced.

Chaotic.

A little violent.

Very Briar.

Bailee smiled faintly to herself as she made her way down the bleachers toward the exit gate, tugging her jacket tighter around herself against the cold.

"Hey, graham."

Her stomach flipped embarrassingly fast at the sound of Chase's voice.

He jogged toward her near the fence, still sweaty from the game with his dark hair damp and pushed messily back from his forehead. The black eye paint beneath his light eyes was slightly smudged now, Briar hoodie hanging loose over athletic shorts.

And wow.

Post-game Chase Reynolds was going to be a problem.

"You survived," Bailee teased.

"Barely." Chase grinned, slightly out of breath. "You saw me getting assaulted out there."

"I think that's just lacrosse."

"Fair."

She laughed softly.

A few of Chase's teammates yelled something at him from farther down the field and he lifted a hand absently without taking his eyes off her.

Which—

Okay.

That was smooth.

"You heading home?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"I'll walk you."

The answer came so naturally that Bailee didn't even hesitate before nodding. "Okay."

The parking lot had mostly emptied by now, the cold evening air quieter away from the noise of the stadium. Their footsteps echoed softly against the pavement while Chase walked beside her with his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie.

For a minute, neither of them spoke.

"So," Chase said eventually, glancing down at her, "honest review."

Bailee pretended to think hard about it. "Better than expected."

He gasped dramatically. "Wow. Huge compliment."

"Don't let it get to your head."

"Too late."

She laughed again, and Chase smiled immediately like he genuinely liked making her laugh specifically.

Chase glanced over at her again. "For the record, I'm glad you came."

Something soft twisted unexpectedly in her chest.

Because unlike Dean—

who felt intense and consuming and dangerous all the time—

Chase felt easy.

Open.

There was no confusion with him.

No sneaking around.

By the time they reached her car, Bailee realized she was actually disappointed the walk was over. Chase leaned lightly against the driver's side door while she searched through her purse for her keys.

"So," he said casually, "you gonna come to another game?"

Bailee looked up at him.

The stadium lights caught his eyes again somehow impossibly light against the dark parking lot around them. God he was so fucking gorgeous.

"Maybe," she answered softly.

Chase smiled slowly. "I'll take it."

For a second neither of them moved. Then Chase stepped a little closer. Not enough to trap her. Just enough that Bailee's heartbeat sped up slightly.

"You know," he said quietly, "I've been trying to figure out if you're actually flirting with me or if you're just naturally this pretty when you talk to people."

Bailee laughed softly, caught off guard enough that heat rushed immediately into her cheeks. "That line definitely works on girls."

"Didn't answer my question."

His voice stayed light. But his eyes didn't. And suddenly Bailee became very aware of how close he was standing. Very aware that Chase Reynolds was looking at her like he wanted to kiss her.

The realization sent a weird twist through her stomach.

Not bad.

Just—

Different from Dean.

Softer maybe.

Safer.

Chase's gaze flicked briefly to her mouth before lifting again. "You gonna tell me," he murmured, "or am I gonna have to figure it out myself?"

Bailee tilted her head slightly, fingers still curled loosely around her car keys.

"Maybe," she said softly, "we'll both figure it out together."

For half a second Chase just looked at her.

Then slowly—

He smiled.

And wow.

That smile was unfair.

"Yeah?" he murmured.

Bailee nodded once, feeling strangely shy all of a sudden. Chase stepped a little closer then, close enough that she could smell the cold night air still clinging to his hoodie.

Her pulse picked up instinctively.

Because now would probably be the moment he kissed her.

The parking lot was nearly empty. The tension was there. And he was definitely looking at her mouth again.

But instead, Chase reached around her calmly and opened her car door. Bailee blinked. The tiny gesture caught her so off guard she just stared at him for a second. Chase laughed softly at her expression. "What?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, trying not to smile too hard. "You're just sweet."

She laughed quietly. Chase leaned one arm lightly against the top of the open car door, eyes warm against the glow of the parking lot lights.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Bailee shook her head a little, smiling despite herself.

And for the first time in a while something felt uncomplicated. The simplicity of it made something in her chest ache unexpectedly.

Chase studied her for another second before finally stepping back slightly. "Drive safe, graham."

There went her heartbeat again.

Bailee slid into the driver's seat slowly. "Goodnight, Chase."

He smiled one last time before shutting the door gently behind her. Then he waited there in the cold parking lot until she pulled away.

By the time Bailee got home, the hockey house was quieter than usual. Logan's voice drifted faintly from downstairs along with the TV while someone—probably Tucker—was banging around in the kitchen looking for food.

Bailee slipped upstairs before anyone noticed she was home. Which honestly felt suspicious in itself. Her night with Chase replayed quietly in her head while she changed into oversized sweatpants and one of Garrett's old Briar hoodies.

The weird part was, she'd genuinely had a good time.

A really good time.

And now she was sitting cross-legged on her bed trying not to think about the fact Dean was probably going to find out immediately.

As if summoned by the thought, a knock hit her door once before it opened.

Dean stepped inside without waiting for permission and bailee looked up automatically. She immediately felt her stomach tighten.

He'd clearly just showered. Blonde curls still damp, grey sweats hanging low on his hips, black t-shirt clinging slightly to his shoulders, silver chain sitting on top of his shirt.

Dean shut the door quietly behind him before looking at her.

"You went."

Not a question. Bailee leaned back slightly against her headboard. "You already know I did."

Dean's jaw flexed once.

"Did you have fun?"

Something about the way he asked made heat creep slowly into her chest. Like he already hated the answer and she hasn't even spoken yet. Bailee should've probably de-escalated things.

Instead she said "Actually yeah."

Dean laughed softly under his breath. Not amused. He stayed near the door for another second before finally walking farther into the room.

"Good game?"

"Mhm."

"Chase play well?"

Bailee bit back a smile immediately because—Oh, he was irritated irritated.

"He did, actually."

Dean stopped beside the edge of her bed now, staring down at her with that same dark look he'd had all morning. "And then he walked you to your car."

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. "Were you stalking me?"

"No." Beat. "Garrett told me."

Of course he did. Bailee looked away briefly, trying and failing to hide the tiny smile threatening at her mouth. Dean noticed immediately. "Don't do that."

She looked back at him innocently. "Do what?"

"That." He stepped closer. "That smug little smile."

Bailee laughed softly. "You're being dramatic."

"Am I?"

His voice had dropped lower now.

Closer.

The air in her room suddenly felt warmer.

Bailee swallowed once as Dean moved until he stood directly between her knees at the edge of the bed.

Too close.

Way too close.

"You really like pissing me off today, huh?"

Her pulse jumped.

"You're the one acting insane."

Dean leaned down slightly, one hand bracing beside her on the mattress. "And you're the one going on dates with lacrosse players."

Bailee's eyes widened immediately. "It wasn't a date."

Dean just looked at her.

"It wasn't," she repeated weaker this time. "You're jealous."

Dean stepped closer instantly. Now her knees pressed lightly against his thighs. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I am."

The blunt honesty stole the breath from her lungs. Dean's eyes dropped briefly to her mouth. Then back up again.

"I really didn't like imagining him alone with you tonight."

Bailee's stomach flipped violently. Because Dean sounded dangerously close to losing whatever self-control he'd been clinging to all day. "You don't get to care this much," she whispered.

His hand slid slowly over her knee beneath the oversized sweatpants, fingers curling lightly against her leg.

Dean didn't answer right away. His eyes stayed on hers for a beat too long, something tight and restrained sitting behind them like he was trying not to cross a line he was already halfway over.

Then, slowly, he shifted.

His hand left her knee only so he could brace himself properly on the mattress. Bailee barely had time to process the movement before he was lowering her back against the bed.

"Dean—“

"Shh," he murmured, voice low.

He hovered over her now, one hand planted on the mattress beside her head, the other still resting lightly on her thigh as he settled between her legs without fully pressing down.

Close enough that she could feel him everywhere.

Too close.

Bailee's breath caught.

"This what you wanted?" she whispered, though it came out weaker than she meant it to.

Dean let out a quiet laugh against her mouth.

"Yes," he said simply.

Then he kissed her.

And whatever tension had been simmering between them all day finally snapped.

Bailee's fingers grabbed at his shirt immediately, pulling him closer as he kissed her harder, like he'd been holding back something all night and finally stopped pretending he could.

Dean's hand slid up her thigh and disappeared under the fabric of her sweatpants, slow and deliberate, like he was testing her reaction more than anything else.

Bailee inhaled sharply into his mouth.

Dean broke the kiss just long enough to look at her.

"You're really gonna sit there and tell me you didn't like him looking at you tonight?" he murmured.

Her pulse stuttered. "I didn't say that."

"Mm."

His hand moved her panties to the side, rubbing her clit slowly.

Bailee's eyes fluttered briefly shut.

"Dean..."

He kissed her again, slower this time, like he was dragging it out on purpose.

Then, against her lips, quieter, "Next time you're with him," he said, voice rougher now, "I want you to think of me."

The words landed heavy in her chest.

Bailee swallowed, whispering against his open mouth. "I will."

It came out immediate.

Honest.

Then, he removed his hand from her sweats and pulled back.

Completely.

The absence of him was instant and disorienting, like the room had dropped temperature in seconds.

He didn't say anything else, just stood from the bed, dragging a hand through his hair once like he was resetting himself.

"Goodnight, bails," he said flatly.

And then he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him. Leaving her lying there staring at the ceiling, heartbeat still racing, skin warm, and absolutely no resolution to anything he'd just done.

#off campus #off campus fic #off campus smut #dean di laurentis #dean di laurentis off campus #dean di laurentis smut #dean di laurentis fanfic

Falling into You • Dean Di Laurentis

Series Masterlist

Chapter Thirteen

The hockey house felt unusually calm for a Saturday night.

Mostly because everyone had ended up at Malone's after practice instead of throwing another party that would inevitably end with Garrett threatening freshmen and Logan breaking furniture.

The bar buzzed with noise around them, warm golden lighting reflecting off bottles behind the counter while music thumped low enough beneath conversations to make the whole place feel crowded and hazy.

Bailee sat tucked into the corner of their booth beside Garrett, one leg crossed over the other while she laughed at something Tucker was saying from across the table.

Or at least she tried to pay attention.

Really, she was painfully aware of Dean sitting diagonally across from her.

Like always now.

The thing about sneaking around with someone was that eventually every tiny interaction started feeling charged.

A look across the room.

A hand brushing accidentally.

A smirk meant only for you.

And Dean was very, very good at looking at her in ways that made her forget how to breathe.

Bailee lifted her drink to her mouth just as she felt it again.

That stare.

Her eyes flicked upward automatically.

Dean was already looking at her.

One arm stretched lazily across the back of the booth behind Logan, beer bottle resting loosely in his other hand while he watched her over the rim with that same unreadable expression he always got around her lately.

Not smiling.

Just watching.

Heat crept slowly into her cheeks.

Dean noticed immediately.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward slightly.

Bailee rolled her eyes and looked away first.

Across from her, Logan snorted quietly into his drink.

Great.

So at least one person had noticed whatever this weird eye-contact thing between her and Dean had become.

"She's ignoring you on purpose," Logan informed Dean helpfully.

Bailee kicked Logan under the table.

"Ow, Jesus Christ."

Garrett looked up from his phone. "What happened?"

"Your sister's abusive."

"Probably deserved it."

Dean laughed softly into his beer. The sound slid warm down Bailee's spine before she could stop it.

God.

This was getting dangerous again.

She was still trying not to think too hard about the parking lot after the game last night. Or the fact she and Dean had somehow fallen right back into whatever this was afterward like the conversation about stopping had never happened at all.

No labels.

No feelings.

No conversations about what this meant.

Just stolen kisses in hallways and Dean sneaking into her room.

Simple.

Casual.

Supposedly.

The door of the bar opened behind them, letting in a gust of cold night air and a group of guys wearing Briar lacrosse jackets.

Garrett looked up immediately.

"Yo, Reynolds!"

One of the guys turned at the sound of his name.

And unfortunately—

Unfortunately, Bailee noticed him instantly.

Tall.

Really tall.

Dark hair pushed messily back from his forehead like he'd run his hands through it one too many times, fitted black jacket stretched across broad shoulders, light eyes scanning the room before landing on Garrett's booth.

Then—

On her.

He slowed slightly.

Barely noticeable.

But enough.

Enough that Dean noticed too.

Bailee felt it before she even looked at him.

The shift.

Tiny.

Subtle.

But there.

Garrett waved him over easily. "Get over here."

The guy grinned and headed toward the booth, confident without seeming arrogant about it.

Which honestly might've been worse.

"Bee," Garrett said casually once he reached them, "this is Chase Reynolds. Plays lacrosse."

Chase's eyes moved back to her immediately.

And wow.

His eyes were really light up close.

"Garrett's sister?" he said, smiling a little.

Across the table, Dean went very still.

Chase stuck his hand out toward her. "Nice to meet you."

"Bailee."

"Pretty name."

Okay.

Wow.

Garrett groaned dramatically. "Don't start."

Chase laughed easily. "What? I'm being nice."

"Don't be.”

Everyone laughed except Dean, who took another drink instead.

"I'll catch you guys in a bit. Nice meeting you, Bailee." His voice was easy and warm in a way that somehow felt more dangerous than outright flirting.

Before she could answer, Chase turned toward the bar area where a few other lacrosse players were waiting near the high-top tables, one of them immediately shoving his shoulder as he approached.

Bailee swore in that moment, that was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen in her entire life.

Conversation moved on around the booth after that, Tucker arguing with Logan about fantasy football while Garrett loudly complained about one of Coach's conditioning drills.

Bailee tried to pay attention.

Really.

But every once in a while her eyes drifted back toward the other side of the bar without meaning to.

Chase sat at one of the high-top tables with the lacrosse guys now, leaning back casually in his chair while he laughed at something someone said.

At one point he glanced over.

Caught her looking.

Smiled slightly.

Then looked away again like it was no big deal.

Her stomach flipped annoyingly hard, completely missing the way Dean was shooting daggers into the side of her head. About twenty minutes later, Bailee realized she'd finished her drink.

"I'm getting another tequila soda," she announced, sliding out of the booth.

Garrett barely looked up from his story. "Bring me fries."

"You already have fries."

"I want more fries."

"Thoughts and prayers."

Logan laughed loudly while Garrett flipped her off. Bailee shook her head, smiling to herself as she made her way through the crowded bar toward the counter.

The music was louder away from the booth, bass vibrating faintly beneath her feet while people squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder near the bartenders.

She had just stepped up to the bar when a familiar voice spoke beside her.

"Tequila soda girl.”

Bailee turned.

Chase stood beside her now, one hand resting casually against the bar while the other held a fresh beer bottle.

Up close, he somehow looked even prettier.

Annoying.

Bailee laughed softly. "That's a terrible nickname."

"Yeah, probably." His mouth lifted slightly. "Still memorable though."

The bartender stopped in front of them. "What can I get you?"

"Tequila soda with lime," Bailee answered.

Chase nodded, turning to the bartender. "You can put it on my tab.”

Once the bartender walked away, Chase spoke again before Bailee had a chance to object him paying for her drink. "So San Diego, huh?" he asked. "That's a brutal downgrade."

Bailee smiled into her drink. Garrett must've told him about her moving in, I guess they're closer than she thought. "Seriously." She said.

"You miss it?"

"All the time." Bailee leaned lightly against the bar. "Mostly the weather.”

"That's fair." Chase grinned. "Boston winters build character though."

"I don't want character." She jokes, making Chase laugh.

"That's probably smart."

Bailee laughed again.

Across the room, Dean was staring hard enough to qualify as a public threat.

Not that she noticed.

Because she was too busy trying not to focus on the fact Chase smelled really good and kept looking directly into her eyes when she talked.

Chase had this calm confidence about him that didn't feel forced. He listened when she talked instead of waiting for his turn to speak, and every time she said something sarcastic or teasing, his entire face lit up like he genuinely enjoyed keeping up with her.

Dangerous.

Very dangerous.

"So," Chase said after another minute, "you ever been to a lacrosse game?"

Bailee shook her head. "No, actually."

"You should come sometime."

Before she could answer—

"She hates lacrosse."

Dean's voice cut in smoothly from beside them.

Bailee startled slightly. She hadn't even seen him walk over. Dean stepped up next to her at the bar, close enough that his shoulder brushed hers briefly before he leaned against the counter. Completely casual.

Except for the fact his jaw looked tight enough to crack.

Chase glanced at him, still relaxed. "You really selling the sport here, man."

Dean shrugged lightly. "Just being honest."

Chase sipped his beer but kept his attention on her.

"I think you should still come," he said easily. "Maybe you'll be pleasantly surprised."

Dean let out a quiet laugh beside her. Not amused.

"Oh, now I definitely wanna see one," Bailee said before she could stop herself.

Chase grinned instantly. "See? She's open-minded."

Dean looked at her then. Finally directly at her. And wow. The look in his eyes made heat curl low in her stomach immediately.

Possessive.

Annoyed.

Sharp enough that her pulse skipped embarrassingly fast. Then Dean smiled. A fake one.

Small.

Calm.

Dangerous.

"Trust me," he said softly, eyes still on hers. "You find better ways to spend two hours."

Bailee's stomach flipped hard enough to make her grip tighten slightly around her drink. Before she could say anything, another voice cut through the tension. "There you all are."

Garrett appeared beside them, fresh beer in one hand while he looked between the three of them curiously. "What's up, guys?"

Chase straightened slightly, easygoing as ever. "Was just inviting Bailee to one of our games."

Garrett immediately looked at her. "Oh, you should go.”

Dean took a slow sip of his drink.

Chase laughed lightly. "See? Your brother gets it."

"Unfortunately," Garrett said. "He's actually insane."

"Thanks, man," Chase replied solemnly.

Bailee smiled despite herself. God, he was charming. And apparently Garrett thought so too, because he looked completely unbothered standing there while Chase openly flirted with his sister.

Meanwhile Dean looked one passive-aggressive comment away from a felony. Chase glanced back at Bailee again. "I'll text Garrett the schedule."

"Sounds good," she answered.

His eyes held hers for another second before he smiled slightly. "Nice talking to you, Graham."

Then he nodded once toward Dean. "Di Laurentis."

Dean lifted his beer slightly in acknowledgment without smiling. Not hostile. Just enough edge underneath it to say: I saw that.

Chase definitely noticed.

And definitely didn't care.

"See you guys," he said easily before heading back toward the lacrosse table across the bar. Bailee watched him go for maybe half a second too long.

Which unfortunately meant she missed the exact moment Dean looked at her.

Garrett didn't.

"Huh," Garrett muttered.

Bailee blinked. "What?"

"Nothing." He took a drink. "You should actually go to one of his games though."

Dean went very still beside her. Garrett kept talking completely obliviously. "Chase is sick. Like genuinely one of the best attackmen in the conference."

"Wow," Bailee deadpanned. "You sound emotionally invested."

"I am emotionally invested." Garrett pointed his beer toward the lacrosse table. "Dude's a beast."

Dean laughed quietly under his breath. Garrett glanced over. "What?"

"Nothing," Dean said smoothly.

Garrett narrowed his eyes slightly before looking back at Bailee. "Seriously though, he's a good guy."

And there it was. The final nail in Dean's psychological coffin.

Because not only was Chase hot and nice and openly interested in Bailee—Garrett approved of him. Something he'd never get. Bailee felt the tension radiating off Dean beside her now even though his expression stayed perfectly calm.

Which honestly made it worse.

Garrett, somehow still missing every single thing happening around him, continued casually, "Plus it'd probably be nice for you to meet people outside the hockey team."

Dean's jaw flexed once.

Tiny.

Barely noticeable.

Bailee noticed anyway.

Her stomach twisted instantly.

Partly because Dean looked irritated in a way she'd genuinely never seen before.

And partly because, embarrassingly enough—Some deeply reckless part of her liked it.

The ride back to the hockey house was chaos.

Logan and Tucker argued the entire drive home about whether boneless or bone-in wings were better, while Garrett loudly attempted to convince everyone to stop at ihop for pancakes even though it was 2am.

Bailee sat by the window trying not to think about the fact Dean barely spoke the whole ride.

Not silent exactly.

Just quieter than usual.

Every once in a while she'd catch him looking at her in the rearview mirror before his eyes flicked away again.

The second they got home, Garrett disappeared into the kitchen announcing he was "making survival quesadillas."

Tucker immediately followed him.

Logan turned on the TV loud enough to shake the downstairs walls.

Which meant Bailee barely had time to step into the hallway before a hand wrapped suddenly around her wrist.

"What the—"

Dean tugged her quickly down the hall before she could finish the sentence. The laundry room door shut behind them.

Bailee stared at him in disbelief.

"Dean."

The tiny laundry room suddenly felt way too small with him standing this close. Dean leaned back against the dryer, arms crossed over his chest while he looked down at her with an expression she couldn't fully read.

Annoyed.

Definitely annoyed.

"You're not going."

Bailee blinked once.

Then actually laughed.

"I'm sorry?"

"To the lacrosse game."

"Oh my God." She stared at him. "Are you serious?"

Dean's jaw tightened slightly. "Yeah."

"Okay first of all," she said incredulously, "you absolutely do not get to tell me where I can and can't go."

"I didn't say you couldn't go."

"You literally just said 'you're not going.'" Bailee laughed again, this time fully disbelieving. "What is wrong with you?"

Dean looked away briefly before dragging a hand through his curls in frustration.

And suddenly she realized.

Her eyes widened slightly.

"No way."

Dean said nothing.

Bailee stared at him harder. "Are you jealous?"

His head snapped back toward her immediately. "No."

The answer came way too fast. Which was answer enough. Bailee's mouth fell open slightly before she started laughing. Actually laughing. Dean looked deeply unimpressed. "Glad you think this is funny."

"Oh my God," she breathed. "You're jealous of Chase."

"I'm not jealous of Chase."

"You dragged me into a laundry room to tell me I'm not allowed to go watch him play lacrosse."

Dean stepped closer immediately. "I never said allowed."

"Dean."

"He wants to fuck you."

Bailee's breath caught for exactly half a second. Mostly because of how bluntly he said it. "And?" she shot back quickly, trying to recover. "You want to fuck me too."

Dean went quiet. Which honestly wasn't the response she expected. The tension shifted instantly. He stepped closer again until her back almost brushed the shelves behind her. "Yeah, I do." he said finally, voice lower now.

Heat rushed violently into her face. Dean watched her for a second before his eyes dropped briefly to her mouth. "There's a reason I don't like him looking at you like that.”

Her stomach flipped hard.

So naturally Bailee deflected immediately.

"You hook up with random girls constantly."

Dean's expression darkened slightly. "And?"

"And you don't see me dragging you into laundry rooms acting insane."

A quiet laugh escaped him then.

Not amused.

More like: you really wanna play that game?

Dean braced one hand beside her head against the shelf behind her, leaning down just slightly.

"Wanna know the difference?" he asked softly.

Bailee's pulse jumped.

"What?"

"I don't look at them the way he was looking at you tonight."

The air disappeared from the room entirely. And the worst part? The absolute worst part? She knew exactly what he meant. Bailee swallowed once before forcing herself to push back against the feeling crawling up her spine.

Because absolutely not.

No.

He did not get to act possessive right now.

Especially when this entire thing had started with both of them agreeing it meant nothing. He is the one who preaches how he doesn't do girlfriends, and now he wants to be all protective?

Her irritation flared fast enough to override the nerves.

She stared at him. "So you can flirt with and hook up with whoever you want, but I can't?"

Dean's brows pulled together slightly. "That's not what I said."

"It's literally what you're implying."

"Bailee—"

"No." She shoved lightly at his chest, more frustrated now. "We said from the beginning this was no strings attached. Just messing around. You're the one who doesn't do girlfriends, right? You said that."

Dean stayed quiet.

"We literally agreed we could hook up with other people," she continued. "So why are you acting like this?"

Something unreadable flickered across his face then.

Not anger.

Something else.

His jaw tightened once before he looked away briefly like he was debating whether or not to say something.

Then finally—"Yeah," he said quietly. "We did say that."

Bailee crossed her arms defensively. "Exactly."

Dean's eyes lifted back to hers slowly.

"But I haven't hooked up with anyone since you."

Her breath caught.

The room went still.

"What?"

Dean leaned back against the dryer again, watching her carefully now. "You heard me."

Bailee stared at him.

Because...

No.

That couldn't be right.

Dean hooked up with girls constantly.

That was practically part of his personality.

And suddenly her brain started replaying the past few weeks all at once.

The parties.

The bars.

Girls flirting with him.

Dean never leaving with any of them.

Never disappearing upstairs.

Never bringing anyone home.

Her stomach flipped hard. Especially because she still hadn't even had sex with him.

Dean's eyes stayed locked on hers. "And you can't tell me you haven't noticed that."

Bailee looked away first. "That doesn't mean anything."

Dean laughed softly under his breath. Not because something was funny. More because he didn't believe her for a second. "Right," he murmured.

"I'm serious."

"Okay."

His tone said: You're lying.

Which only irritated her more.

"You don't get to suddenly change the rules because some guy was talking to me for twenty seconds."

"I'm not changing the rules."

"You dragged me in here to tell me not to go."

Dean stepped forward again immediately. Close enough that her pulse jumped all over again. "Because he likes you."

"So?"

"So I know guys like him."

Bailee rolled her eyes. "You mean hot fuck boy athletes? Yeah, I'm looking at one. So what's with the judging?"

Dean ignored that completely.

"I know the way he was looking at you tonight."

"And how was he looking at me?"

Dean went quiet for exactly one second too long. "Like he already decided he wants you."

Heat curled low in her stomach embarrassingly fast. Mostly because Dean sounded genuinely irritated about it.

Bailee shook her head slightly. "You're being ridiculous."

"Maybe."

The immediate agreement threw her off. Dean's gaze dropped briefly to her mouth again before lifting back to her eyes. "But you liked the attention."

Bailee lifted her chin stubbornly. "Maybe I did."

Something dark flickered through Dean's expression then.

The realization hit her all at once and sent a rush of heat straight through her chest.

Oh.

Oh, he was really really jealous.

•

Authors note -

HEHE JEALOUS DEANNNN. also this is how i imagine chase, but yall can picture whoever you want obviously ◡̈

#off campus #off campus fic #off campus smut #dean di laurentis #dean di laurentis fanfic #dean di laurentis off campus #dean di laurentis smut

Falling into You • Dean Di Laurentis

Series Masterlist

Chapter Twelve

Bailee had spent the entire week feeling like she was walking around with a secret stitched directly into her chest.

It followed her everywhere.

Into the kitchen when Garrett made her coffee in the mornings like he always did.

Onto the couch during movie nights with the boys.

Into the gym.

Into bed.

Every time Garrett laughed with Dean downstairs, every time he threw an arm around Dean's shoulders without a second thought, every time he trusted them both so completely without even realizing there was something to hide now—

Guilt curled tighter around her ribs.

And the worst part was she didn't even regret Dean.

Not even a little.

She regretted the lying.

Regretted how easily it had come out when Garrett asked where Dean was that night.

He brought me home because I got sick.

The excuse had slipped out effortlessly.

Too effortlessly.

Now every time Garrett mentioned that party, or asked if she was feeling better, or joked about Dean practically carrying her out of the house party, Bailee felt physically ill.

Which apparently translated into her becoming incredibly bad at acting normal.

She'd started avoiding Dean almost immediately after.

Not because she wanted to.

God, if anything, it was the opposite.

Avoiding Dean took actual effort.

Because Dean existed everywhere in that house.

Sprawled across the couch during late-night NHL reruns.

Standing in the kitchen in sweats at midnight eating cereal straight from the box.

Laughing downstairs with Logan and Tucker after practice.

Looking at her.

That was the real problem.

Dean noticed everything.

So of course he noticed the way she suddenly stopped lingering in rooms alone with him. The way she'd started disappearing upstairs whenever conversations got too quiet. The way she avoided looking directly at him for too long because every time she did, all she could think about was his mouth against hers and Garrett yelling outside her bedroom door while Dean hid in her bathroom half-dressed.

A few times she'd caught him watching her from across the room with this unreadable expression on his face.

Like he knew exactly what she was doing.

Like he was waiting for her to stop.

But he never pushed her about it.

Never cornered her.

Never brought it up.

Which honestly only made her feel worse.

By Saturday night, Bailee felt like she was losing her mind a little.

The hockey stadium was packed by the time she and Hannah found their seats near the glass, Briar students packed shoulder-to-shoulder in jerseys and hoodies while music blasted through the speakers overhead. The ice was bright beneath the arena lights as players skated warmups below, the sound of blades cutting across the rink echoing through the noise.

Bailee tugged her sleeves over her hands as she sat down beside Hannah with a relieved sigh.

"Thank you so much for coming with me," she said honestly.

Hannah looked over while balancing two sodas in her hands. "Please. I wasn't missing the opportunity to aggressively judge hockey players in person."

Down on the ice, Logan slammed into Tucker hard enough during drills that Tucker nearly lost balance.

Garrett immediately skated over laughing.

Typical.

Bailee smiled.

Then her eyes caught on Dean.

Instantly.

Like they always did now.

He was circling center ice with easy confidence, blonde curls damp beneath his helmet as he listened to something Logan was yelling beside him. Even from this far away, Bailee could recognize the lazy way he moved, like he never fully rushed anything. He tapped his stick against the ice once before glancing up toward the stands.

Toward her section.

Her stomach flipped so suddenly she looked away immediately.

Too late.

Beside her, Hannah went completely still.

Then slowly—

Very slowly—

She turned her head.

"...Okay," Hannah said carefully. "Please update me on that."

Bailee's face heated instantly. "There's nothing to update."

"Bailee."

Hannah leaned closer immediately, eyes wide with interest. "You texted Dean while we were out, disappeared for like half an hour, and then spent the rest of the week acting weird. So either you secretly joined the mafia or something happened."

Bailee stared down into her beer.

Hannah gasped.

"Oh my God.”

"Keep your voice down."

"You hooked up with him."

Bailee groaned quietly, already feeling her face burning.

"Oh my God," Hannah repeated, this time sounding delighted. "You actually hooked up with Dean Di Laurentis."

"It's not—"

"It absolutely is."

Bailee dropped her head back against her seat dramatically. "I hate you."

"No you don't." Hannah grinned. "Start talking."

For a second Bailee hesitated.

Mostly because now that she actually had to say it all out loud, the entire thing sounded insane.

Then again...

Hannah had been the one to convince her to text Dean in the first place.

So technically this was partially her fault.

Quietly, while the teams finished warmups below them, Bailee told her everything.

The texting.

Dean showing up at the bar.

The bathroom.

Hannah nearly inhaled her drink at that part.

"Oh my God," she whisper-shrieked. "In public?!"

"It wasn't public!"

"It was a bar bathroom!"

Bailee covered her face with one hand. "Please lower your voice before I pass away."

Hannah was fully clutching her arm now. "Continue immediately."

So she did.

The sneaking around afterward.

Dean ending up in her room almost every night afterward somehow.

The constant almost-getting-caught.

The party.

Garrett barging into her room.

Dean escaping through her bathroom like an actual fugitive.

By the end of it Hannah looked genuinely unwell from excitement.

"This," she whispered dramatically, "is the best thing that has ever happened to you."

Bailee let out a disbelieving laugh. "It's horrible."

"No, it's hot."

"Hannah."

"I'm serious. You and Dean sneaking around behind Garrett's back? That's straight out of a book."

Bailee's smile faded slightly at that.

Because underneath all the adrenaline and tension and excitement, there was still that awful twisting feeling sitting in her chest.

"I feel bad," she admitted quietly.

Hannah's expression softened a little.

"About Garrett?"

Bailee nodded.

"He trusts me." Her fingers tightened around the soda cup. "And every time I lie to him I feel sick."

For the first time since the conversation started, Hannah stopped teasing.

"That makes sense," she admitted softly.

Bailee stared down toward the ice again.

Dean was leaning against the boards now beside Garrett while Coach talked to them before puck drop. Garrett said something that made Dean laugh, shoving his shoulder lightly.

The sight made guilt press even harder against her ribs.

"He's gonna freak out if he finds out," she murmured.

"Oh, absolutely."

Bailee huffed out a laugh despite herself.

"But," Hannah added carefully, "you're also allowed to... do things that Garrett won't like."

Bailee glanced over.

Hannah shrugged. "You're his sister. Not his property."

The words settled strangely in her chest.

Before she could answer, the arena lights suddenly dimmed.

The crowd erupted instantly.

Music thundered through the speakers as the starting lineup was announced one by one, students screaming loud enough to shake the stands.

Logan flew onto the ice first to deafening cheers.

Then Tucker.

Then Garrett.

And finally—

"NUMBER SIXTY SIX—DEAN DI LAURENTIS!"

The arena absolutely lost it.

Dean skated out beneath flashing lights and roaring students with that same easy confidence he carried everywhere, tapping gloves with his teammates before circling the ice.

Then, just for a second—

His head tilted upward.

Toward the stands.

Toward her.

Bailee's breath caught embarrassingly fast before she looked away first.

Beside her, Hannah watched the entire thing happen.

"...Yeah," Hannah said quietly. "You're screwed."

Bailee laughed softly under her breath, trying to focus on literally anything else as the teams lined up for puck drop.

"No I'm not."

"Bailee."

"What?"

Hannah kept staring at the ice for another second before slowly turning toward her again, brows pulling together slightly.

"Wait."

Bailee immediately got nervous at her tone. "What?"

"Why does he look sad?"

Her stomach dropped a little.

"What?"

Hannah motioned subtly toward the ice. "When he looked at you just now." She frowned slightly. "I don't know, I expected more like... cocky hookup energy."

Bailee nearly snorted.

"But that wasn't what that was," Hannah continued. "He looked—" She paused. "Annoyed? Or sad maybe?"

Heat crept into Bailee's cheeks instantly because unfortunately—

Hannah wasn't wrong.

She looked down at the lid of her soda quietly. "I've kinda been avoiding him."

Hannah blinked. "What?"

Bailee groaned softly. "Not intentionally at first."

"Bailee.”

"I just feel guilty all the time now."

The words came out smaller than she meant them to.

Below them, the boys skated into position while the crowd screamed around the arena, but Bailee barely noticed any of it anymore.

"After Garrett almost caught us," she admitted quietly, "I started freaking out a little."

Hannah's expression softened.

"I feel like I'm lying to him constantly now." Bailee rubbed at the sleeve covering her hand. "And every time Garrett talks to me normally I feel like a terrible person."

"So you started avoiding Dean?"

Bailee nodded once.

"Which is hard," she muttered. "Because he's literally everywhere."

That made Hannah laugh quietly.

But Bailee's chest still felt tight.

"I think he noticed," she admitted after a second.

"Oh, he definitely noticed."

Bailee sighed.

The thing was... Dean really hadn't done anything wrong.

If anything, he'd made it easier.

He hadn't cornered her about acting weird. Hadn't teased her about disappearing every time they were alone. Hadn't made some cocky comment in front of the others just to get a reaction out of her.

He'd just...

Watched her.

With that same calm expression every time she slipped away from him.

And somehow that made her feel worse than if he'd just called her out on it.

Hannah glanced back toward the ice again. "Yeah, no, he definitely looks like a kicked puppy."

Bailee let out a startled laugh. "Dean does not look like a kicked puppy."

"He kinda does."

"He looks six foot two and emotionally unavailable."

"Still sad-looking."

Bailee shook her head, but her smile tugged at the corner of her mouth anyway.

"I think we should stop."

Hannah's head turned immediately. "What?"

Bailee stared down at her hands. "This."

"The sneaking around?"

"All of it."

Hannah's expression softened instantly.

"Bailee..."

"I'm serious." Her voice came out quieter this time. "I feel disgusting."

"Hey." Hannah frowned immediately. "Don't say that."

"But I do." Bailee let out a weak laugh without humor. "Every time Garrett talks to me I feel like I'm gonna throw up."

Down on the ice, the whistle blew and the crowd erupted as the puck dropped, but the noise around them suddenly felt far away.

Bailee barely noticed the game starting.

"He trusts me," she admitted softly. "And Dean's his best friend."

Hannah stayed quiet.

"And we're sneaking around behind his back in the same house he lives in. The house that he opened up for me when I didn't have anywhere to go." Bailee rubbed anxiously at the sleeve covering her hand. "I don't know, Hannah. It's just wrong."

The second she said it out loud, guilt twisted even harder in her chest.

Because logically, she knew she wasn't doing anything horrible.

She wasn't cheating on anyone.

Dean wasn't cheating on anyone.

Garrett didn't own her.

But emotionally?

None of that seemed to matter.

"I hate lying to him," she whispered.

Hannah watched her carefully for a second before speaking.

"I think that's the actual problem."

Bailee frowned slightly.

"You don't seem guilty about Dean," Hannah said gently. "You seem guilty about hiding it from Garrett."

Bailee looked back toward the ice automatically.

Dean caught a pass near center, turning sharply before sending the puck across the rink toward Logan. Even in the middle of a game, even surrounded by thousands of screaming people, there was still something unfairly distracting about him.

Like her body recognized him before her brain could catch up.

Bailee sighed softly. "I just... I need genuine advice."

Hannah nodded immediately, all teasing gone now.

"Okay."

"Do I stop this before Garrett finds out?" Bailee asked quietly. "Because if I keep doing this, I'm being a terrible sister."

Hannah was quiet for a few seconds, watching the game while she thought about it. Finally she looked back over.

"I honestly don't think you're a terrible sister. I think you need to either talk to Garrett, or talk to Dean."

—

The arena hallways were packed afterward, students crowding toward exits while music still echoed faintly through the building.

Hannah got picked up by an Uber near the front entrance after making Bailee promise to text her later.

Which left Bailee alone.

A mistake, honestly.

Because now she had too much space to think.

She shoved her hands deeper into the sleeves of her hoodie as she walked slowly toward the player parking lot where Garrett said he'd meet her after postgame interviews.

The cold air bit at her cheeks.

Her brain wouldn't shut up.

We should stop.

The words had been sitting in her chest ever since she said them to Hannah. And the more she thought about it, the more confused she got. Because every logical reason told her ending this with Dean was the right thing to do.

But every emotional part of her wanted the opposite so badly it physically hurt.

"Bails."

Her entire body tensed.

Dean.

She stopped walking but didn't turn around immediately.

Footsteps crunched softly against the pavement behind her before stopping close.

Too close.

"You've been avoiding me all week."

His voice was calm.

Not angry.

Which somehow made this harder.

Bailee closed her eyes briefly before finally turning around.

Dean stood there in his jersey from the game, hair still damp from sweat and melted ice. One hand rested in his pocket while the other held his hockey bag over his shoulder.

His expression was unreadable.

"What's going on?" he asked quietly.

The concern in his voice almost made her cave instantly. Instead she wrapped her arms tighter around herself. "Nothing."

"Bullshit."

Normally the bluntness would've made her laugh. Tonight it just made her chest ache. Dean stepped a little closer. "Did I do something?"

"No."

"Then why are you acting like this?"

Bailee looked away. The parking lot lights blurred slightly. "I think we should stop."

Silence.

Dean stared at her for a second like he genuinely thought he heard her wrong.

"...Stop what?"

She swallowed hard. "This."

His brows pulled together slowly.

"Bails," he said carefully, almost confused now. "What is 'this'? We literally haven't even had sex."

Heat rushed into her face instantly. "That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

She laughed once weakly, rubbing her freezing hands against her sleeves. "I feel guilty literally all the time."

Dean stayed quiet.

"Garrett trusts us," she admitted softly. "And every time I lie to him I feel like a horrible person."

Something in Dean's face shifted then.

Softened.

He stepped closer again.

Close enough now that she could smell his cologne beneath the cold air.

"Bailee."

She hated when he said her full name like that.

Quiet.

Careful.

"I'm serious," she whispered. "I can't keep sneaking around feeling sick every time Garrett talks to me."

Dean watched her for a long moment. Then his hockey bag dropped softly onto the pavement beside him. Her heartbeat sped up instantly.

"We can stop," he said finally.

Bailee's chest tightened painfully. And that should've made her relieved. Instead it just hurt. Dean took one more step forward until there was barely any space left between them.

"But," he said quietly, eyes locked on hers now, "I don't think that's actually what you want."

Her breath caught.

Because it wasn't.

And he knew it.

Dean's gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before lifting again.

"Tell me what you really want."

The words barely sounded above a whisper, his lips inches from her own. Bailee's brain stopped functioning correctly the second his hand slid gently around the back of her neck.

Warm.

Steady.

Not pushing.

Just there.

"You wanna stop?" he asked softly.

His face was so close now.

One inch closer and—

"Yes," she said automatically.

Dean's mouth twitched slightly.

"Liar."

Her stomach flipped violently.

"Dean—"

"You've spent an entire week avoiding me," he murmured. "But you still look at me every five seconds like you're scared not to."

Heat flooded straight through her chest. He leaned in just enough that his nose brushed lightly against hers. "If you really wanted me to leave you alone," he said quietly, "I would. Just say the word."

The gentleness in his voice completely destroyed her.

Because he meant it.

He actually meant it.

And suddenly the thought of him backing away from her for real felt unbearable.

Bailee's fingers curled into the front of his jersey before she could stop herself.

Dean's eyes dropped to the movement instantly. "See?" he whispered.

That was it.

That was the exact moment she folded.

Bailee kissed him hard enough to cut off anything else he was about to say.

Dean made this low sound against her mouth like relief and frustration all tangled together before kissing her back immediately, one hand sliding firmly to her waist while the other stayed at the back of her neck.

And God.

There it was again.

That horrible, perfect feeling of everything in her finally going quiet the second he touched her.

#off campus #off campus fic #off campus smut #dean di laurentis #dean di laurentis fanfic #dean di laurentis smut #dean di laurentis off campus

Falling into You • Dean Di Laurentis

Series Masterlist

Chapter Eleven

Warm air hits them immediately as they step inside the hockey house. The silence feels different now that they're actually here.

Heavy.

Aware.

Bailee closes the door behind her slowly while Dean tosses his keys onto the kitchen counter. Then both of them just kind of...

Pause.

Like suddenly there's no distraction anymore.

No party downstairs.

No people nearby.

No chance of someone walking into the hallway.

Just them.

Alone.

Dean looks at her from across the kitchen island and the shift in his expression is immediate. Less teasing now. Something lower. More focused. Bailee's pulse jumps hard.

Neither of them speaks for a second.

Then Dean walks toward her slowly.

The movement alone makes warmth coil low in her stomach all over again. "Still think this was a bad idea?" he asks quietly.

Bailee opens her mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Dean's mouth twitches slightly at that. "Yeah, thought so," he murmurs.

Then he reaches for her.

One hand settles at her waist, pulling her closer gently this time instead of urgently like at the party. The softness of it catches her off guard for half a second before he kisses her slowly.

Completely differently than before.

Not rushed.

Not desperate.

Like now that they finally have time, he wants to actually take it.

The thought sends a dangerous little ache through her chest.

Bailee kisses him back immediately, hands sliding up into the front of his jacket before pushing it back and off his shoulders. Dean backs her lightly against the counter behind her.

His lips are warm from the heat inside now instead of cold from outside air. One hand spreads against the small of her back while the other brushes softly along her jaw.

Everything feels slower suddenly.

More intimate.

Dean pulls back just enough to look at her.

Her lipstick is slightly smudged now. Hair messy from the wind outside. Eyes wide in a way that makes something shift in his expression again.

"Hi," he says quietly.

Bailee lets out a startled laugh. "Hi?"

"You're staring at me."

"That's because you're staring at me."

His thumb brushes once across her cheekbone absently and the tenderness of it nearly ruins her on the spot.

This is supposed to be casual. Casual hookups are not supposed to feel like this. Which is exactly why her heartbeat speeds up when Dean leans down and kisses her again anyway.

Bailee can feel the exact moment the restraint starts slipping again. The hand at her waist tightens slightly. His mouth gets rougher against hers. The slower, softer energy starts dissolving into something heated and familiar.

Her fingers curl into the front of his shirt when Dean presses closer, pinning her harder into the counter.

"Dean," she breathes against his mouth.

The sound of his name clearly does something to him because his eyes close briefly for half a second before he kisses her again harder.

Okay.

So much for calm.

Bailee laughs softly into the kiss when he nearly trips over his own shoe and bumps them into the fridge. "Smooth."

Dean huffs out a laugh against her lips. "You're distracting."

Then his hands slide under the backs of her thighs suddenly and he lifts her onto the counter in one easy movement. Bailee lets out a startled noise, instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist as Dean steps between them immediately.

The position pulls them flush together. Her brain short-circuits a little.

"Jesus," she whispers.

Dean's mouth brushes hers once, teasing now. "What?"

He kisses her again before she finishes the sentence. Completely unfair tactic. Bailee's hands slide into his hair automatically as Dean crowds impossibly closer between her knees, warm and solid and very clearly losing patience again.

Which honestly mirrors her own situation at this point.

Because five days of this has apparently destroyed both of their ability to act normal around each other.

Dean pulls back just enough to murmur against her mouth, "Upstairs."

Her stomach flips hard at the tone alone.

A grin tugs briefly at his mouth before he steals one more kiss and steps back just enough to help her down from the counter.

The second her feet hit the floor, Dean's hand finds hers automatically again.

That tiny unconscious gesture hits her harder than it should.

She ignores it.

Immediately.

Very intentionally.

Upstairs is darker and quieter than usual, the whole house still empty except for them. Their footsteps are muffled against the carpet as Dean follows her down the hallway toward her room.

The tension builds with every step.

By the time she reaches her door, her pulse is already climbing again.

Bailee barely gets it open before Dean's hand catches her waist from behind, pulling her backward lightly into his chest.

Her breath catches instantly.

"You move too slow," he murmurs near her ear, moving her hair to the side and kissing along her neck. She throws her head backward onto his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

The moment only lasts for a few seconds before he turns her around and kisses. The bedroom door shuts behind them with a soft click.

Dean backs her toward the bed slowly this time, eyes fixed on her like he's trying to take in every reaction she gives him. The intensity of it sends heat flooding straight through her.

Bailee's knees hit the edge of the mattress first.

Dean's hands slide along her waist beneath her shirt while his mouth moves against hers deeper now, rougher again in a way that makes her stomach tighten hard.

Bailee pushes Dean onto his back and moves to straddle his lap. Immediately, she felt his hardened dick press into her core. If her eyes weren't closed she swore they would've rolled to the back of her head.

Both of his hands moved to her ass, one of hers slipping into his messy blonde hair as she rolled her hips deliciously into his. They both moaned into each other's mouths at the same time, Bailee's grasp on his hair turning aggressive as he gripped her ass harder.

"Baby, fuck."

Dean broke the kiss to moan out, and Bailee could've sworn she almost came just at the nickname itself. Hearing it come out of his mouth, like this, it was perfect. She began rolling her hips faster. "Shit, you're gonna make me cum in my pants again."

The pair of them began breathing into each other's mouths, as he grabbed her hips and began rutting up into her. Bailee's hand flew to the headboard above his head, eyes rolling back and the first true moan slipping out of her mouth. It felt so good.

Deciding he couldn't do this anymore, Dean flipped the pair of them over, kissing her hard. She wrapped her legs around his waist immediately, eagerly pulling him back down to her core. "Please, Dean"

She hardly mustered it out, and he paused to look at her. Bailee could see it on his face, how proud he was of his girl for using her words. "Please what? Say it. What do you need?" He whispered into her open mouth, hips still grinding down into hers. Everything felt so fuzzy, felt so good. Her nails began clawing at his back, pulling his shirt upward and trying to figure out what she even wanted. Bailee didn't even know anymore. "Talk to me love, use your words."

God he was good at talking.

"Need you."

Dean was fighting an internal battle, of whether to be nice and not make her say in detail exactly what she wanted him to do to her, or to be himself and force the words out of his shy girl before he would touch her.

Deciding he was a nice guy, Dean kept his eyes locked on hers as he slowly let one hand slide downward. Bailee's breathing quickens as he moved his hand under her skirt.

"Is this what you need, bails?" He whispered. She nodded her head rapidly, waiting patiently as he traced the inner part of her thigh.

"Words."

Bailee moaned softly, her voice delicate as she mustered up a small 'yes, Dean."

He smiled softly.

"Good fucking girl."

His head dipped down and began biting at her neck as his fingers moved to her clit. He rubbed slow circles along it, gawking at how drenched she was. He swore he'd never felt a pussy so wet in his entire life, it was dripping down his fingers as they played with her. Bailee gripped the back of his hair tightly, letting out soft moans as he continued his teethy assault on her neck.

"Feels so good." She gasped out, feeling his fingers begin to rub harder and quicker on her clit.

"Yeah? That feel good?" Dean removed his lips from her neck, grabbing her chin with his free hand and forcing her to look at him as he touched her. "You want me to eat you out?"

Bailee's mouth dropped at his words, another loud moan escaping. Dean took this opportunity to move his free hand from her chin and place his middle and index fingers into her open mouth. He almost came at the dirty smile that took over Bailee's face, before wrapping her lip around his fingers and holding eye contact through her lashes as she sucked on them.

"Fuck me, you love this." He said, moving his hand from her clit down to her entrance, immediately pushing two fingers into her. Bailee moaned around his fingers, as he slammed in and out of her at a quick pace.

He watched her eyes roll to the back of your head as she sucked on his fingers. "You love having somethin' in your mouth don't you?"

His fingers began pumping in and out of her at a relentless pace and she gripped at his biceps as hard as she could. "Don't you?"

She released his fingers from your mouth, screaming out. "Yes, yes."

She didn't even know what she was saying anymore, but Dean did. Something switched in him in that moment. He wanted to ruin her, but gently take care of her all at the same time. Dean removed his fingers from inside her and ripped her skirt and panties down her legs all at once.

He didn't say anything, quickly tossing both of her legs over his shoulders and yanking her down towards him.

Dean didn't waste even a second, licking a long stripe from her entrance up to her clit, before taking it into his mouth and sucking harshly. Bailee moaned out so loud that her hand flew over her mouth, but Dean didn't like that. He softly bit at her clit, reaching up and smacking her hand away from her mouth.

Both of her hands flew down to his hair as he continued flicking her clit on his tongue, before sucking it back into his mouth. Bailee pulled him up by his hair, back to eye level. His lips were red and swollen, and he was about to ask why she didn't let him make her cum, but she pushed him by his shoulders onto his back. Getting onto his lap again, she made sure he was watching as she lifted her top over her head, tits bouncing out.

Dean swore he almost came right then and there.

"Holy fucking fuck."

Bailee gripped his shirt, pulling him upward to kiss her. It only took about two seconds before he was ripping his own shirt off. Bailee had seen Dean shirtless more than once while he worked out in the backyard with the boys, but this was different. She wanted to get on her knees and lick up his abs for hours, he was so fucking perfect.

Her gawking was cut short, as Dean wrapped his mouth around her right nipple, sucking on it harshly. Bailee threw her head back, gripping his hair and moaning loudly. "Dean, fuck..yes."

He flicked her nipple back and forth with his tongue, and it shocked her how amazing it felt. "Holy fuck." She gasped out, gripping his hair tighter as she looked down at him. His pretty blue eyes were staring right back up at her, loving every moment of this. It didn't take long before he grabbed the back of Bailee's thighs and flipped her back onto her back. He softly bit her nipple, before once again throwing her legs over his shoulders and continuing his assault on her core.

Bailee let out a deep sigh as she ran her fingers through his hair. He slowly slid two fingers back inside of her, sucking harshly on her clit as he slammed his fingers in and out of her at a relentless pace.

It only took about 2 minutes before she was cumming on his tongue. As Dean crawled back up to meet her lips, she began to claw at his pants."I wanna touch you."

Much to her surprise, Dean stopped her. "No."

Bailee's heart dropped.

He seemed to notice her sudden discomfort, because he let out a soft laugh. "Not like that. Just been waiting to fuck you all week. Please let me."

Bailee stopped breathing for a moment, and before her brain could even catch up with her body she was nodding. Dean's mouth was still curved against hers when the sound hit downstairs.

The front door slamming open.

Loud voices.

A burst of laughter echoing through the house.

Bailee jerked back instantly, her entire body locking up as chaos spilled through the downstairs hallway.

"—I'm telling you she was into me—"

"That girl literally called you 'buddy,' man."

"Shut the fuck up, Logan."

More laughter.

The boys.

Back way earlier than expected.

All probably drunk.

Dean exhaled through his nose, forehead dropping briefly against hers like he was physically pained. "Jesus Christ."

Bailee scrambled upright so fast she nearly knocked her knee into her nightstand. "They're home."

"No shit."

Her eyes widened at the complete lack of panic in his voice. Downstairs, the kitchen cabinets started slamming.

Someone yelled about pizza.

Tucker was arguing with Garrett about drunk-ordering wings again.

Bailee stared at Dean in horror. "Dean."

He just looked annoyingly calm, one hand still resting on her thigh like none of this was happening. "Bails."

"They're downstairs."

"I heard them."

She shoved at his chest weakly. "We cannot do this with them here."

Dean caught her wrist easily, tugging her back toward him before she could fully climb off her bed. "Why not?"

"Because your friends and my brother are twenty feet away?"

"Our friends," he corrected.

Her face went scarlet.

Dean grinned a little at that before leaning closer, voice dropping low. "We just have to be quiet."

Her stomach flipped violently. Especially because he sounded serious. Like he fully intended to continue exactly where they left off. Downstairs came another loud crash followed by Garrett yelling, "WHO THE HELL BROKE MY COFFEE TABLE?"

Dean sighed.

"It was already broken!" Logan shouted back.

Bailee was biting back nervous laughter now, heart pounding so hard she could barely think straight. Dean brushed his nose against hers again. "See? They're occupied."

"Dean—"

"I've waited an entire week." His voice softened slightly, less teasing now. "I'm not stopping because Garrett's drunk and dramatic."

Heat rushed through her so fast it almost hurt.

Then—

Heavy footsteps hit the stairs.

Both of them froze.

Bailee's eyes went huge.

Dean went completely still above her.

"BAILEEEE?" Garrett's voice echoed up the staircase, loud and careless and way too close. "ARE YOU HOME?"

Bailee slapped both hands over her mouth to stop herself from making a sound.

Dean looked seconds away from committing homicide.

The footsteps got closer fast, Garrett practically sprinting up the stairs while laughing at something someone downstairs yelled.

"Beeeeeeeee," he dragged out obnoxiously. "Guess who almost got arrested tonight?"

"Oh my God," Bailee whisper-panicked.

Dean moved instantly.

One second he was above her, the next he was yanking his shirt off her floor while Bailee scrambled for her skirt with shaking hands. Everything felt messy and tangled and way too loud suddenly—her heartbeat, Garrett stomping closer, Dean muttering curses under his breath as he searched for one of his shoes.

"Where the fuck is—"

Bailee spotted it beside her bed and launched it at him.

Dean caught it one-handed.

He moved fast, finally losing all of that calm attitude he'd been pretending to have thirty seconds ago. He reached for his jeans off the floor while Bailee practically dove for her shirt.

The house downstairs was still chaos—Logan yelling, Tucker laughing, cabinets slamming—but Garrett's footsteps were getting closer by the second.

"Baileeee?" he called again, right outside her door now. "You alive?"

Dean looked around frantically. "Bathroom."

Bailee nodded immediately.

He had one shoe on and one still in his hand when he disappeared into her bathroom just as Garrett shoved her bedroom door open without knocking.

Bailee barely had enough time to yank her blanket over her lap before her brother stumbled into the room grinning like an idiot.

Then he stopped. His eyes narrowed instantly. "...Why are you breathing like that?"

Bailee nearly choked.

"You scared me." she shot back.

Garrett ignored that completely, still staring at her suspiciously. "Why are your cheeks all red?"

"It's hot in here."

"It is absolutely not hot in here."

From inside the bathroom came the faint sound of movement.

Bailee's heart stopped.

Garrett turned his head slightly. "What was that?"

"My shower," she lied immediately.

"You're showering?"

"No— like—the pipes.”

Garrett blinked slowly. "The pipes."

"They've been doing that, I was gonna ask logan if he could look at it."

He stared at her another second before shrugging it off, clearly too drunk to care that much. Instead he wandered farther into her room and threw himself onto the end of her bed dramatically.

"You left the party early," he accused. "Without saying bye to anybody."

Bailee tried to act normal while internally spiraling. "I didn't feel good."

Garrett pushed himself up immediately. "What?"

"I think I ate something weird."

"You okay?"

"Yeah." She nodded quickly. "I threw up, so Dean brought me home."

The second his name left her mouth, Garrett looked around again.

"Where is he?" Garrett asked. "I haven't seen him since you disappeared."

Bailee forced herself not to glance toward the bathroom. "Probably his room."

As if on cue, the soft click of the bathroom's hallway door opening sounded behind Garrett.

So quiet Bailee almost missed it herself.

Dean.

Sneaking out through the second door.

Garrett thankfully kept talking.

"I knew he vanished for a reason," he muttered.

Heat rushed into Bailee's face all over again.

Garrett squinted at her immediately. "Why are you blushing?"

"I'm not."

"You literally are."

"I just threw up tonight, Garrett. I'm fragile."

That made him snort. Down the hall, a bedroom door opened and shut. Dean's room. Perfect timing. Garrett didn't even notice.

Instead he collapsed backward across her bed again with a groan. "Tucker almost got us thrown out because he kept trying to dance on the dinning room table"

Bailee laughed quietly, adrenaline finally starting to leave her body. Garrett smiled lazily at the sound before looking back over at her.

"Seriously though," he said softer now. "You okay?"

And suddenly she felt an insane rush of guilt for lying to him, while Dean was probably ten feet away trying to recover from nearly being caught half-naked in her bathroom.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "I'm okay."

#off campus #off campus fic #off campus smut #dean di laurentis #dean di laurentis fanfic #dean di laurentis smut #dean di laurentis off campus

Falling into You • Dean Di Laurentis

Series Masterlist

Chapter Ten

Three days into whatever this thing is with Dean, Bailee realizes two things. One, sneaking around is significantly harder than movies make it look. And two, Dean is enjoying this way too much.

Not the hooking up part.

Okay, definitely the hooking up part too.

But mostly? The sneaking around. The secret glances. The near misses. The way she'll walk into a room and catch him already looking at her like he was waiting for her to appear.

It's becoming a problem. A very attractive, tall, blonde, emotionally unavailable problem with massive biceps.

Bailee is halfway through making coffee one morning when Dean walks into the kitchen fresh from practice. Cold air follows him inside along with Logan and Tucker, all three of them loud and arguing about something hockey-related.

Garrett's upstairs showering.

Which means Bailee immediately becomes hyperaware of everything. Dean barely glances at her at first while grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

Normal.

Casual.

Completely harmless.

Then Logan starts telling some story about a girl at a party last weekend, Tucker starts yelling about protein intake, and suddenly Dean's hand brushes lightly against the small of Bailee's back while passing behind her.

Quick.

Tiny.

Barely there.

But it burns straight through her anyway. Bailee nearly pours coffee directly onto the counter. Dean keeps walking like nothing happened.

Asshole.

"You good?" Tucker asks from across the kitchen.

Bailee looks down. Coffee is actively spilling over the side of her mug.

"Shit. Yeah, sorry."

Logan snorts. "You sure?"

Dean coughs suddenly into his water bottle. Bailee shoots him a murderous look while Logan and Tucker remain thankfully oblivious. This is what her life is now apparently. Trying not to visibly react every time Dean Di Laurentis touches her for half a second.

Which would honestly be easier if he wasn't doing it on purpose.

It gets worse at night. Because nighttime in the hockey house feels different now. Charged.

Like both of them are constantly aware of where the other one is. Bailee will be curled on the couch watching a movie with everyone and feel Dean's eyes on her from across the room. Then later that night, a text.

Dean:

u awake?

And suddenly she's sneaking downstairs at 1:14 in the morning trying not to get caught by anyone, especially Garrett. Again.

It's ridiculous.

Last night Dean pulled her into the laundry room because Garrett was still awake in the kitchen.

The laundry room.

"You're insane," she whispered while laughing quietly.

Dean kissed the corner of her mouth once. "Haven't seen you today."

The worst part is how normal they're starting to feel around each other. Yesterday Dean walked into the kitchen, saw her making ramen, and automatically grabbed a second bowl from the cabinet without asking.

Like he just assumed she'd make enough for him too.

And she had.

Which felt weirdly domestic for two people supposedly having casual fun. Then later that night she'd stolen his hoodie off the couch without thinking about it.

Dean noticed immediately. Didn't even look away from his phone when he said, "You keeping that?"

Bailee tugged the sleeves over her hands innocently. "Probably."

Dean finally glanced up then. The look on his face made her stomach flip hard enough to annoy her. "Cute," he said quietly.

And for some reason that affected her more than him with his hand up her shirt two hours later.

Which feels concerning.

Friday night, the whole house ends up at a crowded party near campus. Music shakes the floors hard enough to vibrate through her chest while people pack shoulder-to-shoulder in every room.

Garrett disappears almost immediately to talk to teammates. Tucker finds the kitchen. Logan vanishes with some blonde girl wearing a Briar jersey.

And Bailee makes exactly one terrible decision, making eye contact with Dean across the living room. His gaze lands on her over the top of a red solo cup.

Stays there.

Then slowly flicks toward the hallway. Heat floods through her instantly. Absolutely not.

Her heart starts pounding anyway.

Dean raises one eyebrow slightly. Bailee hates herself a little for following him ten minutes later.

The upstairs hallway is quieter, dimly lit compared to the chaos downstairs. The second she rounds the corner, a hand catches her wrist gently and pulls her into the nearest empty bedroom.

The door clicks shut.

Dean immediately looks pleased with himself.

Before she can say anything, he kisses her. And somehow even after days of this, it still feels electric every single time. Like the ten minutes apart downstairs physically offended him somehow.

Bailee laughs softly against the kiss for half a second before he backs her against the wall and the laugh dissolves into a quiet inhale instead.

God.

This keeps happening.

Every single time.

It's only been a few days since the bathroom at the bar. A few days since she kissed him first and apparently detonated both of their self-control permanently.

And ever since then it's been—Hands. Mouths. Sneaking around. Late-night texts. Dean showing up in her room looking at her like he's starving. They've done almost everything at this point except actually have sex.

Not intentionally.

It just...keeps escalating before one of them gets interrupted.

Or Garrett almost catches them.

Dean kisses down her jaw slowly, one hand settling at her waist beneath the hem of her top. His fingers spread against bare skin there and warmth curls low in her stomach instantly.

"You disappeared fast," she murmurs, tilting her head back slightly against the wall.

Dean hums against her throat. "You noticed?"

"Hard not to."

That earns her a quiet laugh against her skin. The sound sends a stupid amount of heat through her. Everything with him feels amplified lately. Like once they crossed that line at the bar, her body stopped knowing how to react normally around him.

Dean pulls back just enough to look at her. The dim lighting from the hallway cuts shadows across his face, softening the sharpness of his features just enough to make him unfairly attractive.

Not that she needed help finding him attractive.

Obviously.

His thumb brushes once against her waist beneath the hem of her top. "You've been staring at me all night."

Bailee narrows her eyes immediately. "You're delusional."

Dean's mouth twitches slightly. "Bails.”

"I was not staring at you."

Dean grins fully now, clearly enjoying himself. "Mhmm."

She hates how much she likes him like this.

Relaxed.

Teasing.

Looking at her like there's nowhere else he'd rather be at this party.

No one else he'd rather be with.

That last thought makes something uncomfortable twist in her chest, so she immediately kisses him again before her brain can linger there too long. Dean makes a low sound against her mouth and pulls her closer instantly.

His hands slide lower along her hips, fingers pressing into the soft fabric of her skirt while her arms loop around his neck automatically.

The music downstairs pulses faintly through the floorboards beneath them. People laugh somewhere down the hall. The entire house is full. And somehow that only makes this feel hotter.

Dean's forehead rests briefly against hers when they pull apart for air again. Both of them breathing slightly harder now.

"This is a terrible party," he mutters.

Bailee laughs softly. "You've been here for like twenty minutes."

"Yeah, well." His eyes flick down to her mouth again. "I got distracted. Let's leave."

Heat climbs immediately into her face immediately at the idea.

Dean notices.

Shocker.

"You blush so easily," he says quietly, almost sounding fascinated by it now.

"No I don't."

"Yes, you do."

Bailee opens her mouth to argue, but Dean's hand slides under the back of her thigh suddenly, lifting it lightly against his hip the same way he had in her bedroom earlier that week.

Her breath catches automatically. Dean's eyes darken immediately at the reaction. "See?" he murmurs. "That."

Bailee grips the front of his shirt tighter. "You're smug."

"You like smug."

Dean kisses her again slower this time, his body pressing closer until she can feel how hard he was through both layers of clothing. The familiar tension coils low in her stomach instantly.

A few days ago she was trying not to think about him too hard.

Now she's sneaking upstairs at parties so he can kiss her breathless against random bedroom walls.

Which feels slightly insane.

Dean's mouth drifts along her jaw again, slower now, and she exhales softly when his hand tightens against her thigh. "Let's leave," he repeats quietly against her skin.

Bailee sighs. "Bad idea"

His mouth brushes the sensitive spot below her ear. "Great idea."

Her stomach flips violently.

"Dean."

His quiet laugh brushes warm against her skin again. "You keep saying my name like that like it's supposed to stop me."

"It is supposed to stop you."

"It's not working."

Bailee's fingers tighten slightly in the front of his shirt as Dean kisses just below her ear again, slower this time, like he already knows exactly what that does to her now.

Which is annoying considering it's been less than a week since they even kissed for the first time. A week. That's all this has been.

Five days since the bathroom at the bar and suddenly her entire life revolves around trying not to kiss her brother's best friend in public. Dean pulls back just enough to look at her again, one hand still firm beneath her thigh.

"C'mon," he says quietly. "The house'll be empty for hours."

Heat rushes immediately into her face. "You cannot say things like that so casually."

Dean's eyebrows lift slightly. "Why?"

"Because—" Bailee gestures vaguely between them. "This."

His mouth twitches. "Very convincing argument."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

The way he says it sends another uncomfortable little twist through her chest. Not because of the words. Because of the look on his face when he says them. Focused completely on her. Like leaving this party together is the most obvious thing in the world.

Bailee exhales slowly, trying very hard to remember she's supposed to be the responsible one here. "This is exactly how people get caught," she whispers.

Dean shrugs lazily. "Then we won't get caught."

"That's not a real plan."

"It's worked so far."

Bailee narrows her eyes. "You're way too relaxed about this."

Dean grins slightly. "You're cute when you panic."

"I'm not panicking."

"Bails, you looked over your shoulder three times walking up the stairs."

Dean's thumb brushes absentmindedly against the inside of her thigh. The tip of his finger runs slowly against the hem of her panties, and her train of thought completely derails for half a second.

"There she is," he murmurs softly.

Bailee hates how easily he affects her already.

She opens her mouth to argue again, but downstairs the music suddenly gets louder as someone starts yelling along to the chorus of whatever song is playing. The whole floor vibrates faintly beneath them.

Dean glances briefly toward the door. Then back at her. "Everyone's drunk," he says simply. "Nobody's paying attention."

"That feels optimistic."

Dean leans in slightly, mouth brushing hers once. "You wanna stay here instead?"

Her stomach flips immediately because—No.

Absolutely not.

She very much does not want to stay at this crowded party pretending she can focus on literally anything else now.

Dean sees the exact second she realizes that too.

A smug little smile appears instantly.

"Oh my God," Bailee mutters.

Dean laughs quietly, then kisses her once more—quick this time, teasing enough to make her want another immediately afterward. Which feels manipulative.

Probably because it is.

"C'mon," he says again, already reaching for her hand.

Bailee stares at it for half a second. This is such a bad idea. Going back to the empty hockey house alone with Dean after spending the last five days barely keeping their hands off each other already feels catastrophically stupid.

Especially because they still haven't fully crossed that line yet.

They keep almost getting there.

Then stopping.

Or interrupted.

Or distracted.

Which means all this tension has just been building nonstop with nowhere to go. Bailee worried that once they crossed that line, they wouldn't be able to stop doing this.

Or maybe, once they crossed that line he would be able to stop doing this, but she won't.

Dean lightly squeezes her hand once. "You thinking too hard again?"

"Yes."

"Stop that."

Bailee laughs softly.

Then finally—

against every intelligent thought in her brain—

she threads her fingers through his.

Dean's expression shifts instantly.

Subtle.

But there.

Something warmer sneaking briefly through the teasing.

"Okay," she whispers.

Dean's grin appears immediately. "Atta girl.”

Bailee rolls her eyes, but she's smiling now anyway as he pulls her toward the bedroom door. The hallway outside is still mostly empty when they slip out. Music and laughter echo up from downstairs while Dean keeps hold of her hand long enough to guide her down the back staircase instead of the crowded main one.

Sneaky.

Annoyingly competent at sneaking, actually.

Bailee whispers under her breath as they reach the mudroom near the back exit, "You've definitely done this before."

Dean opens the door quietly, cold night air rushing instantly inside. "You wound me."

"That's not a no."

He just smirks.

Of course he does.

A minute later they're outside in the freezing Boston air hurrying toward his car parked half a block down the street, trying not to laugh too loudly when Bailee nearly slips on icy pavement.

Dean catches her arm immediately.

"You good?”

"I hate winter," she mutters.

Dean's hand lingers at her waist for half a second longer than necessary before he opens the passenger door for her.

The look he gives her when she slides into the seat sends heat curling low in her stomach all over again.

Because suddenly this feels real now.

Not just stolen moments at parties.

Not quick kisses behind closed doors.

They're going home together.

Alone.

#off campus #off campus fic #off campus smut #dean di laurentis #dean di laurentis fanfic #dean di laurentis smut #dean di laurentis off campus

Soft Spoken • Beau Maxwell

Series Masterlist

Chapter Sixteen

Marley spends nearly forty minutes trying to convince herself that tonight is not a big deal.

It's just dinner.

Just Beau.

Except it isn't just Beau anymore, and that's the problem.

This is their first real date. Not a party with the hockey guys crowding around them. Not Beau showing up at the library to bother her while she studies. Not stolen moments in crowded rooms or late-night drives where neither of them says what they actually mean.

This is intentional.

Official.

And somehow that makes her more nervous than anything else has.

Her room looks like a disaster by the time she settles on a dress. Three different outfits are abandoned across her bed, and she's standing in front of the mirror in a white backless dress wondering if she should change again. The fabric fits softly against her body, feminine without being overdone, and she paired it with simple gold jewelry and loose waves that fall over her shoulders.

Still, she stares at herself too long.

Her phone lights up on the counter beside her.

Beau:

I'm outside :)

Her stomach flips so hard it's embarrassing.

Marley grabs her purse and heads downstairs before she can overthink herself into canceling entirely. The evening air is warm when she steps outside, the sky painted in soft streaks of pink and orange as the sun starts sinking behind the city buildings.

Beau's car is parked along the curb.

And Beau—

God.

He's standing beside it in dark jeans and a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, silver chain shining through the buttons he had left undone, and one hand shoved nervously into his pocket. He looks unfairly handsome in the soft sunset lighting, broad shoulders outlined in gold, hair slightly messy like he kept running his hands through it while waiting for her.

But that's not what makes her stop halfway down the stairs.

It's the flowers in his hand.

For a second she just stares at them.

They're beautiful. Soft white roses mixed with pale pink carnations and tiny sprigs of baby's breath, all wrapped carefully in brown paper instead of plastic. They don't look rushed or random.

Beau notices her staring and suddenly looks strangely uncertain of himself, which is almost shocking considering this is Beau Maxwell, the same guy who normally walks through life with effortless confidence.

"You brought me flowers?" she asks softly once she reaches him.

A faint flush creeps up the back of his neck. He rubs his hand against his jaw once before answering. "I know it's kinda cliché," he says. "But this is our first real date, and I wanted to do it right."

The words hit her straight in the chest.

Not because of the flowers themselves, although they're genuinely beautiful. It's the fact that he thought about it. The fact that Beau—the star quarterback who could one hundred percent have any girl he wanted—stood in a flower shop trying to pick something she would like.

Beau was the first guy to ever give her flowers. Marley feels her entire expression soften before she can stop it. "They're gorgeous," she says quietly.

His shoulders loosen immediately, relief flickering across his face.

"Yeah?"

"Yes." She smiles, looking down at them again. "I love them."

Something warm settles into Beau's expression then, something so openly fond it nearly makes her forget how to breathe for a second. "You look really pretty," he says.

Heat rushes into her cheeks as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you."

For a moment they just stand there smiling awkwardly at each other, both suddenly aware of how different this feels from before. There's a nervousness between them tonight that didn't exist when they were hiding behind flirting and sarcasm.

Because now they both know this means something.

Beau clears his throat lightly before stepping forward to open the passenger door for her. "Okay," he says with a small exhale. "Now I'm nervous."

Marley laughs softly as she climbs into the car, carefully setting the flowers in her lap. "Why are you nervous?"

He shuts the door, then leans down slightly through the open window, grinning. "Because I like you."

The words come out casually, almost absentmindedly, like he doesn't even realize he said them until afterward.

And then both of them freeze.

Beau's grin disappears immediately. "Wow," he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. "Cool. Awesome. Love that I just said that out loud."

Marley stares at him for half a second before she bursts into laughter. Real laughter. The kind that makes her shoulders shake. Beau starts laughing too, shaking his head at himself as he walks around to the driver's side.

But underneath the humor, her heart is beating painfully hard.

Because he said it so naturally.

Like it wasn't even a question anymore.

Like liking her is simply a fact to him now.

The sun is low enough to turn the whole city gold by the time they got to the restaurant. Not flashy-gold, soft. The kind that makes Boston look almost romantic instead of freezing and loud.

The restaurant sits along the water, strings of warm lights hanging overhead between trees and wooden beams. There are flower boxes everywhere and little candles flickering on tables while music hums quietly through hidden speakers.

It feels intimate without trying too hard. Beau picked it on purpose.

Marley notices that immediately. "You planned this," she says as the hostess leads them outside.

He looks offended. "I always plan."

"You absolutely do not."

Their table overlooks the harbor, sunset reflecting across the water in streaks of orange and pink. Beau pours her wine after the waitress leaves, and Marley watches his hands for a second longer than she means to.

He notices.

His mouth twitches. "You okay over there?"

"Fine," she says quickly, taking the glass from him.

"Liar."

God, he's easy tonight. Not football-Beau. Not the loud version everyone else gets. Just him.

For a while they talk about stupid things.

Dean almost setting the kitchen on fire trying to make mozzarella sticks at two in the morning. One of Beau's teammates getting caught sneaking a girl out of the athletic dorms through a window. The time Marley accidentally fell asleep in the neuroscience lab and woke up locked inside after midnight.

Beau laughs so hard at that he has to lean back in his chair.

"You called campus security?"

"I had to."

"You're such a nerd."

"Says the man who color-codes his planner."

His jaw drops. "Who told you that?"

"Garrett."

"Of course."

Marley grins into her wine glass. The conversation shifts slowly after that. Naturally. Like neither of them are trying to force it there.

The sky darkens deeper blue overhead by the time Beau asks quietly, "Do you miss home?"

And something about the way he says it makes her honest.

"Yeah," she says after a second. "Mostly my brother."

He leans back slightly, listening carefully.

"He's older than me. Kayden." Her face softens automatically when she says his name. "We've always kinda been close."

"How much older?"

"Four years."

"Protective?"

Marley snorts softly. "Violently."

Beau grins. "I like him already."

"He used to pick me up from school when things were bad at home."

Beau's expression changes immediately. Marley stares down at the stem of her wine glass, turning it slowly between her fingers.

"My mom is..." She exhales quietly. "She's bipolar. And sometimes she's amazing. Like genuinely my best friend. We'll stay up all night watching movies and talking and she tells me I'm her favorite person in the world."

She swallows.

"And then other days it's like she becomes somebody else."

Beau stays completely still.

"She gets angry really fast. Over nothing sometimes. And growing up I never knew which version of her I was gonna get when I walked into the house."

The words feel strange out loud. Not because she's never thought them before. Because she usually doesn't let people hold them.

"It could get really scary," she admits quietly.

Beau's eyes never leave her face. "That's a hard way to grow up."

Marley gives a small shrug like maybe it shouldn't matter anymore.

"But you still love her," he says softly.

"Yeah." Her voice breaks just slightly. "I do."

He nods once like he understands that complicated kind of love better than most people probably do. "And my dad..." She laughs once, humorless. "He left when I was fifteen."

Beau's jaw tightens immediately. "He has another family now. Like full replacement family." She looks out toward the water instead of at him. "And logically I know that says more about him than me, but..."

"But it still feels personal."

She looks back at him then. "It kinda made me feel like maybe I just wasn't enough for people to stay."

The words land heavily between them. Beau's face softens in a way she hasn't seen before. "Marley," he says quietly, leaning forward slightly, "anyone who could walk away from you is out of their fucking mind."

Her throat tightens instantly. Because he says it like he means it. Like there isn't even a question. She looks down quickly, blinking hard once. And Beau notices that too.

He notices everything with her.

For a moment neither of them speak. The restaurant glows around them softly, waves moving against the docks below. Then Marley looks back at him.

"What about you?"

Beau exhales through a faint smile. "My family's... complicated in a different way."

"Yeah?"

"My sister Joanna's basically the coolest person alive."

Marley smiles immediately. "I knew it."

"She does theater in New York. Broadway stuff. She's insanely talented." His expression warms as he talks about her. "She's always been my person."

"You miss her?"

"All the time."

Marley nods because she understands that ache intimately. Beau swirls the wine in his glass slowly before continuing. "I know i already told you this but my mom made me start therapy after my second concussion in high school."

She looks up a little.

"I was angry all the time back then," he says honestly. "Like... constantly pissed off at the world. Football made it worse because everybody just kinda praised aggression."

His voice is calmer now. More thoughtful. She's never heard him talk like this before. "At first I hated therapy. Thought it was stupid. I barely talked for months."

Marley can weirdly picture that version of him perfectly. Closed off. Defensive. Mean when hurt. "But eventually it became..." He pauses, searching. "Important to me, I guess."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He gives a small shrug. "It helped me figure out why I reacted the way I did to things. Helped with the concussion stuff too. The headaches. Mood swings."

He looks at her then. "It made me want to become a better person."

Marley studies him quietly across the table. This giant football player everyone assumes is arrogant and untouchable— including her two weeks ago—sitting here talking openly about therapy and anger and healing.

God.

She likes him so much it scares her.

"You are a good person," she says softly before she can stop herself.

Beau goes still. The sounds around them fade for a second beneath the weight of his gaze. "You really think that?" he asks quietly.

The vulnerability in his voice nearly wrecks her. Marley nods slowly.

"I think you're amazing, beau."

Something shifts in his expression then. Something deep.

He reaches across the table slowly, giving her enough time to pull away if she wants to. She doesn't.

His fingers slide between hers.

Warm.

Steady.

The restaurant slowly empties around them without either of them really noticing. Their plates have been cleared for almost twenty minutes, wine glasses half empty beside flickering candlelight while conversation drifts lazily between them now. Easier than before. Softer.

Like something between them settled tonight. Beau glances toward the water when the cool breeze shifts through the patio and then back at her.

"You wanna walk around for a little?" he asks.

Marley looks out toward the harbor, city lights beginning to reflect across the dark water in blurred streaks of gold and white.

"Yeah," she says softly.

The second she stands, she regrets wearing heels. The sidewalks along the harbor are uneven in some places, and after about thirty seconds Beau notices her wobble slightly.

"You good there?" he asks, clearly trying not to laugh.

Marley glares at him. "Women suffer for beauty.”

He grins. "Take them off before you break your ankle." She hesitates for maybe two seconds before slipping them off with a relieved exhale.

Beau immediately reaches down and takes them from her hands before she can protest. Marley blinks at him. "Oh, you don't have to carry them"

"Yes, I do."

He hooks them casually through two fingers while they continue walking beside the water, his other hand brushing against hers every few steps like he keeps wanting to grab it but hasn't decided if he should yet.

The harbor is beautiful at night. Quiet in a way Boston rarely is. Soft music drifts through the air from farther down the walkway, and as they round the corner Marley notices a man sitting near the railing playing a cello beneath a glowing streetlamp.

The sound echoes across the water, low and beautiful and almost haunting.

Beau slows beside her.

Then he turns slightly and holds his free hand out.

"Dance with me."

Marley stares at him immediately. "Absolutely not."

He laughs. "Why not?"

"Because we're in public."

"So?"

"So I'll look stupid."

"You could literally never look stupid."

The sincerity in his voice makes her stomach flip. She narrows her eyes slightly.

"I'm being serious." He says.

The cello music swells softly around them while Beau waits patiently, hand still stretched toward her.

God.

Nobody has ever looked at her the way he does. Like she's something delicate he's trying not to scare away. Finally, shaking her head, Marley slides her hand into his. "Fine," she mutters. "But if this is humiliating, I'm blaming you."

Beau grins immediately, pulling her gently closer. One hand settles carefully at her waist while the other stays intertwined with hers, and suddenly Marley becomes hyperaware of everything.

The warmth of his palm against her lower back. The smell of his cologne. The way his chest brushes hers every time they move. They sway slowly beneath the streetlights while the harbor water moves quietly behind them.

And honestly?

It feels kind of magical.

Which is horrifying.

Marley looks up at him after a moment, smiling slightly. "So what am I? The twenty-seventh girl you've brought here to charm with your weird waterfront dancing routine?"

Beau huffs out a laugh. Then his expression softens. "Actually," he says quietly, "you're the first girl I've ever danced with."

Marley blinks. "What?"

"I'm serious."

"You're lying."

"I swear to God."

She stares at him in disbelief. "Beau Maxwell has never danced with a girl before?"

"Nope. I just never..." He shrugs a little. "Wanted to."

The meaning behind the words settles warmly in her chest. He wanted to with her. For some reason that affects her more than it should. Marley looks down for a second, smiling to herself before speaking softly.

"You're the first guy who's ever given me flowers."

Beau's entire expression changes. His brows pull together slightly like the idea genuinely upsets him. "Seriously?"

She nods once. Something unreadable flashes across his face before his hand tightens just slightly against her waist.

"That's criminal," he murmurs.

Marley laughs quietly. "It's not that serious."

"It is to me."

The words come out immediately.

Certain.

His eyes hold hers steadily while the music plays softly around them, and suddenly the air between them feels heavier somehow.

Closer.

Marley's heart pounds hard enough she's sure he can feel it through her ribs.

"You deserve flowers," Beau says quietly. "And real dates. And someone who stays."

The last part nearly steals the breath from her lungs. Because he remembered. Because he listens. Her expression softens before she can stop it. Beau looks at her for a long second then, something vulnerable flickering beneath his usual confidence. "You know what your problem is?" he asks softly.

Marley raises an eyebrow. "I'm scared to ask."

"You believe the way people hurt you says something about your worth."

She goes still.

"And it doesn't," he says gently. "It says something about them."

The cello music fades into another song as the harbor wind moves through her hair. Marley stares up at him, chest aching unexpectedly hard. Nobody has ever spoken to her this carefully before. Like she's something worth handling gently.

Beau's thumb brushes lightly against her waist, eyes dropping briefly to her mouth before lifting back to her eyes. The air between them shifts.

The cello continues softly in the background while the harbor lights shimmer across the water behind them, but all Marley can really focus on is the way Beau is looking at her right now.

Like she's the only thing in the world worth paying attention to. Her pulse stumbles hard in her chest.

"You're staring at me again," she says quietly, mostly because the silence suddenly feels too intimate to survive.

A small smile pulls at the corner of Beau's mouth.

"Can you blame me?"

Heat creeps instantly into her cheeks. Normally she would deflect. Tease him. Roll her eyes and make some sarcastic comment to protect herself from how overwhelming this feels. But tonight she doesn't want to. Tonight she just wants him closer. The realization nearly terrifies her.

Beau's hand slides a little more securely against the small of her back as they sway slowly together beneath the streetlights. His touch is careful, like he's still giving her room to pull away if she wants to.

She doesn't.

Marley's fingers tighten slightly where they're intertwined with his. Beau notices immediately. He notices everything. "You okay?" he asks softly.

She nods once, looking up at him through lowered lashes. "Yeah."

But her voice comes out quieter than she intended. More vulnerable. Something in Beau's expression softens instantly at the sound of it.

The wind shifts around them gently, moving strands of hair across Marley's face. Beau lifts his free hand without thinking, carefully brushing the hair behind her ear.

His fingers linger there for half a second too long.

Marley's breath catches.

God.

Everything with him feels intense now.

The eye contact.

The closeness.

The way he touches her like she's something fragile and precious instead of temporary.

Beau searches her face slowly, like he's trying to make sure she's still with him before he says, barely above a whisper, "I really like you, Marley."

The confession settles deep in her chest, warm and aching all at once. Because she believes him. She can hear it in his voice. See it in the way he's looking at her. And suddenly all the fear she normally carries—the fear of being too much or not enough or temporary to people—goes quiet for just a second.

Marley swallows hard before answering softly, "I really like you too." Something almost disbelieving flickers across Beau's face, like hearing her say it out loud affects him more than he expected.

Then neither of them speak.

They just stand there swaying gently while the cello music drifts through the night air around them. Beau's eyes flick down to her mouth again.

This time they stay there. Marley's heart starts pounding so hard she's sure he can feel it where her chest is pressed lightly against his.

And when he looks back into her eyes, there's a silent question there.

He's asking.

Even now.

Even after all the tension between them.

The softness of that nearly undoes her.

So Marley closes the tiny distance between them first. It's barely a movement. Just enough for her nose to brush his. Beau exhales shakily against her mouth, like he'd been holding his breath.

Then he kisses her.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like he's trying to memorize what she feels like.

Marley melts almost instantly. One of Beau's hands slides more firmly against her waist while the other leaves hers to cup gently against her jaw, his thumb brushing her cheek as he kisses her beneath the harbor lights.

It doesn't feel rushed.

Doesn't feel reckless.

It feels important.

The kind of kiss that says something neither of them are ready to say out loud yet. Marley tilts her face closer instinctively, fingers curling lightly into the front of his shirt. Beau makes the quietest sound against her mouth at the feeling, like he physically can't help it.

And God, the tenderness of him wrecks her. Because Beau kisses her like she matters. Like he's been wanting to do this for a long time. When they finally pull apart, it's only barely. Their foreheads rest together while both of them breathe a little unevenly.

The cello music continues softly somewhere behind them, but Marley feels strangely detached from the rest of the world now.

Beau opens his eyes first.

And the look on his face nearly destroys her completely.

Pure wonder.

Like he can't believe she's real.

"Okay," he says quietly after a second, voice rough around the edges. "That was definitely worth public humiliation."

#off campus #off campus fic #off campus smut #beau maxwell smut #beau maxwell off campus #beau maxwell fic #beau maxwell

Soft Spoken

Series Masterlist

Chapter Fifteen

Marley needed to study.

That was the entire thought process.

Okay—not the entire thought process.

She'd been sitting in the library for maybe twenty minutes before realizing she'd reread the same paragraph four times because her brain kept drifting back to Beau. To the way he'd looked in her kitchen the night before. The way he'd tucked the blanket around her afterward like it was instinct. The way he'd kissed her forehead before leaving this morning like he'd almost forgotten he was doing it.

Because she had an exam in three days and neural pathway charts weren't exactly going to memorize themselves. So when she remembered he had football practice that afternoon, her brain had gone: Oh. I could just study there.

Simple.

Easy.

She grabbed her backpack, stopped at the campus market on the way, and absentmindedly picked up a blue Gatorade, because Beau always drank the blue ones after practice. She'd noticed it days ago without really meaning to.

Then she saw the travel ibuprofen near the register and thought:

His head probably hurts after practice sometimes.

By the time she climbed into the bleachers, practice had already started.

The stadium echoed with whistles and shouting, players moving across the field in coordinated chaos while Marley settled a few rows up with her notes spread across her lap.

Honestly, it was kind of perfect.

No one bothered her.

The weather was nice.

And occasionally she got to look up and see Beau Maxwell sprinting across a football field looking offensively attractive for no reason.

Win-win.

She was midway through color-coding synaptic transmission notes when movement below caught her eye.

Beau pulled off his helmet between drills, shaking sweat-damp hair back from his forehead before glancing toward the bleachers.

God he looked so hot.

Like so hot.

Marley smiled down at him, then lifted one hand in a casual little wave.

The reaction she got was... disproportionate. Even from across the field she could physically see the shock hit him.

Like his brain genuinely short-circuited.

One of the receivers slammed into Beau's shoulder laughing at something, but Beau barely reacted because he was still staring at her.

Marley just smiled and looked back down at her notes. Down on the field, Beau was losing his mind. Not visibly. He was trying very hard to play it cool.

But internally?

Gone.

Absolutely gone.

Because Marley was here.

In his stadium.

During his practice.

Just... sitting there like it was normal.

She came here for me.

The thought lodged itself directly into his chest and refused to leave. Every few minutes after that, his eyes drifted back to the bleachers automatically.

And every single time she was still there.

Curled into an oversized hoodie.

Chewing lightly on the end of her highlighter.

Crossing things out in her notes with a tiny frustrated frown.

Beau nearly got yelled at twice for missing instructions because he kept looking at her.

At one point she glanced up and caught him staring again.

He pointed at her dramatically.

Marley rolled her eyes immediately.

God, she was cute.

This was insane.

He was insane.

Because somehow the hottest thing he'd ever seen in his life was Marley Williams sitting in metal bleachers studying neuroscience.

—

By the end of practice, Beau was exhausted physically and completely wired emotionally.

The second the final whistle blew, he was already looking toward the stands again.

Still there.

Something warm and dangerous spread through his chest.

Most girls he'd dated barely tolerated football. They liked game days and parties and the idea of him.

Marley on the other hand had absolutely no interest in football whatsoever, but still showed up to watch him run drills for two hours while doing homework, and she did it with a smile on her face.

He couldn't get over it.

Couldn't get over her.

Players started filtering off the field while Beau grabbed a towel off the bench, eyes still tracking Marley as she packed her things. She made her way down the bleachers casually, like none of this was a big deal. Meanwhile Beau felt like she'd just rewritten his entire brain chemistry.

By the time she reached the railing, he was already waiting there.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

The question came out softer than he'd intended. Marley shrugged, adjusting the strap of her backpack. "Needed to study."

Beau stared at her.

"At practice?"

"You said you had practice today."

Like that explained everything. To her, apparently, it did. Beau genuinely didn't know what to say for a second. Because she sounded so casual about it. So unselfconscious.

Meanwhile he was standing there trying not to act like this was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him.

"You came here to study because you missed me?" he asked carefully. Marley's expression shifted slightly like she hadn't realized that was what she'd done until he said it out loud.

Then she huffed a small laugh.

"I mean... is that not okay?"

Beau looked away for half a second, smiling helplessly to himself.

Jesus Christ.

Before he could recover, Marley reached into her bag.

"I got you this."

She handed him a blue Gatorade.

Beau blinked.

His favorite one.

Not just favorite. Exclusively favorite.

"How did you know this is the only flavor I drink?" he asked immediately.

Marley looked confused by the question. "You always get blue."

Like obviously.

Like she noticed things about him without even trying.

That alone nearly killed him.

Then she pulled something else from her bag.

Ibuprofen.

Beau frowned slightly. "What's that for?"

Marley's tone stayed light and absentminded, like this wasn't remotely significant.

"You said your head hurts after practices sometimes because of the concussion stuff."

Beau went still. That conversation had happened once.

The first night they talked.

Just a passing comment.

And she remembered.

Not because she'd filed it away intentionally.

Not because she was trying to impress him.

She'd remembered because she cared naturally.

Beau looked at her for a long second.

Marley finally noticed the expression on his face and blinked. "What?"

He laughed softly under his breath, almost disbelieving. "You brought me headache medicine."

"Yes...?" she said slowly.

"And my favorite Gatorade."

"You're acting like I gave you my kidney."

Beau stepped closer anyway. Close enough to feel the warmth of her despite the evening air cooling around them. "You came to my practice," he said quietly, like he still couldn't fully believe it.

Marley's cheeks pinked slightly now, finally starting to realize maybe this had affected him more than expected. "I was studying."

"You were studying at my football practice."

She bit back a smile. "You're being dramatic."

"I'm being serious."

And he was.

Because something about this—about Marley thinking of him in quiet, instinctive ways—felt infinitely more dangerous than flirting or hookups or tension ever had.

This felt intimate.

Like she was slowly making space for him in her life without realizing she was doing it.

And the terrifying part?

Beau already wanted to live there.

He leaned down then, one hand sliding around her waist before kissing her hard enough to steal the breath from both of them.

A chorus of shouting immediately erupted from somewhere behind him.

Neither of them cared.

When Beau pulled back, he was smiling in that helpless, completely wrecked way she was starting to learn meant she'd affected him more than he knew how to hide.

"You're gonna ruin me," he murmured against her mouth.

Marley laughed softly. "Over Gatorade and ibuprofen?”

"It's more than that." Beau was still smiling like an idiot when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Beau pulled his phone out while keeping one hand loosely hooked around her waist.

The group chat was exploding.

Dean:

Dinner and drinks tonight before i lose my mind

Garrett:

You say that every day

Dean:

and yet every day i continue losing it

Tucker:

food first

Logan:

shocking message from tucker

Dean:

maxwell alive after practice or dead?

Beau snorted quietly.

"What?" Marley asked.

"The guys wanna go get dinner."

Marley immediately started stepping back slightly. "Oh, okay, then I should probably—"

"No."

The answer came so fast she blinked. Beau was already typing.

Beau:

i'm down

bringing marley

There was exactly half a second of silence in the chat before:

Dean:

HAHAHHAAHA

Garrett:

called it

Logan:

👍

Marley stared at him. "You just invited me without asking."

Beau slid his phone back into his pocket. "You don't wanna come?"

Still, instinct made her hesitate. "I don't wanna intrude on guy night."

Beau laughed softly like that idea was ridiculous.

"You think Dean's capable of a guy night?"

Fair point.

"He already likes you more than me anyway." Beau added.

"That's definitely not true."

"Marley, he might."

She burst out laughing. Beau watched her for a second with that same helpless expression he kept getting around her lately. God, he liked making her laugh.

Too much.

"So?" he asked.

Marley pretended to think about it for another second before shrugging. "Okay."

The smile that spread across Beau's face was so immediate and genuine it made warmth bloom through her chest all over again.

"Okay," he repeated.

Like he was weirdly happy about her saying yes to something as simple as dinner.

—

The drive back to Sigma Nu felt easy in that dangerous way things between them always seemed to now.

Marley sat in the passenger seat with one leg tucked under herself while Beau drove one-handed, the other resting lazily against the center console close enough that his fingers kept brushing hers every few minutes.

Music played quietly through the speakers.

At one point Beau glanced over and caught her staring out the window thoughtfully.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"That's a lie."

She smiled slightly. "I was just thinking your life is weird."

Beau laughed. "Why?"

"You go from tackling people professionally to casually inviting girls to fraternity houses."

"Professionally?"

"You know what I mean."

He grinned.

Then softer:

"You nervous?"

Marley considered lying.

"A little."

Beau nodded once like he understood immediately.

"They already love you."

"That feels unlikely."

"Dean would kidnap a small child for you."

"Dean barely knows me."

"He's emotionally attached. It's serious."

She laughed under her breath, but some of the nervousness eased anyway.

Because Beau sounded so certain.

Like bringing her into his world wasn't something he was questioning at all anymore.

—

The Sigma Nu house was louder than usual when they walked in.

Music somewhere downstairs.

People talking over each other.

The distant sound of someone yelling during a video game.

Marley instinctively slowed slightly near the entrance, thinking about how she still didn't really know any of beaus fraternity brothers, only the hockey boys.

Beau noticed instantly.

Without saying anything, his hand slid gently against her lower back.

Not possessive.

Just grounding.

"It's okay," he murmured quietly.

The stupid thing was she believed him immediately.

A couple guys from the team called out greetings to Beau as they crossed through the house, but Beau barely stopped moving, guiding Marley easily upstairs like he'd done this a hundred times before.

He pushed open his bedroom door. Marley stopped just inside automatically, eyes flicking around the space.

It looked exactly like Beau somehow.

Clean without being obsessive about it.

Football stuff everywhere.

A hoodie tossed over his desk chair.

Textbooks mixed with playbooks.

A faint smell of laundry detergent and cedar.

A picture of him and Dean.

The room felt lived in.

Comfortable.

And suddenly the reality that this was his space hit her in a weirdly intimate way.

Beau dropped his keys onto the desk.

"You can steal the bed while I shower." Then stepped closer for just a second, fingers brushing lightly against her hip.

"You good?"

The fact that he kept checking made something soften painfully in her chest.

"Yeah."

His expression relaxed instantly.

"Okay. Five minutes."

Marley nodded.

Then Beau hesitated.

Like he wanted to say something else.

Instead he leaned down and kissed her once—quick and warm and absentmindedly affectionate—before disappearing toward the bathroom.

And Marley stood there for a second afterward staring at the closed door like an idiot.

Because somehow that tiny casual kiss affected her more than half the heated ones had.

It felt natural.

Like Beau kissed her because his body just wanted to.

Not because he was trying to seduce her.

By the time Beau came back out of the bathroom, Marley had migrated exactly where he'd predicted she would.

His bed.

Cross-legged against the headboard with one of his hoodies draped over her lap while she scrolled absently through her phone.

Beau stopped for half a second just looking at her. There was something deeply unfair about how naturally she fit into his space already. Like she belonged there.

Marley glanced up. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

Beau blinked once. "No reason."

"Liar."

He grinned, grabbing his wallet off the desk. "Ready?"

She nodded, sliding off the bed.

The second she stood, Beau reached out automatically and tugged lightly on one of the strings of her hoodie.

"Wear this tonight."

Marley looked down at the dark Briar football hoodie in her hands. "Beau."

"What?"

"You're literally watching me become one of those girls."

His mouth twitched. "And?"

She rolled her eyes but pulled it on anyway.

Beau nearly short-circuited immediately.

Jesus Christ.

The sleeves swallowed her hands slightly and the neckline slipped just enough at one shoulder to make him forget every coherent thought he'd ever had.

Marley noticed the expression instantly.

"Oh my God," she laughed. "Get it together."

"No."

—

The restaurant the guys picked was loud enough to feel alive without being overwhelming. Warm lighting, crowded booths, music low beneath the sound of conversation and clinking glasses.

The kind of place college athletes basically lived in.

Dean spotted them first the second Beau and Marley walked in.

His face lit up dramatically.

"There she is!" he announced like they were greeting a returning war hero.

Several people turned.

Marley immediately laughed.

"Dean," Garrett sighed from the booth. "Inside voice."

"I'm being welcoming."

"You're being terrifying."

Tucker slid over to make room while Logan lifted one hand casually in greeting from across the table.

The energy shifted the second Marley sat down.

Beau sat beside her automatically, his thigh pressing against hers beneath the table almost immediately like neither of them noticed themselves doing it anymore.

Dean pointed across the table accusingly.

"You disappeared after class today."

Beau reached for the menu. "Yeah, man. Crazy. I have a life."

"You have a girl."

"That too."

Marley nearly choked on her water at how easily he said it. Beau didn't even seem to realize he'd done anything. Garrett noticed though. The slight twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

Dean noticed too.

Dean noticed everything.

The waitress came by then, taking drink orders while everyone talked over each other. Marley listened more than she spoke at first, mostly watching the dynamic unfold around her.

Dean was exactly the same in public as private—loud, dramatic, somehow the center of every conversation even when nobody wanted him to be.

Tucker kept trying to order appetizers for the whole table. Garrett argued with him about quantities. Logan sat back quieter than the others, throwing comments in occasionally that made everyone laugh harder because he looked so serious when he said them.

And Beau—Beau looked relaxed.

Not football-Beau.

Not flirty-Beau.

Just... happy.

His arm stayed hooked loosely along the back of Marley's booth seat while conversations bounced around them. Sometimes his fingers absentmindedly played with the edge of her sleeve while he talked.

Tiny unconscious touches. Like he just liked confirming she was still there. At one point Dean launched into a story about Tucker nearly setting off the smoke alarm at the hockey house and the entire table dissolved into overlapping chaos.

Marley laughed so hard she leaned forward into the table slightly, covering her face. Beside her, Beau completely lost the thread of the conversation because he was too busy staring at her.

God.

That sound.

The way she laughed fully now instead of holding herself back. Like she felt safe here. Logan caught Beau looking. Smirked knowingly into his beer. Beau ignored him.

It hit him suddenly then—hard and almost disorienting. This was what he wanted. Not just the physical stuff. Not the chase. Not tension.

This.

Dinner.

Drinks.

Marley stealing fries off his plate while pretending she didn't want any.

Her leaning into his side while listening to Garrett argue with Dean.

The easy warmth of everyone together.

Something terrifyingly close to contentment settled low in his chest. Across the table, Tucker pointed suddenly. "See? I told you she would steal your fries if you didn't make her order her own."

Marley blinked mid-bite.

Beau looked down at his plate.

Three missing fries.

"You're a thief," he informed her calmly.

"You offered me none."

"And yet you took many."

At some point during dinner, Marley stopped feeling nervous entirely.

She hadn't even noticed when it happened.

Maybe when Tucker started asking her about classes like he genuinely cared about the answer. Maybe when Garrett started complaining about a professor and she realized everyone at the table immediately understood her academic stress in their own way. Maybe when Dean passed her mozzarella sticks without asking because he'd noticed she liked them.

Or maybe it was simpler than that.

Maybe it was just Beau's hand resting warmly against her knee under the table the entire night.

Steady.

Certain.

Like he was quietly reminding her:

You belong here too.

Dinner stretched longer than any of them planned.

Another round of drinks turned into Tucker insisting the table needed dessert "for team morale," which turned into Dean trying to convince everyone to go somewhere else afterward before immediately getting shut down by Garrett and Logan at the exact same time.

By the end of the night, the restaurant had gone softer around them. Fewer people. Lower music. Servers wiping nearby tables while the five of them stayed crowded into the booth like nobody was in any rush to leave.

Marley sat curled slightly toward Beau, warm from her beer and laughter and the constant noise of conversation bouncing around the table. Honestly, she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this comfortable this quickly.

Dean was halfway through reenacting a hockey practice incident with full body commitment while Garrett looked deeply exhausted by his existence.

"—and then Coach literally goes, 'Di Laurentis, if you slam Tucker into the boards one more time—'"

"I barely touched him," Dean argued.

"You checked him into another dimension," Logan said flatly.

Tucker pointed across the table. "I saw God for a second."

Marley laughed hard enough to duck her head into her hand.

She looked different tonight than she had when he first met her—less guarded. Softer around the edges with them now. More relaxed.

Like she was starting to trust this.

Trust him.

His arm rested stretched behind her along the booth while his thumb brushed absentmindedly against the sleeve of the football hoodie she still wore.

His hoodie.

Every time he noticed it again, something stupidly happy flared in his chest. Across the table, Logan caught Beau staring. Again.

He smirked slightly into his drink but didn't say anything. He didn't need to. Dean eventually shifted topics entirely, pointing at Beau with narrowed eyes. "You know what's sick actually?”

Beau didn't even look up from stealing one of Marley's fries back. "What?"

"You only hanging out with hockey players voluntarily."

Beau snorted. "Unfortunately."

"Look at him pretending he doesn't love us.”

"I don't."

"You literally followed us here."

"You invited me."

The waitress arrived then with the check, setting it toward the center of the table.

Immediately everyone started reaching for wallets.

"I've got mine," Garrett said.

Tucker nodded. "Same."

Dean pointed across the table. "Tucker ordered enough food to bankrupt us."

"It was appetizers!"

"It was nine appetizers."

While the hockey guys argued, Marley reached automatically for her purse beside her.

At the exact same moment, Beau picked up the check.

No hesitation.

No discussion.

Just instinct.

Marley barely even thought about it at first until Beau slid his card onto the tray while still half listening to Logan chirp Dean about getting benched last season.

Then she blinked.

"Beau."

"Hm?"

"You don't have to pay for me."

That finally pulled his attention fully toward her. He looked genuinely confused for a second. Then glanced down at the check.

At his card already sitting there. "Oh," he said.

And Marley could physically see the realization happen. Like he hadn't planned it. Hadn't thought about it. Hadn't even consciously decided. He just... did it. Automatically.

"You didn't even realize you were doing that," she said softly.

Beau let out a quiet laugh under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck slightly.

"...guess not."

The sincerity of it hit her unexpectedly hard. No weird performance. No trying to impress her. No expectation attached. Just instinctive care. Like somewhere along the way, taking care of Marley had started feeling natural to him.

Beau shrugged slightly, still looking faintly amused with himself. "You bought me Gatorade and emotional support ibuprofen earlier. Feels fair."

Marley rolled her eyes immediately, but warmth spread through her chest anyway. Across the table Dean had been watching the entire interaction unfold with growing fascination.

"This is so funny" Dean announced dramatically.

"Please shut up," Beau said.

"No seriously," Dean continued. "I've watched this man flirt with women for like years. He has literally never looked at anybody like that before."

Marley nearly choked on her drink.

Garrett groaned. "Dean."

"What? I'm being observant."

"You're being loud."

Beau dropped his head briefly onto the table. "This is a nightmare."

"No," Dean corrected smugly. "This is love."

"Okay," Beau said flatly. "Now I'm leaving."

Just then unfortunately, Dean noticed a claw machine near the restaurant entrance.

"Oh no," Logan said immediately.

Dean was already standing. "Hold on."

"Dean," Tucker warned.

"There's a hockey puck plushie in there."

"There is not."

"There literally is."

Everyone turned.

Somehow, horrifyingly, Dean was right. Inside the claw machine sat a tiny stuffed hockey puck wearing a miniature Briar jersey. Dean looked personally challenged by its existence. "I need it."

"You absolutely do not," Garrett said.

Dean ignored him completely and started toward the front of the restaurant.

"Ten bucks says he breaks it," Logan muttered.

"Twenty says he gets us all kicked out," Beau added.

Marley watched, deeply entertained, as Dean immediately began aggressively working the controls like the machine had insulted his family.

The claw missed entirely.

Dean gasped in outrage.

"You rigged piece of—"

"Okay," Logan said, already standing. "We gotta intervene before he fights a machine."

Tucker followed immediately, mostly because he was laughing too hard not to. Beau sighed, sliding out beside Marley. "I'll be right back."

Then he leaned down quickly, kissing the top of her head before following the others toward the front of the restaurant. Marley watched him go for a second longer than necessary.

Garrett noticed immediately.

A small smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth before he took a sip of his drink. For a few seconds they both watched Dean loudly accuse the claw machine of "targeted psychological warfare."

Then Marley looked back toward Garrett and smiled slightly.

"Soooo," she said. "Haven't seen you since I cried hysterically in your car."

Garrett barked out a laugh instantly. "Yeah," he admitted. "Strong reunion opener."

Marley groaned, covering part of her face with one hand. "I think about that night sometimes and actually want to evaporate."

"You were fine."

"I was absolutely not fine."

"You'd just had a terrible night."

"Still. Not my best moment.”

Garrett leaned back slightly in the booth, expression softening a little. "You know what I remember more than the crying?"

Marley looked up.

"You apologizing for crying."

That made her blink.

Garrett shrugged one shoulder lightly. "You didn't have to do that."

Something about the quiet sincerity in his tone made warmth pull low in her chest. "Thanks," she said softly.

Garrett nodded once. "How're you doing now?"

The question was simple. Genuine.Not surface-level. And Marley realized suddenly that Garrett Graham was a lot gentler than people probably assumed. She glanced briefly toward the front of the restaurant where Beau was currently trying to physically drag Dean away from the claw machine while Logan laughed beside them.

Then back toward Garrett.

"Better," she admitted.

Garrett followed her line of sight automatically. His expression shifted almost immediately. Not surprised exactly. More like: Ah.

"Yeah," he said calmly. "I figured."

Marley smiled into her drink slightly.

"He talks about you constantly, by the way."

Her eyes widened immediately. "What?"

Garrett laughed quietly at her reaction. "Not in an annoying way. He just..." Garrett paused briefly, choosing his words carefully. "Seems happier lately."

That hit her harder than she expected. Because she'd noticed it too. The lighter version of Beau she got when they were alone. The softer one underneath all the confidence and flirting and football-star charisma.

Garrett glanced toward the front again where Beau had finally succeeded in pulling Dean away from the machine while Tucker nearly doubled over laughing. Then Garrett looked back at Marley.

"I've known Beau a long time," he said. "I don't think I've ever seen him try this hard with someone."

Marley's heartbeat stumbled slightly. "That's terrifying," she admitted honestly.

Garrett laughed under his breath. "Probably for him too."

And weirdly—That made her feel better.

#off campus #off campus fic #off campus smut #beau maxwell smut #beau maxwell off campus #beau maxwell fic #beau maxwell

Soft Spoken • Beau Maxwell

Series Masterlist

Chapter Fourteen

Beau lasted exactly eleven minutes after his chat with Logan before texting her.

beau:

so?

Marley laughed the second the message appeared across her screen. Not because anything about the last twenty-four hours had actually been funny. Mostly because she could suddenly picture him perfectly—sprawled somewhere in the Sigma Nu house pretending not to spiral while absolutely spiraling.

She pushed through the coffee shop door into the cool afternoon air before answering.

marley:

logan survived our conversation

Three dots appeared immediately.

beau:

that bad huh

marley:

Honestly not really

A second later:

beau:

are YOU okay?

And there it was again. That thing he did. The way he always seemed to care about her first before himself. Marley leaned against the brick wall outside the café for a second, warmth spreading low through her chest despite the cold air.

marley:

yeah

Then after a beat:

marley:

he told me not to end things with you because of him

The typing bubble appeared instantly.

Disappeared.

Came back again.

beau:

you were gonna do that?

Marley winced slightly.

marley:

i felt guilty

No response came for several seconds this time. Long enough for her stomach to tighten nervously again.

Then finally:

beau:

don't do that

Her chest ached unexpectedly at the simplicity of it.

don't do that.

Like the thought alone bothered him. Before she could answer, another text came through.

beau:

also logan just came to the house

Marley blinked.

marley:

I know, he said he wanted to talk to you as well

beau:

yeah apparently we're mature now

She physically laughed out loud standing there on the sidewalk.

marley:

did dean make it worse?

beau:

dean thought we were gonna fistfight on the lawn

marley:

reasonable assumption honestly

beau:

he seemed disappointed when we didn't

A smile kept tugging uncontrollably at Marley's mouth now. The knot that had been sitting in her chest all morning finally started loosening little by little.

logan was okay.

Beau was okay.

Maybe the world wasn't ending after all. Her phone buzzed again.

beau:

so...

marley:

so?

beau:

are you still slowing things down with me?

Marley stared at the message for a second too long. Because suddenly she could hear his voice behind it. Careful. Trying to sound casual while absolutely not being casual at all.

She bit lightly against her lip before typing back.

marley:

probably

Then immediately:

marley:

a little

Another pause.

beau:

that sounds like a lie

Marley snorted.

marley:

i'm trying to be responsible

beau:

don't like that for us

Her smile widened helplessly.

marley:

be serious

beau:

i am serious

beau:

i just spent twelve hours thinking i lost my mind over a girl who owns one plate

marley:

I OWN TWO

She climbed into her car still smiling, heartbeat warm and strange and soft all over again. Then another text came through.

beau:

can i see you later?

The smile faded slightly into something more vulnerable. Because God. He still wanted to see her. Even after all of it. Marley leaned back against the driver's seat staring at the message while her pulse started doing stupid things again.

This was exactly what she'd been afraid of.

How easy it would become to want him constantly.

She typed back before she could overthink herself into insanity.

marley:

you saw me literally three hours ago

beau:

and yet

Her stomach flipped hard enough to feel embarrassing.

marley:

you're needy

beau:

please?

Beau showed up at the grocery store like a man on a mission. Which, in his mind, he was. He stood in front of the carts for a full five seconds just staring at nothing, still half-thinking about what he was doing.

"Get it together," he muttered to himself, grabbing a cart.

A nearby employee glanced at him. Beau cleared his throat. "Not you. Sorry." He started walking. He had absolutely no plan when he walked in. Just a vague idea that he wanted to see her again, and the kind of restless energy that made sitting still feel impossible.

So he defaulted to the only solution his brain could manage:

Food.

If he showed up with food, it would make sense. It would be normal. It would give him something to do with his hands so he didn't stand in her doorway like an idiot. Plus, he wanted to cook her dinner. She deserved that, and that's what you do when you like a girl. Right?

He walked past produce first, grabbing potatoes without thinking too hard about it. Yukon gold. She seemed like a Yukon gold kind of person. He paused mid-thought and physically shook his head.

"What is wrong with me," he whispered.

A couple standing nearby looked at him.

He grabbed green beans next. Then stopped again like he was negotiating with himself.

"Steak," he decided out loud, firmer this time.

The butcher counter was busy, so he hovered awkwardly at first, then finally stepped forward.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," the butcher replied.

Beau stared at the display for a second too long.

"Two steaks," he said. "Good ones. Like... impressively good. Not insane. But like... I'm not a student who lives in a house with sticky countertops."

The butcher blinked slowly. "Okay."

Beau added quickly, "Not that my house is sticky."

Another pause. The butcher nodded like he had seen worse. "Ribeye okay?"

Beau exhaled. "Yeah."

Then, almost as an afterthought, he grabbed a bottle of wine from the aisle endcap. He stared at it for a second. He didn't even know if she liked red or white.

"...she likes red," he decided, entirely based on nothing.

Then he grabbed a second bottle of white anyway, just in case reality disagreed with him later. By the time he checked out, he had a bag of groceries that looked like someone who had his life together had assembled them. Which felt wildly inaccurate, considering he kept rereading her last text in his head like it was something sacred.

Just come over

He smiled to himself the whole drive over.

—

Marley heard the knock while she was still barefoot in her kitchen, standing in front of the sink with a sponge in her hand she wasn't really using. She kept dragging it over the same spot on the counter like repetition might quiet her thoughts, like if she focused hard enough on something simple she could stop replaying Beau's texts from earlier in her head.

It didn't work.

The knock came again.

Not impatient. Not loud.

Just certain.

Before she even moved, she already knew it was Beau.

When she opened the door, he was there. hoodie slightly rumpled, hair messier than usual, grocery bags hanging from both hands like he'd grabbed too many things and refused to put any of them back.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Beau's eyes softened the moment they landed on her, like something in him had been braced all day and finally unclenched.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Marley didn't hesitate.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. It was immediate, instinctive—no warning, no overthinking. Just the need for contact after a day that had felt too loud in her own head.

Beau stiffened for half a second in surprise, then adjusted instantly, one arm tightening around her while the other shifted the grocery bags so they didn't dig into her back.

"Okay," he murmured, almost laughing under his breath. "Hi to you too."

Marley pressed her face into his hoodie. He smelled like clean fabric, cold air, and something faintly familiar that she was already starting to associate with safety whether she liked it or not.

"You're early," she said quietly.

"I panicked," Beau admitted.

That made her laugh—small, real—and she felt the way his body reacted to it, like the sound physically settled something in him.

When she finally pulled back, she stayed close.

"You brought groceries?"

Beau was already stepping past her into the kitchen like he'd made a decision on the way up the stairs. He set the bags down on the counter with care, scanning the space immediately like he was taking inventory.

"I'm cooking you dinner," he said.

Marley leaned against the doorway, watching him start unpacking everything—steak, potatoes, green beans, a few ingredients she definitely didn't own in the quantities he seemed to assume she did. She thought to herself about how no guy had ever done that for her before, while Beau thought to himself how much of an idiot he was for not bringing flowers.

"You don't have to do that," she said softly.

"I know," he replied, already pulling things out of the bag. "I want to."

Marley blinked at him. "You're just... showing up and feeding me now?"

He finally looked up at that, one eyebrow lifting slightly. "Is that a problem?"

"No," she said softly.

"Good," he said, like that settled it.

And then he turned back to the counter like the conversation was over.

—

The kitchen slowly filled with sound.

The soft thunk of a cutting board being set down. The scrape of a knife. Water running. Oil heating in a pan. Music Marley eventually turned on just to give the room something to breathe with.

Beau moved like he belonged there more than she did.

Not performative. Not showy.

Just focused.

He seasoned the steak carefully, like it mattered more than it probably should've. Checked the potatoes twice. Tossed the green beans with a quiet concentration that made it hard for Marley to look away.

She ended up sitting on the counter, legs tucked under her, watching him take over her space with a kind of ease that made her chest feel strangely tight.

"You cook a lot?" she asked eventually.

"Kinda, yeah" he said. "My sister taught me a few years ago. I just... stuck with it after that."

The apartment smelled like garlic and basil and whatever expensive seasoning Beau claimed made him "basically a professional chef."

"You know what I've realized?" she said.

"What's that?"

"You're annoyingly good at everything."

Beau snorted. "That true?"

"You play football. You're hot. You cook."

Beau glanced back over his shoulder. "You want me to be worse at things?"

"Yes. Humble yourself."

"Can't. Born talented."

She threw a piece of shredded cheese at him which he caught midair with his mouth.

Marley stared.

"Nope," she said immediately. "Absolutely not. That was the hottest thing you've ever done."

Beau nearly dropped the pan laughing. "You're insane."

"You're like a little frat-boy Gordon Ramsay." She smiled into her wine glass.

And Beau just—Stopped for a second.

Because this right here felt dangerously close to domestic. Not hookups. Not flirting at parties. Not tension and almost-kisses and jealousy.

For the first time in his life, this felt real. Her sitting in the kitchen with him while he cooked dinner. Her rambling about a professor she hated while he mashed the potatoes.

Comfort. That was the terrifying part. The intimacy of comfort. "Beau," she said quietly. He glanced up immediately.

She didn't finish the sentence. She couldn't find the shape of it. Instead, she just gave him a small, softer smile.

And he looked like he understood anyway.

—

Dinner came together quietly after that.

The apartment filled with the smell of seared steak and roasted potatoes. Marley helped in small ways—handing him things when he asked, setting the table, stealing a green bean when he wasn't looking and getting her hand lightly smacked away for it.

"Stop," he said automatically.

"You're bossy."

"You're distracting."

"I'm hungry," she corrected.

That got him to smile.

They had opened wine halfway through without much ceremony. Beau poured her glass first, then hesitated like he was checking himself.

"Red okay?" he asked.

"It's perfect," she said.

He exhaled like that answer mattered more than it should've. Like he was going to remember it. They ate at her small table when it was done. Steak, potatoes, green beans, wine. Something about it felt too domestic for how recent everything between them still was. Too easy. Too natural. Like they'd accidentally slipped into a version of themselves that made sense together.

Marley watched him cut into his food.

"This is really good," she admitted.

Beau pointed his fork slightly at her. "Obviously."

She laughed.

Then, quieter—

"You didn't have to do all this."

Beau didn't look away from her plate when he answered.

"I know," he said.

A beat.

"I wanted to."

—

Later, the plates were gone.

The wine bottle sat half empty on the counter, the apartment warmer now in a way that had nothing to do with temperature.

Marley had gone to the bathroom to wash her face, trying to ground herself back into something normal again.

When she came out, she stopped in the doorway.

Beau was at the sink.

Rolling up his sleeves.

....Doing the dishes?

Not announcing it. Not making a show of it. Just quietly cleaning up the mess like it was the most obvious thing in the world that he would stay and take care of this part too.

Marley just stood there for a second, watching him.

Like her brain needed time to accept that this was real.

Beau glanced over his shoulder.

"What?" he asked, calm.

Marley blinked.

"...you're doing the dishes," she said slowly, like she was still processing it.

He nodded once. "Yeah." Then he turned back to the sink, like that had explained everything. They'd moved to her couch after that.

It just... happened again.

Marley sat curled sideways, Beau beside her, their legs touching where the space between them refused to stay intact for long. A movie played quietly in the background that neither of them were actually watching. Beau's hand rested on her thigh under the blanket.

Not moving much.

Just there.

Marley leaned her head against his shoulder without thinking, and Beau immediately tilted slightly into her like it was instinct.

"You're quiet," he murmured.

"I'm thinking."

"About?"

"I like this."

Beau's hand paused slightly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Her voice was softer now.

"I like you being here like this."

Beau turned his head slightly toward her.

"Marley..."

She looked up at him and the air shifted immediately. Beau's hand slid slowly up her thigh, then stopped like he was asking a question he didn't say out loud.

Marley didn't move away.

Her breath caught instead.

"Tell me if I should stop," he said quietly.

"I will," she whispered back.

That was all it took.

He leaned in first, slower this time, like he was trying not to rush anything, and kissed her like he meant it in a way that wasn't frantic or panicked or caught in chaos.

Just sure.

Marley's hand slid into his hoodie immediately, fingers gripping lightly at his waist as if anchoring herself.

Beau exhaled into the kiss like it grounded him too.

It didn't feel like everything else they'd shared before.

It felt deeper.

Slower.

Like they had time now.

His hand moved from her thigh to her waist, pulling her closer until she was fully against him, no space left between them except breath and warmth and the kind of tension that had been building for weeks.

Marley broke the kiss only briefly, forehead resting against his.

"Beau," she whispered. Her voice shook slightly.

"I know," he said quietly.

His thumb brushed lightly against her jaw.

"I know."

They kissed again.

Longer this time.

Slower still.

The movie kept playing unnoticed behind them, forgotten completely as Beau shifted slightly, guiding her gently back into the couch cushions without breaking contact.

Marley's breath hitched softly.

He stopped immediately.

Pulled back just enough to look at her.

"You okay?" he asked.

So careful.

So steady.

Marley nodded once.

"Yes."

His forehead rested against hers again, both of them breathing unevenly now, like they were balancing on something fragile and real at the same time.

Beau's voice dropped lower.

"I don't want to mess this up."

Her chest tightened.

"You won't."

He almost smiled at that.

Almost.

Beau pulled her fully into his lap, kissing her deeper while Marley's hands slid down his shoulders, clutching lightly at his shirt.

The room suddenly felt too warm.

Too small.

Every tiny movement between them felt amplified.

Her legs tangled with his.

His hand spread against her lower back.

The shaky little breaths she kept trying to suppress every time he kissed along her jaw.

"Jesus Christ," Beau muttered quietly against her skin.

Marley laughed breathlessly. "What?"

"You're killing me."

She smiled against his mouth before kissing him again, softer now.

And somehow that tenderness got to him even more than the heated part had.

Because underneath all the tension, there was still this unbearable sweetness between them.

Like they genuinely liked being close.

Eventually Beau rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing unevenly.

"If we keep going," he said honestly, "I don't think I'm stopping."

The admission sent heat rushing across Marley's face.

But she didn't pull away, instead her fingers brushed lightly through his hair.

"I don't want to rush," she admitted softly.

And that was all it took, immediately Beau nodded.

"Okay."

No hesitation.

No frustration.

Just okay. Something in her expression softened at that.

"You're really good to me," she whispered.

That nearly undid him more than anything else tonight. Beau looked at her for a long second before kissing her once more — slow, warm, affectionate this time.

Then he pulled the blanket higher around both of them and settled back into the couch with Marley tucked against his chest. And as she curled closer, fingers loosely linked with his, Beau realized with a startling amount of certainty that he was already falling way harder than he planned to.

#off campus #off campus fic #off campus smut #beau maxwell smut #beau maxwell off campus #beau maxwell fic #beau maxwell

Soft Spoken • Beau Maxwell Masterlist

This is a fic that I have on my wattpad @ babybaiils it will be updated faster on my wattpad then on here but i will try to keep it as up to date here as possible!!! This series is going to be a LOT of parts and im rlly excited abt it so I hope yall like it! plsssss note it will have a lot of smut in it so if you're under 18 it is not for you!! ip

Character Packs and Characters Instagrams! ◡̈

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

#off campus #off campus fic #off campus smut #beau maxwell #beau maxwell fic #beau maxwell smut #beau maxwell off campus

Soft Spoken • Beau Maxwell

Series Masterlist

Chapter Thirteen

Logan:

Can we talk today?

It was only 8am and the apartment felt different after the text. quieter. Fragile in a way it hadn't been five minutes earlier. Marley still sat curled halfway against Beau beneath the blanket, but now both of them were too aware of everything—the warmth between them, the phone in her hand, the fact that reality had finally caught up to them.

Beau looked down at the screen once more before dragging his eyes away.

"That him?" he asked softly.

Marley nodded.

Her throat suddenly felt tight.

Beau was quiet for a second before asking carefully, "You gonna answer?"

"Not yet."

The words came out almost too fast. Something unreadable flickered across his face then disappeared just as quickly.

"Okay."

God. He kept saying okay like that. Gentle. Understanding. Like he was trying so hard not to make this harder for her. Which somehow only made her chest ache more.

Marley set her phone face down on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch cushions beside him again. For a second neither of them spoke. Beau's hand rested against her waist beneath the blanket, warm and steady, but Marley could feel the carefulness in him now.

Like he was trying not to hold her too tightly. She hated it instantly. Without thinking, Marley scooted closer again until her forehead rested lightly against his shoulder.

Beau exhaled quietly. Then his arm tightened around her automatically, like instinct won.

They stayed like that awhile longer. Eventually exhaustion pulled them both back under.

—

The next time Marley woke, sunlight had replaced the storm completely. Soft pale morning light still filtered through the apartment windows, warming the blankets tangled around them on the couch.

For one blissfully disoriented second she forgot everything. Then Beau shifted sleepily behind her, curls a mess against the cushion, and memory hit all at once.

The kiss.

The rain.

The text.

Her stomach twisted immediately. Beau groaned softly and buried his face against the back of her shoulder. "What time is it?"

Marley reached blindly for her phone. "Uh..."

Ten thirty.

And another unread text from Logan sat beneath the first now.

logan:

Just let me know when.

Guilt crashed into her hard enough that she physically winced. Beau noticed immediately. His eyes opened slower this time, still heavy with sleep, but concern replaced the exhaustion almost instantly. "Hey."

Marley swallowed hard.

"I need to talk to him today."

Beau went quiet for half a second before nodding once.

"I know."

No jealousy. No frustration. Just that same awful understanding.

Marley rolled onto her back, dragging both hands over her face. "I feel sick."

Beau watched her for a moment before sitting up slowly beside her. The blanket slid down his chest, revealing the gray t-shirt he'd slept in wrinkled beyond repair now.

"You wanna know something embarrassing?" he asked.

Marley peeked at him through her fingers. "What?"

"I forgot Logan existed for like..." He glanced toward the ceiling thoughtfully. "At least four hours last night."

Despite everything, a laugh escaped her. Beau smiled faintly, relieved he got one out of her at all.

Then quieter:

"And now I feel like an asshole."

Her smile faded immediately.

"You aren't."

"I kinda am."

"You didn't do anything wrong."

Beau looked at her then, really looked at her.

"Neither did you."

That almost made it worse. Marley sat up slowly, blanket clutched around herself while Beau leaned back against the couch beside her. The apartment looked lived in this morning. Two empty glasses on the coffee table, his sweatshirt tossed over the armrest, one of his shoes halfway under the couch.

Tiny evidence of him everywhere already.

Marley stood first, mostly because sitting still suddenly felt impossible.

"I'm making coffee."

Beau nodded sleepily. "Thank Christ."

She smiled softly despite herself before disappearing into the kitchen. A few minutes later Beau wandered in behind her looking unfairly good for someone who'd slept folded onto a couch all night.

His curls were flattened on one side. His voice still rough with sleep.

Marley was actively trying not to stare when he opened one of her cabinets. Then paused. Then looked back at her.

"You own exactly one plate."

"I own two."

He opened another cabinet slowly.

"...Marley."

"What?"

"You have like seventeen mugs."

"Those are emotionally important."

Beau snorted quietly. The sound filled the kitchen warm and easy, and for one dangerous second everything felt normal again.

Like this could become normal.

Beau eventually settled beside her against the counter while coffee brewed between them. Neither of them spoke much now.

Not because it was awkward.

Because both of them were thinking too hard.

Marley could practically feel the conversation waiting for them later like a storm cloud hanging over the morning. Eventually Beau glanced at the clock on the microwave and sighed softly.

"I should probably go shower before Dean assumes I died."

Marley's chest tightened immediately at the thought of him leaving.

Which was ridiculous.

He'd been here less than twelve hours.

Still.

"Oh."

Beau noticed instantly. His expression softened as he stepped closer to her slowly until barely a breath separated them.

"Hey."

Marley looked up at him, coffee forgotten entirely now. For a second neither of them moved. The kitchen suddenly felt too small. Too warm.

Beau's eyes dropped to her mouth automatically, and the look on his face made her heartbeat stumble hard in her chest. He was going to kiss her. Marley knew he was.

She leaned toward him without even realizing it, fingers tightening slightly around the ceramic mug in her hands while Beau lifted one hand slowly to her waist.

Then—he stopped himself.

Marley saw the exact second he remembered.

Logan.

Slow down.

The conversation they'd had tangled together on the couch only a few hours earlier.

The restraint physically hurt to watch.

Beau let out the smallest shaky breath before sliding his hand upward instead, fingertips brushing softly along her jaw until he cupped the side of her face gently.

Then he leaned forward anyway.

Just not all the way.

His forehead rested against hers carefully, both of them breathing harder than they should've been for two people standing perfectly still in a kitchen.

Marley's eyes fluttered shut instantly.

God.

This was somehow worse.

More intimate than kissing would've been.

Beau stayed there for a second like he was trying to steady himself.

Or maybe trying not to kiss her anyway.

Marley could feel the warmth of his breath against her mouth. Feel the tension in the hand resting lightly at her waist.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them moved away.

Finally Beau swallowed hard before whispering softly:

"Text me after."

The words brushed directly against her lips. Marley nodded once, barely able to breathe. Beau stayed there one second longer. Then another. Like leaving her required actual effort. Eventually he pulled back just enough to look at her again, and the expression on his face nearly wrecked her completely.

Fond.

Terrified.

Marley followed him toward the front door anyway, like neither of them were ready for this moment to end yet. Beau grabbed his hoodie from the couch before pausing when he noticed she was still swallowed in the other one. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Keep it."

Her chest tightened painfully.

He opened the door slowly, lingering in the doorway afterward like he had something else to say. For one brief second Marley thought he might come back and just kiss her anyway.

Instead Beau just looked at her quietly, and this time she saw it clearly.

Fear.

Real fear underneath all the softness. Like he genuinely had no idea what happened after today. Then he gave her one final tiny smile.

"I'll talk to you later."

And then he was gone. The apartment felt too quiet the second the door shut behind him.

By the time Marley pulled into the coffee shop parking lot, her stomach hurt badly enough she thought she might actually throw up.

Rain from last night still clung to the pavement in dark patches, the air outside cool and damp as she climbed out of her car. Students drifted in and out of the café laughing, holding coffees, living completely normal lives while Marley felt like she was walking toward a car crash in slow motion.

Logan was already there.

Sitting at a table near the windows with a drink untouched in front of him.

Of course he was.

He looked up the second she walked in.

And God—that expression on his face nearly wrecked her immediately.

Not angry.

That would've been easier.

He just looked tired.

Like he hadn't slept much either.

Marley walked over slowly, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.

"Hey," Logan said softly.

"Hey."

She sat across from him, heart pounding so hard she could barely hear the music playing quietly overhead. For a second neither of them spoke. Logan glanced down at his coffee cup before looking back up at her carefully.

"You came."

The words caught her off guard. Marley frowned slightly. "Of course I came."

Something flickered across his face at that. Relief maybe. Or disappointment that he'd needed reassurance in the first place. Logan leaned back slightly in his chair, studying her for a long moment before speaking again.

"You look stressed."

Marley laughed weakly under her breath. "That obvious?"

"A little."

Silence settled again after that.

Heavy.

Waiting.

Marley could practically feel the conversation sitting between them."Logan—"

"You don't have to panic," he said gently. "I'm not mad at you."

That almost made her cry on the spot.

Because she deserved anger more than this. Marley looked down at the table briefly before forcing herself to speak.

"I'm really sorry."

Logan's expression softened immediately.

"For what?"

"For all of it." Her voice cracked slightly. "For kissing you when my feelings were already messed up. For hurting you. For making this awkward between you and Beau—"

"Hey." Logan interrupted softly. "Look at me."

She did.

And the kindness in his face made the guilt twice as unbearable.

"You didn't manipulate me, Marley."

"But I kissed you because I was upset about him."

The honesty hung painfully between them. Logan looked down briefly, jaw tightening for the first time since she arrived.

"Yeah," he admitted quietly. "I figured."

Logan leaned back slightly, gaze drifting toward the windows for a moment before returning to her. Marley blinked quickly, trying not to cry in the middle of a coffee shop. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"I know."

Again.

Immediate.

Certain.

Logan gave her a small sad smile. "You know what the shitty part is?"

Marley swallowed hard. "What?"

"I really tried not to like you."

The confession landed softly between them. Painfully honest.

"You and Beau were already..." He gestured vaguely with one hand. "Whatever the hell that is."

Marley looked down at her hands quietly, because the awful truth was that she didn't even know what this thing with Beau was anymore. Marley covered part of her face briefly with her hand. "Logan, please."

He smiled faintly for the first time since she arrived.

Then softer:

"You like him that much?"

The question sat between them quietly.

Marley could've lied.

Could've softened it.

Made it easier.

Instead she whispered:

"Yeah."

Logan looked down at his coffee again for a long moment.

Then finally nodded once to himself.

Like he already knew the answer and just needed to hear her say it out loud.

When he looked back up, his expression was sad but calm.

"You look at him like he's gonna ruin your life."

Marley's breath caught instantly. Because that was exactly what it felt like. She looked down at her hands again, twisting her fingers together tightly beneath the table.

"I hate this," she admitted quietly. "I hate that I hurt you."

"You didn't mean to."

"But I still did."

Logan stayed quiet.

Marley swallowed hard before forcing herself to continue.

"You're one of my best friends, Logan." Her voice softened now, more vulnerable. "I mean that. And if this is gonna ruin that or make things weird or hurt you more then I—I won't do this thing with Beau. I'll end it."

Logan blinked at her immediately.

"What?"

"I'm serious."

"Marley, no."

She looked up quickly, eyes already glassy again. "I'm not gonna choose a guy over people I care about." Logan stared at her for half a second like he genuinely couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Then he leaned forward slightly, brows pulling together.

"Absolutely not."

Marley frowned softly. "Logan—"

"No." He shook his head again, more firmly this time. "I care about you. And Beau's one of my best friends. I'm not gonna sit here and tell you both to be miserable because my feelings got hurt."

Her chest tightened painfully.

"But you deserve to be happy too.”

Logan smiled then.

Small.

Real this time.

"I will be."

The certainty of it caught her off guard. He shrugged lightly, glancing down at his coffee cup before looking back up at her.

"It just isn't me right now." Another tiny smile tugged at his mouth. "And honestly? That's okay."

Marley stared at him for a second, overwhelmed suddenly by how kind he was being about all of this. "You're taking this way too well."

Logan laughed softly under his breath. "No, trust me, I had my dramatic sad-boy moment already." That startled a laugh out of her instantly.

"There she is," he said quietly, smiling a little wider now.

Marley shook her head, wiping quickly beneath one eye. "I still feel awful."

"You probably should a little," he teased gently.

Her jaw dropped. "Logan."

"I'm kidding." He grinned finally, and the normalcy of it loosened something tight in her chest almost immediately. She'd been so scared this conversation would end with losing him too.

Logan leaned back in his chair again, expression softening after a second.

"Seriously though," he said. "Don't end things with Beau because of me."

Marley looked down briefly.

"He really likes you."

Her stomach flipped immediately.

"And," Logan added pointedly, "you really like him."

A helpless smile pulled at her mouth before she could stop it. Logan noticed instantly and groaned dramatically.

"Oh my God, you're gone."

Marley covered her face immediately. "Stop.

"You're actually gone." He laughed, pointing at her across the table now. "This is disgusting."

Despite herself, Marley laughed too. And just like that, the heaviness between them finally started dissolving. Not completely.

But enough.

Enough to breathe again.

Logan shook his head with another quiet laugh before glancing toward the windows thoughtfully. "Honestly," he admitted, "you two have been circling each other like idiots for weeks. It was getting painful to watch."

Marley groaned. "Please don't say that."

"Dean literally bet Tucker fifty bucks you'd end up together before Thanksgiving."

Her eyes widened. "They did not."

"They absolutely did."

"Oh my God."

Logan laughed again before standing slowly from the table, grabbing his coffee at last. Marley looked up at him carefully. "You okay?"

He paused for a second.

Then nodded.

"Yeah." And this time it actually sounded true. "I think I just needed honesty."

Relief hit her so hard she almost slumped in her chair. Logan looked down at her for another second before smirking slightly. "I should probably go over to Beau's house before he fully loses his mind."

Marley blinked. "You're gonna talk to him?"

"Yeah." Logan shrugged lightly. "Clear the air before he spirals himself into cardiac arrest."

A nervous laugh escaped her. "He's definitely spiraling."

"Thought so."

Marley stood too now, heart feeling strangely lighter for the first time all day.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Logan looked at her carefully for a second before pulling her into a quick hug.

"You don't have to thank me for caring about you."

That nearly made her emotional all over again. When they pulled apart, Logan pointed at her once.

"But if he hurts you, I reserve the right to fight him."

Marley laughed. "Noted."

Logan smiled one last time before heading toward the door. Then paused halfway there, and turned back toward her.

"And Marley?"

"Yeah?"

His grin turned softer.

"I really do hope he makes you happy."

Her chest tightened instantly.

—

Beau was pretending not to lose his mind.

Badly.

He sat sprawled across the couch in the Sigma Nu living room, phone face up beside him while a basketball game played unnoticed on the giant TV mounted across from them. Around him the frat house moved through its usual Saturday chaos—music somewhere upstairs, somebody yelling over a video game in the next room, the smell of pizza and beer lingering in the air.

Normally Beau could tune all of it out easily.

Today every sound felt like it was drilling directly into his skull.

Because Marley still hadn't texted him.

Dean sat in the armchair across from him watching the whole thing unfold with open amusement while Tucker dug through a bag of chips beside him.

"You know," Dean said casually, "if you check your phone one more time I think Apple's legally allowed to charge you rent."

Beau grabbed the phone immediately anyway.

Nothing.

Again.

"Jesus Christ," Tucker muttered. "He's actually spiraling."

"I'm not spiraling."

Dean snorted. "You paced around the kitchen for forty straight minutes."

Beau's eyes widened. "I did not."

"You absolutely did."

Tucker nearly choked laughing. Beau dropped his head back against the couch cushions and groaned loudly. "Kill me."

Honestly?

He felt insane.

The entire morning after leaving Marley's apartment had been one long anxious blur. He kept replaying the look on her face when she said she needed to talk to Logan.

Kept replaying the almost-kiss in her kitchen. The way she'd leaned toward him automatically before they both stopped themselves. It would've been easier if she didn't matter this much already.

But she did.

Way too much.

His phone buzzed suddenly against the couch cushion. Beau lunged for it so fast Tucker physically flinched.

"Holy shit," Tucker said. "That was primal."

But Beau's stomach dropped the second he saw the screen.

Logan.

The room immediately quieted.

Dean straightened in his chair. "Oh." Tucker slowly lowered the chip he was holding. Beau stared at the contact name for a second before answering carefully.

"...Hey."

"Hey," Logan said. "You at the house?"

Beau sat up straighter instantly. "Yeah."

"Cool. I'm outside."

The call disconnected. Dean's eyebrows shot up immediately. "Outside?"

Beau was already standing. His pulse hammered hard against his ribs as he headed toward the front door while Dean and Tucker exchanged wide-eyed looks behind him.

"Oh my God," Tucker whispered loudly. "Are they gonna fight?"

Dean immediately stood too. "If they do I'm recording it."

"Dean—"

"I'm kidding. Obviously."

Beau yanked open the front door before either of them could say anything else. Logan stood near the bottom of the porch steps with both hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie.

Calm. Which honestly somehow made Beau more nervous. For a second neither of them spoke.

Then Logan sighed.

"Relax," he said. "I'm not here to kill you."

Dean appeared immediately behind Beau anyway.

"Damn," he muttered. "There goes my afternoon entertainment."

"Get back inside," Beau snapped without turning around. Dean raised both hands innocently but definitely did not go far. Beau stepped outside, pulling the door halfway shut behind him. The silence between them stretched for a second.

Awkward.

Heavy.

Finally Beau rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. "You talked to her?"

Logan nodded once. Beau's chest tightened instantly.

"And?"

Logan studied him carefully for a second before answering.

"She really likes you."

The words hit Beau directly in the chest. Because part of him still hadn't fully let himself believe it. Even after last night. Even after the way she'd looked at him standing barefoot in her kitchen wearing his hoodie. Logan leaned lightly against the porch railing.

"She was already gone over you before she kissed me."

Beau looked down hard at the porch steps, jaw flexing once.

Jesus Christ.

Hearing it out loud made something inside him go completely unsteady. Logan watched him for another second before continuing softer:

"She felt awful about hurting us both."

Beau looked back up immediately. "She shouldn't."

"I know." Logan shrugged lightly. "I told her that too."

Relief flickered across Beau's face before guilt replaced it almost instantly.

"I'm sorry," he admitted quietly. "Seriously."

Logan nodded once like he appreciated hearing it.

"I know you are."

Another silence settled between them.

Less tense this time.

More honest.

Finally Logan huffed a small laugh under his breath.

"You know the worst part?"

Beau frowned slightly. "What?"

"You two have been painfully obvious for weeks."

Beau blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"Dude." Logan stared at him incredulously. "You looked at her like she hung the moon every time she walked into a room."

Beau immediately looked offended. "That is dramatic."

"It's not," Dean called from inside the doorway.

Beau turned instantly. "Why are you still there?"

"Because this is emotionally compelling television.”

Tucker appeared behind him now too holding chips.

"Honestly I'm rooting for everybody."

"Go," Beau groaned.

Logan laughed quietly for the first time since arriving. Then his expression softened again as he looked back at Beau.

"She cares about you a lot."

Beau's chest tightened painfully.

"Yeah," he admitted softly. "I care about her too. But I also care about you, man."

The understatement nearly made Logan smile again. He pointed once toward Beau.

"Just don't make me regret being mature about this."

Beau let out a startled laugh. "I won't."

"I'm serious."

"I know."

And he did. Before he could overthink it, Beau stepped forward and pulled Logan into a quick rough hug. The kind guys only did when something actually mattered.

"Thank you," Beau said quietly.

Logan clapped him once on the back. "Don't make it weird."

That finally earned a real laugh out of him. Logan started backing toward his car afterward before pausing suddenly.

"Oh," he added casually, "she's completely in love with you by the way."

Beau's eyes widened instantly. "What?"

Logan grinned.

"Figure it out yourself."

Then he got in his car and drove away before Beau could recover. Beau stood frozen on the porch staring after him for a full five seconds. Then Dean leaned against the doorway beside him.

"So," he said carefully. "You gonna pass out or throw up first?"

Beau looked at him slowly, still shell-shocked.

"I think I'm having cardiac issues."

#off campus #off campus fic #off campus smut #beau maxwell smut #beau maxwell off campus #beau maxwell fic #beau maxwell

Soft Spoken • Beau Maxwell

Series Masterlist

Chapter Twelve

Beau stayed.

At first neither of them acknowledged that he was staying.

It just... happened.

One minute they were standing tangled together beside the front door kissing each other breathless like they were trying to make up for every almost-moment they'd ruined over the past few weeks, and the next Marley was curled against his side on the couch while rain battered softly against the apartment windows and some random movie played unwatched in the background.

Neither of them had paid attention to it for at least an hour.

Beau sat slouched deep into the cushions with Marley tucked into him beneath a blanket, one of her legs draped over his while his fingers traced lazy patterns against her arm absentmindedly.

It felt terrifyingly natural.

Like they'd done this before.

Like they belonged here.

Which honestly might've been the scariest part.

Marley rested her cheek against his chest listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat while Beau pressed a soft kiss into her hair mid-conversation without even thinking about it.

The tiny unconscious affection nearly killed her every single time.

"You know Dean fully diagnosed me with feelings this morning," Beau murmured above her.

Marley laughed quietly. "Diagnosed?"

"Mhm." Beau's chest rumbled beneath her cheek. "Said I looked like a Victorian man dying of tuberculosis."

She snorted softly. "Honestly? Accurate."

"Fuck you."

His hand slid higher along her arm, fingers brushing gently against the sleeve of his hoodie still swallowed around her body. Beau looked down at her then, expression softening immediately.

"You cried in Garrett's car?"

Marley groaned instantly and buried her face harder into his chest. "I hate everybody."

Beau laughed quietly. "Dean told me you were crying after I walked inside and I genuinely thought I was gonna throw up."

Her chest tightened.

He said things like that so casually now. Honest things. Things that cracked her open immediately.

Marley tilted her head back slightly to look at him. "Garrett said you looked like someone shot your dog."

Beau looked offended. "That's dramatic."

"You literally drove through a thunderstorm to bang on my apartment door like a Hallmark movie character."

"Okay well—"

"You were soaking wet."

"You still let me in."

Marley smiled before she could stop herself.

Beau visibly noticed.

His entire expression softened into something unbearably fond as he looked down at her tucked against him beneath the blanket.

God.

That look again.

That horrible wonderful look like she mattered too much already.

The apartment glowed warm and dim around them while rain streaked softly against the windows. Beau's fingers drifted into her hair slowly, untangling strands carefully.

"You know what's really messed up?" he asked quietly.

"What?"

"I almost left after your text."

Marley's stomach tightened instantly. Beau looked down at her.

"I sat in my car for like ten minutes trying to convince myself to respect it." He laughed softly under his breath. "Then I realized if I went home without seeing you I'd lose my fucking mind."

Something in her chest physically ached hearing that.

She looked down at her hands quietly. "I didn't mean it."

"I know."

"No, I really didn't." Her voice came softer now. More vulnerable. "I just got scared."

Beau's expression changed immediately.

He shifted slightly so he could see her better, fingers brushing gently beneath her chin until she looked up at him again.

"Hey," he said softly. "I'm scared too."

The honesty in his voice made her throat tighten instantly.

"I've just..." Marley swallowed hard. "I've never had somebody matter this fast before."

Beau stared at her for a second like the words hit him directly in the chest.

Then quieter:

"Me neither."

Silence settled around them again. Not awkward. Just heavy in that strange intimate way everything between them felt now.

Marley became suddenly aware of how late it had gotten.

How dark the apartment was.

How warm Beau felt beside her.

How his hand hadn't stopped touching her for nearly two hours.

Dangerous.

This was dangerous.

Because she could already feel herself slipping too far into this. Into him.

And Logan still existed.

The thought hit her like cold water suddenly.

Marley's chest tightened immediately.

Beau noticed the shift in her expression almost instantly. "What?"

She hesitated.

Then quietly:

"I need to talk to Logan."

Beau went still.

Not angry.

Not defensive.

Just still.

Rain filled the silence for a second.

Marley sat up slightly now, blanket clutched loosely around herself. "I feel awful about what happened."

Beau looked away briefly, jaw tightening before he nodded once. "I know."

"He didn't deserve any of it."

"No," Beau admitted quietly. "He didn't."

Guilt curled heavily in her stomach again. Marley tucked a strand of hair behind her ear nervously.

"I don't want him to think I used him."

Beau's eyes lifted back to hers immediately. "Did you?"

"God, no."

The answer came so fast it almost startled both of them.

Marley's expression crumpled slightly. "That's what makes it worse."

Beau watched her carefully.

"He was trying to make me feel better," she whispered. "And I kissed him because I was upset about you."

Something complicated flickered across Beau's face at that.

Not jealousy exactly.

Something sadder.

"I know you care about him," he said quietly after a second.

Marley looked at him carefully. Beau leaned back into the couch cushions, one hand rubbing tiredly across his jaw before he admitted softly:

"I just hate that he got the version of you I wanted."

Her heart physically cracked.

"Beau—"

"I'm not blaming you," he said quickly. "I'm not." His eyes met hers again. Honest. Open. "I just think if we're doing this... I don't wanna start it by hurting people we care about."

The maturity of it somehow made her love him a little.

Which was deeply inconvenient.

Marley moved closer again slowly until their knees touched beneath the blanket.

"I think we need to slow down," she admitted quietly.

Beau's expression flickered for half a second.

Not hurt.

Just cautious.

"Slow down?"

"Just until I talk to Logan."

He studied her face for a long moment before nodding once.

"Okay."

Marley's chest tightened immediately because unlike earlier, this okay didn't feel cold.

It felt careful.

Respectful.

Which honestly made it worse.

Beau reached over after a second and brushed his fingers gently against hers.

"But I'm still staying," he said softly.

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." His mouth twitched slightly. "I'm emotionally attached to your couch now."

The tension finally cracked a little.

Marley smiled again, smaller this time but real.

And later—much later—they fell asleep there accidentally.

Not kissing.

Not talking.

Just tangled together beneath the blanket while rain softened against the windows sometime after two in the morning.

Marley woke briefly once in the middle of the night to darkness and Beau's arm wrapped securely around her waist like instinct had placed it there.

For a second she just laid there listening to his breathing.

Feeling the warmth of him behind her.

Safe.

The realization terrified her enough that she almost couldn't breathe.

By morning the rain had finally stopped.

Weak sunlight filtered softly through the apartment windows while Marley blinked awake slowly against Beau's chest, disoriented for one peaceful second before memory returned all at once.

Beau.

The couch.

Last night.

His arm tightened around her slightly as he stirred awake too, curls a complete disaster now.

"Morning," he mumbled sleepily into her hair.

Marley's heart did something genuinely pathetic.

Before she could answer, her phone buzzed against the coffee table.

Both of them looked toward it automatically.

And somehow, instantly, the air changed.

Marley reached for it slowly.

One text.

From Logan.

logan:

Can we talk today?

#off campus #off campus fic #off campus smut #beau maxwell smut #beau maxwell off campus #beau maxwell fic #beau maxwell

Soft Spoken • Beau Maxwell

Series Masterlist

Chapter Eleven

Beau barely slept.

Not because he was drunk.

Not because the house stayed loud until three in the morning.

Not even because Dean and Tucker got into a screaming match over frozen mozzarella sticks at two-thirty that somehow ended with someone throwing ranch dressing at the ceiling.

None of that kept him awake.

It was Marley.

Obviously.

Beau stared at the ceiling of the hockey houses guest room while weak gray morning light filtered through the blinds, one arm thrown over his eyes as exhaustion sat heavy in his bones.

And still—he couldn't stop replaying last night.

I kissed Logan.

Jesus Christ.

Beau groaned quietly into his pillow before dragging both hands down his face. Objectively, he knew this shouldn't be affecting him this much. That was the part he genuinely couldn't wrap his head around. Girls had kissed other guys behind his back many times.

Hell, Beau had hooked up with girls who had boyfriends before. Hockey house parties practically ran on bad decisions and emotional incompetence. Usually he could shrug shit off by morning without a second thought.

So why did this feel like someone had cracked his ribs open? Why did the thought of Marley kissing Logan make him physically ill?

And worse: why had hearing her say I don't know hurt more than the kiss itself?

Beau sat up slowly against the headboard, jaw tight.

Because that was the part he couldn't stop thinking about.

Not Logan.

Not the backyard.

Not even the jealousy clawing violently through his chest every time he pictured it.

It was the uncertainty.

Did you mean it?

I don't know.

Like maybe she didn't want him the way he wanted her. Which was insane. Because when the hell had that even happened? When had this stopped being flirting and turned into something that could ruin his entire night in under five seconds?

Beau grabbed his phone from the nightstand instinctively.

No texts.

His chest sank anyway.

Pathetic.

He tossed the phone back down harder than necessary and scrubbed a hand over his face again.

This was ridiculous.

He'd known Marley for what?

A few weeks?

And somehow, she was the first thing he thought about in the morning, the only person who could make him leave a party early without even trying, the only girl he'd ever cared about texting him back, and apparently the only person on earth capable of making him jealous enough to spiral into acting like a complete asshole.

He thought about yesterday morning again.

Seeing Marley's name on Logan's phone.

Watching him read the text.

The sick feeling that had settled in his stomach immediately after.

Then the party.

The random girl practically in his lap.

Trying to pretend he didn't care.

God. He actually had turned into every cliché Marley probably already thought he was.

Beau leaned forward, elbows on his knees now.

Because the truth was—he hadn't wanted that girl.

He'd wanted Marley to walk through the front door and look at him. Which she had. And he'd still managed to screw it up. A knock sounded against the door before Dean pushed it open without waiting.

He stopped immediately upon seeing Beau awake.

"...Wow."

Beau looked up tiredly. "What."

Dean stared at him for a second. "You look like a Victorian man dying of tuberculosis."

"Thanks."

Dean walked farther into the room holding a Gatorade and half-eaten granola bar. "No seriously. You look hauntingly unwell." He squinted slightly. "Did you sleep at all?"

"Not really."

Dean blinked dramatically. "Oh my God."

"What."

"You like her."

Beau rolled his eyes instantly. "Don't."

Dean pointed aggressively. "No no no. You're doing the thing."

"What thing?"

"The emotionally devastated athlete thing." Dean climbed onto the desk chair backwards. "This is huge. You've never done this before."

Beau let out a dry laugh. "Done what."

"Cared."

The word landed harder than Beau expected. Dean's expression softened slightly after a second. "Like... actually cared."

Silence settled briefly. Beau looked away first, jaw tightening. Because annoyingly—Dean wasn't wrong. Usually after messy situations Beau could move on in like twelve hours max. Hook up with somebody else. Distract himself. Forget about it.

But this?

He couldn't even imagine touching another girl right now without feeling weirdly sick about it. Which was deeply alarming. Dean watched realization hit him in real time and looked genuinely delighted.

"What actually happened last night? Because all I got was horrifying tension and then Marley crying hard enough that I almost called 911."

Beau immediately looked up. "What?"

Dean's expression shifted slightly. "Yeah."

Something tight pulled instantly in Beau's chest. Dean leaned back in the chair. "Dude, after you walked inside she fully broke down."

Beau stared at him.

"What do you mean broke down?"

"I mean crying." Dean gestured vaguely. "Like actual tears. Not hot-girl movie tears either. Real ones."

Guilt hit Beau so fast it almost made him nauseous. He looked away sharply.

"Fuck."

Dean studied him for a second before his tone softened slightly. "What did she say to you out there?"

Beau dragged a hand through his curls slowly, exhaustion written all over his face now. "It was just..." He exhaled hard through his nose. "A disaster."

Dean waited. And somehow Beau found himself explaining anyway. Not every detail, but enough.

"She thought I was hooking up with that girl at the party."

Dean snorted immediately. "The blonde? Beau, she literally ambushed you."

"I know."

Dean pointed at him. "Also you looked miserable the entire time."

Beau rubbed both hands over his face. "I thought Marley was ignoring me for Logan."

Dean blinked once. "Jesus Christ. You idiots are exhausting."

"She didn't answer my text all day."

"Because she's psychotic about school."

"I know that now too."

Dean laughed quietly under his breath while Beau leaned back against the headboard again.

"I saw Logan texting her yesterday morning, she was responding to him but not me," Beau admitted. "Then she shows up at the party and immediately disappears outside with him after seeing me with another girl and—"

Dean's eyes widened slowly.

"Ohhhh."

"Yeah."

"Damn."

Beau stared down at his hands. "I went outside after Logan came back in."

"And?"

For a second Beau didn't answer.

Then quietly:

"She came to the party for me."

Dean went still.

Beau laughed once under his breath, but there was no humor in it. "And I still somehow managed to fuck the entire thing up."

Dean watched him carefully now. Beau swallowed hard before continuing. "We almost kissed after the drive in, and she said she pulled away because she was scared." His jaw tightened slightly. "And then right when I thought maybe we were fixing things..." He looked away again. "She told me she kissed Logan."

Dean physically recoiled. "Oh my God."

"Yeah."

"Like kissed kissed?"

Beau gave him a look.

"Dude."

Silence settled heavily for a second.

Then Dean asked carefully:

"What did you do?"

Beau laughed quietly again, exhausted. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I didn't yell at her."

"Well, good."

Beau ignored him. Dean studied his face for another second before realization dawned slowly. "Wait." His eyes narrowed. "You're not even mad at Logan."

Beau frowned slightly. "What?"

"Most guys would've immediately gone into caveman mode over that."

Beau shrugged once tiredly. "Logan didn't do anything wrong."

Dean stared at him like he was clinically fascinating.

"Wow," he said softly.

"Dean."

"No seriously. You're sitting here heartbroken over a girl who kissed your friend and somehow your main concern is whether she's upset."

Beau opened his mouth to argue. Nothing came out. Because unfortunately—that was exactly the problem. The second Dean said Marley cried after he left, all Beau could think about was her standing alone outside in the cold.

Crying because of him.

His chest twisted painfully.

Then Dean said more gently "For what it's worth... she looked wrecked."

Beau stared at the floor.

"Like genuinely wrecked," Dean continued. "She ran out of here crying so hard Garrett had to drive her home."

That hit harder than Beau expected. Garrett drove her home. Meaning she hadn't even stayed. Hadn't gone back inside. Hadn't talked to anyone else. She just left.

Because of him.

Beau leaned back slowly against the wall behind him and closed his eyes briefly.

God.

What the hell had happened to him? A month ago he would've laughed in someone's face if they told him one girl could affect him like this. Now he felt like his entire nervous system depended on whether Marley Williams was upset with him.

And somehow the scariest part wasn't the jealousy. Or the hurt. Or even Logan.

It was the realization that underneath all of it— he wanted her badly enough that losing her already felt terrifying.

Marley woke up with swollen eyes, a pounding headache, and Beau's hoodie still clutched against her chest.

For one blissful half-second she was too disoriented to remember why.

Then everything hit her at once.

The party.

Logan.

Beau.

The backyard.

Dean witnessing her psychological collapse in real time.

Garrett witnessing her full blown breakdown in his car.

"Oh my God," she whispered into her pillow.

Humiliation flooded her entire body so aggressively she considered genuinely never leaving her apartment again. Rain tapped softly against the windows of her bedroom while pale gray morning light filtered weakly through the curtains. Marley rolled onto her back slowly and stared at the ceiling in despair.

What the fuck had she done?

Her phone sat face-down beside her on the mattress. She didn't want to look at it. Which obviously meant she grabbed it immediately.

Two texts.

The first was from Garrett.

Sent at 12:42 a.m.

You alive?

Then another one ten minutes later:

Also for the record I think you're being too hard on yourself

Marley's chest tightened unexpectedly.

God.

Why was everyone being so nice to her?

The second text was from Logan.

Sent at 1:14 a.m.

you get home okay?

Marley shut her eyes instantly.

Of course Logan texted to make sure she got home safe after she emotionally steamrolled him into oblivion.

God.

She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes hard enough to see stars. He was so fucking sweet it made her want to die.

Logan had every right to hate her. And somehow he was still being nice. Which made her feel approximately ten thousand times worse.

Slowly, against her better judgment, she opened her messages again.

Nothing from Beau.

Her stomach dropped anyway.

Which was ridiculous.

Why would he text her after last night?

Why would he text her ever again?

Still, disappointment settled heavy in her chest before she could stop it. Marley tossed the phone onto the bed beside her and buried her face back into the pillow with a muffled groan.

This was bad.

Not awkward bad.

Not miscommunication bad.

Nuclear bad.

Because somewhere between studying together and football games and late-night conversations in empty stadiums, Beau had stopped feeling casual. And apparently she'd realized that at the exact same moment she detonated her entire life. Another wave of humiliation hit as flashes from last night replayed violently in her head.

I kissed Logan.

Jesus Christ.

She physically rolled onto her side like she could escape the memory. Then immediately another one surfaced:

one kiss can apparently ruin my entire fucking night, so.

Her chest tightened painfully. If Beau had just acted like an asshole, she could've been angry. Anger was manageable. But instead he came outside after her, explained himself immediately, apologized, admitted he'd been miserable all day, looked at her like she hung the fucking moon..

Right before she told him she'd kissed his best friend.

Fantastic.

Absolutely incredible work from her.

And logan. Oh god logan. Perfect angel logan. What she did to him was fucking awful. Disgusting.

Jesus, what's wrong with me?

Marley pressed the palms of her hands harder against her eyes, like maybe she could physically force the thoughts out of her brain.

It didn't work.

Unfortunately.

Because every time she closed her eyes she saw Beau standing in the backyard looking completely wrecked while she casually detonated both of their lives.

The rain never stopped all day. By noon the entire city had dissolved into gray skies and fogged windows, the kind of miserable weather that made Boston feel small and lonely and freezing. Marley spent most of the day exactly where she deserved to be: rotting in bed in Beau's hoodie while Netflix played untouched in the background and a bowl of soup slowly went cold on her nightstand.

She answered Garrett eventually.

Marley:

alive unfortunately

Garrett:

dramatic

Marley:

i ruined my life

Garrett:

you really didn't

Marley:

garrett i kissed his best friend

Garrett:

And Beau spent the entire night looking like someone shot his dog because he thought you liked Logan more than him which we all know isn’t true.

Marley stared at that text for a long time, then locked her phone and threw it across the bed again.

She genuinely could not handle hearing things like that right now.

The problem was that every time she tried convincing herself Beau didn't actually care, her brain immediately replayed every moment that proved otherwise.

The drive-in.

The stadium.

The way he looked at her.

The way he came after her outside immediately instead of letting her leave upset.

One kiss can apparently ruin my entire fucking night, so.

Her stomach twisted violently again.

God.

By six o'clock she'd migrated from her bed to the couch purely for variety, curled beneath a blanket with another bowl of soup balanced in her lap while rain hammered softly against the apartment windows. Her phone remained face-down on the coffee table.

Because she was trying very hard not to care whether Beau texted her.

Which obviously meant she'd checked it approximately every four minutes all day.

Nothing.

Not from him.

And honestly?

That probably should've relieved her.

Instead it made her chest ache.

Maybe he'd finally realized this whole thing was too messy.

Maybe he woke up and saw things clearly now.

Maybe last night embarrassed him as much as it embarrassed her.

Maybe—

Her phone buzzed against the coffee table suddenly.

Marley's heart jumped so hard it physically hurt. She grabbed it immediately.

Beau:

You awake?

Her breath caught. For a second she just stared at the screen while heat flooded painfully into her chest. One text. That was all it took.

Outside, rain streaked against the windows while the apartment suddenly felt too quiet. Too small. Too full of him somehow. Marley swallowed hard before typing carefully.

Marley:

Yes

Three dots appeared instantly.

Beau:

How are you feeling?

She laughed softly under her breath at that. She hurt him and he was still worried about her.

Marley:

like i should legally never be allowed near another human being again

Beau:

Yeah

Beau:

I kinda feel the same

Her chest tightened immediately. Marley stared at the messages while anxiety curled low in her stomach again.

Because this—this was dangerous.

Not the fight.

Not Logan.

This feeling.

The terrifying pull she had toward him even now.

She should end this before it got worse. Before she got attached enough for it to actually destroy her. Too late for that, a traitorous part of her brain whispered.

She ignored it aggressively.

Another message appeared.

Beau:

Can I come over?

Marley froze.

Completely.

Her pulse started hammering instantly.

She knew exactly what would happen if Beau walked through her front door right now. She'd forgive him for everything. She'd melt.

She'd tell him too much. She'd let herself want things she absolutely could not afford to want.

And that terrified her.

The typing bubble appeared again.

Beau:

Please

Her eyes burned instantly.

God.

Why did that one word hurt?

Marley stood abruptly from the couch and walked toward the windows, hugging the blanket tighter around herself while rain blurred the city lights outside.

This was exactly how people got wrecked. By wanting someone too much. By letting them matter too quickly. And Beau already mattered enough to ruin her entire nervous system in less than a month.

That wasn't normal.

It wasn't safe.

Slowly, she typed:

Marley:

i don't think that's a good idea

The response came almost immediately.

Beau:

Why

Marley:

because last night was a mess

Beau:

Then let me fix it

Her throat tightened painfully.

Marley:

you can't.

A long pause.

Then:

Beau:

Marley

Beau:

Look at me for one second and tell me this is actually what you want

Her chest physically ached reading it.

Because no.

It wasn't.

But fear was louder right now.

Fear of getting hurt.

Fear of ruining things.

Fear of needing someone this badly.

Fear of him.

Tears stung her eyes suddenly out of nowhere.

Marley:

i just think maybe we should leave it alone

The typing bubble appeared immediately this time.

Beau:

You don't mean that

Her breath caught.

He was right.

Which was exactly why she forced herself to type:

Marley:

i do.

The message delivered.

Silence.

No typing bubble.

Nothing.

Marley stared at the screen while something hollow opened slowly inside her chest.

Then finally:

Beau:

Okay.

That one word hurt more than she expected. And somehow that was the moment she realized she'd made a horrible mistake.

By ten-thirty the rain still hadn't stopped. Neither had Marley's spiraling. The apartment was dark except for the dim light above the stove and the storm-muted glow bleeding through the windows. Some random movie played quietly in the background, completely ignored while Marley sat curled into the corner of the couch wrapped in a blanket and Beau's hoodie, staring at her phone like it had personally ruined her life.

Okay.

One word.

That was all Beau sent after she pushed him away.

It felt final.

Marley pressed both hands over her face with a groan.

God.

Why did this feel like heartbreak already?

A hard knock suddenly hit the apartment door.

She jumped violently.

Another knock followed immediately after.

Faster.

Urgent.

Her stomach dropped instantly.

Because she knew.

Heart pounding, Marley stood from the couch and crossed the apartment barefoot, blanket still wrapped around herself.

Another knock.

"Marley."

Beau.

The sound of his voice through the door absolutely wrecked her.

She unlocked it too quickly.

The second the door opened, Beau pushed inside out of the rain like pure adrenaline was carrying him. His curls were soaked, hoodie damp from the storm, chest rising hard like he'd run up the stairs instead of taking the elevator.

And he looked frantic.

Actually frantic.

The second his eyes landed on her, something emotional cracked openly across his face.

"No," he said immediately, shaking his head. "No, I'm not letting you do this."

Marley blinked at him. "Beau—"

"You don't get to push me away because you're afraid."

His voice wasn't angry. It was desperate. Raw in a way she'd never heard from him before. Rain hammered against the windows while Beau dragged both hands through his wet curls, pacing once through the apartment like he had too much energy in his body to stand still.

"You think I'm not scared too?" he asked harshly. "Marley, no girl has ever been able to make me actually hurt before."

Her breath caught instantly. Beau looked at her like the admission physically pained him.

"Do you understand how insane that is for me?" he continued. "One text ruined my entire fucking day yesterday. I saw Logan texting you and suddenly I couldn't think straight."

Marley swallowed hard.

"I've never cared about somebody enough for this to affect me like this before," he admitted, voice rougher now. "And it's terrifying."

The vulnerability in his face almost destroyed her on sight.

"But I'm still here," he said firmly. "I'm still showing up."

Silence stretched between them. Then Marley finally spoke quietly.

"You hurt me too."

Beau stopped completely. Marley looked away first because suddenly her eyes were burning again.

"You thought I was ignoring you for a few hours and immediately let girls all over you."

His face tightened instantly. "Marley—"

"No, I know we aren't together," she said quickly. "So technically I don't get to be upset about it. But that doesn't mean it didn't hurt."

Beau looked genuinely stricken now. Marley laughed once shakily, wrapping her arms tighter around herself.

"I came to that party for you," she admitted softly. "I was nervous the entire drive there because I wanted to see you so bad, and then I walked in and there's some girl basically sitting in your lap while you looked over at me like I had interrupted something."

"I wasn't—," Beau said immediately.

"Well, I didn't know that."

Her voice cracked slightly.

"And Logan came outside after me because I was crying like an idiot over a guy who clearly didn't care."

Beau flinched hard at that. Marley rubbed at her eyes angrily.

"And he was just... nice." Her throat tightened. "He sat there telling me I deserved better and trying to make me feel okay and all I could think was—"

She stopped herself.

Beau stepped closer slowly. "What?"

Marley shut her eyes briefly.

"I thought..." Her voice came out embarrassingly small. "Why am I sitting here crying over somebody who doesn't even want me when there's this genuinely good guy right in front of me trying to make me feel better?"

Beau stared at her.

"And I kissed him," she whispered. "Not because I have feelings for Logan. I don't." Tears filled her eyes again instantly. "I just wanted to stop feeling hurt for like five seconds."

The apartment went quiet except for the rain. Beau looked wrecked hearing it. Marley's voice shook harder now.

"And the second I did it I knew it wasn't what I wanted."

Her chest ached violently.

"Because all I could think about was you."

Silence.

Heavy.

Breathless.

Beau stepped closer again, slowly this time, like he was scared she'd disappear if he moved too fast.

"Marley," he said softly, "I care about you so much it's actually making me insane."

That hit her like a physical blow.

"I didn't want that girl," he admitted immediately. "I barely even registered she was there. I just wanted you to walk through the door and look at me."

Marley's eyes burned.

"And when I thought you wanted Logan instead..." He laughed once bitterly. "I turned into a complete asshole because I didn't know what to do with how jealous I was."

Neither of them spoke for a second.

Then quieter now:

"I'm scared too," Beau admitted. "But I'm not gonna run away every time this starts feeling real."

And that finally broke something open inside her. The apartment had gone breathlessly silent. The kind where every tiny movement suddenly felt massive.

Rain hammered softly against the windows while Beau stood impossibly close now, close enough Marley could see the faint exhaustion beneath his eyes, the damp curls falling onto his forehead, the rise and fall of his chest like he was still trying to calm down from driving here.

And he was looking at her like she was breaking him apart. Marley's pulse thudded painfully in her throat. Neither of them moved. Neither of them seemed capable of it. Then Beau lifted one hand slowly, carefully, like he was giving her every chance to stop him.

His fingers brushed lightly against her jaw. The touch nearly destroyed her. Marley inhaled sharply as warmth spread instantly through her entire body, her eyes fluttering shut for half a second on instinct alone. Beau's thumb traced softly along her cheekbone, catching the tear she hadn't even realized slipped free.

"So this is what we're doing now?" he asked quietly, voice rough with emotion. "Making each other cry twenty-four seven?"

A breathless laugh escaped her before she could stop it. The sound visibly undid him. Something softened in Beau's face instantly, something aching and fond and overwhelmed all at once.

God.

The way he looked at her.

Marley didn't think anyone had ever looked at her like that before. Like she mattered. Like losing her would hurt. Her chest tightened so hard it almost hurt to breathe.

"I hated thinking you didn't care," she admitted softly.

Beau's expression cracked immediately.

"Marley," he whispered, stepping even closer, "I care so much."

That was it. That was the thing that finally shattered whatever fragile restraint remained between them. Marley grabbed the front of his hoodie suddenly and pulled him down into her. Beau kissed her like he'd been trying not to for weeks.

Like relief.

Like frustration.

Like want.

The second his mouth touched hers, everything else disappeared.

Marley made a small broken sound against his lips as Beau's hands found her instantly—one sliding firmly against her waist, the other cradling the side of her face like he couldn't decide whether to hold her gently or pull her impossibly closer.

So he did both.

The kiss deepened almost immediately, all the tension and jealousy and fear between them collapsing at once.

And God—Beau kissed her like he meant it.

Like every late-night conversation and almost-touch and restrained moment had been building to this exact thing. Marley's fingers tangled into the damp curls at the back of his neck automatically, pulling him closer as her brain short-circuited completely from the feeling of him.

Warm.

Solid.

Real.

Beau exhaled shakily against her mouth when she tugged his hair slightly, like the sensation hit him straight in the chest. "Jesus Christ," he murmured breathlessly against her lips before kissing her again immediately.

Harder this time.

Needier.

Marley stumbled backward slightly from the force of it until her back hit the wall beside the doorway with a soft thud. Beau caught her instantly, one arm wrapping around her waist protectively like even now he was worried about hurting her.

But Marley barely noticed anything except him.

His hands.

His mouth.

The way he kissed her like he'd been holding himself back for far too long.

Every emotion from the last twenty-four hours poured into it.

The jealousy.

The fear.

The relief.

Wanting each other so badly it had started ruining them both. Beau pulled back only far enough to rest his forehead against hers, both of them breathing hard now. His eyes searched her face almost desperately.

"You have no idea," he said quietly, voice wrecked, "how long I've wanted to do that." A disbelieving smile broke across his face then—small and overwhelmed and so genuinely happy it made her chest ache.

Then he kissed her again. Slower this time. Still intense. Still emotional. But softer around the edges now, like they finally had permission.

Beau's hand slid gently into her hair while Marley melted against him completely, every defense mechanism she'd tried building over the last twelve hours collapsing beyond repair.

And judging by the way Beau held her like he never wanted to let go again—

he felt it too.

#off campus #off campus fic #off campus smut #beau maxwell smut #beau maxwell off campus #beau maxwell fic #beau maxwell

Soft Spoken • Beau Maxwell

Series Masterlist

Chapter Ten

Marley blinked at him, still slightly breathless from the kiss. "What?"

Logan looked away first, jaw tightening slightly before he exhaled through his nose.

"That wasn't about me."

The guilt she'd already been trying not to feel immediately doubled.

"Logan—"

"You kissed me because you're upset about Beau."

His voice wasn't angry. Which somehow made it worse. Marley pulled her knees closer to her chest against the cold. "I'm sorry."

Logan stayed quiet.

"I don't know why I did that," she admitted softly. "You were just being really sweet and I—" she laughed weakly at herself, "I don't know. Like why am I crying about some jerk who doesn't give a shit about me when this perfect guy is sitting right in front of me?"

Logan looked back at her then. And God, the expression on his face nearly broke her heart.

He looked disappointed. Not in her exactly. Just hurt. "Marley," he said quietly, "I actually really like you."

Her breath caught slightly.

"You're beautiful," he continued carefully. "And funny. And terrifyingly smart. And honestly one of the only people I can sit with for more than ten minutes without getting annoyed."

Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped her. Logan smiled faintly for half a second before it faded again. "But you've been Beau's girl," he admitted. "So I left it alone."

Marley stared at him. "Beau's girl?" she repeated softly.

Logan shrugged once. "You know what I mean."

Except she didn't. Or maybe she did, and hearing someone else say it out loud hurt more than she expected.

Because if she was Beau's girl—Then why had tonight felt so awful?

Marley looked back toward the glowing windows of the hockey house where music still pulsed through the walls.

"Clearly I'm not Beau's girl," she said quietly. "Apparently I never was."

Logan's face tightened immediately. "That's not true."

"Really?" she laughed bitterly. "Because from where I'm sitting it kinda seems like I imagined this whole thing."

"You didn't."

"Then why does it matter?" Marley asked, frustrated now. "Why does any of this matter if Beau's in there kissing random girls anyway?"

Logan went still. For a second she thought maybe he wouldn't answer. Then he looked directly at her. "Because I actually like you, and I'm a person too."

Fuck.

"And right now," Logan continued quietly, "you're using me to get back at him whether you mean to or not."

Marley opened her mouth immediately. "I wasn't—"

"You were."

Not cruel. Not upset. Just honest. And because it was Logan, the honesty hit clean and sharp straight through her chest.

"You're hurt," he said softly. "I get that."

God.

Marley suddenly wished he would yell at her instead, she deserved it. Anything except look at her with that calm understanding like he already knew she hadn't meant to hurt him either.

"It's not fair," Logan finished quietly.

Silence settled heavily between them. Marley stared down at her hands twisting together in her lap because she genuinely didn't know what to say. He was right.

Logan stood slowly from the bench before she could figure out how to fix any of this.

"Logan—"

But he just shook his head once.

Not angry.

Not dramatic.

Almost worse.

Then he shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and started walking back toward the house.

Leaving Marley sitting alone in the cold backyard with tears burning painfully behind her eyes all over again.

And somewhere inside the hockey house, muffled through the walls—People were still laughing.

Logan barely made it three steps into the kitchen before Beau noticed him. Mostly because he had watched logan chase after Marley.

And now he came back alone.

Beau straightened slightly from where he leaned against the counter, conversation with Garrett dying mid-sentence in his throat. Across the room Dean was still loudly arguing with Tucker about whether tequila was "a personality trait," but Beau barely registered any of it.

His eyes locked onto Logan immediately. Logan grabbed a water bottle from the fridge without looking up. Something in Beau's chest tightened.

"Where's Marley?"

The question came out sharper than he intended. Logan twisted the cap off the bottle slowly. "Outside." He said harshly, shoulder checking Beau as he walked past them and upstairs to his room.

Dean looked between both of them immediately. "Okay what the hell just happened?”

Beau ignored him, walking towards the back door. The cold air hit immediately when he stepped outside. Music muffled behind the walls of the house while the backyard stretched dark and quiet beyond the porch lights.

For one horrible second he thought she'd already gone home. Then he saw her. Marley sat curled tightly on the bench near the firepit, arms wrapped around herself with her face turned away toward the fence.

Something in Beau's chest twisted painfully. Because she looked small. Not intimidating-pre-med-genius Marley. Not sharp sarcastic Marley. Just... hurt. He approached slower this time. Careful.

"Marley."

She stiffened immediately at his voice but didn't look up.

Beau stopped a few feet away.

"I can explain," he said quietly.

Marley let out a soft humorless laugh.

"That's usually not a great sign."

Beau ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "She kissed me. I didn't kiss her back."

Marley looked over finally then. Her eyes were still glassy. And Jesus Christ, that alone made guilt hit him hard enough to feel sick.

"You seemed pretty okay with her sitting on top of you before that," she said softly.

Beau blinked once.

Then immediately:

"Oh."

Because she really thought—

"No." He stepped closer automatically. "Marley, no."

She looked away again instantly. "You don't have to do damage control."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I've been miserable all day because I thought you were ghosting me after we almost kissed last night."

That made her head snap back toward him.

Beau laughed once under his breath, exhausted now. "You didn't answer my text. Then I saw your name pop up on Logan's phone." He shook his head slightly. "I genuinely thought you were done with me."

Marley stared at him.

"I was studying." She looked horrified now. "Beau, I forgot to answer you because I was freaking out about my physiology exam and Logan had old notes from the class."

Beau felt like a fucking asshole. Immediately assuming the worst, letting his anxiety take over and completely fuck with his head, making assumptions, jumping on the first girl he saw to distract himself. God, he was a total frat boy cliche. "Fuck, marley I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so fucking stupid."

Beau moved closer slowly until he stood directly in front of her now. Marley looked up at him from the bench, curls messy from the wind, Beau's hoodie strings still looped around her fingers from earlier.

"You came here for me?" he asked quietly.

Marley swallowed once.

"Yeah."

The honesty in it nearly undid him. Beau stared at her for a second too long before speaking again. "I thought you regretted almost kissing me."

"What?" Marley frowned immediately. "No."

"You pulled away."

"Because I was scared."

Beau stepped even closer instinctively.

Marley's breath caught softly.

The air shifted again.

That same impossible pull snapping tight between them like it always did.

Beau's voice lowered.

"Marley."

Her pulse jumped immediately at the sound of it.

And suddenly all she could think about was him leaning in again.

Maybe this time actually kissing her.

But guilt crashed into her stomach so violently she physically flinched.

Beau noticed instantly. "What?"

Marley looked down.

And oh no.

"Oh my God," she whispered to herself.

"Marley?"

She pressed her lips together hard.

Because she had completely forgotten for one catastrophic second that she kissed Logan like four minutes ago.

"Marley." He repeated.

She stood abruptly from the bench like movement alone might somehow save her from this conversation.

It did not.

Cold air whipped through the backyard while music thudded faintly through the walls behind them. Marley pressed both hands against her forehead for a second like she physically could not deal with her own life anymore.

"This is a disaster," she muttered.

Beau frowned. "What is?"

She looked at him then. And God, the softness in his face made this a thousand times worse. Because five minutes ago she'd been convinced he didn't care about her at all. Now he was standing here looking at her like she mattered enough to wreck his entire night.

"Marley," Beau said again, quieter this time. "What happened?"

She swallowed hard.

"I kissed Logan."

Silence.

Complete.

Immediate.

Brutal.

Beau went very still.

Like completely still.

Marley watched the words hit him in real time and immediately wanted to throw herself directly into the Atlantic Ocean.

she rushed her words out instantly. "I was upset and confused and he was being really nice and then I just—"

Beau laughed once.

Not amused.

Just stunned.

"You kissed Logan."

"Beau—"

"You kissed Logan," he repeated softer this time, like he still couldn't fully process the sentence. Marley wrapped her arms around herself tighter instinctively. "I thought you were playing me."

"And your solution was to go make out with my best friend?"

The hurt underneath the sarcasm hit harder than if he'd yelled.

"It wasn't like that."

Beau looked away sharply, dragging a hand through his curls before laughing again under his breath. "Jesus Christ."

Guilt clawed violently at her chest. Because suddenly she could see it from his side too: ignoring him all day. texting Logan. showing up at the party. then kissing Logan in the backyard five minutes after seeing Beau with another girl.

Fantastic.

She was the actual worst.

"It was one kiss," she said weakly.

Beau looked back at her immediately, tossing his hands up and letting them drop back down to his sides sarcastically. "Yeah, well, one kiss can apparently ruin my entire fucking night, so."

Marley blinked.

The words slipped out of him too fast.

Too honest. Beau seemed to realize it immediately too because his jaw tightened afterward like he regretted saying it out loud.

For a second neither of them spoke.

Then quietly: "Did you mean it?"

The question caught her off guard. "What?"

"When you kissed him." Beau's voice had gone strangely controlled now. "Did you mean it?"

Marley opened her mouth. Closed it again. Because she didn't know how to explain something she barely understood herself. "I don't know," she admitted finally.

Wrong answer. She saw it instantly in Beau's face. Not anger this time. Something worse. Disappointment. Like she'd confirmed the exact fear that had been eating him alive all day. Beau nodded once slowly, eyes dropping toward the ground for a second before he looked back at her again.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Marley repeated softly.

Another nod. And somehow that calmness terrified her more than anything else.

"Beau, I'm trying to explain—"

"No, I get it." His voice stayed maddeningly even. "You thought I didn't care, Logan was there, emotions happened—"

"That's not what this was."

"Then what was it?"

Marley stared at him helplessly. Because the truth sounded horrible no matter how she phrased it.

I wanted somebody to choose me.

I wanted to stop hurting for five seconds.

I wanted you to care.

Instead she just whispered:

"I don't know."

Beau closed his eyes briefly. Then he nodded again like that answer told him everything he needed to know. "Right."

He took a small step backward. And Marley hated how much that tiny movement hurt.

"Beau—"

"I think I need a minute."

The distance in his voice hit instantly.

"I didn't do it to hurt you," she said quietly.

Beau looked at her for a long second. "I know."

That almost made it worse. Because he believed her. And he was still hurt anyway. Behind them, the back door suddenly swung open hard enough to slam against the siding. Dean stumbled halfway outside holding an empty solo cup.

"There you both are—" He stopped immediately.

Looked between them once. Then visibly reconsidered his entire existence. "Oh wow," he said slowly. "This vibe is horrific."

Neither of them answered.

Dean pointed between them cautiously. "Should I... not be here?"

"Correct," Beau said flatly.

Dean nodded immediately. "Fantastic. Love that."

But before retreating back inside, his eyes flicked between both of them again.

Then narrowed slightly.

"Wait," he said slowly. "Why do you both look like somebody died?"

Beau didn't even look at Dean.

He just laughed once under his breath again—empty this time, exhausted—and dragged both hands down his face.

"Yeah," he muttered quietly. "Fuck this."

Then he turned and walked back toward the house.

"Beau—" Marley started automatically.

He didn't stop.

Didn't slam anything.

Didn't yell.

Which somehow hurt worse than if he had.

The back door shut behind him hard enough to rattle slightly in its frame, leaving Marley standing there frozen in the cold night air while Dean stared after him in complete confusion.

"...Um," Dean said intelligently.

Marley looked away fast.

Because suddenly the pressure behind her eyes broke completely.

"Oh no," Dean whispered immediately.

She covered her face with both hands in humiliation as tears finally spilled over. "Oh my God, this is so bad."

"Okay, hey—" Dean set his cup down on the porch railing quickly. "Nope. Don't cry. I'm literally not emotionally equipped for female tears."

Marley let out a shaky laugh that dissolved instantly into another awful wave of crying.

Dean looked panicked.

"Jesus Christ." He glanced back toward the house like maybe someone more competent would appear. "Why is everybody in love with each other all of a sudden?"

Marley made a horrified sound into her hands.

"Sorry," Dean said immediately. "That felt true but unhelpful."

She shook her head quickly, wiping furiously at her face. "I need to go home."

"Okay. Good plan." Dean nodded supportively. "Excellent plan actually."

Before he could say anything else, Marley turned and hurried around the side of the house toward the front driveway as fast as possible because if she stayed another second she genuinely thought she might die from embarrassment.

Inside the house, music still blasted loudly.

People laughed.

Someone screamed after losing a drinking game.

Meanwhile Marley felt like her entire life had spontaneously combusted in under thirty minutes.

By the time she reached the front porch again she was crying hard enough she could barely see straight. She fumbled for her phone in her sweater pocket, trying to open Uber with shaky fingers.

"Marley?"

She looked up quickly.

Garrett stood near the driveway beside his Jeep, keys in hand. Unlike literally everyone else in the house, he looked completely sober.

His expression shifted immediately the second he saw her face.

"Oh," he said quietly.

Marley swiped at her eyes aggressively. "I'm fine."

"Sure."

She laughed once helplessly because honestly fair.

Garrett stepped closer carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. "You need a ride?"

"No, I can just—"

"I haven't been drinking." He lifted his keys slightly. "I was about to go get food anyway."

Marley hesitated.

Normally she would've refused automatically. But right now the idea of sitting alone in the back of an Uber while replaying tonight made her want to launch herself into traffic.

Garrett seemed to realize that exact thought process was happening because his voice softened slightly. "C'mon, Williams."

Something about the gentleness in it nearly made her start crying again.

So she just nodded once.

"Okay."

Garrett opened the passenger door for her without another word. Marley climbed into the Jeep quietly, curling into herself against the cold leather seat while Garrett walked around to the driver's side.

The second he pulled away from the hockey house, Marley stared hard out the window.

Trying very, very hard not to think about the fact Beau never came back after walking inside.

For the first five minutes of the drive, Marley tried to hold it together.

She really did.

Garrett drove quietly through the dark streets near Briar with one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel, giving her space while soft music played low through the speakers.

Then Marley sniffled once.

And absolutely lost it.

"I am literally the worst person alive."

Garrett glanced over briefly. "Strong opening."

"I'm serious." She pressed both hands over her face dramatically. "This is catastrophic."

Garrett handed her a stack of napkins sitting in the center console without even looking. "Start from the beginning."

And somehow that was all it took.

Because suddenly words came pouring out of her like a dam breaking.

"I was studying all day," she said through tears. "And when I study I have to fully lock in because if I think about Beau for longer than like three seconds I literally cannot function because apparently I'm insane and crazy about him—"

Garrett's eyebrows lifted slightly but he wisely stayed silent.

"So he texted me this morning after we almost kissed last night and I forgot to answer because I was spiraling over my physiology exam—"

"You almost kissed Beau?"

Marley made a frustrated noise. "That is not the important part right now."

"Feels at least medium important."

She ignored him aggressively. "And Logan had old physiology notes from this professor so I texted him asking for them and apparently Beau saw it and thought I was ignoring him but texting Logan on purpose—"

Garrett winced immediately. "Ohhhh."

"EXACTLY."

Marley pointed at him emotionally while tears continued sliding down her face.

"So then I go to the party because I finally finished studying and I missed him and wanted to see him—"

Garrett looked over again. "You missed him?"

"Garrett, focus."

"Right. Sorry."

"And I walk in and there are girls all over him and one of them kisses him and I was like wow okay fantastic he was just playing me the entire time—"

"He definitely wasn't."

"How do you know?"

"Because Beau's been acting clinically unwell about you for like two weeks."

Marley blinked mid-rant.

"What?"

Garrett shrugged. "Continue."

Her brain short-circuited briefly before the emotional freight train resumed full speed.

"So then I go outside because obviously I'm humiliated and Logan comes after me and he's being all nice and emotionally intelligent which honestly felt deeply unfair at the time—"

Garrett snorted softly.

"And he's telling me how pretty and smart I am and how I shouldn't cry over Beau and he was just being so sweet and I was sitting there thinking why am I crying over this dickhead who clearly doesn't care about me when this perfect guy is right here—"

"Oh no," Garrett muttered under his breath.

"EXACTLY," Marley wailed.

"And then I kissed Logan."

Garrett physically grimaced. "Jesus Christ."

"I KNOW."

Marley dropped her head back dramatically against the seat.

"And now Logan's hurt because apparently he actually likes me—which I somehow DIDN'T REALIZE because I'm apparently the dumbest neuroscience major alive—and he said I was using him to get back at Beau and he was RIGHT—"

Garrett nodded slowly. "Yeah. Little bit."

"I KNOW. And then Beau came outside and explained that he only let those girls hang around because he thought i was ghosting him for Logan—" Marley covered her face again with a groan loud enough to shake the car. "And then I had to tell him I kissed Logan and now Beau thinks I don't care about him and Logan thinks I used him and I ruined everyone's lives including my own."

Silence.

Garrett absorbed all of that with the expression of a man watching a twelve-car pileup happen in real time.

"...Wow."

Marley made another miserable sound.

For a second Garrett just drove quietly, headlights cutting through the empty streets while rain misted faintly against the windshield.

Then finally:

"Okay."

Marley peeked at him through her fingers.

"First of all," Garrett said calmly, "you need to stop acting like you committed a felony."

"It feels like I did."

"You kissed a guy while upset. You didn't kill anybody."

"I emotionally damaged a hockey player and a quarterback in under 8 minutes."

"Honestly?" Garrett shrugged slightly. "That's kind of impressive."

A watery laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

"There we go," Garrett said immediately. "That's healthier."

Marley wiped at her face again. "I hurt Logan."

"Yeah," Garrett admitted gently. "You did."

The guilt twisted sharply in her stomach again.

"But Logan also chose to come after the girl obviously in love with his best friend."

Marley looked over quickly. "I am not obviously in love with Beau."

Garrett gave her a look so flat she almost laughed again.

"Marley. Be serious."

She slumped lower in her seat.

Garrett softened slightly after a second. "Look, Logan likes you because you're easy to like. Everybody likes you." He paused. "But Beau...”

Something about his tone changed there.

"Beau's different.”

Marley looked down at her hands quietly.

Garrett kept his eyes on the road. "I've known Beau a long time. He hooks up with girls constantly and forgets their names like twelve minutes later." Another glance toward her. "You? He notices everything."

Her chest tightened painfully.

"He's calmer around you," Garrett continued. "Actually listens when you talk. Stops acting like a complete idiot for at least short periods of time."

Marley laughed softly through the remnants of tears.

"Which honestly," Garrett added, "is huge for him."

Silence settled for a second.

Then quietly, Marley asked:

"Do you think he hates me?"

Garrett answered immediately.

"No."

Too immediate to be fake.

"He's hurt," Garrett said honestly. "But mostly because he likes you so much that tonight got into his head."

Marley stared out the windshield again.

"And Logan?" she asked softly.

Garrett exhaled slowly through his nose. "Logan's gonna be okay. But you should probably talk to him once everybody cools down." He paused. "Honestly, he handled it better than most people would've."

Which somehow made Marley feel worse.

Garrett pulled to a stop outside her apartment building a few minutes later. Rain drizzled softly outside while Marley sat there emotionally exhausted and puffy-eyed in the passenger seat.

Before she climbed out, Garrett looked over at her one last time.

"For what it's worth?"

Marley looked back quietly.

"I don't think tonight ruined anything."

She swallowed hard. "Really?"

Garrett nodded once.

"I think all three of you just care too much."

#off campus #off campus fic #off campus smut #beau maxwell smut #beau maxwell off campus #beau maxwell fic #beau maxwell

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