What if we gave universal healthcare to everyone who wanted it and everyone else who didn't can just keep getting scammed by these companies for some reason
pairing⠀⁎⠀joe burrow x doctor!reader.
word count⠀⁎⠀16.6k.
summary⠀⁎⠀fall sweeps by and thanksgiving arrives to usher in the winter with a new development or two to be grateful for. it should be a given, but a lot can happen in a season.
author's note⠀⁎⠀part three, read part one here & part two here. the final part of this mini series, thank you all for being patient with me. title based on i've seen it by olivia dean, i listened to the art of loving pretty much on repeat while writing this, so highly recommend playing it in the background.
warnings⠀⁎⠀3rd person [she/her], fluff, angst, smut, mentions of joe's injury & surgery, guilt, speaking really bad things into existence, not a single word is proofread.
Every part of her body hummed with the burn of Joe’s hands on her brown skin. His fingers dug in wherever they could reach, wrapped around her waist, squeezing her hips, pulling her in tight against him. She had barely managed to open her eyes by the time Joe was kissing down her neck, murmuring something against her collarbone that was mostly lost to the morning haze.
She could hear her heartbeat in her ears when Joe’s teeth grazed the sensitive spot just below her jaw. His hair was still sleep-mussed, strands of dirty blonde catching the weak October morning sunlight filtering through the curtains. She dragged her fingers through it, tugging lightly just to hear the low groan vibrate against her skin.
Her air became his air when they were face to face like this with her leg slung over his hip. She didn’t need coffee, already hopped up on Joe blinking awake, slow and sleepy and completely in awe, like he couldn’t believe she was still his. His palm slid up her spine, fingertips pressing into each vertebra as if counting them in his mind. His hips rolled forward, dragging heat and desire between them.
Her left hand cradled his jaw, thumb swiping along his cheekbone. Joe exhaled unevenly and she caught the exact moment his pupils dilated when she arched into him. She loved this version of him most: stripped bare of defenses, where every hitch of his breath betrayed his thoughts. The sheets tangled around Joe’s calves as he shifted, his knee pressing between hers but his hands stayed gentle, tracing every curve and ridge to memorize for later.
It was too early to speak or verbalize anything more than a whimper, a groan, a ‘yes’ dragged from the back of her throat when Joe slid into her with unhurried precision. Her moans were met with the quiet rasp of his sigh as he kissed the corner of her mouth, swallowing her sounds and savoring them, or the hinge of her jaw, her pulse fluttering beneath his lips.
He moved like he had all the time in the world—and in his own way he did—but she knew in reality, the clock ticked toward his departure for rehab sessions, meetings, film, and work. Still, there was something reverent in the way Joe lingered against her, pressing insistently as if he could fuse their skin together. She dug her nails into his shoulders, feeling the flex of muscle beneath her grip, and realized with a quiet ache that she’d never tire of this: the warmth of his mouth skating down her throat, the way he sounded when she tightened around him, and the scrutiny with which his eyes roamed her face, like she was something holy and wholly sacred.
His lips met hers, slowly taking her over the precipice with practiced ease. She gasped sharply against his mouth, hips lifting off the mattress as Joe murmured her name before following her into oblivion. The aftermath was languid: limbs tangled, his forehead pressed to her collarbone as they caught their breath, her fingers threading through his slightly sweat-damp hair.
“Good morning,” she murmured against the crown of his head, the greeting fluttering off into a soft puff of laughter as Joe mirrored her laughter into her shoulder. His fingers traced shapes along her hip and thigh, bringing goosebumps to her skin to match the ones blossoming in the wake of the kisses he trailed over her shoulder and up her neck.
When his eyes finally met hers, they each drew in long breaths, the corners of their mouths lifting in unison. It was that silent recognition of the stupid, consuming love that still managed to sneak up on them in between late nights and early mornings. His lips brushed hers once more before reluctantly shifting away. Professional obligations loomed; she could already feel the tension creeping into his shoulders as he turned towards the bedside table to reach for his phone.
She stretched, arching her back against the sheets, toes curling as she watched him swipe through notifications with a jostling thrust back into reality. “Time?” she asked through a yawn, propping herself up on her elbows. Her left hand soothed over his bicep, fingers drifting over the divots of muscle and miscellaneous scars. She placed a kiss against his shoulder blade, then rested her cheek against the warm skin, taking in the last moments of quiet before their day—their first full day as husband and wife-to-be—began.
“Too early for some of this shit,” he muttered, rolling back toward her with an exaggerated groan. His hand found the curve of her waist, dragging her flush against him. “They can wait until I’ve had something to eat.” His kisses silently begged for just five more minutes; along her collarbone, the bridge of her nose, each one punctuated with a contented hum.
She laughed, softer now, threading her fingers through his hair which still messy and smelling faintly of her shampoo from last night’s shower. “You gotta get going,” she whispered against his mouth, even as her legs tangled further with his. The contradiction made him grin at that push-pull between her practicality and the way her body always betrayed her desire to selfishly keep him close.
His phone buzzed again, vibrating against the nightstand. Neither of them moved to check it. It was likely he knew who was calling but he held her closer, pressing his forehead against hers with a sigh. “They should invent ‘Take Your Fiance To Work Day’,” he complained.
She bit back a laugh, lifting her head just enough to catch his lips in a fleeting kiss. “Wouldn’t be very productive for either of us.”
“Counterpoint,” he murmured against her mouth, tugging her into his chest for one last embrace, “productivity’s overrated. I’ve had enough of hustle culture.”
“Baby...” she sighed, her fingers trailing through the messy strands of his hair as he buried his face against her collarbone. She could already feel him slipping into that stubborn, drowsy resistance. “You are the poster child of hustle culture.”
Joe huffed, quietly puckering his lips for one last kiss before he finally pulled his body away from hers. “Fine, fine.” he muttered, padding off to the bathroom with his bare feet scuffing against the hardwood; a departure from his usual loyalty to his socks as the result of his healing process.
She felt that he had been quite transparent about his rehab process and how satisfied he was with his progress. He was recognizing his luck, taking days off when his body needed them, stretching, icing, soaking, massaging, whatever he needed to do to stay ahead of the curve. But she still found herself watching him closely as he disappeared into the bathroom, watching for any hesitation in his steps or stiffness in his movements. The only sound she got was the faucet turning on, followed shortly by Joe’s off-key humming of some song he’d played in the car yesterday and was now butchering quietly under his breath.
Eventually, she found herself downstairs, packing up her lunch while Joe emerged with his backpack slung over one shoulder, hair damp from his shower, smelling of cologne and his aftershave. He spotted his containers of meal prepped breakfast and lunch, labelled with their individual contents, set aside for him on the counter then tucked them into his bag.
“So...” She dragged out, turning to lean back against the counter, watching Joe’s hands as they zipped his backpack shut.
“So?” Joe mirrored, glancing up at her, eyebrows lifting in amusement. He knew that tone and could recognize she was working up to something she wanted to say but hadn’t quite figured out how to phrase.
She hesitated, tapping her fingers against the countertop. “Just wondering, what the timeline’s looking like for you now. For full clearance, full practice. Do you think December’s still the target?”
Joe exhaled through his nose, half-smiling as he shrugged. “Could be sooner, could be later. Not really sweating it.” He stepped closer, catching her restless fingers with his own.
Her lips twisted in a dissatisfied pout, fingers tightening around his.
“Joe.”
The single syllable carried the weight of an unspoken lecture, one he’d heard in various forms from doctors and trainers over his several cycles of rehab. But her version always landed differently when it was laced with the pout of her lips and the warmth of her palm against his ribs. Joe tilted his head, studying the way her brow furrowed just slightly, the way her eyes widened, waiting for him to tell her the truth.
“I know that face.” He kissed her forehead, lingering just long enough to feel her exhale against his collarbone. “I’m not lying to you.”
She rolled her eyes, pressing her palm flat against his sternum. “You’re lying by omission. Which, by the way, I find deeply offensive at times coming from a man who hates when I don’t text him to tell him I got to my destination safely.”
“By December at the latest,” he conceded. “Even if it’s just a few games.” He watched her face carefully, the way her teeth worked her bottom lip before she nodded, filing the information away.
“December,” she repeated quietly. The word settled between them like a promise, one she’d cling to, even as she braced for the inevitable shift in timelines.
“You’re gonna stress yourself into a headache,” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the crease between her brows. “Can you take a deep breath before I leave?”
She exhaled sharply through her nose more dramatically than necessary just to watch his lips twitch up in a smile. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic.” Joe cupped her face, tilting her gaze up to meet his. “Now do it again without the theatrics.” She rolled her eyes but complied.
The second exhale came easier, her shoulders dropping as Joe kissed her twice before pulling away. “Okay?” he checked, already knowing the answer.
“Okay,” she confirmed.
Joe lingered a moment longer, kissing her once more before stepping back. He was wearing socks now, his blue sneakers resting near his backpack on the floor. She observed his lean down to pick up his belongings. His balance was flawless now, no trace of the careful shifts she’d memorized during his earlier rehab days.
“I’ll be home pretty late today. Gonna sit in on meetings with the defense,” Joe said, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.
She nodded. “How late is late? I won’t be done with appointments until 6.”
Joe hesitated, adjusting the strap of his backpack as he pursed his lips in thought. “Probably after dinner. I’ll eat something there, don’t worry about me.” He shot her a soft smile that was almost apologetic just as his right arm opened toward her, fingers curling inward, his silent request for one last hug. She crossed the kitchen floor in two strides, slipping under his arm with practiced ease, pressing her cheek against his chest. He held her tight, nose buried in her hair for a long inhale. “Thank you,” he murmured into the strands, voice muffled and warm.
She tilted her head back just enough to catch the flecks of icy green in his blue eyes. “I love you. Drive safe.” Joe repeated her words and squeezed her tighter before letting go, his fingers trailing down her arm until only their pinkies hooked for a fleeting second. The absence of his body heat left her skin prickling.
[ . . . ]
NOVEMBER.
Home losses were never easy. But home losses after letting the Jets score 23 points in a 4th quarter comeback, or allowing the Bears to score 47 to beat the Bengals’ 42? Borderline unbearable.
She had seen Joe retreat into himself after losses before, seen the way his shoulders curled inward like he was trying to make himself smaller but this was different. This was him sitting in his recliner, fingers steepled under his chin, staring unblinking at another poor offensive showing against the Steelers. Colby had long abandoned his attempts to grasp Joe’s attention with his tiny paw batting at his socked feet, opting instead to curl up on her lap. She nursed a lukewarm cup of tea, shifting her attention between the TV and the Thanksgiving menu and shopping list she was hoping to complete this afternoon.
It wasn’t until Ja’Marr shoved Ramsey—spit flying—that Joe finally moved. He exhaled through his nose, slow and measured, before pushing out of the chair with a hissed, “Fuck this,” and disappeared into the kitchen. She heard the refrigerator door open and shut, the sharp crack of the tab on one of her canned sparkling waters. She set Colby down and followed, leaning against the counter as Joe drained half of it in one go. The tendons in his neck stood out, his jaw tight.
“You okay?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
“Fantastic,” he lied, voice flat as he approached her side. “Just love watching my team fall apart like a fucking Jenga tower while I sit here doing nothing.”
She reached for his free hand, threading their fingers together. His skin was cold from the can. “You’ll be back out there soon,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.
Joe made a low noise in his throat, frustration still coiled tight in his shoulders. “How soon is soon though? Feels like if I come back too late...” His fingers flexed against hers, stopping himself just short of saying what she knew haunted him: that they might already be out of playoff contention by the time he was cleared to return.
“The process is the process. They knew you would be out three months minimum,” she murmured, pressing her thumbs into the tense ridges of his palms. “If they couldn’t keep it together without you,” she shrugged. “Not your burden to carry.”
Joe exhaled sharply, shaking his head because of course in his mind it was his burden. The ice in his voice when he spoke next made her fingers still.
“I want to be back before Thanksgiving,” Joe admitted abruptly, his gaze fixed on the condensation dripping down the side of the can. She felt unnerved by the precision of the date. It was not December in general, but specifically Thanksgiving, the exact night Cincinnati would face Baltimore under prime-time lights.
She removed her hands from his, picking up an abandoned coaster to slide beneath his sweating drink, buying herself a breath before responding. “Explain that timeline to me,” she said evenly, though her pulse had already kicked up at his certainty. “Because you told me December three weeks ago.”
Joe leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. She noted the defensive posture. But his voice was soft when he answered. “Trainers said the week before Thanksgiving was possible if rehab stayed on track.” He gestured toward his foot, covered in a sock to keep it warm with the temperatures beginning to drop. “I’m already doing rollout drills.”
She absorbed this, watching a muscle jump in his jaw. The omission gnawed at her, three weeks of shifting goalposts, whispered progress reports she only caught in fragments. She reached for a paper towel to wipe a water ring from the counter, needing anything to avoid his gaze. “And when were you planning to tell me?”
Joe exhaled through his nose. “When they cleared me for full contact.” A pause. “Hasn’t happened yet.”
The game continued to play in the living room, the sound floating into the kitchen between their silence. She crumpled the damp paper towel and turned to dispose of it. “The week before Thanksgiving is next week,” she said evenly, pressing her lips together.
Joe shifted with the slightest concession of discomfort. His eyes flicked down to his phone screen, glowing with an array of notifications from its place on the countertop. “Yeah,” he admitted, his thumb tapping absently against his forearm. “But it’s not set.”
“Joe,” she said softly.
His gaze lifted to hers, blue eyes steady but betraying the slightest flicker of hesitation. He uncrossed his arms as if surrendering something intangible. “I didn’t want to freak you out,” he admitted, voice dropping lower.
“Freak me out?” she repeated, the words tasting bitter. “Or did you think I’d talk you out of it? You don’t get to decide what scares me, Joe.”
Joe’s jaw tightened. “It’s not about that.”
“Then what is it?” The distant roar of the televised crowd faded into white noise.
“You’ve seen me work my ass off to get back,” he murmured. “You also know I’d never risk it if the athletic trainers weren’t on board.”
She exhaled through her nose, pressing her fingertips to her temple. “You think this is about doubting you?” she asked quietly. “Babe. I am sure that if you step on that field, you’ll throw touchdowns with your eyes closed. That’s never been the problem. I just don’t...” she paused to pick her words wisely. “Why lie to me? Why tell me December, then Thanksgiving, then—what, Sunday?”
Joe shifted his weight. “I didn’t lie,” he said carefully. “December was conservative. Thanksgiving is realistic. Sunday is contingent.”
“Contingent on what?” She pressed. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed.
“On me.” He shrugged, shoulders taut. “How I feel. How practice goes.”
She snorted, an unguarded, derisive sound that made Joe’s eyebrows twitch. “Oh, perfect. Contingent on the guy who played a whole half on a sprained MCL?”
“That was different,” he muttered. “It was the Super Bowl.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Not my point.”
Joe ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t lie,” he said, quieter now. “I just didn’t know how to tell you I might be back sooner. Didn’t wanna get your hopes up or piss you off.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Well, somehow, I still ended up pissed off.”
Colby chose that moment to make his presence known, purring as he curled between Joe’s legs. Joe bent down to pick up the kitten, scratching behind his ears as a measure of grounding himself. “Look,” he said, allowing Colby to sniff his hand, “if I’m cleared, I’m playing. That’s the job.” His voice was steady, but his shoulders tensed when she scoffed.
She shook her head as she walked to the sectional, sinking into it with a sigh. The sound of some analyst droning about Cincinnati’s offensive line felt grating now so she picked up the remote Joe discarded on the cushions and turned it off.
“I know your job,” she said, slow and deliberate, twisting the engagement ring on her finger. “I know how you would put your body on the line if it means you get something out of it in the end. I also know you’re grinding your teeth right now because you hate when I question you like this.” Her gaze flicked up to meet his. “So don’t feed me the ‘it’s my job’ speech like I don’t know you.”
“Then what do you want me to say?” he asked, following her into the living room.
She studied him. She saw the way he hesitated before sitting next to her, the shallow breath he exhaled through his nose. She knew that tell. That was Joe resetting himself. “I want you to admit that you lied to me. Not by omission. With intent,” she said. “You told me December because you knew I’d lose it if you said Thanksgiving. You knew exactly how I’d react, and you didn’t want to deal with it.”
Joe’s fingers brushed over Colby’s fur again before responding. “Okay.” His voice was flat, stripped of inflection.
“I kept that from you because I knew you’d have concerns.” He turned his head fully toward her, eyes sharp beneath furrowed brows. “But not because I didn’t wanna deal with you. Because I hate seeing you like this: chewing your lip, jumping every time my phone buzzes, trying to regulate both of us.” His hand found her knee. “You’re already exhausted, babe. And yeah, I thought Thanksgiving was more than possible, still do. But if I told you that, you’d start thinking about the worst case scenarios.”
She conceded that with a slow nod, the tension in her shoulders visibly easing as she released a breath. “Okay,” she echoed, mirroring his tone. “But you can’t make unilateral decisions about what I can handle.” Her thumb traced idle circles over his wrist where his hand still rested on her knee. “We’re supposed to be partners. Partners share the ugly shit too. All the fear and everything.”
Joe’s fingers twitched beneath hers. “Like how you didn’t tell me you woke up panicking last week?” She stiffened but he pressed on before she could deflect. “I’m sorry. I thought I was protecting you.”
“And I thought I was protecting you.” Her thumb traced the ridge of his knuckles. “Tell me next time. If there’s a serious chance that you play on Sunday, tell me the second you feel it.”
He nodded, drawing her into his side, pressing a kiss to her temple. The quiet between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but charged with something new: the weight of intentions promising to align. She let her head rest against his shoulder.
“My number one priority is making sure you don’t feel like you have to be superhuman with me,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
Joe laughed softly. “Kinda too late for that.” He felt her frown against his skin. “No, listen—I mean I already feel like I can walk through walls when you look at me a certain way. That’s the problem. You make me feel like I could do anything.” His fingers curled around hers, anchoring them together.
She lifted her head, kissing his jaw. “I know. I feel the same. But please don’t walk through walls unless you tell me first. Or at least wear your pads.”
[ . . . ]
When he agreed, she thought that was the end of it. For a while it was. The next few days bled together with their usual rhythm with morning kisses traded over minty fresh breath, Joe texting her updates sporadically throughout the day, her answering voice notes between patients, asking him what he needed when she visited the grocery store, or reminding him they had dinner plans. Normalcy tucked them back into routine without much fuss, except for the way the ring started to become noticed.
She saw her patients notice first, their eyes darting to her left hand mid-consultation when her hands were free from her latex gloves, brows lifting slightly before they’d redirect with forced politeness. The diamond wasn’t obnoxious, but it caught light, sparkled whenever she gestured. By the end of the workday on Monday, she had received four unsolicited congratulations and hoped that their observations would stay a murmur before they reached the internet.
Wednesday started just the same way the last few days had. She felt the soft press of Joe’s lips against her shoulder before he rolled out of bed, his low grumble as he stretched awake. She was a bit more sluggish that morning than normal, which she attributed to the fact that she had gone to bed quite late the night prior and more than likely woke up just as tired as she had fallen asleep. She was going to be home early, she remembered. She didn’t have too long of a day ahead of her, just an office meeting at 7:45, then appointments spread out through the afternoon. She’d be home by 5:30 if traffic wasn’t bad.
She didn’t even register that Joe was out of bed until he was leaning over her, pressing his lips to hers briefly, murmuring a ‘morning’ before telling her he was heading to the facility early, that he had a massage scheduled and he didn’t want to push it too close to his scheduled rehab time in the afternoon. He told her he’d text her, told her he loved her, and left before she even had time to gather her thoughts. She just groaned, rolled onto her stomach, and mourned the warmth Joe had left behind.
Her alarm went off ten minutes later, and she groaned again, rolling onto her back with an audible sigh. She rubbed at her eyes, blinking against the sunlight creeping through the blinds. She forced herself to sit up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, stretching her arms above her head until she heard her back pop. She scratched at her scalp, running her fingers through her hair before finally pushing herself up and heading toward the bathroom.
The drive to the office was mostly uneventful. She spoke to Joe briefly while stuck in traffic. She entered the meeting, grabbed one of the catered breakfast sandwiches, and hardly engaged with the chatter bouncing around the table.
She took a 10-minute break to grab a snack and check her phone, only to be greeted by a flood of texts. The newest one, timestamped nine minutes prior, came from Joe:
Cleared for full practice. 7 on 7 today. Feeling good.
That text alone didn’t raise alarms until she scrolled down. Twenty-three unread messages clogged her notifications, half from acquaintances she hadn’t spoken to in months since Joe’s initial injury. The previews were variations of the same bewildered question:
Is Joe playing Sunday?
Her fingers clenched around her phone as she scrolled through the onslaught of Instagram DMs. The same four words, over and over, punctuated by exclamation points and question marks like a press conference she hadn’t been briefed for. At first it felt like she was missing something. Maybe it was a rumor, a speculative tweet, but then she saw the ESPN notification preview: Burrow expected to start Sunday against Patriots, pending final clearance.
She dialed Zacciah’s number before she could second-guess herself. “Tell me this is bullshit,” she demanded the second he answered, her voice quiet to avoid drawing attention to her office.
The pause on the line was answer enough.
“I was gonna ask you that,” Zacciah groaned. She heard the closing of a door in the background of his end of the call. “He told me Thanksgiving last I talked to him. But he’s doing 7 on 7 today which is—yeah. I guess he could play Sunday.”
She pressed her fingers against her temple, closing her eyes. She fumbled with her phone, glancing at the clock to see she had five minutes before her next patient. Five minutes to decide whether to get in contact with Joe, or swallow the frenzy festering in her chest until she got home.
“Did you get a chance to watch his or Zac’s presser?” She asked Zacciah, her voice low but sharp-edged.
“Nah, not yet,” Zacciah sighed. “Are you in the office?”
“Yeah,” she said tightly. “People are texting me like I’m his publicist. Am I overreacting? Because it feels dramatic of me but this isn’t sounding like a possibility. It sounds like a done deal.”
Zacciah grumbled out his response. “You know Joe. He doesn’t tell anyone shit until it’s happening.”
The office chair creaked as she leaned back, staring at the ceiling tiles. Someone’s footsteps padded down the hallway outside, most likely her patient being called in for their appointment. “Right,” she muttered. “Because what’s the point of having a fiancée if not to blindside her with major decisions via ESPN?”
Zacciah snorted. “He thinks he’s sparing you stress.”
“I know he does,” she sighed.
“I’ll watch the press conferences. If I hear anything insane—by Joe’s standards—I’ll send you the clip,” Zacciah said, the faint click-clack of his laptop keys bleeding through the line. She thanked him absently before hanging up. She grabbed her cardigan embroidered with the clinic’s logo, her iPad and a pen, then headed off to meet her next patient.
[ . . . ]
The afternoon blurred into routine. She kept her phone locked in the top drawer of her desk tucked away in her office. Any important SOS calls or messages would show up on her Apple Watch or be passed along to the receptionist. When she put away the last patient file of the day and checked her notifications only then did she exhale. No other ESPN breaking news alerts or frantic messages in her inbox.
It was pouring rain when she pulled out of the parking garage. The windshield wipers thumped unevenly, squeaking against the glass. Her fingers drummed anxiously against the steering wheel as she merged onto the highway. The city’s skyline was barely visible through the downpour, just muted gray shapes and the occasional flash of red brake lights.
Colby greeted her at the door with one of his quieter meows, rubbing against her ankles as she switched from her Asics to her Uggs slippers. The house smelled faintly of garlic, giving away his presence in the home if his keys in the bowl didn’t give him away. She found him hunched over his iPad in the office, highlighters scattered across the desk, studying Patriots defensive schemes.
Colby followed her into the office, then spotted the bed Joe ordered to place in his office specifically for him and flopped onto it with the dramatic exhaustion of a kitten who just had to walk fifteen feet. She hovered in the doorway. Joe turned in his swivel chair, already lifting one arm in invitation but she stayed rooted.
“I had 30 messages today,” she said quietly, leaning against the doorframe. She was still in her scrubs, still clutching her purse over her shoulder. “Thirty. Mostly from people assuming I knew you were cleared for Sunday.”
Joe’s outstretched arm lowered slowly. His jaw worked, silent for a beat too long. “I haven’t been cleared.” His voice was steady, though she could already hear all the defensiveness coloring his tone before he even finished the sentence.
She dug her nails into the leather of her bag. “That’s not what the implication of being cleared for full practice is, Joe.”
He swiveled his chair slightly, just enough to glance back at the paused Patriots footage. “I said I felt good. Not that I was playing.”
“Then why the hell is someone telling reporters—” she stopped herself when she felt her frustration bring a rise in her voice. Colby stirred in the corner, twitching an ear at the tension thickening the air. She lowered her voice. “You know what, never mind. Clearly the plan is to play you unless something changes between now and Sunday. I really don’t care about that at this point. I’m just having a hard time understanding why I had to find out through ESPN and not you.”
Joe rubbed a hand over his mouth before finally standing. The chair legs scraped against hardwood as he stepped around the desk, his socked feet silent against the floorboards. He stopped just inches from her, close enough that she could smell his bodywash but he didn't reach for her. “Because it’s still just a possibility, babe. If I told you every time they mentioned putting me in, you’d—”
“Be informed?” She arched a brow, knuckles tightening around her bag strap. “Like someone who’s supposed to be marrying you should be informed?”
Joe exhaled sharply through his nose, the telltale twitch of his jaw betraying the irritation he usually masked so well. “You think I don’t know how this looks?” His voice dipped low, rough at the edges. “But if I told you every half-baked plan they toss around in meetings, you’d—” He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ. You’d be exactly like this. Stressed the fuck out over something that might not even happen.”
She stared at him, the sharp retort she’d prepared dissolving on her tongue when she felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She blinked them back furiously, refusing to let them fall.
“I just...” she started softly, shaking her head. “It’s kind of fucking unfair how this whole situation is going down. I’ve never been this disoriented about what’s going on with you—ironic, since we’re engaged.” She held up her left hand, the gold band and its diamonds catching the overhead light. “I said yes, and somehow that removed me from the loop of how this is being handled and what the conversations are. I mean... I came home from work one day and you had removed your own cast with an expensive ass saw. What’s stopping you from doing something equally reckless again?”
Joe sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “Are you still thinking about the cast?” A beat passed. “I knew what I was doing.”
“That’s not the point, Joe,” she countered, each syllable emphasized. “The point is you don’t tell me things until they’re already happening. Or until I find out through messages with everyone else like I’m some fan.” She straightened her posture, folding her arms. “Every time we talk about this, the timeline changes or there’s a new conversation you didn’t tell me about. So now, we’re having the same argument for the third time in two weeks.”
Joe shifted his hands to his hips but chose not to interrupt her and risk frustrating her any further.
“Four years,” she said, the number landing between them like a dropped stone. “Four years that I’ve invested in you and this relationship and you still act like I don’t need to know the intimate details. Like I won’t be here when you limp off that field again because that’s what happens in this sport that you love so much. And, like, believe me, I don’t want to hold it over your head but I’m invested too. I’m invested so much time and energy and fucking patience that don’t even have. It hurts when I have to tell people I don’t know what’s going on with my fiancé.”
She swallowed hard, her nostrils flaring as she tried to stop the tears still pricking at her eyes.
“I’m always the first one there when you can’t walk on your own. I spend every game terrified you won’t come home the same person. And now—just—just. All I want is to know I’m not going to look like an idiot when people blow up my phone asking me about shit I had no clue was happening. It makes me feel crazy, Joe. I feel insane.”
She sniffled, averting her eyes from his momentarily before meeting Joe’s gaze again just as hot tears began to spill over her lash line. Something in his expression softened, the defensive rigidity in his shoulders collapsing as he reached for her, catching the beginnings of her frustrated sob against his chest. She tensed for half a second before melting into him, her fingers twisting into the fabric of his hoodie as if she could physically extract the answers buried beneath his ribs.
Her voice cracked against his collarbone when she spoke again. “You have to know how insane it is that people know things about you before I do.”
Joe exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers pressing into the small of her back like he was trying to fuse their skeletons together. “I know,” he murmured. “I get that.”
She pulled back just enough to glare up at him, her cheeks wet. “Then why keep doing it?”
His brain faltered, the words tangling before they could form because the truth was jagged, and he wasn’t sure how to say it without cutting them both. It was a fear that popped up every so often. It was a fear that first appeared when he realized that this thing between them, this amazing thing, was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. This fear grew fangs when he realized that she didn’t come from a family like his; one obsessed with living and breathing, and implicitly, dying by this sport—that she had no idea what she was signing up for, what loving him would demand from her in ways he still clearly didn’t fully understand himself. He remembered lying awake the night before he met her parents, trying to come up with different ways to answer the inevitable question of how he planned to protect her. From what? From everything. From the fans. From the late nights and early mornings. From the risks.
From himself.
He was acutely aware that every aspect of his life that he loved now could be stolen from him—the game, the accolades, the stability—and he had learned to live with that possibility through the process of getting hurt and coming back. One loss he knew he would never be able to live with, however, was the possibility of losing her. And if she had to suffer through every brutal comeback with him, if she had to watch him push himself too far, too fast, too often, he didn’t know if she’d eventually say that she’d had enough. So he’d tried, poorly it seems, to shield her from the worst of it. That was the fear he hated to articulate, the one lodged in his ribs whenever he saw her crying.
It was the fear that loving him would eventually break her.
He inhaled shakily, feeling his eyes burn as her fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt. Eventually, Joe forced out the words he’d been choking on. “I didn’t wanna be the reason you stopped smiling.”
The admission tore loose something raw in his chest. She pulled back just enough to search his face, his damp lashes, the uneven set of his jaw, and something in her expression fractured. “Baby,” she whispered, pressing her palm to his cheek.
Joe turned his face into her touch, exhaling unsteadily. “I know it’s fucked up.” His thumb traced the curve of her wrist where her bracelets had fallen further down her arm. “Just... every time I hear you holding your breath when I take a hit, or see you pretending not to check wherever I’m injured this time—” His voice cracked. “I keep thinking, ‘god, she deserves better than this.’ I don’t want to tell you something unless I’m absolutely sure I’ll be able to follow through on it, answer all your questions, prove that I’ve thought it through. That I’m not just hurting you for no reason.”
She pressed her palm flat against his chest, letting his heartbeat stutter against her skin. “Trying to control how I react by withholding information isn’t protecting me.” The words weren’t harsh, just reflecting all the aching in her heart. “It just makes me feel like I’m chasing after you and begging you to be honest with me. And if we’re doing this, if we’re really getting married, you have to trust me to handle it. No one else gets to define what happens between us. You can decide how much truth your friends are privy to, that’s your business. But when it comes to me, I want this to be something unique; just us. No one gets to dictate how we communicate except us.”
Joe’s fingers curled around hers, squeezing gently before kissing the backs of both of her hands. “Maybe part of it is just… habit. You know how football is. Everyone talks in circles, never says anything definitive until the last possible second so it can’t be used against us. It’s drilled into us to keep things close.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Am I the media?”
Joe released a chuckle half filled with amusement at the sarcastic quip, half filled with defeat as he tugged her closer until she was tucked into his chest again. “No, but...” His thumb traced circles over her ring finger. “Sometimes it feels like you’re the only person who actually knows me enough to see through my shit. Even more than my mom. And that’s terrifying when I don’t even know who or what I’m looking at in the mirror half the time.”
She hummed considering his words, feeling how much she understood that exact feeling of knowing someone’s soul well enough to anticipate their thoughts before they even formed, a kind of intimacy that could either feel like safety or danger depending on the day. She cupped his face and pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw where his pulse jumped beneath her lips, tasting the faint salt of his skin and the lingering bite of his aftershave.
“That’s the thing, I guess,” she murmured against him, fingers moving to gently remove a golden brown strand of hair from his field of vision. “A lot has changed since we started doing this. And now, with the engagement it’s not just about knowing you well enough to see through your shit. It’s about knowing you well enough to trust you when you tell me the truth, and trusting that you are telling me the truth.”
“That’s a lot of pressure,” Joe admitted for both of them. “The expectations, ours, everyone else’s, I guess they’re not the same anymore.” He turned his head slightly, pressing his lips to her wrist where it rested against his cheek. The warmth of his breath against her skin made her feel a bit better, more grounded, more regulated. “Guess I didn’t realize how much I was still operating like we were still just dating.”
She nudged his nose with hers, adding, “I think we both did. Probably need to talk about those expectations at some point.”
The kiss that followed was one full of apology. It was remorse and relief and resignation to this new gravity, the weight of what they’d agreed to when they decided they wanted and needed each other forever. Joe’s hands were warm and firm against her hips. She could feel the curl of his fingers digging deeper into her skin, desperate to hold on. They parted with shared breath. “We can talk tonight,” Joe whispered. “I’ll heat up your dinner while you shower. We don’t have to have it all figured out by the end of this conversation. But it’ll be a start.”
She inhaled deeply, letting it settle her. “Okay. I’ll be quick,” she promised.
[ . . . ]
The shower was scalding, just how she liked it, but she stood under the spray without moving, letting the water roll down her shoulders and back like liquid silk. The steam fogged the glass door, obscuring everything beyond it. She closed her eyes and thought of Joe waiting downstairs, probably already pulling her Tupperware from the fridge, humming under his breath in that way he did when he was trying to soothe himself. She thought of the ring waiting to find its way back to her finger and how it had felt alien and familiar all at once. But most consequently, she thought of the conversation they were due to have.
Sure, she and Joe had been in a serious relationship for four and a half years. She knew his tells, his habits, his thought patterns. But engagement and the promise of marriage and the sacred intertwining of every inch of your existence to one another had tilted the axis of their intimacy. It wasn’t just about knowing each other anymore; it was about choosing each other, relentlessly, in every breath inhaled and every exhale released. It was acknowledging that were was no more you and I, there was only you to the end of my days and me to the end of yours. It was frightening and yet, still the sweetest agony she had ever known; one she hoped to know inside and out for the rest of her life.
Joe was in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove when she came downstairs, her skin still warm from the shower. He didn’t turn around, just smiled ever so slightly the way he always did when she entered a room, like daylight had seeped in whether he expected it or not. “I pulled the pot roast leftovers,” he said, inaudibly sighing when she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Figured you’d want something warm and heavy.”
She rested her chin on his shoulder. “A way to eat my feelings?”
“You said it, not me,” Joe murmured, turning his head just enough to press a kiss to her temple. “Can’t hold it against me now.”
The scent of reheated garlic and thyme curled around them. She watched his hands—those stupid, beautiful hands, ever so lightly dusted with various scrapes, scratches, and scars—work the wooden spoon through the gravy. Slow, methodical until he determined it was warm enough to transfer into the bowl he set aside earlier.
Several minutes later, she was working through her bowl of pot roast, tucked under his arm with her bare toes pressing into his calf. Colby was cuddled with Joe, purring and blinking sleepily as if he hadn’t already spent most of the day doing not much of anything. The warmth of the food in her belly warming her bones was nice, but not nearly as nice as the warmth of Joe’s body pressed against hers. He had already eaten his meal prepped meal of sweet potatoes, turkey meatballs, and asparagus.
She had gotten distracted by watching Joe’s fingers card through Colby’s fur and she realized she had missed the majority of what Joe was saying about having an idea he wanted to discuss with her. “Were you listening at all?” She shook her head sheepishly before pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Not a word, sorry.”
Joe shook his head disapprovingly, but his grin gave away his amusement. She settled back against him, her bowl balanced precariously on her thighs as she took another bite. “I said we can talk about it after we finish this,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. She hummed, scraping the last remnants of gravy from her bowl with her spoon.
She set her empty dish on the coffee table, twisting to face him fully. “Okay,” she said, tucking her legs beneath her. “Expectations.”
Joe exhaled through his nose, fingers stilling on Colby’s back. “Okay, expectation number one. Mostly just—I don’t want to fuck this up.” His voice was quiet, frayed at the edges in a way that made her gaze soften. “I know I keep… defaulting to handling shit alone. Old habit. But I don’t wanna make you feel sidelined in your own life because, ultimately, my life is your life, and yours is mine.”
“I need you to trust that I can handle the ugly parts,” she said. “I think part of me isn’t worried about whether or not you’ll come back or not—I’m worried that you think I wouldn’t sign up for every second of the aftermath.”
Joe swallowed. “I can do that.”
“And I promise not to hover,” she added. “I don’t think it’s fair of me to expect transparency and then bombard you every time you give it to me. I need to do a better job of just… listening without reacting.”
Joe snorted softly, scratching behind Colby’s ears. “You’re allowed to react. I just—” He paused, watching her thumb trace absent circles on his forearm. “I think, second expectation is that we both could do a better job of just… trusting each other’s reactions and not avoiding showing them.” He turned his hand over, lacing their fingers together. “Like, I know you’re gonna freak out if I get hit wrong. That’s okay. You’re supposed to. But I shouldn’t treat that like an excuse to hide shit from you.”
She nudged her knee against his thigh. “And I shouldn’t project my freak-outs onto you like you’re not already dealing with enough.”
Joe turned his face toward her, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Look at us,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “Doing married couple shit before we’re even married.”
She returned his smile, dropping her forehead onto his shoulder. “We are. Do you think we covered the big things for tonight? Or is there something else you wanted to talk about?”
“Nah,” Joe said, rubbing his free hand over his face. “Think we’re good. I like this.” He gestured between them: her tucked into his side, fingers tangled, Colby sprawled across their laps. “Feels good.”
“What was your idea? The one you were smiling about earlier,” she asked, wrapping her hand around his bicep as she pressed closer.
Joe’s gaze drifted to the ceiling like he was picking his words carefully. “I was smiling because it’s a good idea. A great one, even.”
And there it was again, that smile that made her stomach flip, the one that started at the corner of his mouth and crept up into his eyes like he was savoring a secret. “I know we haven’t started planning it yet, but, what’s your timeline on a wedding?”
She studied him. “Hypothetically?”
“Hypothetically,” Joe confirmed with a short nod.
She stretched her legs across his lap, toes brushing Colby’s tail. The kitten flicked an ear but didn’t bother moving. “I mean, ideally? Yesterday. But I know your schedule’s a disaster even in the offseason. So, whenever we can make it happen without you missing, like, OTAs or whatever, and all of Bengals Twitter has a meltdown because of it.”
He laughed at that, one hand rubbing over her shin absently. “You’re not wrong,” he agreed.
His silence stretched thoughtfully. It lacked the tense quiet of earlier, something warmer instead, like he was mulling over all the pros and cons in his mind. She watched his fingers trace idle patterns on her skin, the callouses catching against her smoothness, his eyes focused on something farther than her presence.
“But I really don’t care about when or how it happens. As long as I get to marry you,” she offered, pressing a lazy kiss to his shoulder.
He nodded solemnly, extending the silence for a bit longer. Then, finally, Joe shifted beneath her legs, leaning forward just enough to snag his glass of water off the coffee table. He took a sip before speaking again, voice lowered in that way he did when he was trying to present one of his somewhat insane ideas as if it were totally normal.
“Okay,” he started, “hear me out.” she squinted her eyes at the request but stayed quiet, giving him the floor. Joe took another sip before continuing. “I know how much your life bends around my schedule, how you rearrange your patients for away games, how you cancel plans when the offseason is delayed for the playoffs. And I love you for it.” His thumb brushed against her ankle. “You know how you said that you worry about me not coming home the same person?”
She nodded, fingers curling into the blanket over them as she took in the movement of his mouth around every syllable, attempting to predict his next words before he said them.
Joe’s words were perfectly placed, rolling off his tongue with the precision that she had grown to look for as he continued, “So what if we didn’t wait for perfect timing? What if we made a promise now? Just our own thing before I get back on the field? Something no one else gets to weigh in on.” He paused, watching her reaction, his blue eyes steady despite the hopeful tone in his voice. “We could write our vows. Say them to each other over dinner, like a… rehearsal for the real thing that would give us time to fine tune what marriage looks like for us. No rings or legal stuff. Just the two of us.”
Her heart stuttered in her chest. Not because the idea was outrageous, but because it was so him. It was practical, sentimental in his own quiet way, and a preparation of sorts. It was like game film before Sunday, walkthroughs on Saturday, mental reps when his body couldn’t physically practice.
It was like a: “Test run?” Her lips curved around the words, testing them out, watching the way Joe’s eyes lit up at her understanding.
He nodded, pleased and satisfied. “A first draft,” he confirmed as his eyes tried to dissect her reaction, subtly holding his breath before she responded. She turned her full body toward him, tucking her knees into her chest. She hummed, tilting her head in thought before letting out a light, amused sigh.
“It would be nice to know that I’m coming back to something I get to have a say in shaping and tweaking,” Joe continued, still observing how she was processing the suggestion, his fingers picking at a loose thread on their blanket. “We could make it a thing... make those promises to each other... come home knowing we’ve got that foundation to work on together.”
She released a long breath, slow and controlled, studying his face, seeing the slight tension in his jaw, the way his thumb kept brushing the fabric over his lap as if he was already editing his next sentence before he spoke it aloud.
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of this first,” she muttered, pressing her forehead against Joe’s shoulder with a groan. His chuckle vibrated against her skin, warm and familiar. “Like, I’m genuinely annoyed right now.”
“Yeah?” Joe’s right hand cupped the cheek exposed by her half-turned face, thumb sweeping over the apple as she lifted her chin. “Annoyed’s cute on you.”
She rolled her eyes, but he caught the flicker of a smile at the corner of her mouth before he pressed a kiss there. “I’ve been sitting on this one for a little bit so I was always gonna beat you to it.”
The admission pulled a breathless laugh of both exasperation and delight from her as she pulled back just far enough to see Joe’s face clearly. His eyes crinkled at the corners with undisguised pride, his lips remained slightly parted as though still wanting to taste the amusement rolling off her. “I’m sure you think that,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder once more.
“I don’t think I was gonna beat you to it. I know I would.” The smugness in his voice made her scoff through her soft laughter. She let herself melt into the circle of his arms, breathing him in, savoring the mere presence of this ridiculously confident man.
Joe’s fingertips settled against her lower back, his chin resting atop her head. “So,” he murmured, amusement coloring his tone, “what do you think?”
She exhaled slowly, pressing closer. The steady thump of his heartbeat beneath her ear anchored her thoughts. “I think,” she began, “that it’s the most ‘you’ idea ever. Overengineered, sneakily romantic, and I love it.”
Joe’s laugh vibrated through his chest. “Overengineered?”
“Mmhmm.” She turned his palm over in her hands, tracing the lines across its warm expanse. “And sneaky. That part’s important too.” She lifted her head in time to catch his smile, feeling her breath catch in her thought at the sight of the fondness in his eyes. Joe always looked at her like she was something he couldn’t believe was his, like a dream he never wanted to wake from.
“So,” he drawled, using his free hand to pull her closer by her shoulders, “when are we doing this? Tomorrow? Next week?”
She hummed, thinking back to their schedules for the next few days. The game this Sunday was still a question mark in their calendars, though it seemed to be ever-increasingly possible that he would be returning to the field in four days’ time. Luckily for her, dating a professional football player had taught her the value of superstition or more so, the power of refraining from speaking the unwanted out loud.
“What about Tuesday night? Before you fly to Baltimore,” she suggested. “Early dinner, candles, the whole cliché.” Her excitement was almost audible. “That gives us six days to write something coherent.”
“Doesn’t have to be perfect...” he shrugged. The movement dislodged a singular curl from his forehead, falling out of place in a way that made her fingers twitch with the urge to fix it. “We’ll have time to make them better for the real thing. Whenever that happens.”
She caught herself staring, caught up in the way his lips pouted ever so slightly around his s’s, something she’d noticed a million times before but always managed to endear her anew.
A sharp thump drew her attention to Colby, who had decided that his toy pineapple (modeled after SpongeBob’s house to Joe’s delight) deserved a good thrashing on the hardwood floor beside the couch. The kitten’s orange ears twitched backward, offended by her sudden laughter interrupting his murderous rampage. Joe’s corresponding chuckle rumbled against her side, his thumb absently circling her knee beneath the blanket, warmer than any hearth could dream of being.
“Tuesday, then.” Her words drew an approving hum from Joe, his index finger tapping against her thigh before he leaned in to kiss her temple, echoing, “Tuesday.”
[ . . . ]
Friday night came around much sooner than she anticipated it would. Between her patients and Joe’s practice schedule including a return to full 11-on-11 contact, time had a way of slipping past them lately. It was something she noticed whenever she glanced at the shared calendar programmed into her phone. Days were slipping by, shedding like the multicolored leaves that seemed to fall into their yard at an increasing frequency as the temperatures continued to drop toward freezing. She had already been fielding texts from his parents most of the day about tentative travel arrangements, hedging her answers with careful ambiguity as no official ruling had been made on Joe’s status for Sunday afternoon.
Joe himself had been in good spirits when he arrived home from Paycor just as she was working on her dinner for the night. He informed her there was a little swelling in his foot, but nothing particularly painful or unexpected from how hard he'd been pushing through reps, certainly not enough to warrant concern from the trainers. She listened while stirring a pot of sausage and rice on the stove, nodding as he unpacked his lunch bag beside the kitchen island.
“So you’re saying you're fine?” she clarified, tasting the chicken broth she just added to the pot to allow the rice to cook, then adjusted the heat underneath.
“I’m saying I feel good,” he corrected her, placing his empty Tupperware into the dishwasher. He walked up behind her, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck before reaching around her to snag a piece of browned sausage from the pan. She swatted at his wrist half-heartedly, but he was already popping it into his mouth with a triumphant grin. “Maybe too good.”
“Did you take something?” She asked, arching an eyebrow as she turned away from the stove, keeping her tone light.
His grin widened at her suspicion. “Are you asking if I’m high?” He laughed, the sound boisterous in their quiet kitchen, and leaned back against the counter.
“I mean… I’m just asking,” she muttered.
“Nah, it just feels good, I think. Getting back out there. Feeling like myself again.”
She hummed but said nothing. If Joe was feeling good enough to start in two days, she wouldn’t be the one to try to convince him not to. In fact, at times like this, she was glad that it wasn’t her call to make. So she simply replied, “That’s great, baby.”, and changed the subject.
They loitered on the bottom floor for most of the night, sneaking in a few rounds of Mancala on the coffee table with Colby attempting to bat pieces down from the board at any opportunity. She won two rounds, Joe won the last one, and by the time the clock ticked toward 9, Joe announced he would be getting ready for bed, pressing a kiss to her forehead before heading upstairs. She remained downstairs for a bit longer, taking advantage of Colby’s cuddly mood and letting him curl up on her lap while she scrolled through her emails, deleting, organizing, and flagging as she moved down the list of unread messages.
The dread in her chest finally crested, proving the necessity for the feeling, when she saw the contact name for Zac Taylor flash across her phone screen. The text itself was simple:
I’m not comfortable playing Joe this Sunday. He’ll stay on IR, we’ll revisit after the game. Haven’t told him yet, but thought you should know ahead of time.
She had been in consistent contact with Zac throughout Joe’s rehab process. She offered updates when asked, clarified moods when necessary, but had always stopped short of inserting herself into football decisions. That was the line she never wanted to cross, the line of maintained trust between Joe and his Head Coach.
But, she wasn’t oblivious. She knew Zac well enough by now to understand the strategic meaning behind his timing. It was a deliberate choice to text her first, knowing it would give her a chance to sit with the information and prepare herself for how Joe might react to that information when he woke up to it in the morning. The clock displaying a time over an hour past Joe’s traditional bedtime of 9:30 PM made it clear Zac had timed it for a time he knew there was a good chance his quarterback was already asleep, even if the adrenaline of an impending return to play was keeping him wired.
The weight of that knowledge settled at the base of her throat like an unexpected bite of guilt, theoretically harmless, but still sharp enough to unsettle. The news was a double-edged sword. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t at least a little relieved but she still hated that relief. It felt selfish. Disloyal, almost. But she couldn’t deny the way it eased the tension that had been coiled tight behind her ribcage for weeks now.
She carried herself from the living room, up the stairs, and through her bedtime routine before she finally found the words to respond to the text. “Thanks for the heads up.” Simple. Professional. Enough.
She looked at Joe’s sleeping form, he way his lashes fanned against his cheekbones, his exhales slow and deep, and felt sick at the way she could bare to breath a little easier knowing he wouldn’t be stepping onto the field tomorrow. It was the worst kind of irony: her relief a betrayal that manifested itself as a reflection of her love. She climbed into bed with careful slowness, taking care not to jostle him, settling on her side to watch the faint rise and fall of his chest.
She didn’t sleep well that night, her subconscious plaguing her conscience. By dawn, the weight of her guilt had settled into the hollow of her throat, making her swallow thickly when Joe stirred beside her. His hand, warm and heavy, slid over her hip as he pulled her closer, still half-asleep, his breath tickling the nape of her neck. She closed her eyes against the sting of tears, swallowing the guilt and turning to face him.
Her hand brushed over his face, shifting the hair away from his eyes, kissing him breathless before she could second-guess herself. Joe grinned sleepily against her mouth, fingers tightening around her waist. “Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep, thumb tracing idle circles on her ribcage through the thin cotton of her shirt. She could taste herself on his tongue when he deepened the kiss, like they had all the time in the world and she swallowed the lump in her throat, bracing herself for the call she knew was coming.
The shrill ring of Joe’s phone cut through the quiet bedroom and she stiffened instinctively, fingers twisting in the sheets. Joe grunted, rolling away to swipe the phone off the nightstand. “It’s Zac,” he muttered, glancing at her before answering, eyebrows furrowing. “Yeah?” His voice was flat and she watched his expression shutter, jaw clenching as he listened. “Got it. Yeah, no—I hear you.”
He hung up without ceremony and tossed the phone onto the bed, pulling in a long intake of oxygen and releasing it with an audible exhale. “Leaving me on IR,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “He says he’s not comfortable throwing me in cold against the Patriots.” He swallowed hard, then turned his head to look at her. “But Thanksgiving is happening.”
“So you got some of your wish,” she murmured.
Joe rolled onto his side, his fingers tracing the dip of her waist where the sheets had ridden low. “Not how I pictured it.” His thumb brushed a slow circle against her hipbone. “But I can live with it. Just wasn’t the right time, I guess.”
She propped herself up on an elbow, studying the way his eyelashes cast shadows when he blinked too slow, the tension still coiled in his shoulders. She kissed his bicep. “You’re taking this better than I thought.”
“Should I be worse?” Joe rolled onto his back again, dragging a hand down his face. “Wouldn’t change anything.” He paused, then allowed his body to relax when she eased her palm over his ribs. “Did he tell you last night? After I went to bed?”
He knew Zac had been in contact with her during the course of this injury, considering how much of an anomaly this rehab process had been for him.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Around 11.” She watched his throat move as he swallowed again, the morning light catching the stubble along his jaw.
“Thank you for not waking me up to ruin my night,” Joe said quietly, his fingers tightening around hers for a brief, grounding moment before releasing. The mattress shifted as he sat up to roll his stiff muscles, rubbing his palm over the back of his neck. She studied the way his shoulders slumped slightly as if he was recalibrating his expectations before falling back against the mattress with a soft grunt.
She laughed quietly. His flesh still held the warmth of sleep, dizzying and familiar, beneath her lips as she allowed them to leave kisses along his shoulder. “I thought about it,” she admitted, and he chuckled, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. The morning light, pale and hesitant through the blinds, sketched gold across the slope of his nose, the rough stubble along his jaw.
“You think too much,” Joe murmured, rolling onto his side to face her, his fingers finding the hem of her oversized t-shirt to reach underneath. The warmth of his palm skimmed her waist. “Worry too much.” His voice dipped. “Always taking care of me.” His lips pressed against hers, slow and deep, pulling her on top of him until their hips aligned and she sighed into his mouth.
[ . . . ]
“So, Leo told me if I go with steak and mashed sweet potatoes for your dinner, it won’t interfere with your nutrition plan as long as I follow his recipe to keep the dairy to a minimum.” She rattled off from her spot on the bathroom counter. Her Ugg slippers swung in the air to match the movement of her legs dangling over the marbled edge. Joe, still brushing his teeth with his top half bare from his shower, raised an eyebrow at her reflection in the mirror.
He spat into the sink before responding while rinsing his toothbrush. “You got Leo involved?” His voice carried the rasp of morning. He set his toothbrush in its holder, then moved to invade her space. The scent of his bodywash clung to his skin and wafted throughout the bathroom. “Thought it was just gonna be us.”
She tilted her head, crossing her legs as she pulled him closer using the trap of her legs. “It will be just us,” she confirmed. “Leo just gave me the green light on ingredients. Relax.” She could feel him exhale against her cheek as he braced his hands on either side of her hips, leaning up for a slow press of his mouth to hers.
“I am relaxed,” he murmured. “Didn’t even lose my shit when they lost on Sunday.”
She rolled her eyes, pressing a playful finger to his lips. “Liar. You spent forty-five minutes on the phone with Ja’Marr repeating the same three things over and over.” His grin was dismissive as he nipped at her fingertip, making her pull her hand back. His hands settled over her thighs, his head ducking to rest against her chest, humming when he felt her nails lightly drag over the hair at the nape of his neck.
“That wasn’t losing my shit,” he argued. “That was debriefing.”
“With the vocabulary of a sailor off his meds,” she countered, laughing when Joe muttered a disgruntled ‘whatever’ against her collarbone. She curled her fingers tighter in his hair, holding him there, close enough to feel his breath on her skin. His hands slid up her waist, thumbs brushing the underside of her ribs in slow, distracting circles.
“We’re all good for tonight?” Joe asked against her skin, voice muffled by her crewneck.
“Menu’s set. Candles are labeled in the garage.”
Joe laughed as he pulled back to continue with his routine. “You labeled the candles?”
“We’re using the fuck out of those. They were a very good purchase,” she said smoothly, hopping down from the counter.
Joe reached for the lotion next to where she was previously seated. “Did you use that label maker you got last year?”
“Of course,” she deadpanned, watching him rub the lotion into his hands to warm the substance. “Put them in boxes according to size too.”
Joe shook his head fondly, beginning to rub the lotion into his arms and upper torso.
[ . . . ]
They were seated for dinner just after 7:45 PM, the kitchen island transformed with flickering candlelight that cast shadows across their cheekbones and brought back that golden glow they last saw on the night of the proposal. Their meals were slightly different. Her plate held steak and mashed potatoes full of butter and heavy cream with a side of roasted carrots and a glass of red wine. On Joe’s plate, mashed sweet potatoes with minimal dairy, a larger steak, roasted carrots, and steamed broccolini with a glass of water and a lemon wedge.
Easing into conversation about the Thanksgiving plans waiting for them on both Friday and Saturday, the travel itinerary, and the precise timing of Joe’s departure, they lingered first on the food. Then, silence emerged over the meal as if both were acutely aware of the vows folded neatly beside their plates in similarly folded sheets of paper.
They agreed on one page of handwritten words. Nothing lengthy, nothing overly rehearsed, something honest in the most clear, direct promise they could muster. Though they both had emphasized it wasn’t meant to be a perfect draft—just a first attempt—there was still this gravity in the silence as they cleared their plates in the sink, leaving just their drinks and those papers untouched, waiting.
Joe exhaled first before sliding his fingers under the fold of his page. She sucked in a deep breath, watching his face, the way his jaw tightened slightly, the way his thumbs pressed lightly against the paper’s edge like he was unsure whether to unfold it fully or read it just like that, half-hidden. She reached for hers before he could start, unfolding hers flat against the island’s surface, smoothing the creases with her palms, letting the words sit there between them like a confession neither had spoken aloud yet.
“Can I go first?” she asked softly, fingers tracing the edge of her page.
Joe nodded, leaning back with a nervously chuckled, “Please,” as he reached for his glass of water.
She couldn’t help the slight tremor in her hands as her eyes settled upon the words she made sure to write painstakingly perfect so she didn’t risk stumbling over a ‘t’ that looked more like an unfinished ‘f’ or a ‘u’ that resembled a ‘v’.
“Joe,” she started, voice catching on his name like it was something meant to be whispered with complete reverence. “I’ve learned a lot about the world the last four years. How angry people get when you cut them off before an exit you nearly missed just to realize it’s the wrong one anyway. How pumpkin pie should taste when it’s made from scratch. How football actually works beyond the fact that points are scored in odd increments.”
Joe snorted, shaking his head as she grinned.
“But most importantly, I learned how to love you.” The air between them shifted, heavy and sweet.
“You taught me patience. You taught me sarcasm should be considered a love language. And you taught me—” She swallowed, willing her racing heart to still in her chest. “—that home isn’t where I sleep. It’s wherever you are. There are a million things I can’t promise. I can’t guarantee I won’t take forever getting ready for dinner or that I won’t beg you to stop hogging the blankets at 3 AM. But I know that there are a couple things I can promise, so I picked three of them to promise to you now.”
She cleared her throat, lifting the paper closer to her eyes. “Number one: I promise that I’ll make you a pumpkin pie every year on your birthday with a single candle planted in the center, and I will never ever neglect to tell you how ridiculous it looks when you make a wish before blowing it out even though I told you to do it.”
Joe’s laugh was warm.
She continued, her voice softening. “Number two: I promise that when you come home from games late at night or super early in the morning, I’ll be awake waiting for you because I know you’ll want to see my face and hear my voice before you fall asleep.”
She paused, watching his eyelashes flutter as he blinked rapidly. “And number three,” her vision slightly clouded. “I promise that you will never have to question if you are loved, even on the days you forget to love yourself. Because when I look at you, I see everything I could possibly yearn for. I see strong coffee in the morning, dumb arguments about why water simply makes things wet but isn’t wet itself, and the way that love can be everything if we allow it to be.”
Joe reached for her hands as she set the paper down, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles with featherlight reverence. “Dammit, babe,” he muttered, blinking at the ceiling before meeting her gaze. “Now I gotta follow that?”
The joke did its job. Her laugh punched out from her chest, her cheeks filling as she swiped beneath her eyes. Joe lifted her left hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her engagement ring before turning it to kiss her wrist. “I had to follow your proposal speech,” she reminded him, watching his throat bob as he swallowed.
He unfolded his own paper, cleared his throat, then glanced up with a smile.
“A couple years ago, I learned about core memories from a dumb kids’ movie that you forced me to watch when I told you I’d never seen it.”
She made through to the first sentence before she released a wet laugh, her nose sniffling, tears already welling up.
“Watching that movie, I realized that there were a lot of different islands floating around in my head that make up who I am. There’s football and science and music and some basketball and all this other stuff. But somewhere along the way, you became the biggest island in my brain. Every important thing that’s happened to me since I met you, every moment that mattered to my life, my career, my dreams, you were there. Even if you weren’t physically in the room or standing right next to me, you were taking up space in my brain. Every joke someone makes, I want to run home and tell you. Every fact I learn, I want to hear your questions when I recite it to you later. Every single time I leave your side, all I can think about is how long it will take until I can come back to you.”
Joe’s voice cracked on the last syllable, and she watched his throat bob as he swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the paper. The candlelight flickered across his face, catching and reflecting in the dampness in his lashes.
“I used to think marriage was just paperwork,” he admitted, glancing up with a half-smile. “Something people did to make taxes easier. But now, I’ve never been more sure of how I was meant to share my life and every dumb thought, every bad day, with you. If I’m remembered for my career, that would be a reward for the coin flips and lucky accidents that went my way. But if I’m remembered for the way that I loved you, then I know I woke up every single day to make sure I did that right.”
He reached for her left hand, sucking in a shallow breath before he continued.
“I promise, whatever’s next, regardless of whatever dumb arguments we’ll have, I’ll never stop trying to be worthy of you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. And if you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving what that has meant and will always mean to me.”
His knuckles brushed her engagement ring, the metal warm from the heat of his palm. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his, their breaths mingling in the pause before he kissed her, savoring every sigh and every breath. He laughed when they pulled back, running a thumb under her eye, collecting tears she felt she had lost control of.
“Fuck, I love you,” she sniffed, rubbing her nose against his before stealing another kiss.
Joe hummed against her mouth, fingers tracing the hinge of her jaw. “I love you more,” he murmured.
“Do you love me enough to eat some of the pie I made?” She stood abruptly, shuffling over to reveal the miniature pumpkin pie she’d hidden in the oven. Joe groaned, already shaking his head—she knew he avoided sugar during the season—but she pressed a fork into his palm anyway. “Three bites,” she insisted. “For good luck.”
He rolled his eyes before spearing a bite. “This is extortion,” he muttered, chewing exaggeratedly slowly just to watch her smile brightly.
“Two more,” she commanded. “That was barely a nibble.”
Joe shook his head, directing the next forkful to her mouth instead. “I can get a taste from you,” he murmured, watching her lips part around the fork. She chewed then swallowed, giggling when he leaned in to kiss her, his tongue swiping against hers to chase the cinnamon and nutmeg. “Better than eating it myself,” he whispered against her mouth.
“Owe me one more bite,” she said quietly. Joe obeyed, his fork scraping the small baking dish before lifting the last piece to her lips. She closed her mouth around it deliberately slow, watching his eyes darken as she chewed before leaning forward to share the taste of the autumnal spices in another heated kiss.
She shifted her position, allowing him to hoist her effortlessly by her thighs. Her hands held his face in her hands as she felt him move them away from the counter, through the kitchen, and towards the stairs. “You found a loophole,” she murmured against his lips, feeling his chuckle vibrate against her chest.
“Still had some,” Joe murmured back, pausing at the top step to set her down. He crowded her against the wall outside their bedroom, one hand planted beside her head as the other traced the curve of her waistband.
She shivered when his teeth grazed her earlobe before trailing wet kisses over her jaw and down her neckline. “I have a surprise for you.”
Joe pulled back slightly, eyebrows lifting in that way they did when he smelled something brewing but couldn’t quite commit to actual suspicion yet. “That’s ominous.”
She hooked a finger in the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging him closer until their breathing tangled. “Only if you consider lingerie ominous.” His breath hitched audibly unmistakably intrigued. She bit her lip to keep from grinning too wide.
She tugged him into the bedroom, her voice dipping into sultriness when she commanded him to sit while she disappeared into their walk-in closet. Joe perched on the edge of the bed, drumming his fingers against his thigh, the muffled rustle of fabric and a soft, frustrated curse drawing a quiet laugh from him.
The boutique clerk said the lingerie set had bridal qualities with its white lace scalloped along the bodice and straps slipping off the shoulders. The cool air in the closet brought the blossoming of goosebumps along her thighs as she stepped into the delicate bottoms, clipped the bra, then slid the singular lace garter up to her mid-thigh. Her reflection stared back at her in the mirror, eyes wide, lower lip caught between her teeth, until she exhaled, smoothing her palms over her torso before taking a brave step toward the bedroom.
Joe’s anxious fingers stilled when she emerged. The dim light from the bedside lamp caught the lace’s intricate patterns, casting faint shadows on her skin. His breath hesitated, his throat working as he swallowed, leaned forward, then stood abruptly when she was within reach.
He paused in front of her, shaking his head with a quiet laugh that didn’t quite mask the lust in his voice. His fingers hovered over her hips, tracing the lace without touching her skin like she was something sacred, something too fragile to dirty with his calloused hands. The hesitation made her bold. She stepped into him, pressing her palms against his chest until his nose brushed hers and she could feel his breath shudder over her face.
Her left hand remained poised on his chest while her right drifted up and around to his nape, fingertips teasing the short hairs there. “You act like you've never seen me in lingerie before,” she murmured, and the way his lips parted halfway between protest and disbelief made her stomach flip.
Joe exhaled sharply through his nose before recomposing himself, voice rough when he countered, “Baby, I’ve seen you naked more times than I can count.” His palms finally settled against her ribcage, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts through the lace. “This isn’t about seeing you.” His fingers flexed once, pressing into the delicate fabric as he inhaled. “This is symbolic wife shit.”
She snorted despite the heat pooling low in her belly. “Symbolic wife shit?” she echoed, dragging her nails down the back of his neck just to feel him shiver. Joe’s eyelids fluttered, his grip tightening reflexively.
“Yeah,” he muttered, voice already wrecked. “Like—fuck—” Her right hand ever so lightly tugged at his hair, and his breath stuttered. “Like how you’re standing there looking like this when you’re…” His gaze raked over her, lingering on the delicate embroidery along her hips. “Half a step from ‘Mrs. Burrow.’”
She couldn’t suppress the grin tugging at her lips. “That has a nice ring to it. Wife... Mrs. Burrow. I might have to steal that.” She whispered against him, lips fluttering near him but not quite pressing against his skin yet.
The air between them was thick, charged, trembling on the precipice of something shared and secret. Joe’s hands slid down her waist, fingers dipping beneath the lace seam of her panties—teasing, testing, before pulling her flush against him.
“Yeah?” His breath was warm over her lips. “Steal it, then. Say it.” His lips brushed over hers. “Say it so I know how it sounds.”
She exhaled a laugh against his mouth, fingers tightening in his hair. “Mrs. Burrow.” She whispered it like a dare, dragging her teeth against his bottom lip. “I love that. I’d love it more if I could take these off.”
Her hands pulled at his t-shirt, the fabric stretching taut over his shoulders before she yanked it up. Joe obliged, ducking his head to let her strip it away, his bare chest warm under her palms. The teasing brush of her lips along his collarbone made his breath hitch, a sound she swallowed with her mouth, pressing him backward until the backs of his knees hit the bed. He sat with a soft exhale, gazing up at her through his lashes, fingers twitching at his sides like he was yearning to reach out for her.
She stalked over to him, smiling ever so slightly as she felt his palms press heat into the backs of her legs, guiding her to straddle his lap. His scent enveloped her while she leaned down to nose along his jaw. His stubble scraped her skin deliciously as she murmured, “You gonna touch me or should I just—”
“I’m memorizing,” he admitted. His teeth grazed the delicate shell of her ear before adding, “Wanna remember my wife like this.”
She rewarded his teasing with the slow grind of her hips, the friction of her damp lace against his sweatpants making his fingers dig into her thighs. “Your wife,” she repeated, savoring the words while dragging her tongue along his pulse point. “Partly,” she laughed, though with the way her breath hitched as Joe palmed her bare back through the lingerie’s sheer panels, it might as well have been a moan.
Joe’s laugh vibrated against her lips before he finally caught her mouth in a kiss, slow and thorough, like he had all night to relearn the taste of her. His hands slid up her sides, thumbs tracing the scalloped edges of the lace where it cut into her skin. “Mostly,” he countered against her lips between the drag of his teeth. She arched into the touch, fingers threading through his hair as he mapped the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, the trembling heat of her inner thighs beneath silk.
Every drag, every press, every sinking into each other was agonizingly slow. If Joe had any inkling of what time it was, it evaporated the moment her fingers trailed down his chest to pull his sweats down. The lace strap slipped off her shoulder, and Joe made no move to fix it, fascinated by the way she discarded layers, both his and hers. He murmured something about running out of patience she pretended not to hear, rolling her hips deliberately slower just to watch his jaw tighten.
Her thong was pulled to the side, starkly holy against her brown skin when she finally sank down on his length. She gasped softly, fingers gripping Joe’s shoulders as she adjusted to him. He sat upright against the headboard, both hands wrapped tight around her waist as his swollen lips kissed along her collarbone. She rolled her hips experimentally, watching Joe’s eyelashes flutter, his breath shuddering against her throat.
The identically ragged, “Fuck,” that left them both when she finally moved was swallowed between their mouths. Joe’s hands slid up her back, dragging her closer as she rocked against him. She bit his lower lip, swallowing his groan when she clenched around him, reveling in the way his fingers spasmed against her spine. The arching of her back gave him the perfect opportunity to bury his face in her chest, laving over the tops of the parts of her exposed to him.
She gasped at the sensation of his teeth grazing her nipple through the delicate lace, the fabric amplifying every flick of his tongue. The tension coiled tighter in her belly with each deliberate drag of his fingers down her spine, pressing into her lower back to keep her flush against him. Joe murmured something unintelligible against her skin as she rolled her hips in slow, torturous circles, savoring the way his voice faltered, curses bit off, every time her hips swirled just right above his.
Her pussy fluttered around him involuntarily when he tilted his hips upward, and she retaliated by sinking deeper, forcing his exhale to shudder over her dampened skin. The scent of his sweat mixed with the lingering pumpkin pie on his breath when she kissed him, tasting cinnamon and the faint metallic tang of his desperation. His fingers dug crescent moons into her ass as she rocked faster, her thighs trembling when he growled, “Doing so well for me baby. My favorite place to be... fuck.”
His praise unraveled her restraint, the sudden praise drawing a ragged moan from her shaking lips. Joe caught it with his teeth, biting down on her lower lip as she whimpered against him. His hands reached around her, his fingers twisted in the straps of her lingerie before blindly finding the clasp of her bra, releasing it without breaking their kiss. She pulled away long enough to let the lace slip off her shoulders, her bare chest shiny and rising quick as Joe's thumbs traced her ribs with reverence.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groaned, watching her breasts bounce as she rode him harder. Her bounces required her to steel herself against him, one hand braced around his neck, the other pushing further up his thigh. Joe reached up and cupped her breasts in his hands, rolling her nipples beneath his thumbs, his teeth catching the skin of his lip as he watched her shiver above him.
“Mmmph...” she arched into his touch, her hips stuttering as her thighs quivered from the impending meltdown she could anticipate in every muscle and nerve. Joe smirked, recognizing the change in her breathing, the way she gasped for air like she was forgetting how to inhale properly, and slid one hand down to grip her hip, slowing her movements until she whined.
“Easy,” he murmured, nipping at her collarbone, lifting his chin until her lips found his again—hot, wet, and insistent. She growled against his mouth, tightening around him in retaliation, and Joe swore, his fingers digging into her skin as his hips jerked upward. The shift made her gasp, her hands tangling in his hair as she rode him with renewed urgency, her moans spilling into his mouth between panting breaths.
The smack of her hips against his thighs grew louder, a rhythm punctuated by their mingled gasps and the creak of the mattress beneath them. Her fingers dragged through his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan before she leaned back, her thighs trembling as she ground down on him in tight circles. Joe’s grip on her waist tightened, his thumbs pressing into the skin above her ass as he watched her with hooded eyes. “Fuck, baby,” he rasped, his voice ragged. “You’re gonna kill me with this view.”
His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, tracking every shift of her body. From the way her breasts rose with each breath to the sweat glistening down her chest to the slick slide of her thighs against his hips. “Is it pretty?” she asked through a moan, swallowing thickly as she pulled his hands back to her breasts.
“It’s gorgeous,” he hissed, dragging his fingers lower, tracing her ribs, the dip of her waist. “Every fucking inch.” His fingers pressed into the soft flesh above her hips and she gasped as he thrust upward suddenly, knocking her forward onto his chest. The angle forced a whimper from her throat.
She lay flat against him, their bodies sliding down the mattress, chest to chest, slick with sweat. His breath was hot against her ear, his sharp inhales timed with every thrust. She bit down on his shoulder, muffling a cry when he began to pull her down onto his cock relentless, his hands gripping her ass hard enough to leave bruises tomorrow; bruises she’d make sure to admire in the mirror in the morning.
Her palms pressed into the bed on either side of his head, her torso lifting just enough to catch his gaze both dark blue and blown wide, his lips parted as he watched her. She allowed him free reign, total control over her body as he frantically chased their release, his movements sharper than hers were, less rhythmic and more desperate for every slick glide and punched moan.
“Fuck...” she whined, dragging the vowel out as his hips stuttered beneath her, his cock twitching inside her. She wasn’t sure when she’d gotten so close, only that the pressure had coiled so tight she barely recognized the whining sound coming from her own throat. Joe’s hands slid up her back, fingers splayed wide, pressing her flush against his chest just as his mouth found hers, his tongue sliding past her lips. The kiss was messy, half-gasped breaths between the frantic glide of their tongues.
She resumed the rise and fall of her hips, replicating his rhythm. She took him to the hilt before rising up, again and again. His hands palmed her ass, pressing harshly into the skin before his left hand lifted, only to come back down against her flesh in a sharp staccato smack that echoed through the room. She gasped, her thighs tensing against his hips as she shuddered, the sting sending a fresh wave of heat through her nerves.
Joe tracked the way her lips parted, the way her forehead creased in pleasure, how she bit her bottom lip as if to hold back a moan. “Don’t,” he growled, fingers tightening on her waist. “Don’t hide from me.” His voice was rough, stripped bare by exertion and desire.
She rolled her hips harder, her breath hitching as she obeyed, letting the sounds spill freely: soft whimpers and throaty moans becoming frustrated sobs as she finally approached the edge. Joe watched the way her body trembled with effort, the lace of her lingerie damp where it clung to her skin. He dragged a thumb between her breasts, smearing the sweat that pooled there, then traced it down her stomach, pressing just above where their bodies joined, marking the tremor that raced through her at his touch.
“God—Joey—” His name shattered in her throat as she arched back, one hand braced on his chest, the other gripping his wrist where it rested against her hip. His fingers flexed, digging into the soft flesh, holding her steady as she rode him through the first cresting wave. She gasped, her thighs shaking, her rhythm faltering, but Joe wouldn’t let her stop. His free hand slid up her spine, fingers threading into her hair, tugging just enough to tip her head back.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough. “Don’t slow down. Keep cumming for me.”
The words sent another shudder through her as she forced her trembling legs to move again. His grip in her hair tightened, the sting sharp and sweet, dragging another broken noise from her lips. Beneath her, Joe’s hips lifted off the mattress in short, shallow thrusts, chasing the friction she’d denied him. The lace of her lingerie scraped against her oversensitive skin, every shift sending fresh sparks through her nerves.
The second wave left her ears ringing, vision fracturing. Joe’s fingers still tangled in her hair, his hips stuttered against hers in uneven jerks. She barely registered any of the next 15 seconds, much less the whimper that escaped her as she slumped forward, her forehead pressing into his shoulder, her body still pulsing around him.
Joe eventually grunted, his grip loosening in her hair to slide down her damp back. “Good job, baby,” he murmured against her temple, his voice rough with exhaustion. “Took it so well. I’m so proud.”
She blinked lazily, her fingers numb against his chest. He still hadn’t pulled out, her brain realized. He shifted beneath her slightly, his hands settling at her waist. “You good?” he asked, his voice low.
She hummed, pressing a kiss to the sweat-slick skin just above his collarbone. “Mm. Yeah.”
Joe exhaled a laugh, fingers tracing idle patterns against her ribs. “You passed out for a second.”
“I wonder why,” she muttered dryly, flexing her toes where they’d gone stiff against the sheets. His chuckle reverberated through her cheek still pressed to his chest warm and familiar, the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath her ear.
Joe shifted carefully, easing out of her with a wince she caught in the tightness of his thighs. She made a noise of protest at the loss, but he was already sliding a palm up her spine, pressing lazy kisses along her shoulder. “I got you,” he said simply, nudging her sideways onto the mattress. “I’ll be back.”
She watched him pad naked toward the bathroom, the muscles in his back flexing under the dim bedside lamp. She wasn’t quite sure what time it was, how long it took him to clean her up, or even if she was naked or just partially peeled out of the lingerie. Her brain remained scrambled as she sank into the sheets, vaguely aware of the damp patch beneath her thighs.
[ . . . ]
If she were to compile a list of all the things she was thankful for this Thanksgiving, she would probably run out of ink before she reached Joe’s name. Not because he ranked low, but because the sheer volume of ways she loved him defied neat categorization. He wasn’t a singular item on her list. In many ways, he was every item on her list.
He was her breath in the morning and the peaceful blinks before bed.
He was the lotion on her chapped hands after long shifts when the hand sanitizer in the office wrecked their softness.
He was the chilled bottle of water pressed into her palms when she forgot to hydrate.
He was the gentle correction when she mispronounced the scientific name of a fossil he adored.
He was the way Colby curled against his ribs at night, purring so freely as this kitten that had blossomed from his shy beginnings to one who zoomed and climbed and meowed with his full lung capacity.
He was the softened, albeit offkey note, in the Beyonce song blasting in the car on the way to the airport.
He was every beginning, every end, and every step of the journey in between.
He was tears in her eyes and the lump in her throat as she stood on her feet in the stands of Huntington Bank Stadium, her hands pressed to her mouth when Joe was playing like he always did; precision and passion and gratitude wrapped into every throw.
The girls stayed close to her, their hands rubbing circles into her back as she held her breath with every snap, her eyes tracking Joe’s movements like she could will his body to stay intact through sheer force of observation. They stayed by her side when she rushed to the area where they knew fans would be waiting after the game, her hands twisting nervously around her phone, knowing Joe would appear any second, knowing he’d seek her out first.
When he finally emerged from the tunnel, his hair damp with sweat and his gait loose with exhaustion but so much gratitude, she didn’t realize she’d started crying until Leah rubbed her arms. The words Leah whispered into her ears barely registered before she was moving, pushing through lingering fans with muttered apologies until she was up against the barriers, smiling widely when he spotted her.
Joe grinned like he’d been waiting for this moment all night his arms opening before she was even within reach. She didn’t hesitate, reaching over boundary and pressing herself into his embrace, inhaling him and all he was. Though the hug was brief, as was the kiss delivered to her cheek, she could already feel herself relaxing with the assurance that he was in one piece, satisfied, and thankful.
She watched him hug each of her girls, gratitude encroaching on every syllable that left his lips, until he turned back to her to hug her just one more time.
the term “ai fanfiction/fanart” is such an oxymoron because AI cannot be a fan. it’s not involved in fandom spaces, it has no passion nor sentimental preference, it doesn’t dream about its beloved blorbo, nor can it be horny for their fave. it’s just a button click for fake creators that’ll steal stuff. hence “ai fan-xyz” and ai `art´ do not exist
notes: hi sorry embarrassingly late sorry please read and enjoy it’s drama filled but kinda rushed sorry again eek i’m sorryyyyy please like and reblog probs like 2 more bits of this mini series left then back to normal fics sorry again lots of love like and reblog please thank you next one is going to be GREAT wink wink <3
“SOMEONE JUST TOOK OUR OTHER SUN LOUNGER!”
“well go get it back?”
“no way!”
“courtney, you do it.”
“no! i’m not fussed, i’ll sit at the table.”
“oh my god, you guys are mental. you don’t have to fight them on it, just ask nicely,” you folded your towel into your beach bag, “just say i think you’ve taken my bed by mistake, you set your towel down on it.”
“but i didn’t.”
“oh my god, then that’s fair game, faye! you can’t blame them,” you looked at her and huffed, heading over to the window to sneak a peak. since the days went on, more and more people began arriving at your complex, creating more noise and taking your spot at the pool.
scraping your hair back out of your face, you rummaged your messy bed for your bottle of water in the tangle of sheets, but to no avail, no water.
“y/n.”
“what faye?!”
“please say!”
“i left my stuff on my bed, you didn’t. you have no bed. you say.”
“fuck sake,” she huffed, throwing herself down on the bed.
you didn’t want to but you managed to drag yourself out of bed an hour or two ago and threw your towel over one of the sun loungers before anyone else had moved - you weren’t about to spend another day perched on the concrete ledge by the pool while everyone else sunbathed properly.
you’d told them to get up, to follow you, but no one budged. you said it three times, and were met with groans and hums of acknowledgment, but not compliance.
and now, they regretted it.
“y/nnn, did you not get ours for us?” beth groaned from the sofa, her voice scratchy.
you didn’t even look up from rummaging through your bag. “no. you weren’t up.”
“but they’re all gone now.”
“well, yeah,” you stood up, squinting against the daylight shining in from the balcony doors. “you should’ve come down earlier.”
that earned you a few sighs and a muttered, ‘cheers for thinking of us’ but you weren’t biting - you’d got your bed, you were set for the day, so it wasn’t your problem that they’d decided to stay in bed until noon.
they proceeded with their moaning and groaning and complaining, now giving off about anything and everything - not finding their phone, not finding a their bikini top, their hair not co-operating, and your mouth was like sandpaper, your head not much better.
you needed out.
you pressed your lips together, resisting the urge to point out how gross the place was - you knew how it would go: the second you said anything, you’d be the nag, the killjoy, the one ruining the a mood — so you didn’t.
you just stood there in your clean bikini, your side of the bedroom folded and neat, dressed ready to sunbathe.
the apartment was feeling smaller by the day — louder, hotter, messier. everyone snapping at each other, shoulders bumping in the cramped hallway, and now the pool was filling up with new arrivals dragging their cases in, their voices echoing through the courtyard.
at the sight of bronzer smashed into the bathroom floor tiles, last nights food on the sofa, cups scattered throughout and clothes everywhere but hung up in the wardrobe - you dropped your bag and headed to the door.
“i’m going down to the vending machine,” you said no one in particular. no one looked up, just mumbled a ‘k’ from the corner.
you didn’t wait for another response and slipped out the door with your flip-flops slapping against the stairwell tiles. the cooler air outside felt like a relief, your head always feeling lighter.
you just needed five minutes.
just five minutes to let them sort themselves out and by the time you came back up, hopefully they’d actually be ready to go.
the elevator doors opened and you trudged to the vending machine at the end of the hall against the wall.
the lobby was empty. quiet.
you closed your eyes, fighting the faint thump and threw your change in, clicking the two buttons, one and three.
“knew it was you.”
you jumped, bottle halfway out, and glanced up; alfie, leaning casually against the wall, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his own bottle of water.
he had a hoodie on, the hood up, the sun glinting off the edges of his watch. he was smiling though. he looked good for a guy with a hangover - if he had one.
“hey,” you said, tucking your hair behind your ear, trying to keep your tone light, “morning.”
“morning,” his eyes followed you up as you stood. “how’s it goin’?”
you shook your head, the thought alone pushing your had mood. “s’like a war zone up there. bad moods brewing because of hangovers so we need to get outside,” you put your drink in your bag. “taking forever getting ready though.”
he laughed, low and gentle, “yeah, i could tell. sounded like war from down under.”
“did you hear?”
“caught a bit,” he said, tilting his head, “not my problem. not my circus.”
you grinned, feeling your morning tension ease a little. “it’s fine. i just came down to escape that pigsty for a minute,” you shuffled through your bag for another coin, “our complex is moving up in the world.”
“i saw. there’s like two new groups in here. i don’t like it.”
“i know.”
you bent slightly to zip your bag closed, and the faintest whiff of his aftershave caught you.
clean, sharp, strong — you knew he hadn’t just sprayed it, but just clung to him from previous times, settled deep in his clothes and skin. it lingered heavy.
one breath of it and you knew it would always belong to him, known to you as alfie’s scent.
wow, it was a good one.
you kept your eyes trained on the vending machine, pretending to debate between another bottle of water or a can of fanta while he stood leaning on the wall, waiting for you to look at him.
you pressed the button, watching the bottle drop, grateful for something to look at. “the girls are giving off because all the beds are taken so i don’t know what they want me to do.”
“me and the boys were thinking of going to the beach,” he prompted, standing up a little, “haven’t been and it’s warm enough. the pool’s not an option at this point. you should come,” he suggested, hoping it didn’t come off too strong. really, he was just giving some advice. “we saw an inflatable course on it. might try it.”
you let your eyes lift from the vending machine to meet his.
“i’ll pitch it to them,” you said softly, stepping back.
“good,” he said, pushing himself off the wall, brushing past close enough that the smell of him lingered. “let me know. we’ll be down in the voyage in like . . 10 minutes,” he checked his watch. “you should come either way, whether they want to or not.”
you nodded and watched him head off, feeling lighter than when you’d stepped off the lift.
ᯓ ✈︎
“oh my GOD, sand is fucking everywhere!”
“well . . yeah beth, we’re at the beach,” you fixed your towel so it lay smoothed out, “what were you expecting? snow?”
“shut up y/n . .” she grumbled, kicking her sandals off, “you’d know all about playing in the fucking snow.”
“if you’re in such a mood then go back to the hotel?”
“and sit wear?”
“somewhere it’s not sandy?”
when pitching the idea of the beach to them, your girls weren’t too fussed, but when you’d told them they could fight for their sunbeds while you sunbathed on yours - they reluctantly gave in.
you were in the voyage 10 minutes later, waiting another 10 on your own when you told the guys to go on.
alfie’s face lit up when he saw you show up, but joel already had you second-guessing your acceptance of invitation when he said he was going to throw you off the inflatable course.
the girls eventually trudged down, and complained about the walk to the beach. you didn’t know why they were in such a mood today. you, yet again, felt the worst, getting home two hours after everyone else.
hey, people liked to talk to you. getting a pizza to eat before bed wasn’t so straightforward with your gravitational energy - you’d befriended a couple strangers from the netherlands and ended up back in the bars.
you weren’t too rough. more electrolytes and water did the trick.
settled with your setup, you lay down on the hot towel, arm shielding the sun even with your sunglasses on and let out a breath.
no more stress. no more arguing. everyone was happy. everyone was quiet.
. . . too quiet.
nobody was talking, and you sat up to observe.
tam had her earphones in, beth was out cold, jess was on her side, scrolling on her phone and faye was reading also with her earphones in.
you tried to relax, but like you’d knew would happen, you struggled to get comfortable on the sand. honestly - you didn’t get what people meant by soft sand - every beach you’d been to was hard and bumpy to lay on, no matter how smooth you made it before laying your towel down.
you sat up again, feeling your body grow hotter with the growing frustration.
you lay down . . . and then you were up again.
you heard a laugh, and looked to jess who was shielding her eyes while looking over at you, “bit uncomfy over there?”
“just warm,” you played with it instead, grabbing a handful to watch it pour out of your fist.
the beach was entertaining nonetheless, not too busy, but just enough people around to keep it interesting. couples were stretched out with books, kids running about with shovels and spades, an older pair locked in a board game like it was life or death and someone chased their curly-haired dog through baby waves.
your eyes kept going back to the group of kids messing around. definitely siblings. you could see it building — the brother starting to wind up his sister more than play with her, her little fists scooping up sand with way too much intent. you almost laughed, silently rooting for her to just launch it at him - not just because it’d be funny, but because you knew she’d feel better for it.
you tried to relax, laying down again, took your kindle out and tried to read.
nope.
you sat up again.
you stood up actually, taking your purse. “getting a drink.”
“k.”
you walked to the row of shops, hearing ruckus before you saw them.
it was 10:00 in the morning and three pints sat on the table, two fists wrapped around a knife and fork and banging on the glass. “bit early for that, no?”
“it’s 5 o’clock somewhereeee,” jay and joel waved their glasses as they put on their best middle-aged woman impression. “where’s the rest of them?”
“over there. courtney didn’t come, she wanted to stay at the hotel today,” you quickly scanned their table of toasties, wraps and baskets of chips. “where’s dylan?”
“probably making breakfast in some girl’s kitchen,” joel picked up another chip, snickering with the rest of the boys.
“lovely,” your face was grim, “what are you guys up to?”
“going to get on that after,” jay nodded to the inflatable watercourse afloat on the water. you could see a climbing wall, a slide, monkey bars and a swing you needed to jump on to get to the other side.
yeah, no way.
“you should get on,” alfie proposed.
“no way.”
“why not? i bet you’d smash it,” they tried to encourage you.
“yeah, smash my face in.”
“that’s the fun of it!”
you sent a conflicted look of confusion.
was that supposed to be an insult?
“c’mon.”
“i wouldn’t be able to pull myself up to get started on it!” you argued.
“i’ll help you!” jay promised, “alfie will help you. he’s got the guns now,” he pointed to his friend who, surprisingly, didn’t flex his muscles in response, but drank his orange juice.
you thought about it.
“i’ll ask the girls . . see if they want to do it,” you continued your journey to the bar.
you got your two bottles of water and walked back, standing in the middle of their makeshift row. “do you guys want to do that watercourse?”
tammy took her earphones out and nudged faye who still had hers in. “do what, sorry?”
“the watercourse. that thing over there,” you nodded to the agility challenge, “the guys are going to do it too. it would be fun.”
“no. not in the mood to get my hair wet,” faye put her earphones back in.
“tam?”
“i don’t know . . . i’m so tired.”
“but it’ll be funny! come on,” you looked to beth, “beth?”
“the water is so cold, y/n.”
“are you serious?!”
“my bikini will come off.”
“SO?!”
“y/n, if you want to go, just go, we’ll watch your stuff.”
“it’s fine,” you huffed, “thought i’d just ask,” you back sat down on your lumpy sand.
ᯓ ✈︎
“GUYS I CAN’T DO THIS! I CAN’T—WATER KEEPS GOING IN MY MOUTH! I CAN’T GET UP!”
the harder you laughed, the harder it was to pull yourself up onto the thing. joel and alfie were already two obstacles ahead, scrambling up the wall section like it was easy, while jay on the other hand, had fell in headfirst just minutes after starting, now thrashing around trying to haul himself back on from the other side.
you kept laughing, out of breath in the midst of using your arms to pull the rest of your body up onto the inflatable mattress, arms shaking violently while your stomach cramped with laughter.
the inflatable bounced beneath you, making it even harder. “i’m actually gonna drown!” you wheezed, cheeks aching from how hard you were laughing. “please!”
“you two are shit!” joel yelled from a few metres ahead, doubled over laughing himself.
“mate i will seriously drown you,” jay called back, not at all pleased he wasn’t winning this competition.
you hauled yourself up inch by inch, the taste of salt in your mouth as water streamed down your face.
the ocean was freezing when you’d first jumped in, but now it wasn’t a bother. there had also been some tiny fish swimming about, but that only encouraged you to get on the float as fast as possible.
when you finally flopped onto the plastic like a dying fish, chest heaving, you heard a small applause.
“well done,” alfie clapped, tone smooth, grin wide. “only took you the whole hour to get started.”
“piss off,” you held back a laugh, but he was right, the fact it took you so long to get on the thing had you wondering how hard this was about to be for you.
“nah, give her credit,” joel wheezed, “she’s made it further than jay.”
“fuck off!” jay barked back, still half-submerged, one leg hooked pathetically over the side of the inflatable like he was trying to climb back onto a horse.
the course turned into pure carnage. jay had already given up, just floating on his back in the sea like he’d and carter kept slipping off the climbing wall, arms pinwheeling before smacking the water with the loudest bellyflop known to man.
alfie was determined to swing across the monkey bars but made it exactly two bars before falling into the ocean.
joel was trying to help jay back up but it was impossible with how jay was trying to climb on - feet first.
you shrieked when the rope ladder swung away from you, kind of warm now and not wanting to indulge in freezing crystal waters again.
alfie was climbing the wall again with easy strength that made your arms burn just from watching. his muscles were working overtime.
veins appearing, biceps flexing, his abs were so defined when he tensed in the cold, it was hard to look anywhere else.
he’d already made it halfway up when you lost your footing and fell flat on your stomach again, breathless from laughing again.
“you’re fuckin’ hopeless!” he shouted down.
“i’m trying!”
the next bit was widely-spaced steps, a calculated running technique needing to be used to try and get across. “i’m going to break my neck.”
“you’ll be fine,” alfie chuckled next to you.
and you ran as fast as you could across them - instantly slipping and falling back into the water before you could reach the third one.
alfie was already making his way over to help you up.
you sucked in a breath and reached for his hand, trying to haul yourself up the side of the float but the second he pulled, you felt the force of the water almost peel your bikini bottoms off.
“WAIT!—wait, stop!” you shrieked, half-laughing, half-horrified, trying not to flash anybody.
he froze, eyes wide, grip still firm around your wrist. “what? what’s wrong?!”
“my bikini!”
“what about it?”
“—wait it’s fine, it’s ok,” you held out your hand again. alfie tugged you up again, but the waves in the water were like fingers, swiftly tugging your top off your boobs.
“WAIT!—wait alfie!” your arms dropped with a splash back into the water, arms flying across your body.
he blinked, startled. “what? what did i?!—”
“—my top!” you gasped, trying not to drown while also trying to shove the girls into place. “i’m nearly flashing you and the whole bloody beach!”
he froze, inspecting you were ok but then the laugh broke out before he could stop it — a proper, loud, belly laugh that made you glare up at him.
“—don’t laugh!” you shouted, trying to climb up again, but this time your bikini bottoms threatened to go instead. “right, pull me up but pull me up slowly . . . i swear to god, if my tits flash those kids over there—”
“—then they’ll have the best holiday of their lives,” he pried you up with one hard tug.
you burst out laughing mid-air, arms trembling so hard you could barely hold on. your grip slipped, your arms instinctively looping over his broad shoulders instead, still wheezing as he hauled you back up. alfie’s forearm curled around your waist, landing you both breathlessly with your face at his neck, silent with laughter.
he was laughing too, that sweet boyish laugh as his back thudded into the ground. his arm stayed put around you, fingers brushing your stomach as you tried to catch your breath, the image of you scrambling to fix yourself and protect the eyes of the innocence setting you off again.
“you are not right,” alfie chuckled next to you, rubbing the water from his eyes while trying to to focus on how you were practically laid on half his body.
“that really made me laugh,” you admitted.
you pushed yourself up on one arm, feeling the weight of his fall away from your side.
your smile lingered on him, but he was staring up at the sky now, brows twitching like he was trying to play it cool — pretending he wasn’t fighting to scrub the image of your half-naked bust from his head.
you wanted to stay like that for a while, but alfie forced himself to his feet, focused on the course again as he made his way to the steps you’d just obliterated.
you spun around to watch him, grinning, watching him make it to the last one before he slipped and his stomach crushed into the last step, knocking the air from himself as he went down.
you laughed from behind, watching him struggle to pull himself up, the water trickling down him in long lines.
your hair was so heavy with how drenched it was, weighing you down, making you grow more tired. your face and stomach hurt from laughing and you were getting sick of constantly adjusting your bikini top. your limbs were sore too, the course working every inch of your body.
ahead, dylan screamed as he slid clean off into the water, the splash soaking you both.
alfie barked a laugh, leaning forward to get a better look and you couldn’t help but glance at him instead — the way he tilted his head back, wet hair pushed off his forehead, teeth on show as he laughed.
succeeding the seesaw next, trying to beat carter behind you, your arms wobbled as you prepared to hoist your bottom half up.
alfie was just there, reaching down without thinking. his hands swallowing yours in a iron grip, pulling until your body slid up against the plastic beside him.
with his muscles bulging and jaw clenching, he hoisted your entire weight with his arm only shaking slightly, swearing when he finally pulled you onto the mattress out of breath. “fucking hell!”
“are you calling me heavy?!”
“fucking right i am!”
you laughed harder than him, clutching your stomach before even thinking about getting up.
you finished the rest of the course, enjoying the five minute break when reaching the trampoline bit while joel was still trying to pull jay back up. however, jay’s weight kept dragging him in. “STOP MOVING!” he shouted, clutching his arm.
“IT’S THE CURRENT, YOU DICKHEAD!”
carter finished first, but already jumped back into the water. you and alfie sat with your legs hanging over the edge, watching the other two like a comedy act.
you could feel your pulse slowing, chest rising softly with each breath as the sun warmed your shoulders - as well as alfie’s body heat.
he was just inches from you, you could still get a whiff of his musky scent mixed with all that sea salt.
he sighed, falling back onto the surface. “i need a beer.”
you smiled, still watching the pair in front of you, “i feel like i need to buy you a beer after all that,” you chuckled, stealing a glance at him.
“you can definitely buy me a beer,” he grinned, cheesing hard.
you hummed, swinging your legs over the edge, relaxed smile on your face.
ᯓ ✈︎
in the apartment, you were the first ready, sat at the balcony, your makeup done in a summery glow and legs on show after collecting rays all day.
outside was a lot less loud than the inside of the girls squawking and stomping over missing clothing prices and hair not co-operating. you got ready as quick as possible, a long-sleeved white top and short frilly skirt, managed to work with your hair thanks to an extension lead and completed the same makeup look you’d been doing every night - just switching lip combos and subtle eyeshadows.
it was nearing 8PM, and you could still hear the hairdryer going, but you stayed quiet, shoulders tense.
wherever you stepped you were in the way, and tammy was asking for 800 photos to be taken of her and you simply couldn’t take it anymore.
“y/n! come take our photos?! please?”
you fought the eye roll and stood up, trampling to the bedroom where beth was shimmying her bra for her boobs to sit right and faye tweaked her bangs to sit at a specific angle to frame her face. “can someone tie my top?”
courtney tied jess’s top, the material lace, her bikini top visible beneath. “don’t worry, i’m packing a spare. i feel like this baby’s going to rip if i turn to fast. shein’s finest.”
giggles filled the room and you shook your head, smiling while holding the phone up to the blonde in front of you. “you’re a moron.”
“what’s up with you? missing your other half?”
“you and alfie shared a smooch on the watercourse?”
“you two looked awful cozy together.”
you took their teasing, instructing them to bunch closer with your hand, “i mean none of you guys would get on with me, so . . what’d you want me to do?”
“you’re too close,” courtney held her hand up to block the flash, “step back.”
in the midst of papping them, you saw Imogen’s name begin to spam the groupchat, wondering what on earth she’s seen now.
“oh shit . . immy’s on oneee,” faye sang, picking up her phone as the others disembarked. you topped up your bronzer as jess alerted the taxi’s arrival.
you grabbed your phone, grabbed your bag, swung it over your shoulder and headed for the door.
THE GALS™
imogen 👑
what
imogen 👑
on earth
imogen 👑
are you doing
imogen 👑
[1 image attached]
imogen 👑
@ Y/N
imogen 👑
hello???
imogen 👑
did you ditch the girls??
imogen 👑
has there been a fall out???
tammy 🌴
no, no fall out
casey 🍒
HAHAHAHAH JAY’S STORY WHY’S HE JUST FLOATING ABOUT
y/n 🪩
nooo, none of the girls wanted to get on so i went by myself
courtney 🎀
she ran the second alfie said he was getting on 😝
casey 🍒
lol y/n hun you gagging for it
y/n 🪩
oh deffo
you locked your phone, not in the mood to entertain the convo.
part of you knew they were taking the piss and you felt like a brat who couldn’t take it, but it never really felt that way.
jay had spammed his story since his arrival here, but today’s snaps had posted of him today, from his pictures of breakfast and ever to today of him floating in the water, flipping the lens to show carter speeding above him and his action shot zoom of you and alf sitting on the ledge together, legs almost looking to be touching.
beth 🛍️
he’s a funny fucker
just then, imogen started to text you separately.
imogen 👑
what’s going on??
y/n 🪩
nothing? 😂😂😂
imogen 👑
why are you always with alfie??
the question halted you for a minute.
why were you always with alfie?
you didn’t know, you just seemed to gravitate to him, probably because he was the person you were most familiar with.
deep down, you felt there was more to your answer.
why did you always seem to be with alfie?
because . . he’s actually not that bad to be around . . if at all, immy, your mind answered. i . . enjoy his company.
and he makes me laugh. a lot.
you began typing.
y/n 🪩
he’s really fun to be—
you deleted it.
y/n 🪩
idk, he’s just always there
y/n 🪩
he’s not bad lol
imogen 👑
hereee we go
y/n 🪩
immy what’s wrong
imogen 👑
WHATS WRONG
imogen 👑
Y/N
imogen 👑
THESE ARE THE SAME LADS FROM SCHOOL!!! THE SAME ONE YOU CALL ASSHOLES AND WANKERS FOR THEIR CARRY-ON IN SCHOOL
imogen 👑
alfie buttle grows a pack of abs and you’re on your knees mouth open wide
imogen 👑
you’re being so pathetic right now y/n, if he was still that little scrawny guy you wouldn’t even talk to him
imogen 👑
he has muscles now and now you’re giving him every second of your day
imogen 👑
idk why you think it’s so different cause you’re out of school, if he still had that uniform on you wouldn’t be glancing his way
imogen 👑
you’re telling me he’s not bragging to all his mates every time you’re hanging off him?? probs orchestrated a whole game plan since you stepped off that plane
imogen 👑
this is the same alfie buttle who cracked up laughing when joel called me a self-obsessed bitch in the canteen?? that’s your guy?? same one??? same rude, misogynistic ignorant little twat who wants to get his dick wet and nothing else
imogen 👑
OBVS he’s going tell you what you want to hear, he’ll probs be a disappointing 20 second pathetic fuck and ignore you the rest of the holiday then you’re another story floating around the school w everyone who has their own version. probs tell them how easy you were with all these pics to prove his point
imogen 👑
if we were roles reversed right now, you’d be telling me the exact same
you stared at the message.
her spam shocked you.
she was on one.
she was at you.
you read over them, a weird feeling in your gut, like what was happening was something you’d low-key been waiting for.
and the worst thing—
she was partly right.
. . god, she was so right.
you would be telling her the exact same thing.
but . . imogen hadn’t spent time with them the past week and seen how fun their company was. how when they weren’t in that environment, they didn’t have their backs up.
when she wasn’t around they didn’t have their backs up.
you thought for a second. how different would things be if it was her?
for a start, imogen wouldn’t listen to you.
she’d ignore your advice and do what she wanted anyway, and deal with the consequences after. she’d sleep with him and you’d be the one going around the whole school, one by one, warning them to keep their mouth shut if they knew what was good for them.
she’d cry about the drama (maybe secretly love it) but be over it in a month.
what are you even thinking right now?
what the fuck were you doing?
what are you actually doing?
y/n 🪩
i know
y/n 🪩
you’re right, i need to reel it in, i didnt realise it looked like that
imogen 👑
it also looks really fucking back-stabby y/n, i didn’t want to say because i don’t want to fight with you but what friend does that - sitting and laughing with a group of people who everyone knows don’t like me? who have literally called me a bitch to my face? and you’re literally up their ass this whole holiday? so weird
y/n 🪩
imogen i swear we’re not all friends now, it’s just the familiarity. i was better hanging with them than strangers on a course
imogen 👑
well that’s the difference between me and you - i WOULD have gotten on the course with a group of strangers than a group of people who wouldn’t have MY BEST FRIEND sit at their table
imogen 👑
the other girls didn’t get on the course, why did you have to?
imogen 👑
it’s not even about the course, y/n, it’s the whole fucking holiday. you’re the only one who’s with them 24/7, every time i see a photo, you’re with them and not the girls, literally dropping them when the boys are around - and again, not just any boys, boys we fight with ?
but it wasn’t like that?
you wanted to scream.
you wanted to fire off every defence you had, right there on the phone — i’m not ditching the girls for them, they just keep doing the fun stuff the girls don’t wanna do. i’ve been with the girls all holiday. all our plans are booked together. i can’t magically separate myself when we’re all in the same places. and every time we have to pair up, somehow there’s already a three, and i’m left to fill the gap.
you wanted to say all of that — loudly, logically — to prove you weren’t this traitor they were painting you as.
but then the silence that followed, the way she phrased it - it wormed into you.
and suddenly you weren’t sure.
because maybe there had been comments. maybe one of the girls had said something to her, maybe they’d sat together and picked apart how distant you’d been, how you’d drifted toward the boys, how you were laughing with other people instead of them.
and yeah, their feelings were valid – if you were them, you’d probably complain too. you’d probably sit around, tipsy and dramatic, talking about how your mate had swapped you out.
so even though you knew it wasn’t true — even though you knew you weren’t dropping anyone — it sat in the back of your head.
what if you are being a shitty friend?
what if you are that girl?
imogen 👑
do NOT let them see you go mental on a night out, courtney said you’ve got a packet by yourself every night - that’s not normal y/n. jesus christ, we’re all for a good time but you’re taking it to the extreme here
imogen 👑
i’m never letting you go on holiday without me again. won’t be surprised if jay has a photo of you posted on your mum’s facebook, you’re definitely not the discreet type
imogen 👑
just don’t do anymore, my skins been crawling with anxiety the whole week for you, you never know who might see you
imogen 👑
buttle finds out and he’ll be blackmailing you til you sleep with him
you barely looked at your phone after that, reading her texts through your lockscreen so she didn’t know you were actively reading them.
now your stomach was in knots. anxiety flooding in like a tsunami.
approaching the strip, you paid your half of the journey and turned off your data, reading her last message.
imogen 👑
i love you to death y/n, i’m not saying this to be a bitch, you know this is from a place of love, that’s looking out for you, protecting you, having your back the way you’d do for me. i’m not going to let you look stupid even when in another country!! you’re my other half, i literally would have to kill each one of them if they dared make a fool of you. i’m being harsh because i’m annoyed for you and i don’t want you to look/feel stupid after all it. i wish i was there with you to keep you right 💔 i love you soooooo much, please just be careful, thats all i’m saying. enjoy your last days. hoping you find a good holiday shag 🤞🏼 there are plenty hotter boys than alfie buttle for god sake. you look gorgeous tonight 💗 be safe, look after the girlies xxx
you were no longer in the mood to be out anymore, 100 anxieties taking place as you overthought the last few days.
imogen didn’t even know half the story, so part of you couldn’t be that mad — but another part of you wished she’d just ask. just hear you out, because surely, as your best friend, she knew you well enough not to swallow every drip and drabs of info she was being fed.
for a start, she was making you sound like a coke whore, which was rich considering she was the one who shared your first bag with. only thing is now, she maybe takes one nail of it if even and you . . well, you don’t stop there, that’s the problem, apparently.
all the girls are all up getting a bag and pitch in and then when it’s time to do it, they’re never fussed, and you don’t get it. are they scared? or do they just want the bragging rights? like it’s something to say you’ve done rather than actually do?
you’re not stupid about it. you judge people who go too far — the ones who do it every weekend, or worse, on their own. that’s not you.
for you, it’s an occasion thing — when the vibe’s right kinda thing. it’s not that deep, it’s coke — half the country’s on it. you wouldn’t even be shocked if your old science teacher had a bag in her bag once that friday bell rang.
you’re young, this is the time to try stuff, to make memories - to laugh about it years later.
you tried molly last summer . . and LSD, and you were fine. imogen had gone through you at the time, but then spent the rest of the year retelling your story like it was her own at parties, so clearly she’d got over it, and it was good — the best night of your life, maybe, everything brighter, funnier, easier.
and sometimes, you wish the girls would just do it with you -not out of pressure- but for the memories. for the chaos. for the fun. for the story.
you always picture it - a night where everyone just goes for it, laughing too loud, feeling electric, but they never do. they talk big, then back out, leaving you the only one holding the bag.
the current packet in your handbag was mocking you.
again, they’re all ‘fine! get another batch and this time save us some!’ so you do buy another bag - and then you’re left feeling like you’ve got a problem because you refuse to let it go to waste.
hey, a packet wasn’t cheap these days — nothing was getting flushed down the toilet on your watch.
the taxi doors slammed after another, a vibrant bass subtly pulsing beneath your sandals, with heels clacking around you, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, air sticky with smoke and cheap perfume with all the young people around.
you trailed behind the girls as they headed toward the first bar, the girls already ordering shots by the time you reached the table.
courtney was complaining about her sandals rubbing and faye had half her torso on the bar counter to flag the bartender.
“FIVE SAMBUCAS PLEASE!” she yelled obnoxiously over the counter.
“six,” you corrected, flashing the bartender a smile.
“you said you weren’t drinking shots?” jess cut in, eyebrows raised.
you blinked, caught off guard. “since when?”
beth laughed, eyes flicking to the mirror behind the bar instead of you. “don’t start, babe, it’s early.”
you shot her a long look.
not a glare, not even a dramatic gaze, just quiet and sharp enough to cut through the noise.
“. . . and another one, sorry,” she added quickly, voice smaller now, gaze on the bar.
the bartender looked at her and then to you, pouring the liquor in the glass before handing the first one to you.
it wasn’t that you scared them - not really.
but there was something unspoken in your group, a kind of silent rule: you could argue with y/n, tease her, even push every last one of her buttons, but once that flicker crossed your face, all but small glimpse of anger, quiet and controlled — their stomachs dropped.
not because you’d ever gone for anyone, but because they knew, deep down, that if it came to that, it’d be over before it could even start with you.
and none of them wanted to find out what that looked like.
everyone wanted you on their side in an argument — but especially in a fight. you’d never actually thrown a punch, didn’t need to, but everyone knew there was something dark in you that could snap if pushed.
imogen had saw you and jude scrap in your living room for real one time, and he was a 6ft gym rat who used to box -both of you used to- and his eye socket had since then seen better days. imogen didn’t think you’d fight any differently from that.
to be fair - you were both drunk, but with emotions heightened, it came through in how you fought.
the girls downed the first round in unison, grimacing and squealing. your throat already felt tight, your mood still not recovered — not from the texts, not from imogen’s ‘advice’, not from the ache of feeling slightly outside everything.
after the second bar, you spotted the boys — alfie, jay, joel, dylan and carter, lingering near the corner, half hanging over the rail with beers. it wasn’t even awkward anymore, just inevitable - the strip was too small for either group to avoid the other.
“don’t stare,” courtney muttered under her breath.
jay clocked you first, lifted his bottle. “OI! it’s watercourse champ and the gang! thought yous were banned from this end after last night?”
“funny,” beth shot back, “shouldn’t you be babysitting your mate before he drowns again?”
joel laughed, slinging an arm over jay’s shoulders, “already did, don’t worry.”
carter’s eyes flicked to jess’s lace top, “rocking a fish net? how long’s that thing gonna last before it rips?”
“oh don’t worry about me, i’ve got a backup packed, thank you very much!” she sent a sarcastic smile.
you were still chuckling at ‘fish net’ when your eyes caught alfie’s, his grin directed at the secret sound he could hear leaving you.
“good day?”
“still a bit knackered,” you said quickly, looking away before he could read you too much, imogen’s words flashing through your head.
“watercourse broke you.”
“hm.”
he laughed under his breath, and you couldn’t help the tiny pull in your stomach when he did.
you left them, heading to a booth just a couple feet from them, staying close to the bar.
the six of you packed shoulder-to-shoulder around a table, sticky with spilled alcohol and lingering aftershave. you felt a bit better now — the music loud enough to drown your thoughts as your third round had kickstarted the buzz in you.
you leaned back as jess gestured widely mid-story, the glass you were bringing to your mouth getting the wrath of the back of her hand, splashing across your front. a sharp cold shock, pink liquid soaking through the white fabric.
“SHIT! shit, y/n! i’m so sorry!—”
your eyes closed, body locking, accepting your fate instantly as you felt it spread quickly, cold against your skin. jess’s face dropped instantly.
“fuck y/n—”
“—it’s fine, it’s fine,” you said automatically, blotting at it with a napkin.
beth peered over, sipping her drink. “it’s fine jess, it’ll dry in.”
your eyes shot to her, your ears ringing.
“–yeah, don’t worry, you can’t even tell,” faye added, watching you dab it.
“just air it out, y/n babe.”
“guys are you sure?” jess asked again, frantic, but the others kept calm, not budging.
you turned back to jess, “don’t worry jessy,” you didn’t want to make her feel bad, for it was an accident, but for fuck’s sake, how worse could the night get?
“let me get get you another drink.”
“it’s fine,” you shook your head, standing up to go to the bathroom to fix it, but she was already up and heading to the counter.
the girls all watched, empathetic gazes following you, but not moving.
alfie’s jaw was tight as he watched it all. gaze flickering from your shirt to your friends, and back to you.
emathetic, and yet — nobody seemed to mention that spare top.
none of them moved to accompany you in the bathroom.
none of them offered. they just carried on like you weren’t sitting there uncomfortably sticky and saturated.
you blocked their gaze, embarrassed at the idea of them seeing what had happened - not wanting jay to have that blasted all over his social media - laughing at jess baptising you with your own drink.
alfie watched how none followed you to the bathroom, how none tried to help dry it, how no-one reached into jess’s handbag and he could feel the heat burning within him, fingers twitching, jaw clenching.
in the bathroom, with bright white lights, you saw how bad the situation truly was – your whole front was stained a cherry red, the material stuck to your skin, you could make out the faint string of lace on your bra cup.
nothing was going to fix it.
running it under water was a waste of time, the top was ruined, even your mum wouldn’t be able to wash the colour out in the washing machine, it was for the bin at the end of the night.
you dried it under the hand dryer.
as long as it was dry.
after a few minutes, you stepped out, catching eyes with the girls who were heading toward the exit, faye waved you quickly to join when you caught eyes, your handbag in her arm.
a hand locked around your arm and you jumped, startled, head jolting around in a panic, but your shoulders dropped when you were just looking back at alfie’s face. your brows furrowed questionably, the room blasting with loud music.
“don’t fuckin’ go with them.”
your brows raised, taken aback by his tone, but then as if on instinct, against your own control, you felt that all too familiar ugliness crawling up your back, full of defence, settling around every nerve and lighting it on fire. your face furrowed, “what?”
fuck.
alfie knew what side of you he was dealing with just from that look, but he was too annoyed to care.
he’d battle it out. “what? they just left you standing there covered in drink when they could’ve sorted you out in two seconds. they don’t care, y/n, why the fuck would you stick around that?”
“oh my god, alfie, they’re my mates, i’m not gonna drop them over a spilt drink,” you ripped your arm from his grip, annoyance climbing you.
“y/n it’s everything, it’s the digs, the way they treat you, talk to you someti—”
“—and i’m probably as shitty to them sometimes too!” you cut in, “i probably talk to them badly! treat them badly! you think i’ve never messed up? they’re my mates, it’d take more than that for me to just drop them!”
“y/n you’re nothing like them—” he almost laughed, but you cut him off, fury burning.
“—yeah, i’m probably the worst! you just don’t see it,” you shouted out, the music deafening. “you think i’ve never been a crap mate? trust me, i have, and it’d take a lot more than that for me to walk away from them. they’ve done worse before and we’ve got past it.”
alfie’s chest rose and fell like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. he was looking at you with the same look you were giving him, brows harsh as he towered above you. he could shake you.
if you were that fucking thick, maybe you deserved a shitty circle.
you strutted off, rushing after the girls before you lost them, heart beating out of your chest.
“—wowww, someone arguing with their boyfriend?” faye giggled, passing you your bag.
you snatched it out of her hand, your feelings evident. they didn’t ask again.
your patience was thin. you were giving one more place a shot and you were out of here. your mood was ruined, there was no coming back.
if you didn’t refuse to be so much of a people pleaser and ruin everyone’s else’s fun, you wouldn’t been in a taxi on the way to the hotel already.
the next bar salvaged the night however. walking in, your favourite 2000s girls song played, like a promising omen the night was only going up from now on.
you were handed a complimentary cocktail, a little warm but surprisingly nice, and were led to a high table in front of the perfect spot to both people watching in the club and out on the street. it was a better gig, and soon enough, for the first time all day, everyone was laughing.
your shoulders eased, no longer worried about your top as neon lights seems to disguise it anyway, yet still, something in your stomach wouldn’t allow you to fully relax like beforehand.
you stirred the ice in your cup until tammy pulled you up to dance, taking pity on you when she looked at your top again.
you were half-dancing, half-swaying with them when faye leaned in close, shouting over the bass.
“okay, okay, don’t look yet — the guy at the bar in the white shirt?”
you turned your head immediately.
“i said don’t look!” she smacked your arm.
you grinned, eyes flicking anyway.
he was tall, brown hair falling in his face, smiling with someone beside him. the haircut was giving my dad owns a yacht, but the nike bag said my dad’s in jail for dealing and breeding XL bullies.
“he’s my type to a tee,” faye said, gripping her drink. “literally, like, if i built a man on sims—”
“—you want to woohoo,” beth cut in, laughing.
faye shoved her. “shut up!”
that cracked you up - woohoo. “go talk to him.”
“no!” she looked at you like you were crazy.
“why? he’s just a guy,” you said, “just go up to the bar and order a drink. he’ll talk to you, i know he will.”
she contemplated, and took your advice. “ok. what’s a cool drink to order?”
you rolled your eyes, letting the girls answer that one as you went back to dancing. after a minute, you looked over and saw them talking to each other, faye’s smile the biggest you saw it all holiday.
“i’m yet to see one guy i’ve really fancied this holiday,” tammy said, mirroring your moves.
“what about the bartender that looked like bad bunny? didn’t you get talking to him after his shift?”
“yeah . .”
“so?”
“he was nice but he wasn’t actually bad bunny . . smelt good though. good kisser.”
you both laughed, twirling around under the other’s arm.
20 minutes later after some intense dancing, you were up ordering the next round of drinks, deciding to surprise everybody with a shot. courtney had alerted you the guys had showed up and that you were all using their table by the DJ booth while occupying the dance floor.
you didn’t see alfie.
“i’m going to the bathroom, anyone come with me?” faye asked, and tammy and beth followed. courtney remained on the dance floor while jess went outside with dylan to nick his vape as she didn’t have her own.
“shit! my drink,” you said to yourself, going back to the bar.
it was still there when you got it, but even in your slightly tipsy state, you hesitated in actually taking it. your mum had lectured you long enough on leaving your drinks unintended before you’d even bought your plane tickets. you’d fill her with shame right now.
“hi! sorry – i think someone dropped something in this? a pill?” you mimicked someone spiking your drink to the bartender in hopes they understood what you were saying — you weren’t lying. he looked shocked at your confession, and immediately grabbed the drink and threw it down the sink, binning the cup, making you a new one without question.
you smiled appreciatively at him and he winked, giving you a thumbs up.
“seems like you’re on a generational run for a good night, ruined top and now been spiked.”
you looked to your left to see the boy from earlier — the sims one, the one faye was after.
he looked at your top, gesturing to the large reddish stain still coating it.
“who said it was ruined? i might have done this on purpose.”
he laughed, not expecting that as your answer. “hm. s’pose you pull it off,” he raised a shoulder.
you looked off to the side, straightening a bit, looking around for your friends. “who are you anyway? the fashion police?”
he chuckled at that, shaking his head. “i’m dan.”
you raised your head, like you didn’t actually care, but slipped him your name in return. “you were talking to my friend earlier.”
he raised his head, not going into it. “what are you drinking?”
you pointed to the drink being constructed. “hopefully a non-spiked vodka.”
he laughed again, not catching how you’d dodged his flirt tactic of buying you a drink. sweet though. “have you been here long?”
“a few days. we leave after tomorrow.”
“we just got here.”
“yeah. we all don’t want to leave. my friend - the one you were talking to - she suggested here. it’s our first time,” you tried to bring faye up again, “she always finds the best places.”
“yeah?”
“yeah,” you looked at him, making your intentions obvious.
he let out a small breath, thanking the bartender for his drink. “your friend’s nice . . but i have a thing for girls with spilt drink all over them, it’s so weird.”
“she’s shy - nervous,” you defend her, “you should talk to her again, she pointed you out”
he pulled a contemplative look, a playfulness to his face, “you’re easier to talk to.”
talking to him for the next five minutes was hard - you steered the conversation towards faye any chance you could, and when he leaned closer to hear you, you kept stepping back, not minding a friendly conversation, but you knew when a guy’s every move was calculated. it was actually kind of funny. his commitment was funny. “why are you on your own anyway, you weirdo?”
“if you saw my friendgroup, you’d never give me a chance.”
“you never had a chance to begin with?” you laughed loudly, confused he thought it had changed, and he laughed too, unashamed of your repetitive rejection.
maybe that’s why you hadn’t walked away yet, because he was a decent lad who could handle rejection rather than throw a fit like every other insecure man.
dan had class. it made him likeable. you couldn’t wait to tell faye how easy he was if she played her cards right. “seriously. if i get my friend, will you talk to her? you’re both so tall, you already have so much in common.”
he laughed, hand on his stomach at your desperation to match make.
“seriously, faye has killer legs, please,” you begged, laughing at yourself. he didn’t say no.
when he left for the toilet, you scanned the room for them, running to their table.
“faye!” you tried not to laugh, excited to spill all the info you found out about the guy so she could construct a game plan. it was perfect. “faye, your boyfriend—”
her ring-clad hands slammed on the table as she stood up, halting you in your giggles and steps as she stormed off, shocking you to silence.
you looked to the others for an indication of an elephant in the room you clearly had not saw. they didn’t say anything.
“faye?”
silence.
“what? . .” you began following her, “what’s wrong?”
“WHAT?!” she immediately spun around, drink in her hand, standing stiff. “what do you mean, ‘what?’ ‘what’s wrong?’ you’re a slimey PRICK y/n.”
your face fell, confusion flooding your body. “what?! what are you on about?!”
she walked on, the others grabbing everything to follow you both. “faye?”
“OH MY GOD! NO Y/N. you’re not acting dumb right now!” she stopped strutting and turned around to warn you. “do not be one of those girls right now.”
“what’s wrong?! i was coming to tell you about your little boyfriend at the bar—”
she laughed in your face. “HA! ‘my boyfriend?!’ you’re a joke, calling him my boyfriend when you literally just stood the last ten minutes batting your lashes, feeling him up, making him laugh!”
your mouth was on the floor.
“yeah, that’s right. exactly. nothing to say.”
“faye, i was talking about you!—”
“—you were laughing, y/n! like, full-on laughing. everyone saw it!”
your heart sank. “i was helping you.”
“you don’t need to,” faye snapped. “i can talk to guys myself! and besides - i really doubt you were taking about me. of course you’re going to say that.”
you looked at the girls for back up, but they shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking between them. they locked on beth.
“i mean . . from here it did look like you fancied him . .”
your brows shot up, face in shock. looking to tammy, looking to jess in disbelief.
she nodded in agreement.
you ignored them, approaching faye, reaching for her arm, “faye, i was literally trying to wingman for you, i swear—”
“—YOU DON’T NEED TO Y/N!” she scoffed, a wobble in her tone. “just being a pick-me once again, getting on with the lads when you know they fancy you, acting like you’re doing me a favour! you just make me look stupid, standing here while you’re all over him! and telling him i like him?!” she blinked excessively, her false lashes fluttering. “you actually drive me mad, y/n, you’d be dangerous if you used your brain. if you read the room.”
this wasn’t fair. you felt like crying at how misunderstood this whole situation was, “faye i swear, come talk to dan! he’s lovely!—”
“—FUCK OFF Y/N!” she pushed you away from her, your touch only irritating her, “I DON’T CARE ANYMORE! JUST FUCK OFF!”
you stood in disbelief, the girls slipping by you to chase after her as she stormed off, heels clacking aggressively.
you couldn’t believe how quickly things could switch up in just 10 minutes.
‘faye don’t go’ and ‘she didn’t mean it’, ‘ignore her’, ‘he was ugly anyway!’ all follow in their tracks, leaving you standing at the same club with your mouth barely open.
you stood for a while, waiting for them to come back, for even one of them to come back to stay with you, to comfort you . . but they didn’t.
you waited for another 5 minutes until you felt for your phone and realised you didn’t have it, realised your bag was still at the table, left up for grabs.
you rushed back inside to the table, and magically, it was still there, open, but phone and everything still there.
heading to the bathroom, you squeezed between bodies, trying to avoid swishing cups of drink when you met eyes with a familiar set of green ones in your tracks. your whole body stuttered.
way to feel like an even bigger asshole.
alfie didn’t even look mad, but it wasn’t his regular gaze, and his eyes looked darker, in contrast to the daylight when they were so evidently olive green.
a guy slammed into you, so hard you lurched forward into alfie, his hands saving you from actually falling into him whilst your bag shot out, the components flying to the floor.
the little bag hit the concrete like it weighed a tonne.
your eyes flew to it.
so did alfie’s.
he looked at you.
you looked at him.
you dropped to a squat, snatching it up along with your phone, ID and lip liner too, shoving them all into your bag before pushing past him.
fuck.
fuck fuck fuck.
“Y/N! . . . Y/N!”
your feet sped down the few steps of the side exit when that familiar, strong hand pulled you to a halt. “y/n stop runnin on!” he argued, “you don’t need to bounce, you’re gonna lose your mates!”
“they left me anyway!” you shot back before your brain could stop you.
his face changed.
he straightened slightly, eyes narrowing — not judging now, just . . thinking.
“left you?”
“i mean—“ you scoffed at yourself, for your stupidity to let that slip to him. of all people.
“is it about that boy?” he asked, quieter this time. “the one you were talking to?”
you furrowed your brows at that. “what boy?”
“the one at the bar?” he answered, “faye was talking to him first and then you were. you both like him.”
your face couldn’t have been more disgusted and confused by his comment.
“do i FUCK!”
alfie’s brows raised.
you took a seat on the curb, trying to piece together what instigation ever gave that impression. “i swear i don’t.”
your fingers weaved through your hair as you replayed the conversation, the footpath feeling warm against your bare legs. “i swear i don’t, alfie, i wasn’t talking to him like that, i was literally trying to set him up with faye and everyone—”
you stopped talking.
what use was this?
it’s not like anybody was going to believe you . . if that was how it was coming across to everybody - and it always seemed to be that way - then really only you were to blame.
you were easy to talk to, easy to charm people, and maybe, sometimes, they mistook that for flirting.
it was something you were going to have to work on, tone down a bit.
letting out a breath, you stared ahead at the road, now just becoming annoyed at yourself. “doesn’t matter. it doesn’t matter.”
alfie didn’t move. he just watched you get into your head from a few steps behind, his empathy creeping in on him as he stared at your back. “i wasn’t accusing you.”
“why are you watching me anyway?” you deadpanned.
his mouth went dry.
he didn’t know why he kept watching you, his eyes just naturally found you and he could never look away. “i dunno.”
well, at least he was honest.
you half-expected him to say ‘i wasn’t’ and argue with him on that, but now he owned it so now you just had your back up for no reason.
silence. again.
the feel his presence was annoying you.
why was he still standing here? he was saying nothing and yet, you knew he had a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue.
“where’d your mates go?”
“another club.”
“without you?”
“i was at the toilet.”
“so they left . . . without you.”
“just fuck off alfie,” you spat with your back still to him.
he didn’t say anything.
didn’t move.
didn’t even huff heavily.
a few minutes passed when you thought he left, but looking over your shoulder, he still stood there, hands casually in his pockets, concern etched on his face.
“—oh my god! why are you still here?”
“because you’re sat on a fucking curb, on your own, with drugs in your bag and your mates god knows where,” he said, tone tight but controlled. he wasn’t shouting, but he was clearly frustrated, maybe even worried but trying not to let it show a lot, “i’m not leaving you like that.”
the acknowledgment of the drugs in your bag had your feistiness stolen.
“. . . i’m literally fine.”
you heard movement behind you and soon enough, he was lowering himself next to you, his aftershave hitting you hard — now familiar, annoyingly comforting. he leaned his elbows over his knees. you looked at him cautiously while he just spared you a quick glance, keeping his head straight.
“. . . what are you doing alfie? . . seriously?”
your eyes scanned him. deep within, you wanted to believe he was doing this out of the goodness of his heart - the kindness of his soul - but the thing at the front of your mind were the words imogen had said to you, wondering if this was all part of his sickening game plan - pretending to care so much, pretending to like you, pretending to be this protective, soft-hearted lad - just to get you where he wanted you.
in your knickers. “what does it matter to you if i’m here alone or not?”
he pulled a face like it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard you say. “you serious?”
“yes! yeah i’m serious!” you wickedly laughed, “why do you care so much? or do you not just care at all and doing all this ‘cause you’re after something?” you narrowed your eyes.
he pulled that same confused look, the one with tones of irritation, eyes narrowing like your own as if you’d finally began to get under his skin. “not after anythin,” he scoffed, “and even if i didn’t care about you, it’s not in my nature to leave a poor girl — a girl i know — alone, in a foreign country at night, let alone on a strip full of blokes who are off their heads.”
you pried your eyes off him, swallowing your argument.
he kept going.
“—trust me to fuck off and leave you then wake up to the news of some teenage girl brutally murdered or missing after a night out and i didn’t do anything? yeah, no thanks.”
you tried to fire something back, but you were beat. you just wanted him to go, feeling worse for keeping him from his mates.
he didn’t seem to care. he was settled next to you like he was going nowhere.
“alfie . . .” you sighed again, quieter now, “i don’t need you to babysit me . .”
“didn’t say you did.”
“then go.”
“no,” he said simply, finally turning to you fully, his eyes dragging across your face with that same, stupid mixture of annoyance and concern that made your stomach twist.
“you don’t care that much!” you humourlessly laughed.
“i do care.”
“why? give me one reason.”
just say it, just fucking say it.
“don’t need a reason.”
“yeah you do.”
“no,” he said, frustratingly soft, “i really don’t.”
you stared at the side of his face, jaw clenching. “literally wasting your time, chasing after me for what reason. to lecture me?”
“i’m not lecturing you.”
“you’re judging me then,” you snapped, “with your little looks— watching the bag fall out my handbag like i’m some dirty sket—”
“—i’m not judging you.” he screwed his face up in disguise you even even think that, “and i definitely don’t think your a dirty sket. ever.”
you turned to look at him, but he was already looking at you.
really looking.
no judgement.
no anger.
no mockery.
just worry, and some genuineness; able to look you in the eye and promise he meant what he said. a beat passed of you just looking at each other.
“i chased you because you looked scared.”
you blinked.
looking away, you stared at the tarmac. “i wasn’t scared.”
“you were,” he said, not accusing, “and you’re still shaking.”
you looked down.
hands shaking. “it’s cold.”
“30 degrees mate.”
that pulled the corner of your lips up.
you tried to hide it, but he’d saw.
you didn’t really know what you were waiting about for.
after a couple minutes silence, you decided to stand, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “i’m just going to go back to the hotel. you should go back inside before you lose your mates.”
“you could stay with us . . if you want,” he stood up, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate, “you don’t need to go back.”
“i’m not really in the mood for drinking anymore. i’ll get something to eat and go t—”
“OH MY GOD — Y/N!”
jumping, startled, you shot around, met with the glammed faces of your friends. you relaxed.
“ARE YOU STUPID?!”
before you could comprehend what was going on, faye was in front of you, her shoulders up, arm darting out in a rant. “—we’ve just spent the last 10 minutes looking for you, ringing you, texting you and no answer! you can’t do that, y/n, we thought something happened!” her frustration was evident. “do you not know how to work a phone all of a sudden?!”
your hand dipped into your bag and yeah, there were 4 missed calls from her alone, 11 in total with 18 text messages.
fuck. your bad.
“i didn’t hear it ring—” you started.
“—y/n you literally gave us a fucking heart attack! that’s rule number ONE, don’t run off on your own?! what are you playing at?!”
but you didn’t run off on your own? to be honest, you didn’t appreciate the way faye was talking to you, but you knew it was from a place of fear, of being scared from losing sight of you, and yeah, you didn’t help with that by not answering them. you might deserve it, but she could see now you were perfectly fine.
“i didn’t know where you guys went,” you started to laugh at how ridiculous this all was, but none of them were laughing.
courtney stood with her arms folded, not mad but not laughing. “y/n we literally got imogen to ring you as well.”
“you’re actually thick. imagine your mum finding out you got left on your own?!” faye’s fingers latched tightly around your forearm. “hurry up.”
alfie cut infront of you, his own hand knocking faye’s hand from yours. “—don’t fuckin’ grab her like that!”
silence.
faye’s mouth dropped, fury blinding her as he hit her hand, “who are you fucking getting involved?!”
“—i saw you, you were digging your fucking nails into her arm!”
the girls were silent.
faye was staring at him with her mouth open, her makeup hiding the heat crawling up her neck.
you didn’t know what to do either. you didn’t want a fight between them and you certainly didn’t want to take sides but-
“—alfie it’s fine,” you cut in, holding an arm out to him to get him to back off. “faye, you—”
you looked down at your arm.
there was little moon crescent like marks on your arm where she’d grabbed you. even burst blood vessels - not bleeding - but on the verge, “—my arm’s not that sore—”
“—oh my fucking god,” she threw her head back, as if in disbelief what you’d just said.
“—don’t fucking deny it!” alfie cut in again.
“i grabbed her arm you fucking knobhead, i’m hardly gonna dig my nails into her!”
“i just fucking watched you!” he was standing protectively, not backing down no matter how much she tried to gaslight him. he saw what he saw and he’d had enough, “all of you can fuck off, she’s not going with you.”
“mind your business, butthole—”
“—she’s not.” alfie’s voice was steady, his eyes sharp. he meant it.
all eyes turned to you.
you looked between them both, between them all, and your muscle memory had you following your home clan of wedges, hairspray and handbags, but the faint sting still pulsing on your wrist felt like a quiet warning, a reminder of what had just happened and who it came from.
“i—”
“YOU’RE GOING TO STAY HERE?! WITH HIM?” faye held her arm out in alfie’s direction.
“n—no, no, i—” your heart hammered, because on one hand, you were conditioned to defend them - it was your natural instinct - your right as their friend, but . . on the other . .
alfie was so clearly right.
so clearly right and you’d be the biggest asshole to throw him under the bus when he was the only person to defend you.
if ever. “everyone just chill out, ok?! everything’s fine, you don’t need to argue,” you didn’t want either one to leave. you didn’t have to worry about alfie leaving. you knew faye and the girls were a ticking time bomb and you did not want to set them off. “alfie, it’s fine. faye—”
faye’s eyes shot to you.
“you . . you did grab me a bit hard—”
the silence that followed was icy.
courtney’s eyebrows lifted.
tammy let out a single, shocked laugh.
faye’s face burned — not with shame, but offence.
“—right,” she said flatly, “okay. good to know whose side you’re on.”
your stomach dropped. “i’m not on anyone’s side—”
“—no, no,” beth cut in, crossing her arms, tone clipped, “you wanna stay out here with him? fine. stay.”
alfie tensed beside you. you felt every bit of him, the way his stance squared, the way he was ready to bite back.
their eyes, all of them, flicked between you and him. judging. deciding. writing their own narrative.
“we’re going to palo,” courtney said. “if you wanna come, come. if not . . . ” she gestured vaguely at alfie, “. . . enjoy yourself.”
they turned on their heels and didn’t wait.
faye was already squealing to them about you, talking like you weren’t there, and then they disappeared into the crowd.
the air had never felt so thick.
the lump in your throat had never been so painful.
and why?
why would you cry over them?! you refused to.
“y/n.”
alfie’s hand grazed your shoulder. he knew you needed comfort right now but he didn’t know how to do it. your shoulders sagged with defeat as his fingers applied a soft pressure, letting you know he was still there and not leaving you. “y/n.”
“yeah?”
“you alright?”
you nodded. “yeah . . yeah, i . . .” you turned around to face him, “i’m sorry about all that—”
“—you don’t need to apologise for any of that,” he turned his face up, “and you shouldn’t be annoyed either. they’ll realise they were in the wrong.”
you laughed, but it didn’t quite reach your chest. “i don’t think so.”
it wasn’t just the argument, it wasn’t just the night, it was the weight of everything lately – feeling out of place in your own skin, feeling guilty when you were having fun without them, not knowing who you could turn to for support in the group.
the conflict was eating at you. “i . . . i don’t even know anymore.” you sighed.
alfie was quiet.
his gaze never left you.
then, a moment later, he gave a small, quiet exhale, almost like he was holding back something of his own, “they don’t deserve the space they take up in your head.”
you nodded to show you heard him, even if you didn’t believe it.
alfie knew you’d never leave them, as much as he wished you would; wished you would wake up and realise how draining it was to endure this so often, but he knew you wouldn’t.
and there was no point turning you against him now. he’d have to let you figure that part out on your own, in your own time.
so he decided, for now, to tell you what you wanted to hear, for the sake of comforting you in any way he could right now.
“. . they’ll cool down, you know how they are,” he tried again, hand reaching for your back, “. . do you wanna head back to the hotel? . . . get pizza or something on the way?”
you nodded, before adding, “you don’t have to come. i’ll be fine on my own.” you didn’t want to drag him away from the boys. your night was ruined, not his.
he shook his head, “it’s fine. let’s go.”
“well . . don’t you want to let the guys know?” you adjusted your handbag strap.
“don’t need to,” he fell into step with you, “i’m a guy, so . . doesn’t really matter where i disappear off to. i’m not at risk, am i?” he looked down at you.
you looked up at him, eyes playfully narrowed, “and if you get jumped by a group?”
“well i’m gonna have to take 2 and you’re gonna have to take 2, aren’t you,” he let out a breath in a funny tone, like he’d actually shit himself if the moment arose. you giggled into yourself before falling to silence, the smile feeling unnatural on your face.
you walked in silence for a minute, head bowed, your mind replaying the whole ordeal on a loop — every raised voice, every look, every twist that somehow made you the villain. with each replay your mood dipped lower until you felt like you were sinking into the pavement.
that saturday night flight couldn’t come quick enough.
alfie kept pace beside you, shoulder to . . well, his shoulder to your neck, really, close enough that he could feel the way you’d curled in on yourself.
he kept glancing between the pavement and you, and every time his eyes landed on you it hit him a little harder: the sight of you did something awful to him.
your top still stained from where one had knocked their drink over you, arms wrapped around your ribs like you were holding yourself together - your poor scratched wrist that made his jaw clench. your heels clicked in a lonely, defeated rhythm on the sidewalk in contrast to the whole group you always heard together. he imagined how excited you would have been getting ready, happy with yourself, feeling good in your outfit - all to be ripped from you.
you weren’t crying, weren’t even talking, but everything about you looked small.
sad. like you were walking on autopilot just to get away from the scene you’d been pushed out of. the smallness of your steps, the way your eyes didn’t bother lifting from the ground, it really nipped at his heart - because he knew how embarrassing this was deep down for you.
he could see it — the humiliation you were trying to swallow. the way you kept your chin down like you were ashamed of something you hadn’t even done. it made his stomach twist.
he’d always known you were loyal, but now he could see the cost of it — how lonely it made you.
how much you swallowed just to keep the peace.
and for the first time that night, he felt genuinely lost on what to do. he wanted to fix it all for you, to make you feel better, but he just didn’t know what to do.
debating with himself, he looked at you, then looked away, jaw working like he was arguing with his own thoughts - then looked again — and he just gave in.
his arm slid around your shoulders and he tugged you gently into his side, hand on her arm, just letting you know you didn’t have to hold yourself up alone.
for a second, you were still locked in your own head — and then you melted into him, your arms slipping around his waist, cheek pressed to his torso, holding onto him the best you could while walking.
the warmth was instant. welcoming. exactly what your body had been wishing for without even realising. you let out the smallest exhale, and a small, tired smile tugged at your lips because this was what you’d needed.
a good, comforting hug. a real one.
alfie felt it too, the way you softened; the way you leaned into him. he looked down at you briefly, eyes softening, and tightened his arm around you a little - protective, steady, rubbing his hand up and down yours — silently promising you weren’t walking back alone.
the chaos of the night seemed to fade as you walked side by side. his presence beside you was strangely comforting, and for once, you didn’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders.
it felt natural - familiar even, like it had always been this way, even though you both knew it hadn’t.
the walk back to the hotel felt slower, more deliberate — but in the best way. no more drama. no more fighting - just you and him, walking in sync, without saying much, but saying enough.
and for the first time in a while, despite sharing a small cramped hotel room with 5 other girls, you didn’t feel so alone.
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joeljoeljoel legend has it jay is still floating in the water
pairing⠀⁎⠀joe burrow x doctor!reader.
word count⠀⁎⠀17.2k.
summary⠀⁎⠀fall sweeps by and thanksgiving arrives to usher in the winter with a new development or two to be grateful for. it should be a given, but a lot can happen in a season.
author's note⠀⁎⠀part one of what i assume will be two parts. a lot happens in this two-parter, so buckle up. title based on i've seen it by olivia dean, i listened to the art of loving pretty much on repeat while writing this, so highly recommend playing it in the background.
warnings⠀⁎⠀3rd person [she/her], fluff, angst, smut, mentions of joe's injury & surgery, guilt, speaking really bad things into existence.
August in the National Football League was not charitable to the faint of heart. Practice fields baked under merciless sun, schedules became overpacked and overrun with obligations, and time stolen with your person, your one, your only, became something sacred.
Selfishly, August was Joe’s second favorite month. Time spent away from his girlfriend aside, he appreciated the brutal regimentation developed over six years in the NFL. Wake at 5:15 AM, protein-infused smoothies in the Bengals facility by 6:15, tape room by 6:45, then an assortment of practice, meetings, and press to shake it up later in the day into the orange and pink setting sun.
Four years spent with her had elevated his regimentation; made it a touch more human when it was so easy for him to become robotic. In those early mornings, she dusted his face in slow kisses, wrapping herself around his back when those early morning alarms dared to disrupt the sanctity of her sleep. While he packed his things for the day, she found little ways to mask the chalkiness of the protein powder blended into his smoothies. Between obligations and brief moments of peace, she fluttered in and out of his phone with the random thoughts blooming in her much-too-busy brain. Then, when his day finally drew to a close with the yellow sun no longer burning in the sky, she would be there—breathing his air, filling his senses with her voice, her scent, her smile, her touch, her—slowing the ticking of time until he was lulled into an effortless sleep, prepped to repeat the cycle all over again.
The rare days when he found himself with a stray afternoon off were when Joe indulged most in her orbit. Today, she had a relatively short day of appointments. Their shared Apple calendar reflected that fact with her red-coded Work category beginning at 8 AM and ending at 3:45 PM. Days like this were meant to taken slow once she returned home, but until she was tucked away in his arms, Joe needed to find ways to keep himself occupied.
Normally, that wasn’t a difficult task; there was always something that needed to be addressed, emails sitting unread, film that still needed reviewing, dirty dishes sitting in the sink, laundry waiting to be pulled out of the dryer. Normally, Joe would stay in constant communication with her, little anecdotes about his day sent every hour or so to keep her updated on his day the same way she did for him. Normally, Joe would never dream of trying to throw her off his scent—but today wasn’t normal.
Afterall, how often do you meet with your jeweler to design your girlfriend’s engagement ring?
Picking up two extra appointments this afternoon.
Her text read, followed by a voice note with further context. “So, Chioma’s kid has a fever and the school wants him to go home. They shouldn’t be crazy involved... just a Botox touch-up and an eczema consult, I think? Hopefully, I can get out of here before 5.” Her voice was light, revealing none of the exhaustion Joe knew would settle in later. “Oh, and I just got the flowers. So, thank you. They’re gorgeous. Um, and yeah, I’ll let you know when I’m wrapped up here.”
Attached was a photo of the orchids he’d sent, arranged in a vase on the desk in her personal office.
The emphatic, “fuck, yeah” Joe whispered to himself as her text came through would’ve been embarrassing if anyone had been around to hear it. As it stood, he was standing in the kitchen, eating the last of his lunch before heading out, and the universe had just handed him a gift-wrapped extension on his secret errand.
He shot back a quick text letting her know he’d call her on her drive home—something he always did, something she had grown to expect on a subconscious level—then wiped his hands on a paper towel with a slow exhale. Joe checked his phone, calculating how long it’d take to drive to the jeweler’s studio in Hyde Park, reaching for the keys to his Porsche, and heading through the laundry room and into the garage.
In truth, the concept of marriage, specifically marrying her, had been one he’d thought about with increasing frequency from the moment things became official between them. Since May however, those whispers of “if” transformed into affirmations of “when” and the development of “how.” The “how” was proving more complicated than anticipated. Not because she was difficult to please but because no one knew him the way she did. He knew it wasn’t unrealistic to believe she’d see the proposal coming, but Joe was determined to at least try to catch her off guard.
He parked just outside the studio, a renovated townhouse tucked discreetly between a boutique and a brick-walled cafe. Joe glanced at his phone, realized he was 10 minutes early, and decided to linger in the car, pulling up the notes app where he’d scribbled rough ideas of her preferences. Obnoxiously large carats were out, gold was in, the marquise-cut was her top choice, though emerald would also be nice. He knew she wore gold almost exclusively, and he’d overheard her telling Leah last summer that she would indeed say “no” if he proposed with an ugly ring. Though he would like to think of that comment as a joke, he wasn’t exactly eager to tempt her.
A rapid fire knock against the driver’s side window startled Joe out of his thoughts. A matching pair of brown eyes peeked in at him with wide smiles. He rolled down the window, the late summer heat immediately pressing against his skin. “Get your ass outta the car, Burrow,” Leah said, tapping her wrist where a white gold watch gleamed. “I have to be at the hospital at 6:30, and your girlfriend likes to spy on my location when she’s bored.”
He killed the engine with a scoff, stepping out into the humid afternoon air. “She picked up some appointments, we’ve got tons of time,” Joe said, glancing down at Leah’s sandals, noting he recognized those sandals as belonging to his girlfriend at some point, before issuing side hugs to both women. “Where’s Val?”
“Parking,” Ayanna supplied, adjusting the strap of her purse where it dug into her shoulder. “She texted saying she’ll be here in. Oh, she’s here.”
A black Mercedes slid smoothly into the spot behind Joe’s Porsche, Valeria’s signature dark sunglasses hiding her eyes from the small group’s view. “Sorry,” she said by way of greeting, distributing hugs to each of the three before plucking her sunglasses off. “I lost track of time.”
The women followed behind Joe, already beginning their familiar banter once reunited. The group stepped up onto the sidewalk, each of the women thanking Joe as he held the studio door open. Inside, the cool air-conditioned space smelled faintly of the jasmine scents emitting from the diffusers arranged around the studio. Glass display cases lined the walls, showcasing intricate bands and glittering stones under warm spotlights. The jeweler, a 20-something brunette named Natalie, greeted them from behind a minimalist white desk, immediately ushering them into a private consultation room where sketches and loose gemstones were already arranged neatly on a velvet-lined tray.
“Welcome, welcome,” Natalie said with an easy smile, gesturing to the plush seating arranged in a loose semicircle. “Can I get you guys anything before we dive in? Water? Coffee?”
Joe declined with a shake of his head, already sinking into one of the chairs, too aware of the way his knee bounced with nerves. The others echoed his refusal, though Valeria swiped a mint from the dish on the table before settling into her seat.
Natalie pulled out a sleek tablet and a legal pad, her fingers flying across the screen before she flipped it around to show them a series of CAD designs. “So, based on what Joe and I have discussed the last few times we’ve met, we’ve narrowed it down to these four options. All marquise or emerald cuts, all gold bands, but each of them has a different carat size and personality.”
Leah leaned forward, squinting at the screen while Ayanna hummed in quiet approval. Valeria, pointed out the second design. “This one has the band like her sister’s ring, right? The twist detail?” Her fingertip hovered over the screen where delicate filigree curled around the stone’s setting.
Joe hummed, releasing a breath before speaking up. “I remembered her saying she liked Serena’s band, but I couldn’t say for sure if she liked it enough to want it for herself. My top pick is this one,” he admitted, gesturing to the third design. It was a marquise-cut diamond, surrounded by a halo of both baguette and round diamond stones.
Ayanna studied the screen with careful scrutiny, then grinned. “That’s so her. How big is the stone?”
“Just one and a half carats,” Natalie answered, tapping the screen to pull up an enlarged 3D rendering. “The halo makes it look more substantial without being obnoxious. Joe mentioned she doesn’t typically wear super flashy jewelry during her day-to-day. So the thought with this design was that it’s elaborate enough for it to stand out as an engagement ring, but not so much that she’d feel like she couldn’t wear it to work, or to the store, or wherever. And then when she does get all dressed up for events, it’ll pop even more and compliment her other pieces.”
Joe nodded along, nerves settling slightly under the familiar cadence of Natalie’s explanation. Leah twisted toward the other women with a conspiratorial smirk. “I love how we’re sitting here pretending Joe didn’t already make up his mind weeks ago.”
“Or that she wouldn’t marry his ass with a Ring Pop if he asked her in the Kroger parking lot,” Ayanna added, nudging Valeria’s knee with hers.
Joe’s cheeks flushed pink as he scrubbed a hand over his jaw, the faint rasp of stubble audible to his ears under his palm. “Yeah, well. I’d like to avoid disappointing the love of my life with subpar jewelry, thanks.” The dry humor in his tone earned him a chorus of affectionate noises from the friends.
Natalie tapped the tablet again, zooming in on the prong detailing. “I know you were worried about her being able to work with the ring both with and without gloves,” she said, angling the screen toward him. “This setting’s low-profile enough that she shouldn’t tear gloves so that gives some...”
“Security,” Joe finished, nodding. “The one thing I don’t know about is her ring size, which I probably should’ve figured out before—”
“Size six,” Valeria cut in, popping another mint into her mouth. All eyes swiveled to her. She shrugged. “She borrowed one of my rings for that event she went to with you last winter. Same size.”
Joe exhaled slowly, half relief, half amusement, as Natalie picked up her pen to scribble the sizing down on her notepad. Ayanna leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “So... is this the one? Because Leah’s right. You look like you made up your mind before we even walked in here.”
The corner of Joe’s mouth twitched up with a smile, as he rubbed his thumb absently over the ridge of his knuckle, biting the inside of his cheek. “I kept coming back to this design,” he admitted, eyes flicking between the women. “But I wanted to make sure it wasn’t just me projecting what I liked onto her. You guys have known her longer than I have.”
Ayanna reached out, pressing her fingers gently against Joe’s shoulder. “Joe, stop.” The sudden warmth of her hand anchored him. “No one knows her better than you do. At the end of the day, you’re the one proposing. You get final say. If you think this is the one, then it’s the one.” Her reassurance was echoed by both Valeria and Leah nodding emphatically.
Joe swallowed, his throat tight, but he nodded back and took in the rendered design one last time. “Yeah,” he said, quieter now. “This is it. This is the one.”
Natalie grinned and tapped the screen again, pulling up the final order form. “Perfect. Are we sticking with the lab diamond? Or do you want to play around with something different?”
Joe hesitated, fingers drumming against his thigh. “I think the diamond is fine. But, uh.” He glanced at Leah, then Ayanna. “She mentioned liking emeralds. I think that was just casually. Like, ‘Oh, emeralds are nice,’ not ‘I want an emerald engagement ring.’”
Leah hummed. “Stick with the diamond. She’ll love it exactly like this.” Her tone brooked no argument, and Joe, frankly, didn’t want one. He exhaled, shoulders loosening as Natalie tapped through the final selections. The screen flashed with a projected timeline: eight to ten weeks for completion.
There were a few logistics to walk through including payment schedules, warranty details, engraving options, all of which Joe handled with quiet focus, nodding along as Natalie explained each point. The appointment lasted another twenty minutes before they stood to leave, Natalie promising to send him digital updates throughout the crafting process.
Outside in the parking lot, the afternoon sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the pavement. Valeria lingered by Joe’s car while Leah and Ayanna hugged their goodbyes and headed toward theirs.
“Scale of one to ten, how stressed are you?” Valeria asked, leaning against Joe’s Porsche with her arms crossed. The fading sunlight caught the silver hoops in her ears as she squinted up at him.
Joe exhaled through his nose, jingling his keys absently. “Solid seven. But it’s the good kind of stress.” He glanced at her with a tilt of his head. “I’m not worried about the proposal necessarily, just keeping it from her until then.”
Valeria released a small laugh, nodding along to the sentiment. “I can promise you that even if she does sniff it out, because she probably will, she’ll still act surprised for you.” She paused, shifting her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose. “But also, she has been insufferably distracted lately with those new laser treatments at the clinic, so... you might actually pull this off.”
Joe grinned, shaking his head as he unlocked his car. “Yeah, well, I’ll take any advantage I can get.” He hesitated before adding. “Hey, uh... thanks. For today. Means a lot that you guys drove down for this. I know I could’ve just sent pictures, but I needed you all here.”
Valeria waved him off. “Joe. Please. We’re all so excited for the two of you. We couldn’t have picked a better man for her if we tried.” She pulled him into a quick hug. From her pocket, her phone buzzed and she groaned when she checked the screen. “I gotta head back to the hospital.” She hesitated, then smiled warmly. “If you need anything else from us, literally anything at all, we’re down to be accomplices. Keep us updated.”
Joe chuckled. “Will do.” He slid into his driver’s seat, adjusting the vents as Valeria climbed into her own car. His phone buzzed too with a text from his girlfriend. His heart did an odd skip in his chest as he swiped open the notification.
[ . . . ]
The last game of the preseason was always intended to be a rest day for the starters which made it the perfect weekend for their parents to head into Cincinnati for a visit. She had been bouncing around the house all morning, humming under her breath between sips of coffee while working on responding to emails, calling patients back, and communicating with her office manager, Brenda, about her advance appointment availability.
Joe left early in the morning to get some treatment done on some soreness in his shoulder before returning home to shower, change clothes, and head to the stadium for the game two hours prior to kickoff. When he walked through the door, she had her phone pressed between her ear and shoulder, scribbling notes on her laptop sitting on the counter, and greeted him with an absentminded kiss to his lips while holding up a finger to indicate she was wrapping up her call.
“Yeah, that sounds perfect,” she said, nodding along to whatever Brenda was saying on the other end. “I don’t mind leaving a later slot open, just nothing later than a 5:45 for follow-ups and, like, cosmetic consults.” She paused, pressing her lips together as Joe brushed past her to grab a glass of water, his palm grazing the small of her back as he moved. “Mmhm. Got it. Thanks, Brenda. See you Monday.”
She set her phone onto the counter, typing a few more words, then turned to Joe, who was leaning against the opposite countertop, watching her with that quiet intensity she’d grown to recognize as him committing something to memory. Maybe it was the way her hair had been pulled back from her face with a silk scarf, or the way her wide leg sweats flowed around her ankles as she shifted her weight, or the smudge of ink on her thumb from scribbling notes onto neon sticky notes. Whatever it was, Joe’s gaze lingered with the weight of it, and she felt warmth spread under her ribs.
“My parents are about 20 minutes out,” Joe said, setting his glass in the sink. He shuffled over and leaned over her, tucking his chin over her shoulder. “Any updates on yours?”
She leaned into his touch, turning her head to kiss the hinge of his jaw before pivoting to shut her laptop. “I’m following their location, they’ll probably get here before yours do.” Her fingers hooked into his belt loop, tugging him closer. “You look nice. Too nice for a preseason game you’re not even playing in.”
Joe laughed softly. “Gotta look presentable for the parents.” He couldn’t help but succumb to the urge to kiss her slow and deep, his fingers tangling in the silk scarf at the nape of her neck. She exhaled against his lips, one hand curling around the back of his head, until his phone buzzed insistently in his pocket.
“Check it,” she hummed against his lips through a giggle in response to a deep, disappointed groan. Joe pulled back just enough to fish his phone from his pocket. On one hand, he felt betrayed by her turn back to the work email she’d been drafting. On the other hand, he quietly thanked his luck when the name on his screen was her sister, Serena, calling right on schedule.
Serena, her husband, and their two children lived abroad in England, so she didn’t see them often. But with the proposal in the works, Joe had coordinated this visit carefully, wanting to surprise her with a reunion of her entire family.
He swiped to answer, pressing the phone to his ear as he stepped away from the kitchen counter. “Hey. You guys here?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper. She, now focused on her laptop, didn’t even glance up.
“Just pulled onto your street,” Serena declared. “Where do you want us to pull in?”
Joe glanced out the kitchen window, watching her parents’ SUV crawl into the driveway. “Hold back a sec. Your parents just got here.” He ducked down the hall, lowering his voice further. “Give it five minutes, then come up the driveway.”
Serena laughed softly. “Okay, we’ll do that.”
Joe returned to her side just as she shut her laptop. “Your parents are here,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
She grinned, already striding toward the front door, Joe trailing behind her. The moment she swung it open, her parents, Monica in a crisp linen shirt and Frederick, his typical polo and slacks combo, were halfway up the walkway. She embraced her mother first, inhaling the floral perfume clinging to her collar, before Frederick wrapped her in a bear hug.
“You look good, baby bug,” Monica whispered into her hair, squeezing her shoulders. Frederick’s eyes crinkled as he clapped Joe on the back, bringing him in for a quick hug before they all stepped inside.
“Where are...” she started, just as car tires crunched over gravel outside. She frowned toward the driveway. “Did your parents rent a car or...”
Joe kept his expression neutral, though his pulse kicked up when her face slackened as recognition dawned. Serena’s rental SUV rolled to a stop behind their parent’s rental. Ford stepped out to unbuckle Delanie and Caleb from their booster seats while Serena waved wildly through the windshield. Serena bolted, rushing down the driveway in a blur of honey-blonde braids and athleisure, colliding with her younger sister halfway up the walkway.
Her shriek met Joe’s ear, drawing a belly laugh from his chest. “What the fuck?” She clutched Serena’s shoulders, taking in her sister’s face before twisting toward Joe, eyes wide. “Did you?”
Joe shrugged, hands jammed in his pockets, grinning as she turned away from Serena to scoop Delanie into her arms, the little girl’s curls bouncing as she squealed, “Auntie!” Caleb clung to Ford’s leg, suddenly shy until she crouched, keeping an arm wrapped around Delanie, and tapped his nose.
“Hey, bug... hi...” she pouted dramatically when the four-year-old buried his face in her shoulder. Joe watched her press a kiss into his hair, murmuring, “I missed you,” with a slow rub of his back, before standing to hug her brother-in-law.
Ford embraced her warmly, squeezing tight enough to lift her onto the toes of her slippers. “Surprise,” he laughed fully. Behind them, Joe watched his own parents’ car roll up. The yard swelled with overlapping greetings, before the large group finally moved inside.
“Thank you for doing this for me,” she whispered to Joe. Her hand pressed against his chest, delivering a short kiss to his cheek as Caleb peeked around her legs at the unfamiliar faces filling the living room.
Joe caught her wrist before she could pull away, gently pulling her knuckles to his lips. “Serena really deserves most of the credit,” he murmured against her skin. Her eyes softened, as he added, “But I’d do this every damn day if it meant seeing this look on your face. I love seeing you happy. Especially like this.”
The words brought a tightness to her chest in response to that particular way Joe had of saying simple things like they were gospel, like he’d carve them into stone if he could just so they would exist forever. He was watching her with that quiet intensity again, like he was memorizing the way her eyes glistened under the entryway light, the way her bottom lip caught between her teeth when she was trying not to cry in front of her family.
She twisted her fingers into the front of his shirt and tugged him down until his forehead rested against hers. His exhale ghosted over her lips, warm and familiar. “Stop,” she whispered through a wobble in her voice. “Ford will clown me if he sees me crying.”
Joe’s thumb swiped under her eye before she could blink the moisture away. “Too late.” He kissed the damp trail his thumb left behind, then murmured against her temple, “I gotta leave in a few. Did you want to ride to the stadium with me?”
She nodded, recognizing the effort to distract her from her emotions. She smoothed her hands down his chest, partially to flatten his shirt, mostly to feel his heartbeat thudding under her palms. “Yeah, I’ll ride with you. Let me just...” She gestured vaguely toward the living room where their families had migrated, laughter already spilling out in overlapping waves. “I need to get everyone situated with drinks or something before we dip.”
Joe squeezed her hip. “I’ll grab waters for everyone. You go be the welcoming committee.” He headed into the kitchen, pulling chilled bottles from the fridge while she corralled Caleb onto her hip, the boy’s shyness evaporating as he pointed at her dangling gold earrings. Behind her, Delanie chattered excitedly to Robin about the flight while the other adults caught up.
Serena slipped into the kitchen, nearly startling Joe as he worked on filling a tray. “Hey,” she whispered. She snatched a bottle of water. “How are you?”
Joe glanced toward the living room. She was perched on the arm of the couch, balancing Caleb on her knee as Frederick crouched to show him something on his phone. “Good,” Joe murmured. “Kinda wish I were playing today. But, I can’t complain.” He adjusted the tray of waters. “You guys make it in okay?”
Serena took a sip of her water. “It was uneventful, which is the best you can hope for with two kids under six.” She glanced towards the living room, then dropped her voice into a softer whisper. “Did you pick the ring?”
Joe nodded, shifting his weight onto the counter’s edge. “Yeah. Wanna see it?”
Serena’s grin widened as he pulled out his phone and swiped to his emails, thumb selecting the jeweler’s latest attachment. The CAD rendering loaded, a slender gold band cradling a marquise diamond, its halo of smaller stones ready to catch the light even in the preview. Serena gasped lightly, pressing a hand to her chest. “Joe... wow... it’s gorgeous. This is her, down to her soul. She’s gonna lose her shit.”
He nodded, releasing a slow breath. “I was planning to tell Monica and Frederick today,” he admitted. “I’d love for you and Ford to be there too. I know you already know, and you’ve given me your approval, but I would appreciate if you could be part of that moment.”
Serena’s voice hitched slightly when she responded, squeezing his forearm. “Of course.” Serena hesitated, eyes flicking back to her younger sister, who was now laughing at something Caleb whispered in her ear. “How are you gonna pull them aside without her noticing? She’s already—you know how she gets.”
Joe chuckled, twisting the cap off another water bottle. “I was hoping you’d help with that. Keep her busy with the kids when we get back after the game. If she’s distracted, getting them ready for bed, or whatever, that’ll buy me enough time.”
Serena’s eyes drifted over to the tray next to Joe, then plucked a grape from the fruit bowl her sister had assembled earlier. “Do your parents know?” she asked quietly, popping the fruit into her mouth.
“Yeah. I told ‘em a couple... weeks ago? Maybe longer.” Joe rubbed the back of his neck, catching Frederick’s deep laugh rumbling from the living room. “They’re excited. All our friends know too. Leah, Ayanna, and Valeria helped with the final ring decision. Tee’s the only guy on the team that knows, though.”
Serena snorted, leaning against the counter. “Tee? How are you gonna break that info to Ja’Marr?”
“I figured I’d tell him once I get the ring. Tee can handle a secret like this. Ja’Marr?” Joe smiled, shaking his head. “He’d be sneaking in hints to her, then look at me to see if I could keep a poker face. He’s a godawful liar, anyway.”
Serena laughed, tossing another grape into her mouth before checking the time. “We should get moving,” she mused, nodding toward the living room where her sister stood from the couch and was now gently peeling Caleb from her hip. “Can I help you with anything in here?” she asked, changing the topic seamlessly as if they hadn’t just been conspiring underneath the white overhead lights.
Joe shook his head, hefting the tray filled with condensation-beaded glasses including two smaller plastic cups for the kids. “Nah, I got this.” He hesitated, then added, quieter, “Thanks, again.”
Serena patted his shoulder blade. “You keep thanking me like I didn’t book these flights the second you texted.” Her smile softened to add, “I’m so excited for the two of you.” He nodded, swallowing hard, and she gave his forearm one last squeeze before slipping back into the living room, where she was attempting to herd Caleb toward Ford without the boy realizing he was being tricked into letting go of her.
Joe balanced the tray in his hands as he maneuvered around the kitchen island and into the living room, catching her eye just as she successfully deposited Caleb into Ford’s arms. The boy whined in protest, but she pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, whispering something that made him giggle before she straightened up and adjusted her clothing.
Frederick intercepted Joe first, plucking two waters from the tray with a murmured thanks before passing one to Monica. Serena was already mid-conversation with Robin, recounting some childhood story that had her scrunching her nose on her way over to Joe.
“Please tell me she’s not exaggerating,” Joe hummed as she slid against his side, her fingers on one hand immediately finding the small of his back, while the other wrapped around one of the glasses to distribute.
She scoffed, passing water to Ford before shaking her head. “She absolutely is. Saying I tried to run away over that goldfish is insane. I was reasonably concerned. And I was 5 being terrorized by my 15-year-old sister.” She slid a glare at Serena, who merely raised her brows and took a sip from her glass.
Joe’s shoulders shook as he laughed, bringing his girlfriend into his side a little tighter. He pressed his lips into her hair. “So you did try to run away?”
“No,” She insisted, rolling her eyes before cracking into a grin herself. “I packed a backpack and made it to the end of the driveway, but—”
“But Mom found her sitting on the curb crying because the goldfish bowl was too heavy to carry,” Serena finished.
Monica shook her head, though her lips curled at the corners. “Poor baby,” she sighed. “You were so determined to save that fish from some imagined threat.”
She groaned, pressing her forehead into Joe’s bicep. “Cover your ears, babe,” she muttered, though her voice carried enough for her father to bark out a laugh. “This family never lets anything die.” She lifted her head just enough to shoot a half-hearted glare at Serena. “Do you terrorize your children like this, or am I special?”
Ford grinned, though he kept an eye on Caleb as he wandered around the living room, cup in hand. “Oh, she absolutely does. Last week, Delanie tried to sneak a cookie before dinner, and Serena spent twenty minutes lecturing her about how she knew someone who once stole an entire tray of brownies and hid in the treehouse with a stomach ache.”
Delanie gasped, twisting around from where she was perched on Robin’s lap. “Was that about you?” she demanded, pointing at her aunt with an accusatory finger.
She groaned, pressing her face fully into Joe’s shoulder now, both embarrassed and eager to hear the laughter bubbling up from his chest. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before murmuring, “You’re telling me that story later.”
He wanted to hear that story, and every detail of her childhood, the way he always did, like each scrap of her past was something precious he could tuck away for safekeeping. He wanted the loud belly laughs with in-laws, nieces, and nephews. He wanted this feeling of his stomach hurting from joy and the warmth of her pressed against him, her embarrassed laughter vibrating through his ribs.
[ . . . ]
After this weekend was over, Joe needed to make sure he sent a Thank You card to Serena, preferably one with an expensive gift card tucked inside, because keeping his girlfriend distracted long enough for him to pull Monica and Frederick aside was, frankly, a logistical nightmare. By the time Caleb and Delanie were fed and ready for a bath, she detoured downstairs twice.
The first time was to ask her older sister if she should give Caleb’s hair a quick shampoo because of some dandruff she noticed. Serena reminded her that she was the dermatologist of the family, so it was up to her. She hesitated at the stairs for a second, clearly torn between trusting her instincts and worrying about potentially keeping the kids up longer than necessary. Joe watched from the couch, unnoticed, as Serena waved her hand toward the staircase, insisting her younger sister was capable of handling it.
The second time was when she reappeared to request help locating Delanie’s missing pajamas, only to freeze halfway down the stairs when she caught Serena mid-whisper with their father near the foyer. Joe saw the exact moment her suspicious instincts flared, her brows furrowing, before Serena smoothly pivoted into complaining about airline luggage fees, sensing her sister was within earshot. Ford jumped in and directed his sister-in-law to the right suitcase. Joe pressed his lips together to keep from laughing as she retreated upstairs, visibly suspicious but too preoccupied with getting her niece and nephew comfortable to investigate further.
“She knows their bedtime routine, so she shouldn’t come back down for another thirty minutes at least,” Serena murmured, glancing at the staircase before nudging Joe toward the porch. Frederick followed, slipping into the crisp evening air with Monica close behind. Robin and Jimmy had been instructed to linger inside as casual sentries, ready to redirect her if she emerged early.
Joe’s palms were damp where they rested against his thighs, rubbing absently against the fabric of his joggers when he settled into one of the patio chairs. Monica and Frederick took the loveseat opposite him, their expressions curious in the golden glow of the lights overhead, while Ford and Serena lingered near the railing, close enough to witness but leaving the moment firmly between Joe and his girlfriend’s parents.
He inhaled slowly. Ohio’s late summer humidity clung to the air, cicadas humming in the distance, the scent of the perfectly manicured lawn mixing with Monica’s perfume. He wanted to capture this moment for his memory: the glint of Frederick’s watch, the French manicure Monica wore, Serena biting her lip to suppress a smile, and Ford nursing a beer in his right hand. The weight of the moment settled heavily, and if her parents were genuinely unaware of what he was planning to ask them, their patience was saintly.
“Monica, Frederick,” Joe started, his voice steadier than he expected. He cleared his throat anyway to give him time to choose his words carefully. “First off... I wanted to thank both of you for welcoming me into your family from day one. You never made me feel like I had to change myself to fit into her life. You just trusted her, and by extension, gave me that trust too. And that's something I don’t take for granted.”
Frederick blinked rapidly, his fingers reaching for Monica’s knee, a reflexive motion Joe noticed had passed down to his girlfriend. Monica’s lips trembled into a smile, her hand covering her husband’s as she leaned forward slightly, as if bracing herself.
“We’ve loved watching you love her,” Monica said softly with an overwhelming touch of sincerity. “You see her in ways even we don’t. So whatever you’re about to ask,” her voice cracked slightly, her fingers lacing with Frederick’s. “You already have our answer.”
“I...” Joe swallowed, unprepared for the flood of emotion that was beginning to hit him. His throat tightened, but he forced himself to continue. “I love your daughter more than I can put into words. And I’d like—I want—” He cut himself short, shaking his head with a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I planned this whole speech.”
Monica let out a light chuckle, squeezing Frederick’s hand harder. “You’re okay. Take your time.”
His shoulders relaxed as he sat up straight, exhaling through his nose before meeting their eyes head-on. “It’s been such a privilege to love her and become part of your family these last four years. She’s... the most important thing in my life. There hasn’t been a single moment where I haven’t felt lucky to be able to call myself hers.”
He paused to collect his thoughts just long enough for Frederick to swipe hastily at his eyes with his free hand.
“I know that I’m not perfect, but I hope—god, I hope—that I’ve shown you both enough to prove that I’ll always put her first. That I’ll always fight for her happiness. That I will do whatever it takes to give her the life that she deserves and has worked so hard to earn.” Joe cleared his throat again, suddenly hyperaware of Serena’s soft sniffle behind him. He took another breath, steadying himself. “I promise to both of you, and Serena, that I will never stop working to deserve her. And I want to do that every single day for the rest of my life.”
Monica pressed her free hand to her mouth, her eyes shining under the porch lights.
“She told me, multiple times, she didn’t want me asking anyone for ‘permission’ to marry her.” The five of them laughed softly at that, Frederick nodding through the last of his tears. “But I still wanted to let you guys know that... I will be asking her to marry me soon. And I’d—” His breath caught unexpectedly, forcing him to pause. “I’d love to know that you guys are happy about that. That you’d be okay with me officially being part of your family.”
Frederick stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the wooden deck, and strode forward to pull Joe into an embrace. For a moment, it was silent on the porch. Then Frederick sniffed near Joe’s ear before pulling back, his large hands gripping Joe’s shoulders.
Monica was next, her arms wrapping tight around Joe as she whispered, “Oh, Joey. Oh, sweetheart.”
Ford discreetly wiped his eyes and turned away, pretending to inspect the flowers lining the porch while Serena managed to keep her voice steady as she said, “Show them the design.”
Joe fumbled slightly, retrieving his phone from his pocket. He pulled up the CAD renderings Monica leaned forward eagerly, gasping softly when the screen illuminated the delicate marquise halo. Frederick let out a gentle, pleased noise.
“She’ll love it if it won’t snag her gloves.” Monica trailed a fingertip over the screen, studying the tapered profile with clinical precision before nodding approvingly. “Fred, look—it’s the same cut as your mother’s ring.”
Frederick’s laugh rumbled against Joe’s shoulder where their arms still touched. “Damn. That attention to detail. Always watching, aren’t you?”
Joe replied with a curt, “Yes, sir. I try my best.”
Frederick squinted at the digital rendering, then let out a slow whistle. “Great minds, son. Great minds.”
“I told Fred you were the one the second she brought you home that first time,” Monica admitted, thumbing away a tear as she studied the ring design again. “I saw how you knew her, even then, early on. I wanted that for my girls and I’m so glad it’s you for her. I’m so glad, sweetheart.” She squeezed Joe’s arm, her voice breaking on the last word, and Joe blinked hard against the sudden burn in his own eyes.
Frederick clapped him on the back, clearing his throat gruffly. “Now. When can we expect news?”
Joe rubbed his jaw in thought. “Probably late October. I’m still working out how I want to ask her. It’ll be private, I know that. She would murder me if I did it in front of a bunch of people.” The porch vibrated with quiet laughter. His thumb traced the edge of his phone absently. “You’ll know when it’s happening, I can promise that.”
“We should probably head inside before she’s done with the kids,” Ford suggested, nodding toward the house. Joe nodded, recognizing that there was only so much time his girlfriend would be occupied before she noticed the extended absence.
As they filed back inside, Joe caught his mother’s eye. She lifted an eyebrow in silent question, and the quick nod of his chin was all the confirmation she needed. She slipped past Jimmy and followed Joe toward the kitchen, busying herself with topping off wine glasses as a distraction from the joy fluttering in her chest. The group settled back into the living room just as her footsteps echoed on the stairs.
“Nobody move,” she hissed. “They were fighting sleep for 25 minutes.” She tiptoed down the stairs, her socks silent on the hardwood.
Joe poked his head around the corner, opening his arms instinctively as she descended the last step. She melted into him with a quiet sigh, her forehead pressing against his sternum as his palms slid down her back. “Mmm.” The vibration of her hum traveled through his ribs. “You smell good.”
“I don’t know why you love the shitty body wash they give us at the stadium,” he murmured into her hair, catching the faintest whiff of her shampoo, tropical and coconutty in a way that always made him think of sunscreen and stolen kisses poolside. She snorted against his chest, attempting to pull away to aid Robin in refilling the glasses with everyone’s preferred choice in alcohol, but Joe tightened his arms around her waist, preventing her escape.
“Mm-mm. Give me this. Just for another minute.”
“So cute,” Robin cooed, brushing past to leave them alone in the kitchen while balancing three drinks between her hands.
She smiled into Joe’s chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she tipped her head back to look up at him. The overhead light caught the highlights in her eyes, and Joe felt his heart stutter at the sight. He dipped his head, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose before she squirmed away with a breathy laugh, leaving her lips parted just enough for a kiss she welcomed without hesitation.
“What was that for?” she asked, reaching up to brush the golden brown hair from his forehead.
Joe shrugged, his fingers tracing idle circles against the small of her back through her sweater. “Felt right.” The truth burned behind his teeth, how the CAD rendering glowed under Monica’s fingertips, Frederick’s approval, Serena’s whispered ‘she’s gonna lose her shit’, but he swallowed it down with an omission.
Her eyes narrowed playfully, that terrifyingly perceptive glint flashing before he diverted her attention. “Your mom asked about the sectional we replaced out on the porch. We didn’t want to make too much noise while you were trying to get the kids down so two birds, one stone.” His fingers trailed up her spine, lingering at the base of her back, a calculated distraction.
She hummed, willing to indulge him, her nails scraping lightly through the hair at his nape. “Mhmm. And that’s why Serena keeps looking at me like that?”
“Sweetheart...” he murmured, low and raspy, blue eyes darting between her lips and the curious tilt of her brow. His hand found the back of her head, easing her neck into a slow arch so his lips could chase the pulse point beneath her jaw. Her breath hitched, tugging a triumphant smirk against her skin. “I’m trying to steal you for a second. Do we have to talk about your sister?”
She couldn’t answer right away. Instead, she stumbled backwards, trusting Joe to guide her back safely to a hard surface. He pressed her against the pantry door with gentle insistence, his knee sliding between her thighs as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot just below her ear. She let out a ragged exhale, her fingers tightening in his hair.
“Jesus—” the word was nearly silent, just breathing against the shell of his ear. “We have guests,” she whispered, though her hands still roamed beneath his shirt, tracing the ridges of his abdomen with familiarly greedy fingers.
“Just one more,” Joe murmured against her collarbone, his fingers hooking into the belt loops of her jeans to pull her closer. The smell of her made him dizzy. She granted his request, letting him taste her smile, then slid her palms up his chest to push him back with a laugh.
“You are so horribly trained,” she teased, straightening her clothing.
“By design,” Joe shot back, running a hand through his hair and praying his face wasn’t too obviously flushed. He snagged a bottle of water from the fridge, twisting the cap off, holding it out for her to take first, a habit so ingrained neither noticed anymore. She took it gratefully, her throat working as she swallowed, then handing it off to Joe to finish off.
“Are you implying there was an attempt to train you?” She arched an eyebrow, watching him place the bottle in their recycling bin.
Joe rounded the island counter, catching her waist with one arm. “There were numerous attempts.” His thumb brushed over the hem of her top where it met her jeans. “None particularly effective.”
She laughed gently. “I distinctly recall you folding when I threatened to withhold pumpkin pie from you last Thanksgiving.”
Joe’s fingers twitched against her hip. “That was a tactical retreat,” he muttered, pressing his lips to her temple. “I love you too much to let pumpkin pie come between us.”
She pretended to ponder his statement. “I think you love pumpkin pie more than me. It’s okay to be honest.”
Joe’s fingers dug into her sides, eliciting a sharp gasp as he tickled her mercilessly. “Take it back,” he murmured against her ear, grinning when she squirmed. She clamped her lips together, shaking her head. He dragged his fingertips up her ribs and she nearly folded in half laughing, pushing at his arms weakly.
“Okay... okay! I take it back,” she wheezed, collapsing against his chest. Joe caught her easily, pressing a kiss to her forehead before she could escape. She exhaled dramatically, smoothing her hair back into place. “I love you too. Even if you’re an untrained problem.”
[ . . . ]
SEPTEMBER.
For about a month, everything seemed to settle into a comfortable routine. The season started off with a shaky, but recorded, win against the Cleveland Browns. She and her girls traveled for the season opener, opting to sit in the stands, instead of buying a box, to absorb the full experience. Though she could see Joe beating himself up for the incompletions and the sacks he probably could’ve avoided, she also watched as he worked through it, adjusting himself mentally after each mistake, and keeping it together just enough for the defense to make one last stop to secure the win.
Adopting Colby in early September had been the perfect touch to offset the emptiness of the house when one of them was traveling. The kitten had been tiny, barely seven weeks old, with a timidness that endeared Joe enough to request she make an emergency stop to sign the paperwork needed to legally take him home. They watched his personality develop as he grew comfortable, leaping off any high surface he could climb, sleeping most of the day, and curling into her lap or Joe’s chest whenever he was seeking some warmth and affection.
Even Joe’s plans for the proposal were developing at a pace slow enough to keep her oblivious. He decided he wanted it to occur at home and that there would be a surprise element including their closest friends and family to celebrate afterward. The ring was in the final stages of production and Joe was scouring the internet for the elements of the proposal ideas typed into his Notes app. Though he was yet to make a final decision, he felt he was in a decent place in his season, his relationship, and this milestone.
The first home game of the season undid everything.
“Granted that the scans hold up with what we see when we go in to do the repair, best case, we’re looking at 12 weeks before he can even think about stepping foot on the field again. And that’s the very best case, assuming every single step of his recovery goes perfectly.”
She sat next to Joe on the bed, anxiously biting her bottom lip, keeping herself as still and quiet as possible out of respect for the conference call that she wasn’t technically supposed to be hearing. Joe held the phone up, the speaker button activated, his jaw clenched tight. She could see the muscle twitching beneath the darkening stubble along his chin. His fingers flexed uselessly against his thigh, the other hand gripping the phone so hard she thought there was a slim chance he could crush the device with the sheer force of frustration alone.
The others on the other end of the call—Zac, Mike, Duke, Katie, at least half of the Bengals medical staff, and Dr. Anderson—continued debating recovery protocols, but she could tell Joe had stopped absorbing details after hearing “12 weeks.”
She watched his thumb swipe absently across his phone screen, cycling between ESPN notifications and his home screen, a picture the two of them tangled together on the couch a few months ago. His exhale was harsh when the call finally ended, tossing his phone onto the comforter like it burned him.
She hesitated before leaning her head on his shoulder, fingertips ghosting over his stomach. “Are we talking about it?”
Joe’s exhale shuddered. “Turf toe. Sounds like a fucking joke.” He flexed his injured foot experimentally, grimacing at the stiffness.
She hummed. “I was texting Val when you went down. She told me to prepare for the worst when I told her that I was hearing turf toe.” She pressed a kiss to his shoulder through his t-shirt. “She also said the same thing as Dr. Anderson, though. That we really won’t know what the timeline will truly look like until you have surgery and the swelling goes down. What looks like a Grade 3 might heal really nicely and be closer to a Grade 2.”
“Or it could be worse than they think and I’m out for the year.” His fingers curled against his thigh. “Which seems to be the theme of my fucking career at this point. Every time I—” His voice cracked unexpectedly, and she felt his weight shift as he turned his face away sharply.
She didn’t speak, just slid her palm over his knuckles, pressing until his fingers unclenched enough to lace with hers. The silence stretched, broken only by Colby’s tiny claws clicking across the hardwood outside their door before he padded in, chirping curiously as he leapt onto the bed; brave enough to enter the room now that the mysterious, loud voices were no longer echoing into the hallway. She watched Joe exhale through his nose, his free hand reaching automatically to scratch between the kitten’s ears. Colby butted against his wrist, purring contentedly.
“Well,” she murmured after a moment, thumb brushing the ridge of Joe’s knuckle, “if you need to go full hermit crab for the next three months and live in your film cave, I’ll still bring you water. And food. And maybe even open the windows so you can get some sunlight.”
Joe’s chest shook with a quiet, involuntary laugh. He lifted their joined hands to press a kiss to her fingers, the tension in his shoulders loosening just slightly. “No sunlight,” he muttered against her skin. “Might ruin my dramatic brooding aesthetic.”
“You’re right. Being pale rounds out the tragedy.” She felt his sigh against her temple, warm and familiar.
After a few minutes of silence she spoke again. “Whatever the verdict is after surgery, we’ll handle it together. You know I hate seeing you hurt, but I can handle the obsessive recovery phase if you promise not to shut me out, please. Talk to me, even when you don’t want to.”
His fingers tightened around hers. Joe exhaled slowly and turned his face into her hair. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of her shampoo then pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “I can do that. Promise.” His thumb brushed over her knuckles. “Don’t know how I got lucky enough for you to put up with me.”
She smiled, lifting her head to find him already looking at her. “I don’t know either. Must’ve been drunk.”
“Oh, you were.” He laughed, a genuine sound despite the exhaustion in his voice, and she felt the lump in her throat loosen. “Not crazy drunk. But drunk enough for me to think I had any shot talking to this really pretty... funny... way-out-of-my-league medical resident that my old teammate’s older sister just introduced me to.”
The late afternoon light peeked through the curtains, painting gold stripes across his shoulders, and bringing a glow to his summer-tanned skin. He was stunning in the most ordinary way. Unshaven, hair mussed from restless sleep, an ugly orthopedic boot strapped to his injured foot. Yet, she still thought he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. She kissed his shoulder again, letting her lips linger against the warmth there.
“Then, I’m glad you were feeling over-confident,” she murmured against his shoulder, her breath warming the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Joe’s thumb continued to trace slow circles on the back of her hand. “I wouldn’t be this happy otherwise.” He hummed in agreement, a low rumble in his chest that was familiar to her ears.
[ . . . ]
Miraculously, the surgical repair of Joe’s toe turned out to be less severe than initially feared. She sat in the recovery room responding to texts from his parents and friends when Joe finally blinked awake, groggy and disoriented. His fingers twitched toward her instinctively before his eyes even focused.
She stayed home with him for the next two days, monitoring his pain levels while he drifted in and out of sleep. Between her laptop propped on the couch and the kitten curled between them, she typed up patient notes as Joe mumbled incoherent complaints about the boot’s Velcro straps. She conducted virtual visits from her office upstairs, occasionally glancing at the baby monitor she bought after his wrist injury to spy on him napping.
She returned to work Monday morning, bracing herself for a long day of rescheduled, back-to-back appointments. Sure enough, her feet were aching by the time she found a lull in her day long enough to get some paperwork done.
A triple knock brought her out of her laser focused concentration, drawing a short, “Come in,” from her before she even looked up.
One of the physician assistants, Camille entered shortly after, carrying a steaming mug of coffee in her right hand. “Thought you could use this,” Camille said, sliding the mug onto a coaster beside her keyboard. “You’ve had, what, three cancellations today? And still no lunch break.”
She rolled her shoulders back with a grateful sigh, her fingers wrapping around the warmth of the mug. “Four cancellations, actually. Two no-shows and two last-minute reschedules.” She took a slow sip, the bitter heat of the coffee chasing away the fatigue. “But thank you. I needed this really badly.”
Camille perched on the edge of the younger woman’s desk, her brow furrowing slightly. “We haven’t talked in a minute. How’re you holding up with things?” The question was gentle, but the MD caught the careful way Camille’s gaze flicked to the framed photo on her desk.
It was a professional photo of she and Joe on the field following his AFC Championship, when their relationship officially went public. His arm slung around her waist while she grinned, mid-laugh, his thumb tucked absently into her back pocket like he couldn’t bear not to touch her somehow. The day after the game, that photo was plastered across social media, her private Instagram account receiving tens of thousands of follow requests she never accepted.
She set her mug down carefully, swallowing her first sip. “Honestly? It’s been... something,” she admitted. “I know logically he’ll recover fine. This isn’t even the worst injury he’s had. But, the first week post-surgery is always...” She trailed off, rubbing her temple. “It’s never fun watching someone you love struggle. Even if it’s just temporary.”
Camille nodded knowingly. “Are you worried about him slipping into tunnel vision?”
“Not yet. But, it’s coming. I know it is. He’ll start living at the facility, doing everything in his power to get back before that 12 week minimum they keep telling him.” She took another sip of her coffee. “And I don’t blame him. I’d be the same. But I also know what happens when he fixates like that. The way he stops enjoying things... food, hobbies, sleep... because he’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve to enjoy those things until he’s ‘earned’ it again.”
Camille tilted her head. “You think he’ll shut you out?”
“Not intentionally. But if he does, it won’t be a surprise.” She tapped her pen against a patient chart absentmindedly, the rhythm syncopated with the hum of the clinic’s air conditioning. “We’ll see though. We’ve had conversations about this since his last major injury. He knows I want him to lean on me, not push me away.”
Camille studied her face, the darkness around her eyes, the way she nibbled absentmindedly at the inside of her cheek. “You sound like you’re preparing for war.”
She chuckled, rolling her neck until it cracked. “Yeah, well, they call them modern-day gladiators for a reason.” She gestured vaguely toward her phone where Joe had texted her three times in the past hour—first to ask if she wanted Thai for dinner, second to complain about Colby stealing his socks, and third with a blurry photo of the kitten curled up in his discarded hoodie. “Right now he’s still present. Chatty, even. But once he starts PT next week, he might start…” She mimed a slow vanishing act with her hands.
Camille snorted into her coffee. “You said you talked about it, though. He might need some reminders, but I know he doesn’t play about you. Even if he goes into caveman mode, he’ll snap out of it if you tell him he’s being an idiot. So... communicate, hon.”
She hummed. “I will try.” She flicked her gaze to the clock, groaning when she saw her next appointment was in ten minutes. “Speaking of, I gotta go. Tell Luca I’ll grab lunch after this one. He’s got chocolate-covered peanut butter pretzels in his drawer, and I’m shamelessly mooching when I get a chance.”
[ . . . ]
“I can’t feel my feet,” she groaned, toeing off her sneakers the moment she stepped through the front door. She halted her movements when the familiar smell of pasta and beef flooded her senses.
Joe was nowhere to be seen, though she could hear his crutches clicking against hardwood somewhere deeper in the house, growing louder as he drew closer. The remnants of his afternoon clung to the space: a pillow positioned oddly on the couch where he’d been icing his foot, the TV paused on a documentary about deep-sea bioluminescence, and Colby’s favorite toy abandoned near the staircase.
“Joe?” She called, dropping her work bag onto the floor, propping it up against the marble of the kitchen island, and wincing as her arches throbbed. The click-click of his crutches continued until he was before her, his blue eyes bright.
His grin was slow—soft. She mapped the familiar slopes of it like she could chart every variation: the way his lips twitched when he was holding back sarcasm, the tiny peek of his tongue between his teeth when he was genuinely pleased, the barely-there quirking when he pretended to hate something she’d said. This was his exhausted-but-content smile, reserved for evenings where he was eager to go to bed, but wanting to spend time with her.
“Welcome home,” Joe said, leaning one crutch against the counter so he could open one arm for a hug. She stepped into him immediately, her nose pressing into the warm space between his collarbone and throat, inhaling the faint traces of his aftershave mixed with the herbal scent of the tea he must have been drinking a few moments prior. His fingers traced idle circles against her lower back. “I know you had a long day, so I won’t ask how it was yet.”
She hummed against his skin, tightening her grip around his waist. “You made dinner?”
“Um. Not exactly.” Joe replied through a series of pecks to her pouted lips. “I ordered the Bolognese you love from Boca and Mrs. Rossi swung by to clean up since we really haven’t had the chance recently with everything going on. Also...” He gestured toward the stove where she could see a glass dish holding some chocolate-flavored baked good being kept warm under the lights. “I made brownies.”
She leaned back to look up at him, incredulous. She opened her mouth to speak but allowed herself to giggle when he clarified. “Box mix. Don’t get too excited.” His fingers brushed over her bottom lip. “Still warm, though. Figured you’d want some after dinner—which is in the oven to keep it warm.”
She pressed another kiss to the underside of his jaw, slow and deliberate, and felt his breath hitch against her forehead. “You didn’t have to do all this,” she murmured, her entire body softening against him, the exhaustion of her day dissipating with the warmth radiating between them.
“I know,” he admitted, his lips moving against her hairline. “But I wanted to. So I did.” His fingers trailed up her spine, lingering at the nape of her neck where tension coiled beneath his touch. “Go upstairs, I drew you a bath. I’ll bring you something to drink in a couple minutes.”
She raised her eyebrow. “A bath?”
“Yeah.” Joe nodded toward the staircase. “I drew you a bath. Epsom salt, lavender oil, the whole thing. Figured your body could use it.”
“Go,” he urged softly, nudging her toward the stairs. “I’ll wait ten minutes before I interrupt you with wine.”
She hesitated, thumb brushing the ridge of his hip bone through his sweatpants. “You sure you’re okay on the stairs with—”
“I’ll make it work,” Joe murmured, pressing his forehead against hers. “Go.”
The bathwater was still steaming when she slipped into it, lavender-scented steam curling around her shoulders as she sank deeper. Epsom salts prickled against her skin, working into the knots of her calves while she tilted her head back against the towel Joe had folded over the edge.
Downstairs, she heard the faint thump of his crutches navigating the kitchen, followed by the sound of a new bottle being uncorked. She smiled into the damp air, opening her eyes when she heard the sound of their kitten leaping up onto the lid of the closed toilet. Colby’s curious green eyes blinked at her from his perch as he curled into a tight loaf, tail twitching like he was debating whether bathwater was worth investigating.
Joe appeared in the doorway, as promised, ten minutes later, balancing a wine glass in one hand while gripping his crutch awkwardly with the other. His gaze flickered from her damp shoulders to Colby’s judgmental stare. “If you fall in, I can’t save you,” he warned the kitten before handing her the glass.
She took the glass, fingers brushing his, and watched him drag a stool beside the tub before dropping down onto it with a stifled groan, propping his crutches up against the side of the porcelain. “Wish I could get in with you,” he admitted quietly, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie, a gray color, faded from years of wear.
She smiled through a slow sip. She tasted the crisp pinot grigio, chilled exactly to her preference. “Wouldn’t stop you if you weren’t stuck in that boot,” she replied, swirling the wine before nodding at his leg. “We could’ve made it work.”
Joe huffed a laugh. “Right. Remember the last time we tried to share a bathtub?” His fingers trailed along the water’s edge, flicking droplets toward her knee. “We flooded the bathroom floor.”
She shrugged. “That’s why the drains are such a nice upgrade,” she said. “And it wasn’t like we were just sharing the tub. You were very touchy that day.” She took another sip, tilting her chin up to find him gazing down at her, eyelids hooded. “I would argue that’s the day we confirmed the bathroom remodel was necessary.”
“Yeah, well, you try not being touchy when your wife is naked and wet and—” Joe cut himself off with a quiet curse, shaking his head.
She grinned into her wineglass, watching his ears flush pink under the dim bathroom lighting. “Wife?” she echoed, keeping her eyes locked on his face as she lazily swirled her free fingertips through the water, creating ripples that sloshed against the porcelain.
“I—” Joe paused, fighting off a smile with the swipe of his tongue across his bottom lip. “Hypothetical wife,” he amended. His socked foot, still encased in the bulky orthopedic boot, knocked lightly against the stool leg as he shuffled in his seat. “Future tense.”
“No, no. Don’t let me interrupt your slip,” she teased, stretching her legs beneath the water until her toes brushed the opposite end of the tub. “That’s the second time this month, honey.”
Joe rubbed over his jaw. “You’re keeping count?”
She raised her eyebrows, that smile of hers still glued to her face. “I keep count of everything you say. Partly because I love you, and hearing your thoughts, your voice. But mostly because you don’t slip. You don’t just drop words like that unless...”
“Unless I’ve been thinking about it.” He finished. “And I have.”
The admission hovered between them, lingering in the air like all the scents rising from the bath water. Colby was beginning to drift to sleep, indifferent to the weight of the moment.
“Been thinking about it a lot. Longer than you’d guess.” Joe’s voice was low, rough at the edges like the words were heavy for him to admit.
Her throat tightened as she watched him drag a hand through his hair. She could tell he was holding back, not because he was unsure, but because confessions like these altered the gravity in a room, and Joe never rushed momentum. She lifted her wineglass to her lips, buying herself a second to steady her breath before murmuring, “I have too. You’re the only person I’ve ever pictured a future with that didn’t feel like settling.”
Joe nodded but didn’t say anything right away. He reached for her hand, thumb skimming the wet ridges of her knuckles. “And you won’t have to. I promise.”
The unspoken element of the conversation was the acknowledgement that it wasn’t quite time yet. Joe’s injury still pinned him to a recovery schedule, and she had seen the way his jaw tightened whenever his teammates’ abysmal PFF grades flashed across the TV screen. There was a season to return to, or at least watch finish, before either of them could fall into something as permanent as rings and vows, no matter how many accidental slips of the tongue occurred in steamy bathrooms or in sleepy midnight whispers.
She wanted it, though. Badly. The confession tickled at the base of her throat, desperate to escape as she watched Joe’s eyes trace the slopes and curves of her face for perhaps the millionth time. Instead, she swallowed it down with another sip of wine, letting the crisp acidity give her something else to focus on.
“Wanna tell me about your day? Or should I just let you float here until you’re ready to get out?” Joe asked, nodding at the now empty wineglass balanced on the wooden tub caddy.
She let her fingers trail through the water before answering, the scent of lavender curling lazily around them. “It wasn’t too bad. No difficult patients. Just a ton of appointments back-to-back. Nothing I wasn’t prepared for.” She lifted her leg slightly, watching droplets slide down her calf. “I ate most of the salad I packed this morning, though. Which was nice.”
“Do you wanna define ‘most,’ for me? Because last time you said that, you brought back a half-eaten container of sad lettuce from the back of your fridge three days later,” Joe said, tilting his head with the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth.
She flicked water at him. “Okay, first of all, that was one time. And second, I ate all the cherry tomatoes and the avocado. That’s the expensive part.” She let her leg sink back beneath the water, sighing as the warmth curled around her skin again. “Camille brought me coffee, though. And I ate, like, an entire container of chocolate-covered peanut butter pretzels, plus two apples.”
Joe’s brows lifted. “Two apples? Are you trying to keep yourself away, or something? Because that’s one more apple than necessary, baby.”
She narrowed her eyes as she took in the wide smirk adorning his features, visibly pleased in his joke. “I should kick you out for that one,” she mused, though the effect was ruined by her own laughter bubbling up. “But then I’d lose my wine-fetcher, and we can’t have that.”
“I’ll risk it,” he shrugged, leaning forward to kiss her sweetly. “I got more where that came from.”
She laughed, catching his face between her hands before he could pull away completely, lingering long enough to taste the faint sourness of his afternoon kombucha and the mint gum he’d chewed afterward. The kiss deepened for a second, just long enough for Joe to make a low noise in the back of his throat, before she released him with a playful nip at his bottom lip.
“I know you do,” she whispered against his mouth. The words were warm, curling between them and closing them off from the rest of the world for just that moment.
[ . . . ]
OCTOBER.
When the fall started to settle in, changing the colors of the leaves, and blowing chilly wind that brought a crunch to the colored remnants on the ground, Joe always found himself waking earlier and earlier. 5:15 AM wake-up times shifted to 5 AM, then 4:55 AM, until he was consistently waking at 4:45 AM, long before her alarm went off around 7 AM. He liked to get some work in, a round of stretches to soothe the aches and pains scattered throughout his body, and to get his thoughts in order for the day ahead.
With the injury, however, Joe needed just a bit more time to get himself loosened up and moving, which meant waking at 4:30 AM. The first few mornings, she barely noticed, still cocooned in sleep, her arm sprawled across his empty side of the bed. She would wake right when he was collecting his things into his backpack, double-checking to make sure all the lights in the house were off before heading out. She would murmur something incoherent, blinking at him through the dim glow of the bedside lamp, and he would lean down to press a kiss to her forehead, whispering a request for her to shoot him a text when she woke up.
After about a week of this, she began waking up with him, bleary-eyed and yawning as she sat on a bench in their home gym, observing his stretches. She would follow him through his routine, both of them okay with the quiet comfort of mutual presence, broken only occasionally by a brief series or two of kisses before Joe would have to remind himself of the time.
That became their routine over the first month of Joe’s rehab process. Waking together, stealing whatever moments they could before he was out the door with a diet compliant breakfast in hand that would still be warm enough to eat once he got to Paycor. She would go back to bed, grab another hour and a half of sleep, and wake up with just enough time to feed Colby and pull herself together for work.
At a certain point, she stopped trying to go back to sleep after Joe left. Instead, she'd curl up on the couch with Colby purring in her lap, nursing a cup of tea while dawn crept through the windows. Not only did it help to make sure their sleep schedules aligned better, but she liked the peacefulness of those mornings. She liked the way the house smelled like freshly brewed tea and the faintest hint of Joe’s aftershave floating from the bathroom and lingering in the bedroom, dispersing into the hallway through the air vents. She liked the way that she could watch Joe’s little location circle drift closer and closer to the stadium, knowing exactly where he was on his way up to the city.
She’d started waiting until he arrived, with a simple text confirmation, before she’d go about her morning routine. Some mornings, he’d text her extra updates as she applied her light touches of makeup. Other mornings, he was a bit quieter, texting only when he had a milestone to update her on or a funny moment to share.
He was handling this injury better than she had anticipated, though she knew better than to say it out loud and potentially jinx it. Still, she noted the way he let his fingers linger on her hip when she passed him in the kitchen each morning now, the way he’d started humming under his breath while making his protein shakes again. Small signs of equilibrium returning much earlier than it did with his wrist injury. He wasn’t necessarily at his most joyful, there were still days that he brooded, but he wasn’t wallowing like she feared. Somedays, that was enough.
Though Joe was using his boot less, beginning to attend home games, and sit in on meetings, traveling with the team wasn’t an option for another few weeks of successful weight-bearing activity. She had expected him to bristle at the limitation, god knows he’d chafed under lesser restrictions before, but instead, he’d brought up the idea of holding a watch party. It was an opportunity for them to reconnect with friends they hadn’t seen properly since the preseason. She quickly agreed.
“Okay, where are we at?” Leo muttered, taking a step back from the fridge to cast his eyes over the spread of foods laid out across the marble countertop. She watched as Joe’s private chef, one of the few non-family members granted full access to their home, adjusted the sleeves of his black chef’s jacket before reaching for a small paring knife.
“Pulled pork is working in the slow cooker,” she said, tapping the lid of the appliance with her index finger. “Spinach dip’s chilling, charcuterie board’s half-assembled unless you veto my placement. The chips are in the pantry, just need to get them out, and the wings...” She paused, glancing at the oven timer. “Twelve more minutes.”
Leo nodded, popping a cube of aged cheddar into his mouth before pointing his knife at the untouched bag of slider buns. “You wanna toast these on the stove or leave them alone?”
“Oh, toast,” she said immediately, reaching for the bag. “Joe likes when the edges get crispy.” She ripped it open with her hands, ignoring Leo’s grimace, and dumped the buns onto a lined baking sheet. “I’ll spread some butter on these and pop them in with the wings for the last few minutes.”
Leo snorted, meticulously arranging prosciutto folds on the charcuterie board. “Are we toasting them on the stove or putting them in the oven? There’s a lot of contradictions happening today.”
“Can you focus on your fancy plating instead of what I have going on?” She laughed, grabbing the butter dish and a knife. The butter was room temperature, and hence, just soft enough for her to spread the yellow across the split buns, then arranging them into rows on the sheet tray.
Joe’s voice floated in from the living room, a muted conversation with Trae about where to park once everyone arrived. She glanced at the clock, still an hour before kickoff, but early arrivals were inevitable with the varying distances their friends were traveling to make it to their get-together.
He entered the kitchen, rapidly typing something into his phone before slipping it into his pocket. Before she could properly acknowledge his presence, Joe reached over her shoulder to steal a rogue slice of prosciutto from the board. Leo pointed to a small bowl on the opposite end of the counter. “We saved some of your favorites from the board.”
“Oh... hell yeah,” He popped another thinly sliced meat in his mouth, then returned to his spot behind his girlfriend who was buttering the last slider. “You good in here?”
“Yep,” she scraped the last of the butter on the final bun. “Just gonna slide these into the oven to finish toasting with the wings. I have buffalo, lemon pepper, and honey barbecue sauces lined up. Do you have a preference?”
Joe leaned his hip against the counter, fingers rubbing over her lower back. “If I toss ‘em, can we do a split of all the flavors?”
She cast him a glance, gently nudging him aside to slide the tray into the oven. “I can toss them,” she said, cleaning the butter off her hands. “Is the living room set up?”
“Yeah,” Joe waved a hand toward the doorway. “Leah said she’s running a little behind. Woke up late or something, but everyone else is on their way, if not already off the highway.”
Her brows furrowed with a small pout—Leah was almost hyper-punctual—but Joe just shrugged, nibbling on a cubed piece of cheese, hoping she would believe his nonchalance. “She said she was fine. Just didn’t hear her alarm.”
“Hmm,” she hummed, glancing at her phone, only to realize it was time to pull the refrigerated elements out to prep. She reached for the spinach dip, the cold glass bowl sending a shiver up her bare arms. “Let me know if she says anything else? I can save some food for her.”
Joe nodded, watching her fingers lift the cling wrap covering the dip. The dip itself was a carefully layered concoction: cream cheese at the base, sautéed spinach and garlic folded in, then topped with parmesan and mozzarella.
Just how late Leah arrived went completely unnoticed by his girlfriend who was kept busy catching up with their friends, watching the game, and replacing drinks when the liters of soda, juice, and beer ran low. Joe managed to sneak away, pressing a kiss to her temple, making up an excuse about Leah needing help carrying in something from her car that would take several trips without an extra set of hands.
Outside, Leah reached into her glove compartment, pulling out a small gift bag stuffed with tissue paper, and handed it to Joe with a barely contained grin.
“Is she suspicious, yet? I heard you keep slipping up and calling her your ‘wife’,” Leah whispered. Joe reached into the small bag, retrieving an elegant black velvet ring box. He hesitated before popping it open, exhaling sharply at the sight of the finished ring for the first time: a stunning 1.5 carat marquise diamond, flanked by smaller baguettes, nestled against a 14 karat gold band. It was exactly as he’d envisioned it so many times, strikingly elegant, refined, yet practical.
“She thinks you’re running late because you overslept,” Joe replied, snapping the box shut and slipping it into his jacket pocket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about with the ‘wife’ thing, though.”
Leah rolled her eyes so hard Joe felt his lips quirk into a smile. “Right. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Burrow.”
The late October air carried the scent of fallen leaves and distant Game Day barbecue smoke as Joe adjusted the ring box in his pocket, thinking it was heavier than he expected it to be. “Thank you for picking it up,” he said, offering a side hug to Leah before glancing toward the house. “Got a few ideas floating around for how I want to do it. The ring helps with the vision.”
Leah accepted the hug, adding, “Text me when you decide. The three of us are on standby for anything you might need to make this happen for her.” Joe nodded before following her back inside.
The living room buzzed with laughter and the sharp commentary of pre-game analysis. She was mid-sentence with Valeria, fingers curled around a beer bottle, her head tilted back in amusement when she heard Leah and Joe enter.
[ . . . ]
Joe had gotten in the habit of keeping the ring on him at all times for a couple of reasons.
One, because she had the unique ability to find things she wasn’t looking for. He had seen it on display a few times over the years. She’d uncovered headphones, old wallets, and missing chargers buried deep in places they shouldn’t have been, all while reaching for completely unrelated items.
Two, every single hiding spot he tried proved inadequate the moment she brought up reorganizing or cleaning that area. She had those moments every so often despite the fact that they retained a housekeeper who performed a deep clean once a week, sometimes twice if they were hosting friends or family.
Three, he liked the feeling of the ring box in his pockets. It was the weight of it and the routine of opening it to catch a peek whenever he peeled his pants off in the evenings before bed. He liked the responsibility that came with making sure it was tucked away, cycling between his sock drawer, the empty pocket in the bag he took with him to the facility, and his pant pockets—never staying in the same place for too long.
Things got a little tricky when they were heading out somewhere, requiring them to get dressed in the same vicinity, like today.
“What color are you wearing?” She called from their walk-in closet, dark-wash jeans sitting unbuttoned on her hips as she rummaged through her side for an appropriate top.
Ja’Marr and Tee were hosting a car show with the sales from tickets and signings from some of the Bengals players they tapped to attend going to a local coffeeshop that had been struggling since COVID. The event was intended to be casual, the crowd hoping to enjoy the last few days of clear, warm skies before the inevitable Cincinnati autumn chill set in.
“Monochrome gray,” Joe called out in response. He paused his movements, keeping an ear out to sense if she would be satisfied with that answer. When she didn’t respond, he quickly tucked the ring box into he front pocket of his jeans, thankful for the deep pockets that would keep it concealed against his thigh.
Seconds later, she emerged almost fully dressed. Her jeans were still unbuttoned though she was now wearing a scoop neck white tank top that revealed just a sliver of her midriff above the waistband of her jeans. One hand held both a pair of stilettoes and wedged sandals, the other, a simple gold necklace with a tiny, dangling gold charm in the letter ‘J’, and three different pairs of sunglasses.
Joe immediately reached for the accessories she was balancing in her hand, laying them out on the counter, freeing up her hands to show him the two shoe options she had picked out.
“Okay, heels or flats?” She asked, shifting her weight from one bare foot to the other.
“Um…” Joe hummed, pressing his lips into a line. “We’re probably gonna be there a while. As much as I like you in heels…” He trailed off, watching her smirk widen as he let his gaze drag down her legs. “I think the smarter choice is the sandals.”
“I didn’t hear anything after ‘I like you in heels,’” she teased, setting both pairs onto the floor, and stepping into the heels.
Joe laughed, leaning against the bathroom counter as she straightened up, adjusting the hem of her tank top against her jeans. “You’ll regret that in about three hours when you make me go grab your flats.”
“I want to look cute,” she countered, fastening the ‘J’ necklace around her neck with practiced fingers before selecting the tortoiseshell sunglasses. She tilted her chin up, deciding if she was satisfied with the look in the mirror. “People will have cameras out, taking pictures and videos from a million different angles.”
He reached for her waist, pulling her against him as she smoothed her hair into place. “You look stunning,” he murmured against her temple, his thumb brushing the exposed sliver of skin above her jeans. He hummed contentedly against her mouth when she finally turned her head and kissed him properly, slow and sweet, before pulling back to assess him with narrowed eyes.
“You have my lip combo on your face,” she remarked, swiping her thumb along the corner of Joe’s mouth where the color from her lips had transferred.
When she was done wiping his face, he tugged her closer again, inhaling the vanilla and bourbon scent of the various lotions, butters, oils, and fragrances lathered onto her skin. “We should stop for a snack on the way,” Joe murmured, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her hip bone where it peeked above her waistband.
She closed her eyes as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, pulling away only to grab the wedges on the counter and stuff them into her faux leather tote bag. “Do we have time? I thought the event starts at noon.”
Joe checked his phone, then pursed his lips. “We can get something on the way back. They’ll have food there, but it’s probably gonna be appetizer-type stuff.”
She didn’t hear what he was saying, she really couldn’t. Not when the hair that was overdue for a haircut fell so perfectly over his forehead. The golden brown strands really and truly seemed golden with the shine of natural light coming from the windows bouncing off the healthy strands fortified by the hair mask she convinced him to try a few days ago. It was often times like this that she wished she could freeze time. She wished she could live here, right here in this moment, for hours on end because although she saw this man every single day, there was always something so new in the way she saw him every day.
She reached out and cupped his face. He watched her pupils visibly dilate in real-time—something that still made him swallow hard—as her thumb traced the arch of his cheekbone.
“Did you hear me?” Joe murmured, wanting to smile and tease her for the clear distraction, but rendered unable to; completely caught up in the way she looked at him.
She blinked twice before shaking her head. “Do we have time to...”
She didn’t have to finish the thought, he knew where her mind had gone. Joe grinned before smoothing a hand over her waist and guiding her backward until her thighs bumped the edge of their bed. “We have ten minutes, maybe,” he murmured, catching the way her breath hitched as he slowly unbuttoned her jeans. His knuckles brushed the warm skin beneath, eliciting a shiver.
He knelt to his knees, pushing the hem of her white top up her torso, his lips trailing wet kisses down the center line of her abdomen while his fingers worked zipper of her jeans down. She moaned sharply when his teeth scraped the sensitive skin just below her navel, fingers tangling in his hair and tugged gently before catching herself and pulling away.
“Why’d you stop?” he hummed in the midst of pulling her pants down past her hips, taking her underwear down with it.
She exhaled through her nose and laughed breathlessly, pressing her palms flat over his warm, broad shoulders. “Because... ah—we said ten minutes,” she managed before his thumbs parted her folds to leave her swelling clit on display. She sighed, the muscles in her thighs contracting when he pressed a kiss to her sensitive nerves. “And you will absolutely lose track of time—Joe...” her breath seized before she could finish the thought as he flattened his tongue against her folds, circling slowly before easing two fingers inside her.
Joe groaned against her, the vibration making her knees buckle. “I know what I’m doing,” he murmured, pressing kisses up her inner thigh before returning his mouth to her center, sliding his fingers deeper, curling them just right. She arched off the bed with a gasp, gripping the sheets beside her hips—too aware of how quickly she was unraveling beneath him.
“I know you do,” she gasped, hips jerking against his mouth as his fingers curled perfectly inside her again. Joe licked a slow, deliberate stripe up her folds before sucking her clit into his mouth, and her thighs clamped around his head involuntarily. “Just don’t you want… shit… to show up with sex hair.”
Joe pulled back just enough to chuckle against her damp skin, his stubble grazing her inner thigh. “You can fix my hair in the car. Tug on it,” he kissed the soft mound covering her clit, “go ahead, baby.”
She whimpered, twisting her fingers into his hair again, harder this time, as his tongue circled relentlessly. She could feel his smug grin when her thighs trembled, her orgasm cresting faster than she’d expected. Her free hand fumbled blindly for purchase on the rumpled duvet, her moans dissolving into breathless, fragmented curses as he shook his head from side to side. The very tip of his nose nudged against her clit while his fingers worked deeper, the pads of his fingers bumping the most sensitive part inside of her with each thrust forward.
Joe groaned a rough, satisfied sound when her hips jerked off the bed, her thighs clamping around his ears as she came. He didn’t let up, dragging out every last shudder with slow, open-mouthed kisses along her inner thighs while she gasped for air. By the time he finally pulled away, licking his lips and swiping his thumb across his nose to check the magnitude of her arousal, she was a wreck, sprawled bonelessly against the now unmade bed, her nipples pebbling beneath the thin silk bra under her top.
“How long was that? Has to be a new record,” Joe spoke, still wiping her slick from his face, dragging the pad of his thumb teasingly over his bottom lip before chuckling when she kicked weakly at his shoulder. He caught her ankle and pressed a kiss to the inside of her heel before rising off his knees, retrieving a damp washcloth from their en suite bathroom to clean her up.
“Four minutes, by the way.” Joe smirked, tossing the used washcloth into the hamper before adjusting himself in his jeans, watching her struggle to sit up on jelly-like arms. “I did less than three in Aspen, so not a record. But close.”
She shook her head in mock disapproval but didn’t mask the smile on her lips while she watched him ease her underwear and jeans back over her hips. “I probably have to do something about my makeup. And your hair is fucked.”
Joe smoothed his fingers through his strands, deliberately mussing them further before leaning down to kiss her. She tasted her own sweetness on his tongue, warm and familiar, and sighed into his mouth when his thumb traced the hinge of her jaw. “Worth it,” he murmured against her lips, pulling away just far enough to bump his nose against hers before helping her stand.
She wobbled slightly, gripping his forearm for balance as she stepped into her discarded heels. “Did you want something, too?” she asked. Her hands smoothed over his forearms as they wrapped around her, the two of them hobbling together toward the bathroom mirror.
“If you’re referring to my dick being hard right now,” his voice was muffled against her skin from the kisses he was intent on distributing across her shoulder, “it’s fine. We’ll deal with it later.” His hands splayed low on her hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there once they arrived in front of the mirror. “You’re not walking straight, though.”
She pushed at his hands with a choked laugh, muttering he needed to worry about his hair. Her mascara had smudged faintly at the corners, her lips were kiss-swollen, and her bra straps had twisted during their brief tangle with the sheets. Worse still, Joe stood behind her with barely-tamed hair and an unmistakable tent in his jeans, his smug expression reflected in the glass.
They worked in soft silence, both aware of the ticking time. She reapplied her lip combo and mascara, dusted concealer and setting powder over a small new layer of blush, while Joe wet his fingers beneath the faucet and attempted to tame his hair. She reached for a tall cylindrical can of the setting spray she didn’t use very often, but given the circumstances, she figured it couldn’t hurt.
Joe turned his head just in time to see the can and the straight, yet odd, expression of her face as she sprayed the mist over her face. His eyebrows pinched together. “What is that?”
“Setting spray.”
Joe watched her fan herself with a dubious expression. “Never seen you use that before.”
“Usually, this powder,” she pointed to the small pot on the counter, “is pretty good on it’s own. But, I don’t want to look insane when we get there,” she huffed, tapping the wand of her mascara against the sink edge before reapplying one final coat. “And I figured, given…” She gestured vaguely toward the bed, where the duvet was still crumpled at the footboard. Joe grinned, unrepentant. “I should make sure it really stays in place.”
He leaned over her shoulder to inspect the canister, squinting at the label, muttering the brand name to himself. He needed to file this information for later. But for now, he reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. “Ready?”
She hummed, twisting in his arms to adjust his collar, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders while he watched her with quiet admiration. His lips twitched when she hesitated, her fingers lingering just a beat too long, before stepping back, satisfied with her work. “Where’s Colby? Haven’t seen him in a minute.”
Joe reached to turn off the bathroom light, shrugging, “His feeder is supposed to go off in a couple minutes. He’ll come out from wherever he is for that.”
[ . . . ]
The event itself was bigger than she was under the impression it would be. When Tee explained to her over text what he was in the process of planning, the word “chill” had been used very liberally. Five times, in fact. She hadn’t anticipated the sea of bodies, fans stretching across the parking lot, pressed up against velvet ropes where Bengals players stood behind signing helmets and jerseys and posters handed to them by security. She hadn’t anticipated the drone overhead, nor the makeshift stage with a decorative balloon arch in orange and black with an equally decorative backdrop with sponsors listed in neat fonts.
“There’s a lot of fuckin’ people here,” Joe muttered under his breath. One hand steered the car, following the directions of volunteers waving orange glow sticks, while the other settled high on her thigh, fingers flexing absently against the seam of her jeans. She laced her fingers through his, playing with the digits.
“Tee said ‘chill,’ a lot,” she laughed, leaning into him as they crawled forward. “Maybe we should’ve asked for numbers.
Joe scoffed.
Her eyes shifted over, sensing the energy in that scoff was not one of flippant disbelief but of anxious distraction. His thumb traced slow circles along the back of her hand, his jaw tight.
The ring box pressed against his thigh from inside his pocket. Somewhere in the hangar ahead there was a line of cars where players were exiting in front of fans and being ushered to the green room or to sign autographs. There was a lot happening and he could feel her studying the side of his face as he swallowed.
She squeezed his hand, her thumb brushing the edge of his knuckles where tension coiled tight. “Hey,” she called out softly. “What was that? Talk to me.”
Joe bit the inside of his cheek. “Just—crowds,” he admitted, though not entirely. “Feels like everybody’s got cameras out.” He sucked in a breath. “They haven’t seen the boot up close.”
She hummed, understanding the weight of his words, not just the physical discomfort of his injury, but the vulnerability of being scrutinized while recovering. “Joe,” she murmured, lifting their entwined hands to press her lips against his knuckles. “All of these people are gonna be too busy drooling over your car—or you—to notice the boot.”
“You’re the only one I want to be drooling over me,” he countered weakly, glancing at her.
“Well, join the club, Joseph. I gave up on that wish four years ago,” she huffed lightly, reaching for a makeup wipe in her tote to clean the smudge from her lips left on the back of his hand.
A volunteer tapped Joe’s window, signaling him to roll it down. Greetings were exchanged before the tall, mustached man gave them a quick rundown of the event’s itinerary—signings with fans first followed by the charity auction. Joe nodded along, fingers tightening around her hand as she absentmindedly rubbed circles into his wrist. The moment the volunteer stepped away, and they rolled forward again, leaving them behind a car she vaguely recognized to be Amarius Mims’.
“What are we doing when we get out?” he asked, flipping his eyes towards her. “Holding hands? Arm around your waist?”
“Whatever you want.” she responded, adding, “Can I expect making out in public next, or will it just be casual handholding for the next few weeks?”
Joe smiled, genuinely. “Depends on how much you distract me.” His voice dipped lower, rough with something private. “If you keep wearing that new perfume, we might have a problem on our hands.”
She laughed, clicking her seatbelt when they finally came to a stop. Joe exited first while she gave her makeup one last check in the visor mirror, collected her belongings, and watched him round the front of the car—boot and all—with the careful swagger she knew he really couldn’t help but exude. He opened her door, offering his hand. She took it, squeezing tight as she stepped into the October chill, his other hand instinctively finding her waist to steady her.
He shut the door behind her, then his hand dropped from her waist to tangle his fingers with hers. She glanced down at their entwined hands, noting the way his grip tightened, like he was anchoring himself to her before facing the crowd. Cameras filmed their approach, voices called out his name as volunteers ushered them toward the green room. Joe’s limp was nonexistent at this point in his rehab process—he had an appointment to evaluate if he was okay to shed the boot—but he still measured his steps to stay in stride with her, considering her sore hips and thighs, and the heels she was wearing.
Both of them flipped their sunglasses down their noses simultaneously as they walked toward the entrance. She leaned into Joe’s side while making a comment about the DJ’s questionable song choice. The scent of charcoal-grilled burgers and car polish mingled oddly in the air as they slipped past the velvet ropes into the dimmer, cooler interior of the hangar.
Inside the green room, they were greeted by other members of the Bengals: Ja’Marr, Tee, and Mims stood over the meatball platter while Trey, Orlando, and Ted clustered around the mini fridge. A few partners lingered on couches, the only one she knew much of anything about was Deja who flagged her over to where she sat alone.
Joe squeezed her hand once before tipping his head toward where Tee stood. “I’ll be over there until they pull us for signings.”
She nodded, releasing his fingers as she glided toward Deja’s couch.
Joe shuffled across the room, dapping each member of his team before he finally reached Tee. A firm backslap, then Tee immediately leaned in, his chin tucked low, as Joe feigned coughing into his fist. “It’s in my pocket,” Joe muttered under his breath, eyes darting toward his girlfriend who was now laughing at something Deja said while they chose from a selection of non-alcoholic drinks.
Tee grinned, nodding subtly. “You really carrying that thing around like some loose change?” he teased, grabbing a meatball skewer. “Wait—let me see.” Joe hesitated, glancing around before slipping his hand into his pocket. He turned so his back hid what he was doing to the rest of the room and angled the ring box just enough for Tee to glimpse the velvet edge.
“Damn,” Tee breathed, shaking his head. “Oh, I ain’t seen it yet, you got a picture?” Joe nodded, pulling out his phone, swiping to a photo Leah had sent. The ring glittered against black velvet, the diamond catching the light above the clean golden edge of the band supporting the halo of smaller gems.
Tee whooped under his breath, shaking his head again, pressing a fist to his mouth to stifle the sound. “Goddamn,” he repeated, eyes flicking toward his girlfriend now assembling a plate of snacks. “You killed that shit, boy. That’s a nice ass ring.”
Joe laughed, reciprocating the dap Tee offered. “Don’t blow my cover up,” he warned, sliding his phone back into his pocket.
Tee smirked, popping another meatball into his mouth. “You think she suspects anything?”
“If she does, I haven’t noticed,” Joe muttered, watching her balance a plate in one hand while gesturing animatedly with the other, mid-story. “She’s been distracted with work, my rehab. Plus…” He hesitated, lowering his voice further. “…she probably thinks I’d wait till after the season.”
Tee agreed. “Fuck that. You got her sister pulling international espionage shit flying in from London. This ain’t no ‘wait till summer’ proposal.”
Through the glass doors, he could see event staff assembling autograph tables, shuffling Sharpies into neat rows while photographers tested lighting rigs. Joe exhaled through his nose before turning his attention back to Tee. "Gotta get out of this fucking boot first.”
Tee rolled his eyes. “Man, she don’t care about a boot.” He gestured toward her with his skewer. “It’s not like she’s gonna say ‘no’.”
Joe’s thumb traced the edge of the ring box still tucked in his pocket. “Yeah, I know. Still.” He shrugged. “Just wanna do it right.”
Before the conversation could switch topics, an attendant ducked into the green room, announcing signings were due to begin. Joe caught her eye across the space, and broke off from the group, brushing past her with a hand across her lower back, leaning in to murmur, “I’ll be back the minute they set me free,” before vanishing through the doorway.
Deja grinned knowingly beside her, nudging the woman’s knee with hers. “I don’t know what you did to him, but he has separation anxiety, bad.”
She laughed, twirling a celery stick in spinach dip. “I like him that way.” She watched Joe’s broad shoulders disappear into the hallway, chatting with Orlando and Ted.
Summary: You find yourself in a pickle when you accidentally toss Rafe's stash.
warnings: DUB-CON, slightly toxic relationship, voyeurism (or some form of it), Rafe is mean but what else is new, dumb!reader, bimbo!reader, kook!reader
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @firefly-graphics
⭑
You picked at the omelet Sarah made you, stuffing the scrambled egg into your mouth as she ranted about your boyfriend.
“...and then he has the nerve to actually be peeved at our dad like he’s not in the wrong,” she scoffed. “He asked you to do something important, you told him you would, and then you didn’t. It’s not hard math.”
She roughly dumped the skillet into the sink, shaking her head as she turned back around.
“You know what it is…?”
You stared at her as she angrily stabbed into her own omelet.
“I bet you anything he spent the money on booger sugar instead.”
You blinked at her at that and after a few moments she finally lifted her head. Your gazes met as you evenly stared at her, and with a small sigh, she touched your hand. A small smile was on her lips.
“Cocaine.”
“Ah,” you softly replied, nodding.
You weren’t exactly a fan of Rafe’s…habits, but you also saw firsthand how mad Ward could get with him sometimes. Rose too, and when Rafe explained to you one day that the drugs helped to clear his head and prevent him from doing things he’d regret, you became a little more understanding. You supposed that it did help you a bit to see firsthand that he was able to still behave pretty okay whenever he was high, sometimes watching with a slight frown as he snorted the powdery substance off of his hand.
“That doesn’t hurt?” you’d asked him one day.
His only response had been a wolfish grin as he asked you if you wanted some. He’d only laughed to himself before kissing you when you shook your head. You’d never given it much thought—the idea of partaking in that particular hobby of his—but Sarah had done a good job of scaring you away from the idea of ever trying it. Sometimes you swore that Rafe secretly didn’t want you trying it either despite his jokes. That’d been the only time he’d ever offered even though you’d witnessed him with the white substance on many occasions, especially in the privacy of his bedroom.
It was with that thought that your lips parted, something going off in the back of your mind.
“Cocaine is white…right?”
You knew that, but you needed confirmation from someone who wasn’t you. You were starting to second guess what you knew to be true in the hopes that it wasn’t true. In the hopes that you were just having a dumb moment—something Rafe often said— that was different from the dumb moment you were positive you’d had earlier. Sarah gave you a strange look before giving a slow yes, the word dragging out of her mouth.
Your heart skipped a beat.
“...and…kind of like powder?”
Again, her answer remained the same.
“Yes.”
“Oh God.”
You felt her eyes on you as you hurriedly stood up, feet tripping over each other as you rushed to the big garbage in the kitchen. Your heart dropped at the sight of a brand new bag in it, bringing your hand up to your mouth before facing Sarah again.
A ball of dread filled your gut.
“Rose already took the garbage out?”
Sarah’s frown deepened.
“Yeah–Y/N, what is going on, right now?”
“Oh my God, Rafe is going to kill me,” you whined.
“Why–? Hey! Hey, what’s going on?”
She was standing with you, now, her hands on your arms as she forced you to remain still. You heaved a shaky sigh, glancing up towards the ceiling as it was starting to sink in that you fucked up. Again.
“I was straightening up Rafe’s room this morning… You know, putting things away and getting rid of trash,” you softly started, shrinking in on yourself.
Sarah eventually blinked before rolling her eyes.
“I’m not even going to get into that, right now, but okay…”
She urged you to continue.
“I was just tossing away junk…and there was a bag by his lamp, not very big, and there was like…white powder in it…”
Sarah straightened up when you trailed off, lips parting as she seemed to understand what you did before you even said it.
“I didn’t realize what it was!” you rushed to say, explaining yourself. “It didn’t really click at the time and then you started talking about booger sugar and I had it on my mind and…”
You huffed, rubbing your forehead.
“Rafe is going to be so pissed,” you mumbled.
“Who cares? Serves him right, if you ask me,” the blonde shrugged, sitting back down to finish her breakfast.
“Sarah! It helps him,” you defended.
The laugh she barked made you frown.
“Is that what he told you?” she stuffed her face. “It only ‘helps’ him because he’s so goddamn addicted to it. It helps him like tequila helps an alcoholic.”
She didn’t seem concerned in the slightest, and you crossed your arms over your chest.
“So, you’re not going to help me replace it?”
“Uh…that would be a no, and that should go for you too,” she threw you a frown. “God forbid he forgoes the hard drugs for a day or two. Let him be pissed.”
With a frustrated huff, you turned away from her, ignoring her as she told you to just forget about it.
This wasn’t the first time you’d accidentally thrown something out that Rafe needed, only this time was the first time you hadn’t been able to get it back, and you recalled him talking about how expensive it was once. You grimaced at the thought of how much you’d have to pay to replace what you’d thrown out, but it was better than the alternative.
While you were positive Rafe loved you just the way you were, you also didn’t think he’d prefer to deal with your screw ups all the time if he didn’t have to. You frustrated him, that was no secret, and while that frustration never seemed to last for long, you knew that it couldn’t be easy to have you as a girlfriend. You didn’t like to remind him of that.
“Stupid, stupid” you mumbled to yourself as you grabbed your purse, lightly hitting the side of your head.
“Hi! Barry…?”
The dark-haired guy wasn’t alone, and the way he turned his head towards you told you that you had the right guy. Topper had given you a few spots as to where he might be—albeit reluctantly—and you were grateful that you’d only had to go to two locations to find him. Feeling so relieved that you found him—and that Rafe wasn’t going to kill you—you hurried towards him.
He looked at you like you were crazy.
“Oh, thank God,” you sighed. “You sell cocaine to Rafe, right?”
His reaction wasn’t what you expected, at all, the other guy quickly sporting a frown and harshly telling you to ‘shut the fuck up’. You blinked in shock, only able to follow along as he roughly grabbed your arm and pulled you away from the guys he was with. You struggled to keep up—stumbling a bit—and when he felt satisfied enough with the distance to let you go, you almost fell.
“Ayo, are you stupid or something?” he asked you, his fingers pressed to his temple. “You can’t just ask me that, and especially not in front of whoever I’m with.”
Your eyes were wide as he snapped at you, and you deflated a bit, swallowing.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t…”
It didn’t occur to you to be discreet about it, and now that it had been pointed out to you, you felt silly.
“What, you wanna buy or something?” he threw his arms out.
You nodded at that, perking up a bit.
“Yes, please. Whatever you normally sell to Rafe…”
Barry paused at the mention of your boyfriend, eyeing you for a moment before his face evened out entirely. A soft chuckle left his lips as he shook his head. The soft chuckle turned into a full blown laugh, and you felt awkward as you waited for him to finish.
“You’re with Country Club,” he finally said, pointing to you. “You’re his girl…”
You pressed your lips together, head tilting a bit in confusion.
“Rafe,” he gently told you, leaning in, his gold tooth winking at you.
“Oh! Yes,” you excitedly confirmed. “He told you about me?”
The thought made your stomach flutter.
“Oh, yeah,” he dragged the word out, smile crooked. “He’s told me all about you.”
Your smile widened, and he only shook his head again.
“Now…Rafe said you didn’t do drugs,” Barry said, his voice much gentler now as he took your arm and led you away.
“I don’t. It’s not for me, it’s for Rafe…”
“...but I just sold to Rafe. Not even three days ago. You’re tellin’ me he went through all of that already?”
You grew quiet at that, and you glanced away. At the feel of his eyes on you, you met Barry’s gaze again, teeth sinking into your lip.
“Something you wanna tell me?” he softly asked you, leaning in again.
“I accidentally threw it out…”
He seemed to find that hilarious, letting out a laugh that made you jump.
“I was cleaning Rafe’s room,” you started, feeling embarrassed. “...and…”
The dark-haired man wouldn’t stop laughing, and you felt your face heat up.
“Stop! It’s not funny,” you whined. “Rafe is going to be so pissed at me, and I’m trying to replace it before he notices.”
At that, Barry calmed down a bit, but the odd chuckle still climbed you of his throat every time he glanced at you.
“Well, isn’t that sweet,” he commented. “Alright…”
You blinked at him.
“I’ll sell you what I normally sell him, and you know what?” he hummed, thinking.
“What?”
“Since you’re so sweet, and you’re just trying to be a good girlfriend, I’ll sell it to you for a discounted price.”
“Oh!”
Your mood lifted at that.
“Really? Thank you! So, where is it?”
Barry paused at that before chuckling again, and truthfully you didn’t understand why. You weren’t saying anything particularly funny, but you allowed him to lead you along as he neared a black bike.
“See, I keep the uh…cocaine,” he lowered his voice. “...back at my place.”
“Oh,” you softly replied, nodding because that made sense.
“...and you walked here. So uh we’ll have to go on my bike,” he told you, gesturing to the vehicle.
Now, it was your turn to pause, eyeing it as you both stood by it. There didn’t seem like much room for you to ride on it, not unless of course you were plastered to him on the back. You chewed on your lip, weighing it over in your head.
Rafe wouldn’t be happy about this, at all. Your boyfriend practically lost his mind any time another guy so much as glanced at you, so you didn’t want to imagine how he’d feel about you riding on the back of some other guy’s bike. On the other hand though, you wondered what would upset him more? The coke or the bike? Not to mention…
You wouldn’t have a ride back.
You’d likely have to let Barry drive you back to this side of the island, and you sighed in frustration.
“What’s wrong, Mrs. Country Club?” he sweetly asked.
You ignored the nickname.
“How am I supposed to get back…?”
Barry softly laughed at you before climbing on his bike, seemingly sure that you’d be tagging along. You watched him grab the helmet before handing it to you, and you hesitantly took it. When Barry smiled at you, the sun glinted off of the gold on his tooth.
“Don’t worry,” he told you. “I’ll make sure you get a ride back.”
His response seemed genuine, and so you allowed him to slide the helmet over your head, tilting it back to let him secure it. You struggled to push the skirt of your dress between your thighs as you comfortably settled behind him, obeying when he told you to wrap your arms around him. It was only when he was pulling off that it occurred to you that you’d never even ridden on the back of Rafe’s bike like this.
Barry’s house…wasn’t what you expected.
As you sat on the couch in his living room, you looked around the limited space with wide eyes. He’d disappeared into a room somewhere in the back almost immediately the moment you both stepped through the door, telling you to take a seat as he left. You did as he said, and the couch was where you’d been for the past thirty minutes or so.
This process was completely unfamiliar to you, but you told yourself to be patient. You liked to think that Rafe wasn’t home yet and that you still had time to replace his drugs before he noticed. If your boyfriend had noticed, there was no doubt in your mind that he’d currently be blowing up your phone. Speaking of, you glanced at said device again, frowning at the time and wondering what was taking so long.
Just as you were about to call Barry’s name, he finally rejoined you.
“I was starting to think you fell in,” you teased.
He didn’t smile, merely raising one dark brow at you, and you sheepishly chuckled.
“It’s a joke my father says, sometimes…”
You trailed off, shaking your head.
“Is it ready?”
You hoped you didn’t sound as frantic and as desperate as you felt, but you really wanted to get back before Rafe noticed.
“Yeah,” Barry drawled, a crooked smile on his lips as he held the bag up.
You started to stand, but he held a hand out, signaling for you to stay, and you frowned.
“How much do I owe you?”
You watched as he merely sat down across from you, and your frown deepened just as you heard a vehicle outside. You thought nothing of it, instead focused on Barry as he tilted his head from side to side. The dark-haired man hummed to himself.
“I haven’t decided just yet,” he grinned, spreading his arms along the back of the chair. “I’m waiting on a second opinion.”
His answer confused you, and you blinked a few times, trying to decipher what that meant when his front door opened. You didn’t realize he was expecting someone else, but when you turned your head, your eyes widened and your stomach dropped.
“Rafe…?”
Your boyfriend didn’t say a word as he shut the door behind him, and you didn’t need to be a genius to see that he wasn’t happy. Your lips parted, mouth opening and closing as you struggled to understand why he was here, right now. Had he noticed that his drugs were gone and was currently here to buy more? Was this merely an unfortunate coincidence?
“Country club!”
You jumped at Barry’s loud voice, never taking your eyes off of your boyfriend. He kept his hard gaze on you too.
“Glad you could make it—nice girlfriend you got here. She’s a sweetheart, man. I mean, really, she went through all this effort to fix her fuckup,” he said, making you frown. “I almost felt bad calling you.”
At that, you finally looked away from Rafe, spinning around to face Barry, gaze accusatory.
“You called him?” you almost yelled.
“Yes, he did.”
You looked down at the sound of Rafe’s voice, your boyfriend finally speaking to you.
“Get up,” he sneered, nearing you, and you made a noise when he pulled you to your feet.
“Rafe…”
“Inside.”
He forced you back into the very room Barry had disappeared into, surprised to find that it was his bedroom. You didn’t get a chance to look around.
“Are you insane?” Rafe snapped, forcing you to face him with a tight grip on your arm. “Going to Barry? Letting him take you to his house? Alone?”
“He’s your friend,” you mumbled.
You watched Rafe’s nostrils flare.
“He’s not…”
Your boyfriend huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Barry and I aren’t exactly friends,” he said to you. “There’s mutual bullshit between us that makes this transactional relationship work, but he’s not my friend and even if he was, you knew better.”
You threw your arm out.
“I was trying to…”
“I know what you were trying to do,” Rafe cut you off. “Barry told me everything. So I ask once again, are you fucking insane?”
“I didn’t want you to be mad at me,” you defended yourself.
Rafe ran his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. He chuckled to himself before leaning in, his nose brushing yours.
“Well, good job, baby because I’m not mad,” he quietly told you. “I’m fucking furious.”
“Rafe–!”
“You throw away my shit and then in an effort to replace it, you ride on the back of some guy’s bike alone to his house!”
“Well, how else was I supposed to get here?”
“Don’t come here,” he bit out at you, hitting his hands together. “How is that not obvious to you? Anything could’ve happened.”
“I figured you knew him so it was okay…”
Your words died in the air as soon as Rafe started to shake his head.
“I don’t care if it was Topper or Kelce, you know better,” Rafe spat. “So, now not only am I pissed about the drugs, but I’m pissed about this too.”
You felt your throat tighten, and with one look at your eyes, Rafe rolled his own.
“No, no, don’t give me that bullshit…”
“I was trying to fix it!”
Silence stretched between you as you sniffed, looking away from Rafe as you wiped your face. You leaned against the door, staring at the wall as he stared at you. Neither one of you spoke for what felt like a while, and you hesitantly looked at your boyfriend again.
You figured you had a long night ahead of you, but the situation with Rafe’s coke seemed more pressing, and you accepted that you couldn’t make Rafe not mad about this.
“So…what now?” you quietly asked. “How much is he making you pay to replace it?”
Rafe didn’t respond right away, and you felt confused as he moved to sit down on Barry’s bed before reaching out to you. Despite the fact that he was frustrated with you and you were frustrated with him, you went to him, taking his hand. When he pulled you closer, there was a gleam in his eye that you didn’t quite recognize.
“Barry feels bad for you,” Rafe murmured, dragging his eyes over your frame. “To be honest… I think he’s got a bit of a hard-on for you.”
You felt your face heat up at Rafe’s crass language, feeling like you should be used to it.
“Okay,” you dragged the word out. “So how much is he charging…?”
Again, Rafe didn’t answer the question, choosing instead to pull you between his parted knees. You blinked when he slowly reached under your dress, his fingers grazing your thigh as he pressed his lips to your stomach through the fabric. You were slow to catch onto a lot of things, but never when Rafe wanted to get your clothes off of you.
“Rafe…what are you…?”
“You were just trying to fix your fuckup,” he whispered. “I know that, baby…”
He roughly cupped you, making you gasp as he forced you into his lap.
“...but you still have to make it up to me.”
Your lips parted in a silent gasp as he kissed along your throat, worriedly looking at the door.
“Rafe, we can’t! This isn’t–.”
“Don’t worry about it,” was all he said to you, pulling you into a rough kiss.
His 180 gave you whiplash, and every time you tried to remind him that he was in someone else’s room—someone else’s house with said person right outside of the door—he didn’t care. You always said that Rafe was a hard person to say no to, and you really did try. After all, you didn’t feel right about this, at all, but all of your doubts completely disappeared the moment he had you pinned on top of his face.
Your hands pressed against Barry’s wall as Rafe swiped his tongue between your folds, struggling and failing to remain quiet. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear that Rafe was trying to make you scream. Every time you tried to get off of him, he only tightened his hold and sucked on you harder. It made you gasp and whimper on top of him, squirming with every swipe of his tongue.
“Rafe,” you sighed, feeling no sense of relief when he let you go.
Your chest was heaving and you were fighting to catch your breath when he wrapped his hands around your ankles, yanking you towards him and pushing your knees back. With his own thighs pressed to the backs of yours, you were trapped as he released himself, stroking his cock a few times and rubbing it against you.
“Let me hear you,” he gruffly told you just before sliding his cock past your folds.
You couldn’t hold in your sharp gasp at the intrusion, no longer caring about whose bed or house you were in. Rafe didn’t waste any time, picking up a steady pace and pushing his cock into you to the hilt over and over. You reached up to press your hands against his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself.
Despite what you wanted, choked moans and soft gasps started to escape your lips. The sounds of them seemed to egg Rafe on, his thrusts growing rougher. Every curve of his hips against yours created static in your brain, and you couldn’t stop mewling beneath him.
“Rafe…oh my God,” you breathed, throwing your head back.
“That’s it,” he whispered from above you.
The unfamiliar bed jostled beneath his movements, and you bit your lip in an effort to stifle the noises climbing out of your throat, but Rafe only fucked you harder at that, making it nearly impossible.
“Rafe, please,” you brokenly gasped. “I’m trying… I’m trying to be…”
“...but I don’t want you to be,” he purred, leaning in and kissing the corner of your mouth. “You know I like it when you get loud.”
You did know that, but you also knew that this wasn’t your house and you were not alone. That didn’t seem to bother Rafe a bit though, and you long decided not to let it bother you when Rafe eventually had you on your hands and knees. One of your hands was pressed into the wall in front of you while the other twisted into the sheets, unintelligible sounds leaving you.
One of Rafe’s hands was pressed into the small of your back while the other was tight around your throat. Your underwear had long been yanked off and thrown somewhere, Rafe’s skin slapping against yours as he pressed kisses to your cheek and jaw.
“I’m not mad anymore,” he whispered against your skin. “...but you can’t trust everyone I trust. You understand?”
“Uh huh,” you breathed, eyes rolling.
“...and stop touching shit in my room.”
“Okay,” you whined, toes curling.
“...but this was really sweet of you…even if it did piss me off…”
“I’m sorry,” you moaned.
“I know, baby,” Rafe breathed, stretching you out around his cock.
When you came around him, you couldn’t stop moaning and whimpering—something Rafe encouraged—and you felt completely worn out when he finally pulled out of you.
The embarrassment didn’t start to set in until a few moments later, and you sat up with wide eyes. Rafe was already coming to you with your underwear, and you didn’t know what to say as he dropped to his knees and slid them up your legs for you.
“Rafe… Barry, he… Oh God,” you sighed, pressing your hands to your face.
Rafe only chuckled before grabbing said hands, pulling them away from your face and you to your feet.
“Barry’s not going to care. Trust me,” he said, leading you to the door.
“How do you know?” you wondered.
Your boyfriend’s only response was a haughty chuckle, and when you exited the room, Barry looked as calm as ever, still in the same spot.
“You two lovebirds make up?” he wondered, a grin on his lips as he eyed you both.
You avoided his gaze, face feeling so hot.
“We’re good?”
You watched as Rafe held his hand out, Barry dropping the bag of coke in it.
“Yeah, Country Club, we’re alright…”
When Rafe started to walk you out, you frowned.
“Wait, but you didn’t pay him…”
Rafe leaned in, his lips brushing your ear.
“Don’t worry about it.”
You didn’t understand, but you didn’t get a chance to think on it more, Barry telling you goodbye from the door.
“Bye, Mrs. Country Club!”
Not wanting to be rude, you peeked around Rafe’s arm.
“Bye, Barry!”
“Pleasure doing business with y’all…!”
Rafe was forcing you into his truck before you could respond to that, tossing you the coke you went through so much trouble for.
summary: in which alfie has well established he is a taken man since the start.
pairing: ab x reader
notes: basically alfie talking about his girlfriend for 10 minutes! ofc imagine him to be speaking in these clips during shoots on set or during podcasts in the middle of convos! i hope you guys enjoy, it was cute coming up with ideas! pls like and reblog, let me know what your fav part was! share your thoughts! it means the most!! lots of love!! <33
PART OF YOU DIDN’T WANT TO CLICK on the video . . part of you had a dreaded gut feeling that you would cringe hard at whatever this content contained and the length of it put you off further - it was over 10 minutes long - that was more than enough time for your boyfriend to expose all the weird shit you got up to.
▶︎ AB talking about his relationship for 10 minutes straight | 10:55
on the other hand – you wanted to know every single detail this gimp was saying about you.
“—fuckin’ chica and pablo come bargin’ in my room, barking like the fuckin’ feds to mumsy like ‘they’re in here! they bumping bits in here, girl!”
ok.
so maybe you were better leaving it untouched.
chip was too busy trying to breathe through his laughter while calfreezy gasped next to him, “no way, the dogs do you dirty like that! you don’t still live at home, do you?”
“no, no, this was just before i got the grotto. probably the last time before i had enough, not gone back since,” he grinned as the others proceeded to laugh. “final straw. slammed the deposit down on the table after that.”
“man, i can’t imagine the struggle having y’gal over when you’re still living at home,” chip chuckled as freezy took a laughing fit this time. “we been lucky that way, we moved out real young.”
“until you move out, you don’t realise how mad it is but,” alfie shrugged, “what ya gonna do. i think back to times and get goosebumps i’m like was i possessed or something when i was tryna slip it in n’ the MIL strutting about the landin’, tryna get the washing done.” he watched the other two laugh wildly at his diabolical confession. “true story that.”
“bro,” cal chuckled greatly, fanning himself with his card, “red card! red card.”
ok yeah, this was definitely not what you were expecting 10 seconds in.
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“so what is your situation? do you have a girlfriend? a situationship? single?”
“no, i got a girl,” he confirmed.
“you have a girl?”
he nodded, “yeah,” scrambling for his phone, he sat comfy on the couch of his first proper podcast appearance. he clicked the lockscreen button and all three pairs of eyes glancing to the mesmerising photo of the bikini-clad girl sat at a table opposite AB. you actually hated the photo, slouched in the plastic chair whilst waiting for your food to come after spending almost 2 hours in the pools at the waterpark, hair drenched from the slides and your boyfriend throwing you under water, you looked like a hot mess in your opinion.
all alfie saw across from him was some tanned, busty model sprinkled in water droplets looking ljke something straight out of a porno mag.
of course, when you kicked off at the sight of it, he said it was ‘lovely!’
“that’s your girl?”
“yeah.”
“do the people know you got a girl?”
“i think so. i mean i don’t hide it. if i bring her up, i bring her up, i don’t try to avoid it or whatnot. i think that makes a bigger deal than what it is. she’s not been in my vids or anything but i’ll talk about her. if she is it’s no longer than a minute or such,” he gave a quick swipe through the other wallpapers on his phone that rotated every hour, showcasing your beauty with cute smiles and gorgeous outfits and the odd one with him in it. he put his phone back in his pocket. “yeah.”
“wow. how long you been together?”
“uhh, coming up three years this year.”
“oh no way!”
“yeah.”
“how’d you guys meet?”
“uh, basically went through school together,” he bounced his leg over the other. “she hated me for majority and then 6th form,” he shrugged, “got wham and she wanted a bit,” he winked at the camera.
“actually?!”
“nah, nah, not entirely. i mean she did fuckin’ hate me in the beginning.”
they laughed at him. “no!”
“yeah, like, i was a nobody to her. she didn’t give a fuck - to be fair, she hated all guys in school like she was never the type that was interested in boys - you know how when you’re first year and you start fancying people and you meet up at parks n shit, have a cheeky kiss behind the swings, talk for a bit on snap — yeah she never did that. nobody had her, even in year 7 like, she fancied no one. when she said man-hater she meant man-hater.”
“is that what you got up to in year 7?” they snickered.
“nah bro, i was – up until 6th form, i was still like, late bloomer bro like no gal wanted me,” he laughed, “i was too busy playin’ minecraft with the boys.”
“so this the only girl you been with?”
alfie closed his eyes and fought back a nervous smile, “broo, y’gonna get me strung up by my gyal, man,” he said in his roadman accent, rubbing his eyes.
you smiled at the sight of him looking like he was walking on eggshells.
“we don’t talk ‘bout that, know what i’m sayin’.”
calfreezy and chippo laughed, seeing the guy perfectly represented how all guys felt when the mention of other females came up prior to their girl.
“nah, she is my first girlfriend, like, proper, in love, relationship,” he awkwardly explained. “just . . drips n drabs before that — fuckin’ hell, you man sweatin’ as well?” you laughed out loud when he dabbed his actually slightly sweaty forehead.
calfreezy kicked his feet as he laughed at the sight of alfie visibly dreading this topic despite laughing nervously.
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“nah, 10 times out of 10 i go by myself. the gym with my missus is a whole thing. ‘cause she doesn’t want to work arms . . and i don’t want to work legs . . ‘n then she just gives up ‘cause she can’t be bothered which annoys me but then i annoy her when i try to push her . . then guys come in and i can’t chill ‘cause i feel like they’re looking at her and it’s like fuck . . i’m gonna have to establish dominance here by taking a drink from her fruity ass pink water bottle.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“so did she fancy you in school?”
“i mean, she didn’t really like anyone outside her own little circle in school. let me explain this vibe of my gal alright? her friends were a group of cunts,” he didn’t flinch at their dropped mouths, “i can say that ‘cause they’re not friends anymore, but pure, like, horrible girls when she stopped hanging with them. it’s a whole story, but basically the friend group - i mean, it was mostly one girl stirring it, but the rest followed her like the leader. they were unbearable the last few months of school, like, genuinely, i couldn’t stand them. but y/n like . . you kind of never bothered with her anyway ‘cause she was just like . . i’m not saying you didn’t stand a chance with her but you didn’t. just because . . . she just didn’t like any of the lads from school. she just wasn’t interested in relationships. everyone thought she went with someone from a different school ‘cause there no way she was single out of choice like — she — i mean i’m gonna sound biased but she genuinely was the stunner of the group. of the school to be fair. and the nicest, she was most easiest to approach, it was kind of like a pity she was associated with that group. that was her only flaw.”
“that was her red flag!”
“yeah literally! it’s like . . who are you really if you’re hanging with them? something’s up . . . but nah, like she just wasn’t fussed on lads. she was years ahead in maturity and it was probably like taking on a child in her eyes to get in a relationship at that age. you know what it’s like.”
“no totally, we’ve all been that age. we’re still not fully mature. the immaturity don’t leave us. still get called a manchild by my mrs.”
“yeah! the immaturity, lack of seriousness. proper delusional thinking you could get with someone at that age and expect genuine respect, proper loves you, won’t cheat, will last together type thing. i mean who comes to mind when you think of your old schoolmates who were together that are still together?” he rambled.
“valid. valid.”
“you could talk to her, chance your arm, but it’d be a waste of time, you got nowhere. and the lads weren’t exactly tryna make new mates, y’know what i mean? and she was always with her little crew anyway, so you just dodged the lot of them. her friends said they hated guys too but then got with every man goin,” he had his little vent on that dreadful old friend group of yours, “not my gal though,” he winked at the camera.
“so you won her over.”
“basically, but not in a i-wanted-to-be-her-boyfriend way like i genuinely just wanted her to like me as a person ‘cause she had this whole image painted entirely wrong of me and it used to bug the shit out of me. i was like i’m making it my mission to get you to like me ‘cause i swear i’m not some player–fuckboy type. i’ve got two chihuahuas, mate. i come home, i eat my chicken nuggs, i hop on minecraft and i mind my own business. i might look like i’d cheat on you with some fiat 500 batty but i get nervous ordering at greggs. don’t let the fade fool you, i-i can hardly look a gal in the eye. trust, i ain’t got that roadman ting going on.”
“oh did she think you were a prick?!”
“yeah, like, we were pretty calm in school, we got put through this same class for four years, GCSE to a-level, it was really small, like 10 people and none of my friends were in it, none of hers were so we were like - we still weren’t close but like . . if she needed caught up on notes, she was asking me, y’knaa—” he flicked his hand like he was flexing his rizz on the boys.
“she was asking me for notes—” freezy hit chips arm as he laughed.
“s’like yeah girl, write your number in there while you’re at it,” he joked, “nah but then she dragged me into a argument i weren’t even a part of in front of the whole canteen and made a dick of me so.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“i’m actually really romantic?” alfie defended himself against the older boys in the middle of filming a football shoot.
“what’d you do for valentines?”
“i actually got her a A3 card.”
“that said what? ‘best girlfriend ever?’” chris rolled his eyes.
“uh, it was personalised, i’ll have you know.”
“what was the photo?” harry asked.
“uhhhh.”
he had to scroll to find a photo of the card but he did. the cover was a photo you’d taken from the shower, your arm raised high above you to capture just from your shoulders, upwards and alfie also standing in the bathroom next to it, using the toilet but thankfully half-covered by the glass pane of it. “i–it’s basically us in the bathroom. she was taking a shower and i was taking a piss. y—you obviously can’t see anything b—”
“jesus christ.”
“and she put that up for her mum and dad to see?!”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“would you say you’re the jealous type? does your girlfriend get jealous?”
“pffftttt,” alfie spat into the mic, looking wide-eyed across at tays and ginge, “jealous? bros i got a pure psycho on my hands, i can’t lie,” he put on that stupid voice again.
“oh seriously?!” ginge sat up, intrigued.
“she not let other women breathe near you either?” tays said.
“she’s an unpredictable psycho. she likes to play a little guessing game w’me when i come home sometimes. have to figure out what mans did wrong. she let me breathe around one woman, i breathed around two, s’like shittt girl, my bad. ” the two boys laughed opposite him, getting him to laugh himself. “nah she my little demon. i like it. i like when she goes a bit crazy, feel like she might murder me. turns me on, lowkey,” again, with the weird voice. “i like a fiery ting, is she gonna kill me, is she not.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“nah i do have fun with my girl on nights out, i know some lads dread being the same place with their gal in the club ‘n that but i’m guaranteed to have more fun in her company than some of my boys like, some of my boys down 4 bottles and their knocked out like some 60-year-old dad in the corner booth. it’s like mate, allow it. my brother – we were on holiday a few months back with my family, and me and my brother said we would go on the strip like go to the club one night, got all hype about it, and then when it came to it he was like ‘nah bro, can’t be bothered.’ i turned to my mrs, said ‘d’you want to go out tonight?’ she said ‘yeah, will we get a bag on the way?’ i said ‘girl is the sky blue?’ — nah i’m jokinnn’ she didn’t say that, she didn’t say that. not that time. but you get what i mean, she meets my level.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“I’M SCARED TO BRING HER AROUND YOU LOT INCASE YOU DON’T LIKE HER!” he confessed stressfully to his youtube squad. “SHE’S REALLY BAD AT FIRST IMPRESSIONS ‘N THEN I’M GONNA HAVE TO SMACK YOU ALL WHEN YOU SAY SHE’S A SOUR-FACED BITCH!”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“you know what? i do feel bad, i feel like i’ve really exaggerated her to be this raging, controlling, psycho bitch, you lot are all gonna be like free AB but she’s really not, like, she gives me so much freewill—it’s me who brings out the psycho in her.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“i call it lemon and lime time.”
“ . . . wot.”
“come again?”
“lemon and lime time? because–no, listen, right— on boxes of tampons you get – there’s different colours. green and yellow -maybe orange, or i might be making that up- either way. she sent me out to get her some one time ‘n i was like ‘what flavour d’you want? lemon or lime?’ they must be scented or something, i dunno, and she voice note me back really laughing and said lemon, lime, whatever. found it really funny. whatever. but now it’s like a hack ‘cause you know when you ask your mrs ‘you on your period’ it’s like—”
“–aw bro, it’s like starting world war three.”
“–it’s a tricky situation.”
“–it’s a set up.”
“it is!” alfie sat up straighter, passionate about the topic, “but now i just say ‘is it lemon and lime time’ and she’ll answer without blowing my head off,” he smiled proudly, “life hack or what?”
“it’s pretty clever, actually. is that why they’re different colours then? flavoured or scented?”
“i think so,” he nodded.
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“—she’s the one who came up with gimpy perm boy. i picked her up from a night out and we were sort’ve arguing beforehand, nothing serious but when i picked her up she was still in a mood, and she got in the car, rambling on to herself ‘n was all ‘yeah talk to me when you get a decent haircut, y’gimp. gimpy gimpy perm boy.’ it was the funniest thing ever, we both laughed when she said it ‘cause it was just so shit and the way she was talking to herself as if i wasn’t sat right next to her. . . and then i nicked it for my own video. SO the people who say they don’t like my gal and don’t think she’s funny - it’s her joke you all constantly comment on my vids, so suck on that,” he held up his two fingers to the camera.
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“no but i have punched someone before.”
“have you?!”
“i’m not — i’m not a fighter like i don’t want to fight anyone, ever. and my girl always says to me like especially on nights out ‘just because you can, doesn’t mean you should’ - and im not that guy anyway, y/n would be fuming if i got into a fight like that’s the last thing she wants to see and i would never do anything she didn’t want me to. . i genuinely just want a nice night. maybe a kebab, go home, cuddle, that’s me. but like . . yeah. apparently i’ve got a bit of a temper when it comes to her. my mum says it all the time, like, ‘you go blind where that girl’s involved’ and i used to be like what’s she on about? blind where? i’m chill, i’m calm, i’m zen,” he shrugged cluelessly, “but then . . yeah. one night i got it.”
he shuffled comfortably on his seat. “it was late at night and we were all waiting on a taxi. can’t really remember what we were out for but just left the club, waiting to go home, getting hangry for a mcdonald’s and me and my mates were standing in the street. y/n came and met up with us so we could go home together,” he explained. “i remember i was all agitated anyway with just drunk people doing my head in, shouting and smashing things, guys looking at my girl - nothing major, s’just worse when they’re drunk, like, they’re not discreet about it, ‘n i get it: she’s a rocket. then this guy spawns in from nowhere - proper npc behaviour. already being loud, off his face, lingering round us. my mates were laughing at him, but i wasn’t. i clocked him straight away—weird vibe, ‘n he starts coming in on my girl, looks her over once and says the most - i be fuming thinking about it” he almost laughed psychotically, “says the most diabolical, gruesome shit ever like stupid little comment. i literally — i swear down — i-it—it was like one minute i was just standing there watching him . . . and then, i blinked, and i was still just standing there, except, he was on the floor and i genuinely like—” he stares into the void for a second, still baffled.
“NO!”
“HAHA! CLASS!”
“no, no, honestly lads, it’s — i don’t even remember moving – i - it could have been anyone who hit him ‘cause i genuinely didn’t move a muscle from my spot. it didn’t register. i didn’t even get this–this rush or urge to bang him, it just happened. it was y/n who like, was gripping my arm, panicked, going, ‘alfie?! what the fuck?! why’d you do that?!’ and i’m like, just as confused like why she blaming me? i’m looking at my own hand like . . wait what? what she on about? did i . . ? didn’t feel a thing. no rush, no blood boiling, nothing. it was. like my arm just acted out without telling me. i was stood there trying to remember if i actually hit him or if he just like, tripped on a crack in the pavement and karma did its ting.”
the boys were in cackles but you were laughing into yourself more so at alfie’s genuine confusion and despair as he reflected back to that night. “nooo wayyyy, bro.”
“my mates were there, they were like we couldn’t even stop you if we wanted to ‘cause it was like a twitch. like—bam. we couldn’t even clock it. and the guy’s friends came out after and were standing about and they didn’t even try anything, they were like . . yeah bro, he did have that coming but like . . . is he alive though?’ — y/n’s the one making sure the man’s breathing while i’m just hovering like an absolute muppet. and then i’m apologising to her like she’s the one i wronged which i guess i did . . .” he sighed stressfully. “swear, i felt the hangover kicking in and i just did my last shot like 10 minutes prior! stood there just thinking how’s this even happened? i was literally craving maccies two minutes ago, now i’ve apparently assaulted a man and my girlfriend’s out here playing paramedic to someone who just tried to undress her with his eyes!” he exhales like he’s just relived the whole thing. “but then . . yeah it’s chill. it’s all good. had to grovel a bit in the taxi to make sure she was still coming back to mine but,” he shrugged, “it was calm.”
“yeah, like she couldn’t be annoyed at you.”
“yeah, she wasn’t annoyed at me, she was just annoyed the way it puts her in a kind of awkward situation, like cleaning the mess up. but it was fine. i was like ‘fine, just tell me next time and i’ll stand behind you while you swing’,” he chuckled.
“class bro,” they applauded him and you rolled your eyes at the screen.
“but yeah, in–in conclusion, i have - wouldn’t say fought but . . i’ve hit a few people before. but it’s always in defence or something like that.”
“i’m so glad i’ve never had to defend my girl like that, then we’re both getting disrespected.” chip said.
“my ego couldn’t take it.”
“this is why you’ve gotta get wham, so you can defend your bird,” alfie winked at the camera. “had to back my boys up when it kicked off at a maccies though, one time after school. true story.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“i’ve learned in my time that ‘i’m fine’ really translates to ‘figure it out you stupid dickhead.’”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“—same as when you’re feelin’ yourself, y’know? maybe get a fresh trim, hit the gym real quick, clean fit — and then your girl walks in, probably in her fucking pyjamas, little tank and shorts on and it’s like . . how you gonna out-do me like that like i was feelin’ pretty leng then and you just show up and bring my rating down to a solid 4. don’t even get me started when they are all glammed up.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“yo girl, can i get your number? take you for a little spin ‘n that,” you recognised this clip as alfie vlogged from his brand new car (at the time) while passing each other on the road to both your houses. it was so weird and a little sad how you both had the same car and now his was gone and replaced with his new defender. you used to joke your audis were boyfriend and girlfriend too, his grey, yours white.
now he was just driving a military tank on the road that god forbid you left a lip liner in.
“i got a man. or actually i dunno where he’s gone. some guy in a tractor tank just pulled up thinking he’s peng,” you shielded your eyes from the sun as you looked up at him through your rolled down window.
he grinned, continuing his roadman persona. “say less. man’s here now, innit. jump in, i’ll take you nando’s, get you lemon and herb, maybe medium if you behave.”
“medium? you think i look like a medium kinda girl?”
“my bad, you’re right. you’re giving extra hot, still, might need to calm you down with a drink after.”
you leaned your head on your hand out the window, “what are you after?”
he adjusted his cap and slyly smirked, “just a man in his defender, tryna wife up a fine ting in an aldi A1.”
“aldi A1? as in . . the same thing you used to drive about like it was a range just last week?” you grinned.
he nodded, “allow it, girl, it’s a lifestyle. i can’t be seen in a basic whip anymore.”
“oh basic is it now?” you couldn’t hold back your smile at the audacity, “careful, mocking your roots. car’s gone to his head already.”
he laughed and shrugged, “yeah, well. we grow. we evolve.”
“into what? self-absorbed arseholes?”
“aight, be off then in your aldi A1, i got some rockets i need to chat up in their corsas,” he pulled his handbreak down.
“right, well, have fun in your debender,” you widened your eyes, hitting the indicator and speeding off around him before he could even finish turning his wheel all the way. you got to see how he laughed into himself over the interaction, as you remembered seeing him laugh through your rear view mirrors.
and that was when the debender joke was born.
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“some girl from uni commented happy birthday legend with the little hand heart emoji and she screenshotted it, sent it to me, and just said, ‘legend, yeah?’”
“—OOOF.”
“—that’s rough.”
“that was it. i had to just let it simmer for the rest of the day. didn’t talk to me all day and when i pointed it out she’s all nonchalant like no obviously not i just been busy and i’m just like rightttt ok,” he rolled his eyes at the memory, but a smirk tugging on his lips.
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“i used to be so scared of getting a girl and meeting her parents over dinner type thing ‘cause i’m such a picky eater, like my diet is a joke, but then she told me that she’s not the most adventurous eater either and basically orders chicken everywhere she goes, so’s like a match made in heaven. and she hates red sauce. soulmates.”
“you’re kidding.”
“swear. although she does love bbq which is just as bad, i can’t have that. need her to bleach her mouth before she even thinks about coming near me. moving like that.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“nah, even with my girlfriend, before she was my girlfriend, we didn’t go to our school formal together but we basically did but when i asked, it was so awkward, i was like ‘you going to formal?’ ‘yeah’ ‘you going with anyone?’ ‘no’ ‘oh nice, nice, yeah me neither’ . . . that was it.”
“fuck sake bro.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“nah she make me laugh though. we were out the other day and this girl smiled at me when i held open the door for her — just a normal smile, like, polite human — and she was like, ‘do?? do you wanna go back and hold it open a bit longer??? orrrr??’ like the dramatics do make me laugh sometimes.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“so i’ve just ran into the shop, going to make a quick stop and see trouble . . . see peng ting . . see sneaky link,” he buckled his seat belt and turned on his car, the passenger seat occupied with his recent purchases. “she’s had a pretty shitty few days, really stressed out with work and uni ‘n shit, and i’ma good boyfriend, so i’ve bought her some—some bits, what we got here? chocolate . . crisps . . her favourite drink . . an ice coffee and flowers, just to hopefully pick her up a bit. it’s not much but it’s the thought that counts guys, alright? she’ll be grateful. my shayla . . my shayla!” he swung out onto the road.
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“nah, boys, my girl just text me, i haven’t replied to her in an hour, she said what position you got her in?”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“chat’s blowing up. when’s your birthday? august. what are you doing for valentines? my bird. what do you get a girl for valentines? honestly, they’re happy with the little things my guy. get the flowers. get the chocolates. book the hotel room,” he clicked and pushed buttons on his controller from his set-up in the spare room. “my girl’s thing has always been jewellery, she loves all things jewellery - it doesn’t even need to be expensive, as long as you know what she likes,” he continued, transfixed on the screen. “even in my warehouse job, i always made sure to save a little extra for those important dates for a bit of jewellery ‘cause that’s when you do splurge a little. i got her a bracelet and she never takes it off. actually, i got her two bracelets she never takes off. one little diamond piece and one you can buy different charms? that’s a shout. then you can just buy charms for different occasions. little memories. like . . i got her big ben for when we went to london for the first time even before youtube . . or a suitcase when we went on our first holiday. she’s got the letters AB for me. she’s got a dog for her dog. what else did i get her? the charm bracelet’s the best shout i reckon. they’ll love that shit.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“yeah nah, she’s mad jealous. a girl in the shop could look at me for too long and i can feel her soul leave her body. but i rate it, it’s like . . kind of a primal thing, innit? sexy. i mean i’d rather that than someone who doesn’t care, like i’d be annoyed if she was like ‘yeah, have him.’”
“you like that little bit of friction.”
“yeah, s’like behave. but if you don’t, that’s fine too.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“we left the pub one night and she wouldn’t speak to me, like proper angry, seething vibes — arms folded, walking ahead. i didn’t know if she was gonna cry or kill me. we were passing the chippy ‘n i was starving, i had to order something, she was even more annoyed ‘cause she had to wait on me - ‘cause it was so late and she couldn’t walk home on her own. i actually felt bad even though she wanted to kill me. we were both waiting ‘n i was like ‘. . . do you want chips or do you want a fight?’ like stuffing my face, it was probably so jarring.”
“it’s so unintentionally funny like i know if we were there’d we’d be making the situation worse ‘cause we’d be laughing!”
“literally! i got the fight for anyone wondering by the way,” he deadpanned.
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“do you get weird when girls hit on you?”
“i feel like i’m awkward around people in general, but it depends on the girls ‘cause some can genuinely just be nice and others are straight up like — ‘so are you single or not’ and i have to be like ‘nahhh, i’m pretty locked in.’ just flip them the lock screen.”
“the lock screens always a shout. you don’t even need to say anything, just hit the button.”
“yeah, exactly. i had some girl say i had nice eyes and i was like ‘cheers,’ and even at that i feel disgusting. i’m like i hope she weren’t thinking – like was else do i say to that? thanks, i have a girlfriend, then i just sound like a massive knob when they might just be genuinely paying me a compliment for the sake of it? i freak out over stuff like that, s’just like . . don’t compliment me . . please. respectfully.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“your mrs ever laugh really loud at another bloke’s joke and then you’ve to spend the next hour being funnier to re-establish the dominance?”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“oh my god, but d’you get when it’s not even your fault?! i was coming out of the petrol station one time, we’d just left the gym and this girl calls out ‘oi sexy!’ i just put my head down, got in the car — girl’s sat there, jaw hanging open as if i was the one who called her sexy! she just goes ‘take me home’ i’m like FUCK SAKES! DIDN’T EVEN DO ANYTHING!”
“but she expects you to go punch her in the throat.”
“literally! she’s like ‘you were suppose to ride me in front of her’ i’m like,” he pulled his most bizarre face.
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“yeah, bro, when you text them first before you text the boys chat, it’s over.”
“oh it’s so over,” the boys at pitchside agreed.
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“the way you talk about your girl — people think she’s got you on a leash,” bach said from his host seat. “which is fine, i know from experience,” he quickly held a hand up with comedic laugh.
alfie laughed, “yeah, nah, i do make her sound like a bit of a psycho. she’s not though. she’s just got a low tolerance for nonsense — especially if it involves other girls. which, fair enough. i’d be the same. i don’t exactly help the image either, the way i wind her up. but honestly? i rate it. i like knowing someone’s that bothered about me.”
“you’ve been with her since, what, you said 18?” arthur tv guessed.
“yeah, ‘n people always say like i’ve been locked in too young and i should be out getting with all different girls, enjoying single life with no responsibilities and all that, but like . . i don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything. i am enjoying life and my relationship’s easy like i’m not miserable. if i was miserable, i wouldn’t be in it, you know? it’s jarring sometimes.”
“i like that you’re deeping it.”
“no it’s true through, people act like when you’re with someone young you’re making a sacrifice, like you’ve given something up but it’s the opposite. like, she’s literally my best mate. i know people hate hearing that but your girl should be your mate as well. we’ve got our own vibe, our own jokes, we rinse each other all the time, we’re never serious — i get to live life with one of my favourite people - it’s like when you’re with your boys and you’re like, ‘ah, imagine living together, that would be sick,’ – that’s how i feel with her like i want that, i would enjoy that. i don’t dread the thought of that.”
“so you’re not trying to be out here playing the field?” arthur smiled.
“jesus, no. trust me, no part of me wants that. i’ve got the girl, the banter, the comfort — everything. i don’t need saving, none of that free AB shit. i’m not stuck. i’m—i’m sorted.”
“he said sorted. oo, he’s in love, guys.” bach teased.
“exactly. i’m not whipped - maybe a bit - but i’m happy. big difference.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“ass or tits? boyssss, come on, it’s all in the personality,” he said from his computer chair, leaning back as he let out a sigh at their ridiculous questions. “. . . but have you seen the rack on my girl?”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“so last time i vlogged, i just put a wash on and text my mum if she was in so i can go get the dogs and bring them on a walk so at least i’m doing something in this vlog,” he spoke from his bed, not knowing what else he could do to spice up the grotto vlog. “i should probably pay a visit to my mrs, i feel like i’ve abandoned her the last couple days just ‘cause i been so busy. she’s been busy too but still, i should probably call in and see her,” he paused.
“i know, she knows that i’m not fond of askin’,” he sang next on his way to yours.
“hey,” the next clip was when the camera lens pulled out directly from your forhead as your boyfriend stood directly above you, “say something for the viewers at home, girl,” he put the roadman voice on.
you looked at the lens and then smacked your hand over it, doing (what you remembered) the most diabolical filthiest gesture that alfie flipped his camera to show his jaw almost on the floor with a heavy laugh in his chest. “DO THAT AGAIN. RIGHT NOW! GO! SHOW THE CAMERA!—”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“yeah like AB. AB and his girl.”
“i’ve actually met his girl and she’s very dead on. she’s not what he makes her out to be on cam,” joe weller told his co-hosts. “quite witty. i remember when we went to LA, we were going out one night and one of the clubs was a stripclub and he was on facetime, telling her what he was up to, and i, for some reason, brought up the stripclub and i was like ‘oh shit!’ like felt so bad - i didn’t want him thinking i was throwing him under the bus or trying to start something! - but she was just laughing ‘n was like ‘oh yeah no worries at all babe! what better things would you be doing! you go watch star and sapphire shake their arse while i do your dirty washing and clean out your wardrobe, it’s no problem! have fun! i’ll be right here when you get back!’ but like genuinely joking, it was so funny. i thought she would’ve freaked ‘cause you know, he makes her out to sound a bit mental but he turned to me and was like ‘nah, like, she mightn’t like it but she trusts me, that’s the big difference. and she knows me, she knows i’m probably gonna be mad awkward the whole time’ and to be fair . . . he was. boy’s head was in his phone or stuck to the bar, he didn’t know what to do. he really loves her, he told me a lot of their lore.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“yeah, mine neither. she’s surprisingly not that bothered by people before her - not that i had proper relationships before - but girls i’ve talked to like - she doesn’t care, but neither one of us want to talk about it anyway. i don’t fucking want to bring them up. she brings them up for a laugh when we have an argument ‘cause she knows i be mortified,” he laughed as the boys began to laugh at his confession, his face reddening. “so embarrassing.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“aw, no yeah — monaco vlog? dog house.”
“HOW?!”
“you tell me.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
chip was laughing, nursing a beer in one hand, the mic in the other, “bro, i don’t know how you do it. your girl’s intense, she’s like . . on you, all the time. proper psycho attachments. she puts me on edge.”
alfie stopped mid-laugh, still smiling, but his eyes locking in on the older boy. “alright, relax,” he shot him a look, “she’s not a psycho. she just gives a shit ‘bout what i’m up to and doesn’t know you lot well enough to know if you’ll look after me properly,” he said. “just ‘cause sabina doesn’t give a shit about what you get up to.”
freezy was laughing, cracking up at himself, “sabina sends him off to thailand hoping he doesn’t come back!”
“i rate my little psychopath, you lot don’t know how psycho i can be too,” he smirked to himself, bouncing his feet kicked up on the coffee table.
“she just acts likes she forgets who was here first, y’know . . . ” chip continued, letting out a deep sigh as if exhausted by your games.
“bro, you met me a year ago,” alfie, whether purposefully or accidentally, killed the joke he was trying to run. to your delight.
“nah bro, come on, unc was there when you were born. i know my neph like that.”
alfie just screwed his face at the camera like he didn’t know what the fuck he was on about.
you smirked, mentally pumping your fist.
chip 0 - 1 you
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“you lot overrate me, big time. if i broke up with my girl, she’d be the one playing the field. you think i can pull anyone i want? it’d be me to break up with her, ready to sleep around and get none, meanwhile she’d be doing numbers. she’d be racking up the numbers EASY. she’d have guys lined up left, right and centre. she’s had blue ticks in her DMs. it’d be light work for her.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“do you try to keep your relationship off cam?”
“i don’t want her on cam all the time, i do want to keep things private but it’s her decision like, her tiktok’s public, her other socials aren’t. she doesn’t like to be on cam most of the time. if she happens to be in the car when i’m vlogging, i don’t mind if she wants to be in or out of it, or if she wants to say her piece with just her voice or if she does want to show her full self, it’s up to her. but i do try to keep it on the down low, i like keeping her to myself.”
“i like that, man.”
“like the other day, i was dropping her into town for drinks, she was all done up, hair, makeup, sexy little dress ting on. i was vlogging and was like ‘. . d’you want in it or no?’ ‘n she was like ‘fuck yeah, i’m gorgeous today’ so,” he shrugged, smirking, “viewers got blessed that day.”
“some of the girls want her in a vid.”
“bro, she can do what she wants. i don’t think she’d mind doing a feature every now and then but she likes the privacy too. although she has said to me stop talking shit or she’s coming on the pod to out me.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“nah, me and my girl, we got a nightly routine at this point. nearly every night we do rock, paper, scissors for who has to make a nutella toastie.”
“a nutella toastie?!”
“a nutella toastie. oh my god, greatest invention ever. i mean it’s just toast so like . . nothing special but oh my god. we’ll be lying in bed and one of us will go ‘aw . . d’you know what would be so nice right now? nutella toastie.’ ‘awww, go make us some’ ‘no you go’ ‘no you. you make them better’ ‘no you’ ‘no you’ ‘rock paper scissors’ but then we usually just end up joining each other in the kitchen. it’s like midnight. both just standing in pjs, cooking up a storm.”
“bro that’s actually really cute.”
“i need to try that.”
“you should,” alf agreed, “she put me on them. s’great”
he didn’t mention how sentimental he got on the nights you didn’t stay over and he’d be laying in bed and the thought of a nutella toastie would pop in his mind, and that’s when you usually got a text message in the middle of the night:
missing my lil nutella toastie rn
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“she’s actually not that bad. like i’ve ran into fans before and she offers to take the photo and is like ‘oh my god alfie, put your arm around her!’ like she’s not fucking lethal like.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“would you ever get any tattoos?”
“no. i mean . . i’ve talked about getting a deer as a red dead redemption reference but i don’t think i’d actually ever do it. i just got this on a drunk night out in mallorca.” he held up his wrist to the camera. “was crashing out, spiralling badly ‘n went and got it.”
his boys laughed at him, “what is it?”
“you can barely see it, it’s quite faded. it’s just a tiny letter and little heart beside it. my girl’s initial.”
“eeeeshhh, nah bro.”
“no way.”
“fuck off”
“i know, i know,” he faked embarrassment and dread as he put his hand to his head. “nah i actually don’t care though, like this was the argument she had with me on facetime at the time, ‘cause i was on facetime to her telling her i was gonna get one, she was like ‘no alfie, don’t be so stupid’ was going on about obviously if we broke up and i met someone else and i was fuminggg, i was like i don’t care! if i marry another bird, they’ll have to deal with it ‘cause i’ll love you more than her! — really crashing out, really ready to prove a point, ‘n yeah, woke up with this bad boy,” he slapped the side of his wrist. “could be worse, could have got like, a fuckin’ . . dolphin on my tits or something, there’s definitely worse tattoos. i know a mate of a mate got his mum’s phone number tatted on him.”
“FUCK OFF.”
“swear down.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“aw mate my girl buys thee tiniest handbags so when we go out my pockets are basically jammed to the brim with all her shit. fucks me off so bad, the look i give her when she asks me for her lip liner shit every 10 minutes - i actually did fuck it into a lake one time ‘cause it was literally every 10 minutes she was asking for it. she was like ‘you’re lucky that was 20p from primark because if it was one of my expensive ones, you’d well be in that ocean with your snorkel and goggles on’ and i-i fully well would have been.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“bro. first time i saw you two together — swear down - i need to say this—” danny sat up properly in his chair as he got giddy. “it actually stuck with me. it was in that club, lights going crazy, flickering like mad — you know that big london one, sidemen always throw their parties in? i think that’s what it was actually, that time.”
“yeah, i know the one.”
“the one everything’s dark except them long flashes hitting every few seconds. you were in the all black fit, just sat back, man spreading the whole couch, on your own, corona in hand, rolex catching the light, you looked cleannn bro. y/n was just in front of you on the smaller stools, but like, half turned away talking to someone beside her. her arm was resting on your leg, she was still close. and the way you were just watching her was like . . bro was scary! was intense! like the vibes, man, the aura. it was sick. like, proper cinematic,” he shared excitedly.
“you didn’t have to do anything — like anyone who saw knew like they’re together. d’you know what i mean? like, i swear, it gave me goosebumps. you were so cool. it stuck with me. i was like i wish people saw me and ten like that, we just look like two dweebs. people see us and think, ‘oh bless them, they’re trying.”
tennese laughed in the background, agreeing with him wholeheartedly.
“nah, i went home and ordered youngLA after that,” danny continued, rubbing his eye.
“DID YOU!” alfie laughed.
“yeah, man. and tennese ordered the dress y/n had on. we’re so lame. you guys are so sick, you’ve no idea.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“we were at the pub and some girl asked to borrow my lighter and i gave it to her —not even a convo— and my girl just raised her brows. like i–if you saw me i was like a deer in headlights, i was like fuck, was that a test and i failed?”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“what’s the chat saying? . . . are you a lover boy?” he sat back in his gaming chair, clicking the mouse with his headset on. “i’ll be honest boys . . you lot will rinse me for this, but i was out the other night in the club, out in london, and i got a whiff of her perfume on another bird, and i–i literally had to go home. i just left and got the train home to her. three hours. was supposed to stay at chip’s place. just came home. stayed over at her place,” he shrugged. “what about it?”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“i love seeing the free AB shit, it makes me laugh. ‘bro, blink twice if you’re in danger’” chip laughed at the comment, “‘she’s probably tracking your location right now’!”
“she’s got him chipped, my man’s not been seen out past 10pm in three years,” cal chuckled.
alfie smirked, ignoring the two laughing next to him as well. “they need to chiillll. i know it’s my fault, i’ve made her out to sound like my own airtag but she’s really not. no one’s got me on a leash. i’m here ‘cause i wanna be.”
“do you ever think like . . maybe you did lock in too early? you haven’t really had that single lad freedom.”
even through video, you could see the point when alfie got his back up a little. “see, that’s what people always say, like i’m missing out and i have no freedom but i don’t feel like that at all. i’ve never once looked at the so-called ‘single life’ and thought, yeah, i want that. nah. you lot go on your little nights out trying to impress girls you don’t even like. i go home to someone who gets me, who rinses me for my dodgy haircut, knows when i’m in a mood without me saying a word, and still fancies the shit out of me when i cringe myself out.”
“damn, you’re getting deep bro.”
“its not deep, it’s just the truth. people act like i’m trapped in a relationship against my own will but it’s not that. she’s my best mate and yeah — she’s intense sometimes. so am i. it works.”
“i can’t imagine you being intense. like doesn’t she get crazy jealous when girls chat to you? ‘n when they look at you too long?”
“yeah, she does. and? that’s not a flaw, to me that’s someone who cares. i’d rather have someone who feels that protective and loving towards me than someone who gives up and lets me do whatever. it’s not a control thing. she loves hard and so do i. we’re solid bro.”
“so you’re saying you don’t need rescuing?”
“bro, i’m not in a burning building. i’m in a warm fucking house, eating toast with the love of my life. i’m good,” he laughed.
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“do your mates not rinse you for you and your girl?”
“no bro, never. they—they love her, they really rate her. she takes care of the whole group. they’d back her before me. i write shit into the chat and they’re like ‘perfectly valid, i’d behave the same.’ one time i wrote in ‘going shopping with the mrs to get sorted for the lads holiday. anyone need anything?’ and none of them have girlfriends anymore ‘n three of them write back: ‘aw can we come? will y/n choose sort us out?’ four of us just trailing about town, y/n’s sorting us one by one with holiday fits, telling them she’s gonna wax their unibrows, making sure we don’t look a tit.”
“HA! i love that!”
“yeah, they rate her. like they’d tell her if i was doing something wrong or to come get me ‘n stuff. sisterly shit.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“you can tell you both don’t play about with each other.”
▶︎‖ ─•──── 10:55
“aww, fuck guys, i forgot to end the vlog. this is me just editing. hope you enjoyed. peace n guidance. see you in the next one.” he held up the peace sign as he signed off, laying on the bed with his laptop in front of him and your arm wrapped around his neck, your pointy acrylics massaging his scalp and playing with his hair, just how he liked every day to end.
The house was quiet in that early morning way. Somewhere, a kettle clicked off. A few girls had gathered in the kitchen, bare-faced and wrapped in hoodies, passing around a fruit bowl and trading theories about this week’s date cards. In the living room, someone had already claimed the coziest corner of the couch, knees tucked under a throw blanket, eyes flicking to the front door every few minutes – just in case.
Daniella sat cross-legged on the main couch, wrapped in cardigan and drinking her coffee. She flipped through a magazine, not really reading it. Next to her was Alyssa, she had her knees pulled to her chest, hair up in a claw and a hoodie.
Kayla was perched on the windowsill with her legs stretched out. She was watching the driveaway like something exciting might roll in it if she stared long enough.
Y/N leaned against the arm of the couch between Daniella and Alyssa, one leg over the other, a soft oversized sweater slipping slightly off one shoulder. She held a mug of tea.
“Okay,” Daniella said suddenly, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table, “someone tell me he has a flaw. Just one. Anything. I’ll take crooked teeth. Weird laugh. Something.”
“Please,” Y/N muttered. “The man walked out of a painting. He’s probably good with animals and children too. Just to spite us.”
“He probably supports local shops,” Alyssa added.
“I bet he’s a bad texter,” Kayla offered. ”Hot people are usually terrible at texting.”
“He probably types full sentences and uses punctuation,” Daniella said, voice light. A ripple of laughter.
“I can’t lie” Daniella said after a beat, tucking her feet beneath her. “That group date felt like it was weeks ago.”
“It was five days,” Y/N deadpanned.
“Exactly.”
The girls chuckled. From the kitchen, footsteps padded across the hardwood, and a few girls more trickled in. Sierra, Naomi, Zara and Lana wandered through.
“Is this like the unofficial group therapy circle?” Sierra asked, eyebrow raised.
“More like group denial,” Alyssa replied, gesturing at the couch. “Take a seat.”
Selene and Kelsey appeared next. “There is a weird energy today,” Kelsey said as she flopped into a nearby chair. “Like we’re all waiting for something.”
“Because we are,” Zara muttered. “There’s a date card coming, you just know it.”
Y/N tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze flicking toward the hallway, then back to the group. There was a kind of comfort in this, the shared waiting, the lowkey panic woven between the jokes.
“Okay, real question,” Alyssa said, glancing around from her seat on the couch. “Is anyone actually feeling good about where they stand with him?”
Selene exhaled, stretching her legs out. “I mean… I think? We talked at the last cocktail party, and it felt easy. But also, like, he is talking to everyone. So who even knows.”
“I get that,” Lana said. “I had a good moment with him on the group date, but I haven’t had anything since. I keep thinking… what if that was it?”
Kelsey shook her head. “It is weird, right? One second you feel confident, the next you’re spiralling because he laughed at someone else’s joke.”
“That’s because we’re all trapped in a romantic Hunger Games,” Alyssa muttered.
They all laughed.
Confessional – Y/N
“I am really hoping to see him today.” She said, her voice softer, thoughtful. “Last week.. it just felt easy. There is something about him, this calm, like I can actually breath when I am around him.”
“I miss my pillow,” Vanessa said suddenly. “My actually memory-foam, perfectly broken-in pillow. Not this polyester nonsense they gave us.”
Brianna groaned in solidarity. “Yes. I swear the one in my room feels like it was stuffed with peanuts.”
Daisy spoke up. “I miss my dog. Like.. my whole chest kind of aches for her.”
Madina nodded sympathetically, “What kind?”
“She is a rescue golden retriever. She does this thing where she presses her face against mine when I’m sad. I don’t even know if she remembers me right now.”
“She does. They always do.”
“I left one of my sweatshirts with her,” Daisy murmured. “For the scent. It was either that or cry into her fur for six hours before I left.”
A laugh bubbled up between them.
“God,” Vanessa said, “We are officially the most unhinged girl group in Bachelor history. Missing dogs and foam pillows like we’re stranded in the woods.”
“You mean we’re not?” Brianna said dryly.
“Feels like it.” Madina murmured, making them all laugh.
Confessional – Madina
“Being here... you miss a lot of things. Your bed, your people, your routines. But you also start realizing how much energy you’re spending trying to be seen.”
“And yeah, last week at the cocktail party.. I got interrupted mid-sentence.” She gave a short breath of a laugh, no heat behind it. “I get it. Everyone wants time. Everyone’s trying to make something happen.”
“But there is a difference between showing up for yourself and stepping over someone else to get ahead. And I think, at some point, that difference matters.”
Across the room, Zoe and Britt had tucked themselves into a quiet corner where the low hum of the other girls voices faded into background noise.
Zoe curled her legs beneath her, glancing over at the group by the kitchen. “Do you ever feel like we’re extras in someone else’s love story?”
Britt lets out a dry laugh. “You’re definitely not.”
“You think some are playing a game?” Zoe tilted her head.
“I think everyone is, in their own way,” Britt said. “Some of us just haven’t figured out our strategy yet.”
They fell quiet for a beat as laughter bubbled up from across the room. The mood in the corner didn’t shift dramatically, but there was something unspoken sitting between them.
Zoe let out a small sigh. “Honestly I’d rake one real conversation at this point. Just enough time to feel like I exist in his world.”
Britt didn’t say anything right away. Then, with a quiet shrug: “Yeah. Same.”
The front door opened like a cue and every head turned. Jesse Palmer walked in, relaxed and polished in a blazer and dark jeans, holding a crisp white envelope.
“Good morning, ladies.”
The room chorused back: “Morning, Jesse.”
“Everybody feeling good?”
A wave of yeahs, mhmms and polite smiles passed through.
He nodded, stepping closer to the center of the room. “Well, congrats, you’re the nineteen women who made it through last week. Which means you’re the women, Rafe really sees something with. A future. So let’s keep things moving, shall we?”
He held up the envelope. “This week there are going to be two fun group dates.. and one very romantic one-on-one.”
Jesse smiled and set the envelope down on the coffee table. “Here’s your first group date card.”
He looked around the room. “Best of luck, and I hope to see you all, later this week. Have fun.”
He waved once and disappeared just as quickly as he arrived. And the room? Instantly on fire.
Silence lingered for half a beat. Then Daniella nudged Lana with her foot. “You’re the closest. Go.”
Lana raised an eyebrow but reached for the envelope, flipping it open with a small smirk. Her voice dipped low for the drama.
“Madina, Maya, Alyssa…”
A pause.
“Zoe, Daisy, Brianna ...”
Y/N felt her breath catch.
“Vanessa, Kayla..”
Another pause.
“And me.”
A moment of silence stretched in the air like static before it all dissolved into a chorus of oh my gods and scattered claps.
Y/N didn’t say anything at first. That flicker of disappointment that rolled through her before she could stop it. That subtle, sinking feeling of being left out, edged in doubt she didn’t want to give voice to. Across the room, Daniella’s eyes met hers, the same shared sting of being left out but she didn’t need to say anything. They both knew. But they didn’t let it linger.
Still, Y/N reached across and squeezed Alyssa’s hand with a quiet smile. “You’re gonna crush it.”
Daniella bumped Kayla’s shoulder gently. “Okay, okay. Try not to outshine the whole planet, please.”
Kayla grinned. “No promises.”
Lana turned the card over. “There’s a quote,” she said, then read aloud:
“Looking for my Mrs. Right. – Love Rafe”
Daniella bumped Kayla with her elbow. “No pressure or anything.”
Kayla smirked. “Just casually planning my wedding with a man I’ve spoken to for maybe forty minutes total.”
The room buzzed with nervous laughter and a growing swirl of speculation. A few of the girls exchanged glances excited, maybe a little terrified as they realized this wasn’t going to be just another group hang. It was going to be something bigger.
As the girls began drifting off to get ready, voices lifting with questions and guesses about the date, a producer’s voice called from the hallway, “Ladies, please head to the styling room!”
Back in the living room, those who remained sat quieter now, each retreating to their thoughts, some hopeful, some restless.
And Y/N, stared at the closed door a second longer. Soft smile, but quieter now. Because in the silence after the laughter, the doubt crept in. She thought things had gone well with Rafe. Thought the group date rose, their conversation, that kiss, all of it, had meant something.
But now her name hadn’t been on the card. And maybe that was fine. Maybe it was just how the show worked. Still, it was hard not to feel the little sting of being overlooked. Even harder to stop the spiral of wondering why.
The SUV with nine girls all dressed in white rolled to a stop in front of a coastal estate, where white roses lined the walkaway and a string quartet played softly in the distance. The girls stepped out one by one, their white dresses catching the sun.
Laughter bubbled from a nearby tent, where a faux reception had already been staged up. White linens draped long tables, champagne flutes sparkled and strangers, dressed as wedding guests, turned in their seats, ready to welcome the nine brides.
“Okay, this is crazy,” Maya whispered, wide-eyed as she took in the scene. “Like… are we actually fake marrying him?”
Rafe stood near the center of the setup in a crisp navy suit, boutonnière pinned, a grin tugging at his mouth as each woman approached.
“Ladies,” he called, voice warm and playful, “you ready to get married?”
A mix of nervous laughter and dramatic gasps followed, heels clicking against stone as the women made their way toward the fantasy waiting for them.
“I wonder if they’ve started already,” Naomi murmured, arms crossed over her chest.
“They left like an hour ago.” Kelsey replied from the kitchen barstool. “So yeah, probably mid-chaos by now.”
Sierra, curled up in the chair across from Y/N, gave a soft sigh. “Honestly? I kind of wish I was there. Even if it’s awkward. At least then you’re part of the storyline.”
Across the room, Zara was picking at the cuff of her sweater. Her expression was tight. Too still.
“Z?” Leila said gently, her voice soft from the armchair beside her.
Zara didn’t answer right away. Then, suddenly, she stood up. “I need air,” she muttered, already heading for the back door.
“Zara-” Naomi started, half-rising.
“I’m fine,” Zara insisted, though her voice wobbled just slightly. “Just… give me a sec.”
The door clicked closed behind her.
Silence hung thick in her absence.
“She’s been off all morning,” Kelsey said quietly.
Britt crossed one leg over the other, her voice cool. “Maybe this just isn’t for her. If watching other girls play pretend bride is enough to break you, that’s kind of telling.”
Selene looked over. “Bit harsh.”
Britt shrugged. “It’s the truth. No one’s entitled to a rose or a breakdown.”
Y/N looked up from her mug. “You know there’s a way to be honest without being an asshole.”
“I’m not being an asshole,” Britt said flatly. “Just realistic.”
“Realistic doesn’t mean cruel.”
“Oh, come on,” Britt scoffed. “She walked out like someone died. We’ve all been overlooked by now, it’s part of the deal.”
“Yeah,” Y/N said, voice sharper now, “and we don’t all turn around and use that to drag someone else down. There’s a difference.”
Britt’s brows lifted. “Why are you even pressed? This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“It does when you talk like you get to decide how people are allowed to feel.”
Britt opened her mouth, but Daniella cut in quietly, “Maybe dial it back before you sound even more heartless.”
No one laughed. Even the background music had stopped or maybe it just felt that way?
Y/N stood up. “I’ll be back.”
No one stopped her.
Y/N found Zara in the far corner of the backyard. “Mind if I sit?” Y/N asked, voice low.
Zara nodded her head. Y/N sat beside her. For a while, they just sat like that.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Zara finally said, voice low. “Everyone else seems to be floating through this. I’m… stuck in my own head.”
Y/N didn’t push, just waited.
“I keep overthinking everything. What I said, how I looked, whether I’m doing too much or not enough. And every time I think I’ve found my footing, I lose it again.” She let out a shaky breath. “It’s exhausting.”
Y/N glanced over. “That sounds… really hard.”
Zara gave a small laugh, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “I keep wondering what Rafe sees when he looks at me. Or if he sees me at all. Like, what if I’m just background noise in someone else’s love story?”
Y/N’s heart pulled. She reached over, gently brushing Zara’s arm. “Hey. You’re not background to anyone.”
Zara looked down at her hands. “It just feels like I’m falling behind. Like I should be more confident, more open, more sure. But I’m not. And then I wonder if that means I’m not cut out for this.”
“You’re human,” Y/N said softly. “And you’re allowed to have doubts. You’re allowed to feel all of this.”
Zara’s eyes shimmered, but she blinked quickly. “I just hate how small I’ve started to feel. Like I’m shrinking inside myself.”
Y/N leaned her shoulder gently into hers. “You’re not small, Zara. You’re brave. Brave enough to admit you’re struggling instead of pretending you’re not.”
Zara gave a quiet exhale, like something inside her had loosened just a little. “Thanks,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.
Y/N offered a soft smile. “Anytime.”
And they sat there, not trying to fix anything just letting the quiet stretch out around them, holding space for whatever came next.
Back at the group date there had been equal parts surreal and theatrical. Each woman had walked down an aisle. Toasts were made, mock guests were charmed and champagne glasses were raised in pretend celebration. Rafe moved through it all with warmth and ease, lifting veils and playing the part of groom more convincingly than some had expected.
The final moment came with the “first dance” reserved for just one. Daisy.
She made the fake wedding feel, somehow, honest. When her name was called, she looked stunned, cheeks flushing pink as soft music cued up and Rafe offered his hand.
The rest of the girls watched from the sidelines, as the bride and groom swayed slowly under the fairy lights.
Confessional – Rafe
“Today was really fun. Kind of surreal. Watching them give speeches, laugh with the guests. I saw different sides of them today.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Everyone was piled into the living room, scattered across the couches.
“They’re taking so long on the group date,” Sierra muttered, pulling a blanket tighter around her. “I wonder what they’re up to.”
“Probably fake-cutting a wedding cake,” Selene said dryly, earning a few half-smiles.
Leila yawned, “Feels like they’ve been gone forever.”
Daniella sat on the floor with her back to the couch, hair piled on top of her head in a lopsided bun. She didn’t say anything, just tapped her fingers against her knee, like she was waiting for something.
Confessional — Daniella
“It’s getting pretty late and we’ve been sitting around all day, and as much fun as I’ve had, like in the back of my mind I’m thinking, when’s the next date card coming?” She shrugged, smiling faintly. “So I’m hoping it’s tonight.”
Knock. Knock
Half the room jumped.
“Oh my God,” Leila said, clutching her chest. “That scared me.”
Naomi walked to the door and cracked it open, glanced outside then turned back, holding a single white envelope.
Confessional – Britt
“There’s a one-on-one and a group date. We don’t know what order they’re coming in,” she said, arms crossed, tone light but clipped. “But I hope it’s a one-on-one with my name on it.”
“Let’s see,” Naomi said, sliding a finger under the seal of the envelope.
She cleared her throat, reading aloud:
“Let’s chase the rush – together, love Rafe”
A beat. Just long enough for every girl in the room to brace.
Then:
“Y/N”
Silence cracked wide open.
Y/N blinked, lips parting slightly, as if the words took a second longer to land. Her heart stuttered. She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for hours. “Oh my god…”
The room shifted around, soft claps, a few cheers, Daniella was already turning toward her with a grin, grabbing her hand, Selene giving an encouraging nod, Naomi reaching out to squeeze her knee and Zara giving her a warm, quiet smile.
She laughed small, breathy and almost shaky. “I’m really happy,” she admitted, half-laughing again. “Also maybe slightly spiralling, but like… the good kind?”
Confessional – Y/N
She was glowing.
“I’m excited. I really am. But also nervous in, like… a full body kind of way?” She laughed again, covering her face for a second. “First date nerves. You know?”
Back on the group date, all nine women were gathered around him on a couch, fire pit flickering softly in the middle. The atmosphere had settled into something quieter now, something more expectant.
Rafe looked around at each of them, hands resting loosely in his lap.
“So… how’s everyone feeling?” he asked, voice warm.
There were murmurs “Good”, “Really good”, “Amazing” followed by a round of soft laughs and nods.
He smiled, letting the energy breathe for a moment before continuing.
“Well, I feel like all of you leaned into what today was. You had fun with it, and it meant a lot to see that. And the conversations tonight too I felt the same way. I just think you’re all doing such an amazing job being here and opening up.”
As he leaned forward slightly, his hand reached for the rose resting beside him. The movement alone shifted the air, subtle but felt.
A soft swell of suspenseful music built underneath.
“I really wanted to be intentional tonight,” he said, voice lower now, more grounded. “Let each of you know how much I appreciated today, the energy, the effort, the honesty. And I know there’s only one rose, but what this really means to me is someone being real. Showing their heart through all this craziness. Trusting the process… and me.”
He looked up, eyes scanning the circle.
“With that being said…”
A beat.
“Maya.”
Her name landed gently, but firmly.
Maya’s breath caught as she looked up, eyes wide.
Rafe smiled. “Will you accept this rose?”
She blinked once, then nodded, her voice soft: “Yes.”
As he handed it to her, a few of the women clapped lightly.
Maya took her seat again, rose resting delicately in her lap.
Rafe stood then, brushing his hands along his jeans.
“Thank you all again. For today and for tonight. I’ll see you soon.”
He moved slowly, giving each woman a quick hug on his way out, a quiet word or a small smile, something personal.
THE NEXT MORNING
In the quiet vanity space just off the bedrooms, soft golden light filtered through the curtains, warming the cool tile floor.
Y/N slipped into a soft white two-piece set. Light, summery and just the right amount of flirty. The top had an open back that showed just enough skin to feel romantic. The matching skirt sat perfectly around her waist, flowing gently with every step.
Behind her, Daniella appeared in the mirror’s reflection. “You look like an angel. He’s not gonna know what hit him.”
Y/N turned toward the mirror again, pressing her lips together, then swiping on a warm-toned gloss. “I just want it to feel like… me. Not like I’m trying too hard. Not like I’m pretending.”
Daniella smiled. “Then it will.”
She opened the front door slowly. Rafe was already halfway up the path.
He wore a plain white t-shirt and a pair of charcoal gray shorts, sunglasses hooked at his collar, his hair slightly tousled. It was simple, effortless. But there was something in the way he moved, the relaxed confidence, the quiet steadiness in his eyes that made her breath catch before she even stepped outside.
Y/N stepped out into the morning sun, her eyes finding his like muscle memory. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he said, voice low and easy, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Wow,” he murmured near her ear, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “You look incredible.”
She felt heat rise to her cheeks, but her smile didn’t falter. “Thanks.”
He nodded toward the sleek black car behind him, “You ready?”.
“As I’ll ever be,” she said, trying to sound steady, even as her pulse ticked faster. He walked her to the car, opening the passenger door like it was second nature. Not showy, just thoughtful. His hand hovered at the small of her back as she climbed in, warm through the fabric of her skirt.
Once he was in on the driver’s side, he glanced over at her again slower this time. Like he was just now letting himself take her in.
“You look..” he started again, eyes narrowing slightly, like he was teasing himself more than her. “Wow.”
She gave him a look. “You already said that.”
“I know,” he said, smirking a little. “Couldn’t help it.”
Y/N laughed under her breath and turned toward the window, smiling like an idiot. Then she turned back. “You know, you’re not supposed to be this charming this early in the morning.”
He grinned, one hand already on the wheel. “You haven’t even seen my real moves yet.”
“Oh?” she raised a brow.
“You’ll know when you see them,” he said, pulling out onto the road. “But fair warning, I play dirty. Especially when I want someone to like me.”
Y/N gave him a long look, then rolled her eyes with a smile. “Mission accomplished.”
That made him glance at her and something flickered behind his eyes. Like he wanted to say more. Maybe he would.
As the road curved along the coast and the first hints of the ocean glinted between the trees, Y/N squinted toward the horizon, then glanced back at Rafe.
“So… this date,” she said, dragging out the words as she glanced at him. “The card said ‘Let’s chase the rush together.’ That’s either really exciting… or really terrifying.”
Rafe smiled, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel. “Little mystery never hurt anyone.”
She turned toward him a bit more. “Should I be scared?”
He glanced at her, serious for just a beat. “Do you trust me?”
Her gaze lingered on his, steady. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I do.”
That smile returned, softer this time. “Then you’ve got nothing to be scared of.”
They didn’t say anything else for a second,the moment stretching just enough to feel real. The kind of silence that didn’t need filling.
Then she smirked. “But if I end up clinging to you screaming, you’re not allowed to make fun of me.”
“No promises,” he said, but the warmth in his voice made it clear, he wouldn’t mind at all
She laughed, shaking her head. “Seriously though, ‘chase the rush’? That could mean anything. Are we zip-lining into the ocean? Jet skiing into a whirlpool?”
Rafe glanced at her, sunglasses still hooked at his collar, eyes glinting. “You’ll see.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
“A little,” he admitted. “But also? I think you’ll love it.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips was real. “You better not be bluffing.”
He tilted his head, gaze flicking to her and lingering for half a second longer than necessary. “You don’t strike me as someone who scares easy.”
“I don’t,” she said. “But I do like to know if I’m about to be flung off a cliff.”
“No cliffs,” he promised. “Just… trust.”
Y/N shifted slightly in her seat, fingers brushing her skirt. “Can I tell you something kind of... embarrassing?”
Rafe glanced over at her, brows raised just a little, but his voice was steady. “Always.”
She hesitated. “When I didn’t see my name on that first group date card? I don’t know. I felt stupid for how much it got to me. I knew not everyone would get picked, obviously. But I guess I just— I don’t know..” she let out a breathy laugh, “I felt disappointed. Like maybe I wasn’t on your radar the way I thought I was.”
He didn’t interrupt. Just let her keep going.
“I guess I just wanted some kind of sign that you… saw me. And when I didn’t get it, I started second-guessing everything.”
Rafe’s fingers tapped once on the wheel before he looked over, eyes softer than before.
“I did see you,” he said quietly. “That’s exactly why you weren’t on that group date.”
Y/N blinked. “What?”
He smirked a little, eyes flicking back to the road. “Because I didn’t want to share you. Not in a group setting. I wanted this, us, today. Real time. Without distractions.”
She went quiet, warmth blooming under her skin. “Okay… stop. You’re gonna make me blush.”
He grinned, glancing sideways. “Mission very much accomplished.”
The car dipped lower, winding down toward a hidden stretch of coastline. As the trees thinned and the beach came into view, soft sand, open sea, and a small setup of boards and towels tucked near the dunes, Y/N’s breath caught slightly.
“Wow,” she murmured.
Rafe pulled the car to a stop and turned off the engine, glancing over at her with a grin.
“You told me you loved the water,” he said, nodding toward the waves. “So I figured... why not start where I feel at home?”
Her brow lifted, curious. “You surf?”
“Charleston, remember?” he said, flashing a quick smile. “Grew up chasing waves before I ever thought about chasing roses.”
She let out a soft laugh. “So this is your way of showing off?”
He shrugged, playful. “Not showing off just trying to impress you in the most low-key, kind of way.”
She grinned. “Well... consider me curious.”
“Then let’s hit the water.”
The wetsuits were half-zipped, boards propped upright in the sand. Y/N sat on a wooden bench just outside the beach shack, fingers twisting her damp hair into a bun before it slipped again.
Behind her, Rafe strolled over, slowing when he noticed her struggling.
“You want a hand?” he asked.
She glanced back, giving him a sceptical look. “You know how to do this?”
He crouched beside her, easy smile in place. “I’ve got two little sisters. Hair emergencies used to be a regular thing in our house.”
That earned a small laugh from her. “So you’re telling me you’re qualified?”
“I mean, I survived middle school mornings with a brush and a hair tie. I’ve got decent odds.”
She gave a mock sigh and tilted her head toward him. “Alright. Show me what you’ve got.”
He carefully took the hair tie from her wrist and gathered her hair, fingers moving with a quiet sort of ease.
“Wow,” she murmured. “You actually know what you’re doing.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
She shrugged, a smile tugging at her mouth. “You don’t give off strong hair-braiding energy.”
“Well, I try to keep people guessing.”
A pause settled between them, comfortable. His knuckles brushed the back of her neck as he worked, and she sat a little straighter without meaning to.
“There,” he said after a moment, tying it off neatly. “Should hold up at least until the wipeouts start.”
She turned to face him, their eyes meeting at close range. “Thanks.”
He nodded, lingering just a second longer than he needed to. “Anytime.”
Then she stood, smoothing her wetsuit. “Okay, braid boy. Let’s see how you are on a board.”
He grinned. “Alright, show-off. Let’s go.”
The water was cooler than expected, but not shocking. Y/N shrieked as the first wave lapped over her knees, the hem of her wetsuit darkening instantly.
Rafe was already ankle-deep, board tucked under one arm, turning to grin at her over his shoulder. “Come on! This is the easy part.”
Y/N raised a brow, lifting her board like it weighed twice as much. “Right, because balance has always been my strong suit.”
“Balance takes focus,” he said with a grin. “And maybe a little bit of pretending you know what you’re doing.”
She gave him a look. “You’re full of something, that’s for sure.”
He laughed, slowing as she caught up. “Alright, surf school 101. Start on the sand. I want to see your form first before we take on baby waves.”
“You mean humiliating warm-ups in front of you? Sounds dreamy.”
But she followed, dropping her board and mimicking his movements as he demonstrated. Palms flat. Chest up. Feet staggered.
“Like this?” she asked, squinting down at herself.
“Almost,” he said, stepping behind her.
She felt him before she saw him, the shift in the air, the quiet heat of him close behind her. His voice dipped low, the edge of teasing gone, replaced with something slower, warmer. “Try keeping your weight here,” he murmured, gently nudging her elbow into place.
Y/N swallowed. Her pulse jumped. Not from nerves, exactly, but from the way his hand lingered, the warmth of him just at her back.
She turned her head slightly, eyes finding his just over her shoulder.
His gaze held hers for a beat too long. “You’re tense.”
“You’re close,” she said, breathier than intended.
His smile tugged higher, amused but not mocking. “Can’t help it,” he said softly. “You’re kind of distracting.”
She glanced up at him over her shoulder, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “So what happens now, coach?”
He met her eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “Now?” he said, his voice just a little softer. “Now I give you some luck.”
And before she could answer, he leaned in and kissed her. Soft, certain. Just long enough to make her forget her footing, just short enough to leave her chasing it.
When he pulled back, his forehead nearly brushed hers.
“For luck,” he repeated, quieter this time.
Her cheeks flushed. “That’s cheating.”
He grinned as he stepped back. “Not if it works.”
She turned away, heart thudding, trying to reset her stance but her balance wasn’t the only thing off anymore. Not even close.
“Okay,” she managed, focusing back on the board. “I think I got it.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly, watching her. “I think you do.”
Ten minutes later, they were in the water, boards bobbing beside them, the steady pulse of the waves rolling in around their ankles. Rafe moved with calm ease, like he belonged there. Y/N.. less so.
“Alright, when the wave starts to lift you, that’s your moment,” he called gently from a few feet away. “Paddle, then pop up.”
She nodded, bracing herself. The next wave came. She paddled, tried to stand -
And wiped out instantly.
The ocean flipped her like a coin, water rushing up her nose. She surfaced with a gasp, blinking against the sun, hair stuck to her face.
Rafe was already beside her. “Hey, hey,” he said, laughing softly but checking her face. “You good?”
“Think I swallowed half the ocean,” she said, breathless.
“You’ll build immunity,” he grinned. Then, without thinking, he reached out and gently pushed a few damp strands of hair away from her cheek.
Y/N stilled slightly at the touch, and their eyes met, a pause in the middle of all the motion. Quiet, but full.
“You’re fine,” he said, voice softer now. “You’re doing great.”
She gave a half-smile, still catching her breath. “Not sure that counts as standing.”
“You got up,” he said simply. “That’s the hard part.”
She let out a shaky laugh and pushed her hair back again. “Alright. Again?”
He nodded. “Absolutely.”
They paddled out side by side. A new wave rolled in, smaller this time. She caught it, stood, and managed to stay upright just long enough to feel the wind cut across her skin before she dropped back into the water.
When she popped back up, laughing, he was already next to her again.
“That felt almost real!” she said.
“It was real,” he said, grinning. “You’re getting there.”
They floated for a second, shoulder to shoulder, boards drifting closer. She looked at him again, wet hair, sun on his skin, that steady kind of warmth in his eyes and the words came out without thinking.
“Thanks for doing this.”
He met her gaze. “You told me you love the water.”
Y/N smiled. “I didn’t mean nearly drowning in it, but... yeah. This means a lot.”
A beat passed. He looked like he was about to say something else but then another wave started rolling in.
The water was calmer now, waves mellowing into a soft rhythm that pulsed around their legs. Y/N had waded in up to her hips, her braid damp from earlier wipeouts, her wetsuit unzipped halfway to reveal the edge of her bikini top. The ocean breeze played with the loose strands of hair that had slipped free, and her eyes never left Rafe as he rode the last wave in.
He cut cleanly across the water, graceful and sure, before stepping off his board and catching sight of her.
“Still watching me?” he asked, breathless as he approached, board trailing behind him.
“Someone’s gotta judge your form,” she said, the corner of her mouth curving.
“Oh yeah?” He slowed as he reached her, water swirling around their waists. “And?”
Her eyes flicked down his chest, still dripping, then back up. “You pass.”
“Barely?” he teased.
She shrugged, like she wasn’t already smiling. “You might need to prove it again.”
Rafe didn’t answer not with words. He reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair off her cheek with a touch that lingered. Then his hand slid to her waist, warm even in the cool water, drawing her in.
Their bodies bumped gently in the current, salt clinging to skin.
And then he kissed her.
Soft at first, slow and exploratory. Her hands slid up over his shoulders, fingers curling at the nape of his neck. He tasted like sea and adrenaline, sun-warmed skin and the quiet tension of something that had been building all day.
Her breath caught when his thumb brushed under the edge of her bikini top, not possessive, just familiar, like he already knew her shape.
The waves rocked gently around them, water lifting and falling at their sides, and it felt like they were suspended in it — this little pocket of ocean and heat and want.
When they finally broke apart, she was breathless.
“I thought this was supposed to be a surf lesson,” she said, lips still grazing his.
He smiled, hand still on her waist. “Call it... extra credit.”
The tide had eased into a slower rhythm, each wave rolling in with a hush like it had nowhere else to be. Y/N stood barefoot at the edge of the shoreline, toes sinking into damp sand, her wetsuit unzipped halfway down her stomach to reveal the edge of her bikini top. Her braid clung damply to her back, salt still on her skin.
Out in the water, Rafe paddled hard, then popped up, smooth and effortless, catching the swell just before it broke. He rode it clean, low and controlled, the board tilting beneath him with practiced confidence.
Y/N watched, shading her eyes with one hand, a small smile tugging at her lips. When he hit the final stretch of the wave and hopped off with a neat, easy dive, she gave a single clap, shaking her head with a quiet laugh under her breath.
“Alright, I’m impressed,” she murmured to no one.
He came up grinning, pushing his hair back, scanning until his eyes found hers. From the water, he raised a brow like he’d caught the tail end of her reaction. She didn’t say anything, just tilted her head and shrugged like, yeah, okay — you’re good.
He grinned wider, already moving back toward shore.
And from where she stood, the sea in front of her, him swimming back, that look still on his face, something about it felt good. Easy. Like maybe she’d been waiting for a moment like this without realizing it.
The afternoon light stretched long across the beach, still warm but softening, the kind of light that made the ocean sparkle like it was holding onto summer. Y/N walked beside Rafe, hand in his, the sand cool and powdery under their feet, the rhythmic hush of the waves a steady backdrop to their quiet moment.
Just ahead, nestled in a shallow dip between two dunes, was the kind of setup that felt too pretty to be real, a low wooden table surrounded by striped pillows and folded blankets, a woven basket off to one side. Candles flickered inside hurricane glass jars, and a small bottle of champagne sweated in an ice bucket.
Y/N let out a quiet breath. “Oh my.. this is adorable.”
Rafe glanced over at her, their fingers still loosely intertwined. “Yeah?”
She nodded, a smile playing at her lips. “Yeah.”
“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s enjoy it.”
They sank down onto the cushions, still a little salt-kissed from the ocean. Rafe reached for the bottle and popped the cork with a clean twist, the sound light and easy. He poured two glasses and handed her one, their fingers brushing.
Rafe poured carefully, handing her a glass before lifting his own.
“To us.” he said, voice a little softer now.
Y/N’s gaze met his, steady.
“To us,” she repeated, tapping her glass gently against his.
They clinked glasses, they sipped and the silence that followed was the comfortable kind. Rafe reached into the basket and pulled out the containers, spreading them between them.
“Tacos, fruit, little bit of everything,” he said.
Y/N peeked inside, lips already curving. “Okay, you just won major points.”
He laughed softly. “I figured it was safer than trying to impress you with my cooking.”
She took a bite, nodding with clear approval. “This is exactly what I needed.”
They ate slowly, passing the fruit between them, brushing fingers now and then small grazes that lingered longer each time. The stories turned quieter, less about the past and more about the now. He watched her laugh over a piece of mango, eyes crinkled, sunlight catching the curve of her lips.
When she leaned back on her hands, eyes on him, something shifted.
Rafe mirrored her without thinking, elbow brushing hers as he settled beside her. He turned toward her slightly, gaze dragging from her mouth to her eyes and back again.
She caught it. Didn’t look away.
“What?” she asked, voice low, teasing.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, just above a murmur, but there was no joking in it.
Her smile curved slow. “I think I’m starting to.”
Their knees touched. Then his fingers reached, brushing a piece of hair from her shoulder, fingertips skating lightly along the exposed skin at her collarbone. The kind of touch that wasn’t about fixing anything, just feeling.
Her breath hitched.
Without a word, Rafe reached for her waist and gently tugged, guiding her up then shifting her into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hands settled on her hips, steady, warm.
Y/N’s arms looped around his neck, knees bracketing his thighs now. She looked down at him, playful, flushed, and just a little breathless.
Rafe leaned in like he couldn’t help it anymore. Their mouths didn’t meet at first, just hovered. Close enough to taste the possibility.
“Are you gonna kiss me again,” she asked, “or just keep looking at me like that?”
His lips brushed hers, not quite a kiss more like a dare.
“Depends,” he whispered. “You want slow… or do you want me to forget the cameras are even here?”
That made her laugh, soft and low before closing the gap with a kiss that wasn’t slow at all.
It was heat and salt and want. His hand slid up her back, drawing her closer until her chest was flush to his, her fingers curling in his shirt like she needed something to hold onto. He kissed her like they were alone on the planet like the moment had been waiting for them to catch up.
When they finally broke apart, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, they didn’t say anything right away. Just breathed, still tangled in each other, like neither of them was ready to pull back.
Rafe smiled against her temple. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
Y/N grinned, curling a little closer. “Only the good kind.”
And he kissed her again just because he could.
The sun hovered just above the horizon, casting everything in that soft golden wash that made the world feel quieter – slower. The ocean glinted with ribbons of orange and rose gold, each wave reflecting the sky.
Y/N and Rafe sat nestled on a blanket near the edge of the dunes, a little distance from their now-empty picnic setup. She leaned back into him, her body relaxed against his chest, his arms wrapped around her like it was second nature. He rested his chin lightly on her shoulder, his breath warm near her ear.
They didn’t talk. Not yet. The quiet was full, but not heavy just comfortable.
Y/N tilted her head slightly toward his. “We’re gonna blame the champagne if I get emotional, right?”
Rafe let out a soft laugh, brushing his nose along the curve of her jaw. “Deal. Champagne… and sunsets. Dangerous combo.”
She smiled, fingers threading with his over her stomach where his arms held her close. “It’s just… nice, you know? To not feel like I have to talk or impress or perform.”
“You don’t,” he said quietly. “You never have to do anything but just… be here.”
Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, letting that settle in her chest.
She shifted slightly, turning in his arms until they were almost face to face, her legs drawn up between them. Her fingers moved up, slowly combing through the back of his hair, soft gentle strokes that made him close his eyes for half a second.
When he opened them again, she was watching him, brows slightly raised in curiosity.
“I really like you,” he said, voice low, not shy just honest.
She smiled, soft and slow. “Do you?”
He leaned in, pressing a small, lingering kiss to her lips. “Mm-hmm. I do.”
Her thumb brushed along the side of his neck as she whispered, “I think I like you a little bit.”
He raised a brow, playful. “Just a little bit?”
“Mm-hmm,” she teased.
“Yeah?” His voice was warm, a quiet smile spreading across his lips.
And then he kissed her again, deeper this time. Her hand stayed tangled in his hair, his arms tightening gently around her like he didn’t want to let go.
When they finally pulled apart, they were still nose to nose, foreheads nearly touching, breath mingling in the last golden light of the day.
After the make-out session, Y/N rested against Rafe’s side. One hand in his lap, gently tracing the veins along his forearm. Her fingertips moved slowly, following each line with quiet curiosity, like she was memorizing him by touch, the warmth of his skin, the strength beneath it, the way he didn’t flinch or pull away, just let her.
Rafe glanced down at her hand on his, then back at her face. She was focused, soft in the way she always was when she thought no one was watching.
“Comfortable?” he asked, voice low.
She smiled without looking up. “Very.”
The silence between them wasn’t really silent it held the sound of waves, a gull overhead, and that hush that happens when two people know they’re not in a rush to leave.
Then Rafe shifted slightly, reaching behind him to grab something from under the edge of the blanket. When he turned back, the familiar red rose was in his hand — bright against the soft dusk tones.
Y/N sat up just enough to meet his eyes, her hand falling to rest lightly on his knee.
Rafe’s gaze didn’t waver. “Today felt... easy. But also kind of electric? You were open, fun, honest and I think I saw more of you than I have of most people in a month.”
He paused, thumb brushing the edge of her knee as he held out the rose between them.
“I want more of that. Of you. So…” He smiled. “Y/N, will you accept this rose?”
A beat. Then her mouth curved gently, eyes never leaving his. “Yeah. I will.”
Rafe leaned in, meaning to kiss her cheek but she turned just enough to meet him, lips catching lips, soft and easy.
She tucked the rose carefully beside her on the blanket and leaned back into him, his arm curling around her waist. Her head found its place on his shoulder again, and they stayed that way, limbs tangled, breath synced, skin still buzzing from everything and nothing.
The sky above stretched into early violet, fading toward something darker.
Confessional – Rafe
“This might’ve been my favorite date so far. And not just because of the surfing.”
He pauses like he’s about to say more, then smirks, smile deepening.
“She’s got this way of looking at you, like she already knows what you’re thinking. And then laughs like she doesn’t take any of it too seriously. I don’t know... I think I’m already a little wrapped around her finger.”
“And the craziest part? I don’t even mind.”
He exhales, sitting back slightly, eyes still soft.
“I could’ve stayed on that beach with her all night.”
Confessional — Y/N
“I can’t stop smiling. Which is ridiculous, I know, but… it felt like real life today. It didn’t feel like a first date. It felt like something I’ve done before. Or something I want to keep doing.” She let out a soft laugh.
THE NEXT DAY
Sunlight filtered through the lemon trees, casting soft shadows across the stone patio. The girls had sprawled across lounge chairs and picnic blankets with oversized mugs of coffee and half-eaten bowls of fruit and granola in front of them. A low speaker played something mellow and easy. Someone had lit a citronella candle that flickered lazily in the breeze.
Y/N sat cross-legged on a cushion, tracing her finger around the rim of her mug, looking entirely too content not to be interrogated.
Alyssa was the first to break. “Are you gonna make us beg, or?”
Y/N smirked behind her mug. “Beg for what?”
“You’re glowing. You’ve been glowing since you walked back in,” Kayla said, laughing.
Daniella, lying on her stomach with her chin propped on her arms, glanced up. “She’s not even trying to hide it.”
Y/N gave them a mock innocent look. “Hide what?”
“Oh my god,” Kayla groaned, flipping onto her side dramatically. “You had your date. With Rafe. On the beach. Alone. Start talking.”
Y/N bit her bottom lip, a little too pleased. “It was… really good. Better than good even.”
The girls collectively lost it. Laughter. Pillow nudges. A chorus of “We knew it!”
Alyssa sat up. “Details, please.”
“It was…” Y/N’s voice softened, eyes drifting for a second. “Real. Just… us. Surfing, talking, messing around in the water.”
“Wait,” Alyssa said, sitting up straighter. “You surf?”
“Absolutely not,” Y/N said with a laugh. “Mostly I swallowed saltwater and embarrassed myself. But he tried to teach me.”
“He totally loved that,” Kayla said knowingly.
Y/N shrugged, cheeks warm. “He said he did.”
A beat passed.
Daniella raised a brow. “And?”
Y/N tilted her head. “And what?”
Alyssa leaned in. “Did you kiss him?”
Y/N just smiled into her coffee.
Kayla gasped. “YOU DID.”
Y/N gave a small, helpless laugh. “In the water.”
Daniella collapsed backward. “And the chemistry?”
Y/N’s cheeks went a little pink. “Let’s just say… the ocean wasn’t the only thing heating up.”
Alyssa tossed a strawberry at her. “Shut. Up.”
They all laughed again, the kind of easy, morning-after laughter that felt like friendship and sunscreen and too much sun. Somewhere in the background, a bee buzzed lazily past.
Daniella eventually glanced sideways. “Did he give you the rose?”
Y/N nodded slowly. “He did.”
The girls beamed.
“Well,” Kayla said, stealing a grape. “Let’s just say... if I were him, I would’ve too.”
“We officially have a frontrunner.”
Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Not even a little.
Then she glanced down at her hands, fingers brushing the side of her mug. “I know I’m smiling like an idiot, but... I really don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want to rub it in or make anyone feel bad. I know how much all of us want this, and you guys deserve it too. Honestly.”
Daniella leaned over and squeezed her hand. “We know that.”
“Seriously,” Y/N added, voice softer now. “I just... really hope you all get moments like that. You deserve to feel seen.”
“I’m just glad it’s with someone who actually gets it,” Alyssa said.
Kayla nodded. “And we’re rooting for you. No weird energy, just love.”
Y/N smiled, heart swelling. “I love you guys.”
“Love you too,” Daniella murmured.
Alyssa lifted her mug. “To good dates and even better friends.”
They clinked coffee mugs, bursting into laughter again. For a second, it didn’t matter who had a rose or not.
The second group date came and went, a whirlwind of cowboy boots, line dancing, and unexpected rhythm from girls who swore they’d never two-step. Laughter echoed through a converted barn lit with string lights, where boots scuffed the floor and hands found their way to hips between spins.
By the end of the night, the energy had settled into something quieter, sweeter.
The group date rose went to Daniella.
THE DAY OF THE ROSE CEREMONY
The heat clung to the afternoon like it had no plans to leave. Most of the girls were scattered around the back patio, sunglasses on, legs stretched out, half-lounging with iced drinks in hand when a voice called from inside:
“Jesse’s here!”
Chairs scraped. Flip-flops slapped against tile. In a matter of seconds, the living room buzzed.
Jesse stood in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, that usual unreadable grin on his face.
“Hey ladies,” he said. “I know it’s been a big week. Two group dates, one-on-one, lots of emotions…”
Some nods. Some wary looks.
He smiled. “So Rafe thought, instead of waiting for the cocktail party to get more time with all of you, why not do something a little more fun?”
“He’s throwing a pool party.”
The room broke into surprised laughter. “Get your swimsuits ready,” Jesse added with a smirk. “He’ll be here soon.”
The music had already been turned up. Girls darted in and out of the bedrooms and bathrooms in a blur of bikini straps, cover-ups and lip gloss. The backyard sparkled, turquoise pool, pitchers of mocktails sweating on the table, beach balls drifting lazily in the water.
And then the sliding door opened.
Rafe stepped outside and the volume of every conversation dipped almost immediately.
He wore a short-sleeved linen shirt, the top few buttons undone to reveal just enough of his chest to be noticeable. Sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose.
“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” he said, grinning.
That’s all it took, a rush of footsteps and laughter. A few girls surged toward him with excited greetings, arms thrown around his shoulders.
Zoe, predictably dramatic, didn’t stop at a hug, she leapt up and wrapped both arms and legs around him like a koala, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Missed me?”
Rafe caught her with a quick, surprised laugh, hands steady at her waist. He offered Zoe a grin that was light, then gently lowering her back to the ground, the looked up at the rest with a soft shake of his head, “Glad to see the energy’s high already.”
The rest of the girls exchanged a few amused, and not-so-amused looks.
Y/N stood a little behind the front row of girls, shoulder to shoulder with Daniella. She wasn’t pushing forward, just watching. From behind his sunglasses, Rafe’s gaze swept the group until it landed on her.
He didn’t say anything. Just let the corner of his mouth lift and sent her a quick, subtle wink.
Her breath hitched, barely. No one else noticed. Just her. Just him.
Someone cranked the music a little louder. Drinks were passed around. Naomi started pouring something fizzy into plastic glasses.
“Okay!” Kayla called. “We need a toast before anyone starts pushing anyone in.”
Rafe raised his glass, the sunlight catching the rim. “To a day off with the best company I could ask for.”
The girls cheered, a happy clink of plastic cups echoing over the pool.
And just like that, the party officially began.
Rafe barely had time to finish his drink before Zoe pulled him toward one of the loungers near the pool, already launching into a conversation with a laugh and a flip of her hair.
A few feet away, Y/N had drifted toward a shaded corner with Alyssa, Daniella, Kayla and Zara, each of them holding onto drinks and dripping in SPF.
“So..” Daniella said “How are we feeling about today?”
“Besides slightly sunburned?” Y/N smirked, then hesitated, eyes flicking briefly toward the far side of the patio. “There’s just been... a bit of tension.”
“Still with Britt?” Alyssa asked.
“Yeah,” Y/N said, tracing the edge of her glass with her fingertip. “It’s not like we’re throwing drinks at each other or anything. It’s just.. weird. Off.”
Zara frowned slightly. “Did something happen?”
Y/N hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Sort of. The morning after the first group date… she made this comment about you being too sensitive after you went outside, like in a really dismissive way. I called her out on it.”
Zara blinked. “Wait, what?”
“Yeah,” Y/N said gently. “She said if someone can’t handle the pressure of this, they shouldn’t be here. I just.. couldn’t let that slide. I’m sorry I should’ve said something to you.”
Y/N exhaled slowly. “I didn’t want it to turn into drama, but it’s been tense since. I’ve been thinking maybe I should talk to her. Just clear the air.”
Zara gave a small, appreciative smile. “I might talk to her too. Not to confront her, I just... I don’t want to leave here with any loose threads either.”
“Thanks for standing up for me,” she added a beat later.
“Of course,” Y/N said. “I just hate the feeling of something lingering like that. I don’t need us to be best friends, but I don’t want it to get ugly either.”
Y/N spotted Britt by the cabana. Y/N took a breath, adjusted her sunglasses and walked over.
“Hey,” she said, keeping her tone neutral but not cold.
Britt glanced up. “Hey.”
“Can we talk for a sec?” Y/N asked, nodding toward a quieter corner of the patio.
Britt hesitated, then nodded her head and stood. “Sure.”
They stepped away from the buzz of the group, stopping near a shaded patch beneath the pergola where the breeze softened the heat.
Y/N folded her arms lightly across her chest. “I don’t want to make a big thing out of this, but… it’s been a little tense between us.”
Britt raised an eyebrow. “You think?”
Y/N exhaled through her nose, holding back the urge to snap. “I’m not here to argue. I just wanted to clear the air.”
Britt didn’t say anything at first. Just waited.
“That morning of the first group date,” Y/N continued, “what you said about Zara... it didn’t sit right with me. It felt harsh. She was hurting, and I just couldn’t pretend it was fine.”
Britt’s jaw ticked. “She was having a moment. I made a comment. That’s all.”
“And I get that,” Y/N said. “But it felt like more than that. Like you were minimizing what she was going through. You don’t have to agree with how she feels, but dismissing it like that? It wasn’t cool.”
Silence settled for a moment.
Britt looked away, eyes narrowing slightly. “I wasn’t trying to be cold. I just don’t have time for people falling apart every five minutes. This is hard for everyone.”
“I’m not saying it’s not,” Y/N said, her voice calm but firm. “But you don’t get to decide how someone else handles it.”
There was a long pause. The wind moved between them.
Finally, Britt exhaled. “Alright. You’ve said your piece.”
Y/N nodded once. “Yeah. I just didn’t want to pretend like nothing happened.”
Britt met her eyes, unreadable. “Noted.”
A beat.
“I don’t expect us to be friends,” Y/N added. “But I don’t want this to get uglier.”
Britt’s tone was cool. “Then don’t make it uglier.”
That one stung, not sharp, but firm. Final.
Y/N didn’t respond right away. She just nodded again, more to herself this time.
“Okay,” she said softly. “That’s all.”
She turned and walked away, her chest feeling heavier than before.
Y/N stood near the far end of the pool with Rafe, her drink balanced in her hand, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You okay?” he asked gently, eyes scanning her face.
She gave him a half-smile, brushing her thumb over the condensation on her glass. “Yeah. Just – I don’t know. One of those days.”
Rafe studied her a moment longer, then tipped his heads toward the back gate. “Come on. Let’s walk for a sec.”
They slipped away from the crowd, weaving through the edge of the garden until the noise faded into a low hum. He found a shaded spot near the trees, just quiet enough to feel like a separate world and stopped there.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said softly, “but I can tell something’s on your mind.”
Y/N exhaled and leaned against the trunk of a lemon tree, fingers fidgeting with her necklace. “It’s nothing major, just... girl stuff, I guess. There’s been some tension with Britt. I don’t really want to get into it because I’m not the type to badmouth someone –“ she paused, eyes flicking to his, “but it got under my skin today.”
Rafe didn’t interrupt, just watched her quiet, present.
“She said something that didn’t sit right with me,” Y/N added “And I stood up for someone else, but now things between us are just... weird. I don’t like the energy.”
His brows drew slightly, concern soft but real. “You don’t need to apologize for having a backbone.”
Y/N smiled faintly. “I know. I just.. I didn’t come here to fight with other girls. That is not who I am.”
Rafe stepped closer, hand brushing her waist in a slow, grounding touch. “You’re not. You’re the kind of person who stands up when it matters, and still worries about doing it kindly. That’s rare.”
She blinked at him, her voice smaller now. “Why are you so good at this?”
He grinned, warm and a little crooked. “I’ve got a thing for girls who lead with their heart.”
She laughed softly, the tension beginning to ease, and when his hand came to rest along her back, she leaned into it. He dipped his head slightly, close enough that their foreheads nearly touched.
“Still trouble,” she murmured, teasing, but her voice was quieter this time, vulnerable.
“And still wrapped around your finger,” he said, thumb brushing the hem of her cover-up.
She looked up at him, gaze soft, and for a moment they just stood there, close and still.
Then he kissed her slow and quiet, a reassurance more than anything else.
And when they returned to the party a few minutes later, the weight she’d been carrying felt a little lighter.
The patio had thinned out as some girls slipped inside to freshen up or grab another drink. Zara took a breath, “Can we talk?” she asked, voice steady but quiet.
Britt didn’t look up. “Didn’t realize we had anything left to say.”
Zara didn’t flinch. “You don’t have to like me. But you don’t get to treat me like I’m a weak just because I process things differently than you.”
That got Britt’s attention. She looked up slowly, brows arching. “Wow. Okay.”
“No—listen,” Zara said, voice tightening. “What you said the other day? About me not being cut out for this? That’s just you being a mean girl and for a second I was thinking maybe you were right.”
Britt rolled her eyes, sitting up straighter. “I didn’t say you weren’t cut out for it. I said if you can’t handle the pressure, maybe this isn’t the place.”
“Which is basically the same thing,” Zara said, her tone sharper now. “You don’t get to decide how someone should handle their emotions. I’ve been trying. I’ve shown up. I’ve been honest. That doesn’t make me fragile—it makes me human.”
A few heads were turning now, quiet glances from nearby girls, uncertain but watching.
Britt stood up, arms crossed. “You’re twisting my words. Everyone’s going through it. You don’t see the rest of us falling apart.”
Zara’s jaw clenched, and she blinked hard once. “You don’t know what people are going through. Just because someone isn’t falling apart in front of you doesn’t mean they’re fine.”
Britt scoffed, like it wasn’t worth her time.
Zara took a half-step back, eyes glassy but not breaking. “You act like you don’t care, but honestly? That’s arrogance and you being a mean person.”
And then, without turning, Zara muttered, “I’m done,” and walked off, shoulders stiff.
That’s when Rafe stepped out from the hallway, catching the tail end, Zara walking away, visibly shaken, Britt standing there with her jaw tight and unmoved.
Rafe didn’t say anything to Britt.
Instead, he followed the direction Zara had gone, leaving the noise behind.
Rafe found Zara near the garden, away from the noise. She didn’t see him at first, but when she did, she didn’t hide the tears welling in her eyes. He didn’t ask anything, just stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. She held on tight.
They talked in low voices, her words barely audible over the music drifting from the patio. Whatever was said between them, it ended with another hug. His hand rubbed gently along her back. She nodded once as he pulled away, and he gave her a quiet look before turning and walking back toward the house.
Britt hadn’t moved from the lounger.
When Rafe stepped into view, she straightened subtly, slipping her sunglasses to the top of her head and giving him a small smile too quick, too smooth.
“Hey,” she said lightly, like nothing had happened. “Didn’t expect you over here.”
He didn’t return the smile. “Can we talk?”
Her smile faltered, but she nodded. “Of course.”
He didn’t sit.
“I just spoke to Zara,” he said, voice even. “And I overheard enough before that to understand what’s been going on.”
Britt’s expression froze for half a second before she recovered, reaching for composure. “Look, if this is about—”
He held up a hand, stopping her.
“No spin. No explanation. I’ve seen the way you talk to people when you think they’re vulnerable. How quick you are to pull away when someone’s struggling.”
She looked off to the side, jaw tight.
“I didn’t expect that from you,” he said. “I thought there was more kindness in you. More awareness of how hard this experience can be. But the way you handled that? That’s not what I’m looking for.”
Her voice was lower now. “So that’s it?”
He nodded, steady. “This journey deserves people who lift each other up. And right now, I need to follow what I know is right. I’m walking you out.”
She stared for a beat, mouth parted like she might say something but she didn’t. Just set her drink down with a soft clink and stood.
“Guess that’s that,” she muttered.
He walked beside her, quiet, out through the open doors.
The evening air had cooled by the time the girls lined up on the rose ceremony platform, heels clicking softly on the stone. The tension was undeniable, the kind that quieted even the usual whispers.
Y/N stood near Daniella and Maya, the three of them already safe with roses from their dates, watching as Rafe stepped forward with the remaining flowers.
His eyes moved across the group, lingering in places just long enough to make hearts race.
“Tonight wasn’t easy,” he began. “You’ve all shown me different sides of yourselves, and I’m grateful for every conversation, every laugh even the hard moments. But I have to follow what feels real. So… here we go.”
Each rose handed with a hug or a quiet “thank you,” leaving three women standing at the end.
Selene.
Brianna.
And the now-empty space where Britt once stood.
Jesse returned quietly to deliver the final rose.
Rafe took a breath, then looked up.
“Zoe.”
Zoe stepped forward slowly, visibly relieved.
That was it.
Selene’s smile was small but gracious, while Brianna looked stunned, like she hadn’t expected to be on the edge of goodbye. Hugs were exchanged, some tighter than others.
From the sidelines, Y/N glanced toward Daniella. Neither said anything, but the shift in the air was real.
The circle had grown smaller again. And everything ahead? Only more real.
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