You’ve got the shortest shorts on for the first bbq of summer, but you’re a fucking graduate now, moving into an apartment of your own in a month, what can your parents say? And it’s not like you know these people, since your parents moved across the country halfway through college you’ve never met their neighbors or their work friends at this point. So you’re slowly getting drunk on canned seltzers, chatting with clusters of people who know you by reputation only and smiling back and letting them know that yes, I really am that impressive.
You’re on your second– maybe third?– drink when Jack walks in, and you can’t help but track him because this is the first guy you do know at this party.
He’d always been around your house when you were growing up, the old army buddy who was over for the parties your mom threw or late night drinks with your dad, invited to the beach when your family left at the crack of dawn and came back the same night. Sometime in high school you’d figured out that he was gorgeous, just about the time when he moved away.
His hair is greyer now, smile lines around his eyes a little deeper, and it unfairly makes him look hotter than ever. Even at rest, his biceps are pressed up against his black t-shirt as he crosses his arms, surveying the layout of the party.
“Jack!” You call out, making your way through the mess of people in the backyard.
When he turns and sees you, he smiles and you feel yourself swoon.
“Hey, kiddo,” he greets, and when you crash into him for a hug he’s surprised but hugs you back.
You’ve grown up since he saw you last, which is a thought he should not be having and yet. When you don’t fully pull away, standing too close to him as you start to ask him if he’s been in Pittsburgh this whole time and if he likes the hospital here, he can’t help but look at your low-cut top, or how your eyes keep tracking down to his lips as he answers all the pleasantries.
You go to get fresh drinks for the pair of you, and his gaze tracks your ass.
And when he manages to pry himself away from you, when some neighbor pulls you in to ask about your new job in town, he keeps looking over at how you aren’t pressed into the personal space of anyone else. How you seem bored, but when he catches you looking at him, you smile like you’re glad he noticed.
“You staying the night?” You ask him as the sun is setting and people are heading to their cars, but Jack has a tumbler of bourbon in his hand.
“I was planning on it.”
And you’re brave now, between the drinks and the way he was looking at you and feeling like you’re old enough that the world should be at your finger tips. So you lean in and sigh. “You know, the guest room is right next to mine. Maybe we can keep catching up tonight.”
When you step out of his personal space he’s staring at you again, his eyes dark and intent as he looks at your eyes, your lips, your tits.
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
It’s not but also if you don’t get your hands on this man, you might pass away. The buzz from the alcohol is keeping you pleasantly tipsy and it’s taking all your willpower not to kiss him right where you are, but your parents are right inside in the kitchen and you’re not that brave. Not yet.
“It’s on a whole other floor than the other bedrooms,” you answer, like you didn’t even hear his question. “We won’t keep anyone else up, sound doesn’t carry very well in the house.”
Sometime after ten, when it’s quiet enough in the house that you can hear the creaking of the steps as Jack finally comes down from talking too late with your dad, you hold your breath to see if you were right.
The knock on your door is quiet, but before you can even open your mouth to answer it he opens the door.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, a little grin pulling at one corner of his mouth as he steps in, closing it gently behind him.
And in the bed, you look up from your phone with an easy smile. You push into a seat and settle your legs apart. “Hey, Jack,” you greet, and pat the mattress between your legs in invitation.
