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captainpoopweinersoldier · 1 year

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An Acquired Taste | Jake x FReader

Synopsis: You bring Jake to Long Island's Oyster Fest

Tags: Voyeurism if you squint, with a light dash of angst; Alcohol consumption; Smoking

Words: 9.3K

And thank you to @ursulaismymiddlename who deals with my Jake fixation with nothing but grace.

Link to AO3

There’s not much of a fully formed memory left over from the previous night, except for the little inconsequential detail that it was meant to be an early one.

It had been a typical Saturday evening shift. Fast-paced, stressful, and with the forever presence of snobby clientele. Though, in the restaurant's defense, most of the work week flowed with a similar rotation. But last night was the first Saturday in years you wouldn’t dare keep track of where the Sunday that followed was a day off, and apparently that translated to being amenable to the notion of getting fucked up.

That wasn’t the plan originally. Originally, you were meant to call it immediately after closing. You didn’t even dare to attempt partaking in shift drinks, simply vanished to the lockers to stuff any dirty laundry in a bag because dammit you’d get an early start to said day off and be able to freely partake in a chore and the event you had taken the day off for in the first place.

That was until a certain bartender asked if you’d be going to Home Bar, and fuck if he didn’t have a face you could say no to.

You’re sat next to him now, feeling like a teenager as the pair of you among a crowd of strangers get crammed onto a school bus headed for downtown Oyster Bay.

“Is someone a little too hungover?” he murmurs into your ear. And maybe it’s not just the bus that makes you feel like an adolescent girl. The seats are too narrow, meant for literal children. And Jake is practically on top of you in the small space.

When you glance up at him, the rim of your sunglasses brush the sharp-edged jut of his cheek and, in your stupor, you try desperately not to stare at his lips.

You grin reassuringly, even if the chatter surrounding you seems a little too loud at the moment. It’ll get better once you’re let outside and don’t have the odor of pervasive burning rubber and oil combined with the heady scent of him flooding your senses, you’re certain. “I’m fine, came and got you didn’t I?”

He tilts his head back in appraisal, lips slightly parted as he considers his response. Unlike you, sunglasses don’t cover his eyes, so the striking blue hue of them is a perfect sea struck by sunlight anyone could drown in.

“Good,” he settles on. Then somewhat reluctantly adds - “Because I uh -” there’s a huffing noise akin to a chuckle that hones your attention more than anything thus far. It’s sheepish, almost. “I’m actually. I’ve been looking. Forward -”

“Holy shit.”

“Don’t fuckin’ say anything.”

You bite your lip to temper the expression growing on your face. “Is - is Jake excited about something?”

“No,” he says quickly. But his voice is soft, so soft in fact that you can barely hear it over the sliding doors of the bus slamming to a close and the engine revs, beginning its departure from the local train station. Jake shifts in the seat; consequentially pressing you closer to the window and his eyes dart around and he can deny all he wants but it’s weak and you don’t believe him in the slightest. You can’t help but wonder when was the last time he’d gotten out of the city. Away from the restaurant, or had maybe done something he truly enjoyed that goes against the fucking thick facade he dons daily.

But when his gaze seeks out yours once more, it’s almost like he can read your thoughts. Get the gist of your own excitement for him, the hangover actively taking a steady backseat to the fact that you’re treating him to something with such good effect. He visibly relaxes, eyes flitting about your face.

“Don’t talk.”

You’ll take that. Perfectly content with spending the ride watching the town pass by through the window with him comfortably pressed against you. A win’s a win.

It’s right in the middle of October, and as much as you love living in the city, one of the few things you actually miss about Long Island is witnessing the more flush change in season. Summer weather is a thing of the past, bleeding into the picturesque full bloom of autumn. What was green is now vibrant yellows and luscious reds. When it’s bright and sunny like today, the temperature is just warm enough that one doesn’t need a coat, and then fades into cozy crisp air under the blanket of night.

IIt’s your favorite time of the year, and just so happens to coincide with Oyster Fest.

The annual festival practically shuts down the entire town while thousands of people flock in attendance. Traffic is barely more than a halted complete stop, there isn’t a lick of parking for miles, and sidewalks brim with activity as bars, restaurants and shops all remain open for business, and the swarm only thickens once the bus deposits its passengers between a clearing of town parks and baseball fields located directly beside the Bay.

To the immediate right are typical fair attractions; cheap fried foods and beer, a Ferris Wheel among other classic yet suspiciously rickety rides, including a Funhouse and the Zipper. Scattered snugly among them are grids of carnival game stations and - at this early hour of the afternoon - it is entirely overrun with families and groups of teenagers.

But straight ahead lies the main attraction. Metal barricades form a path that leads the crowd, and you with Jake in tow, to the cleared out lots ahead. Except it’s not so clear now, quite the opposite. The heads of dozens of booths stick out atop the throngs of people. Each one ran, you know, by various vendors from all over the tri-state area, and each one selling anything from varieties of food, to homemade goods and trinkets.

The layout is roughly the same as you remember and the medley of aromas make you salivate. Being hungover is a bygone thing and instead, your stomach growls with a not so subtle rumble thanks to opting against breakfast that morning. You pass a knowing look over your shoulder, eyeing Jake with interest, only to find delight in the way he surveys the landscape of food, drink, and the sparkling view of the Long Island Sound posing as a charming backdrop to it all.

“Oysters for days, but I’m assuming you want to hit that first?”

The hint of a rare, genuine smile is nothing short of chuffed before he’s even looked at you, and when he does, it’s as he draws on a pair of shades.

“Desperately.”

Maneuvering through the herd of people is no easy feat. It’s all high energy and excitement; even at a distance from across the lot, the voice of a miked up emcee booms from the main stage and an audience roars over an oyster eating or shucking competition. Queues are nearly indistinguishable as you pass through a section dedicated to gumbo and jambalaya, clam chowder and lobster bisque. You almost trip over a leashed dog and instinct makes you reach a hand out behind you, not wanting to get separated, and Jake takes it without question, letting you steer him ahead.

The soft weight of it feels so natural tucked around yours that it barely becomes a distraction like it might’ve in any other circumstance. Not until you reach the tented area closest to the pier. There’s a swirling assembly line of people waiting to approach it like they would a ride in a theme park and you sidle in once a gap reveals itself. Only then do you fret over having to let his hand go because - well - you don’t particularly want to.

"Uh, hello?"

And just like that, the moment is over. Both of your heads simultaneously turn toward the sound of the annoyed voice and find a group of boys behind you. The one in front gestures vaguely, eyebrows raised as he huffs impatiently.

"There's like, a line going on here? You have to wait in line."

The snappy intrusion was annoying on its own, but now you're fucking hungry and mere moments away from delicious relief; you stiffen at the accusation with a flood of irritation.

"The fuck's it look like we're doing?" you snap back without hesitation.

Jake snorts at your outburst, but otherwise it appears to be effective as the guy's body language seems to relax.

"Shit, alright. My bad."

You scoff and turn back around to catch up to the pace of the line ahead, and when you stop, Jake presses close enough to your backside that he can lean down to speak subtly along the rim of your ear.

"You're either very confident, or you just totally cut the line without realizing."

"Hm?" His deep voice makes your skin tingle, a sensation you’ve well practiced to endure over time. "Wait. What?"

"I mean, I don't fuckin' mind. That was kind'a cute. I think you scared him."

"Are you serious-?"

You chance a glance back, grateful for wearing sunglasses so that you can look around inconspicuously. And sure enough, the line continues much farther back than where you started. Significantly farther.

"Oh my god, I swear I had no idea-"

"Shhh.. Just keep walking," Jake's hands are on your shoulders with a gentle nudge forward, not remotely trying to contain his amusement while you flush with mortification. "We're committing now."

Indeed you are, but quite frankly - and yes, cutting is bad, it's rude, you'd tell anyone off for doing the same - it ultimately works out for the best and with very little regret because a moment later, you're blanketed by the shade of the expansive tent.

Beneath it lie rows of picnic tables, one after the other, and dozens of volunteers flit around in a blur of quick movements as oysters come piling in on trays by the (literal) boatful. They work in practiced motions, cleaning and shucking and plating the morsels, while others working the counters tend to visitors and shuffle around whole wads of cash.

It's a five for five deal, and the operation is so speedy that before you know it, you've handed over a ten dollar bill and come away with two plates and a lemon slice each. There’s a condiment station just outside the tent’s perimeter, and while Jake walks past it - you know he prefers his oysters straight up - you stop for hot sauce and a dollop of horseradish, some napkins and a fork just in case.

He meanwhile moseys over to a space out of the way of foot traffic over by the pier, making for quite the sight. And by it, you definitely don’t mean the water. Jake is dressed in his usual attire, a leather jacket and jeans combination. But today he surprised you with a button up-shirt printed with a variety of colors woven into wild patterns that somehow manages to actually work, and it’s up for debate if it’s because of the shirt itself or because it’s him. When you’d arrived at his apartment earlier, you’d done a triple take, unable to recall ever seeing him wear color at all - which of course was received with a smartass remark.

But the sunlight reflected off the surface of the water casts Jake in a perfect halo as if he’s being showcased. Skin opalescent in its brightness, throat bare to the mild air as he tilts his head back and raises an oyster to his rosy-pink lips.

You were fucked, but you save face as you approach, content to be happy with how he appears to be enjoying himself while he too balances two plates on one hand.

“They meet your exceptional standards?” you sass.

“Yes,” he states, simple and firm, and you finally take the pleasure of digging into your own.

With the slice of lemon, you squeeze a healthy trickle of juice over the shells, poke a morsel with a fork to be sure it’s properly shucked, then pick the first one up. Your mouth is already watering by the time it reaches your lips and you knock it back with a gentle slurp. It greets you at once with a flavor both briny and sweet, mingling with the spicy tang of the hot sauce, lemon and horseradish, all wrapped up with a pleasantly refreshing chill that resonates deep within your gullet.

“Better than the restaurant,” he continues; your mumbled agreement is unintelligible as you rush for seconds. “Better than the Cape, though?” You peer up at him suspiciously, slowly chewing around your next mouthful. He’s starting to reek of mischief and tilts his head in mocking consideration. “I don’t know, can’t make up my mind.”

“Is someone sounding a little competitive?”

Jake grins and you’re relieved his eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. “Of course not.”

“This is because of the clam chowder, isn’t it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies, bound to have seen the booth.

You mull over a response and suck down another oyster. “I suppose a lobster roll is out of the question?”

“I didn’t say that.” He suddenly steps closer; you need to crane your neck a little higher to look up at him, and then his hand closes the distance between you. His thumb grazes somewhere below the curve of your lip, swiping at some wayward remnant of lemon juice or briny moisture or who cares what, only to draw it back to his mouth where he flicks at it with the tip of his tongue. “I’m still hungry.”

Not a single coherent thought graces your mind with its presence, and if possible he seems further delighted by this. He lights up with a smile before grabbing your hand, and it’s a struggle to find your footing and keep the rest of your oysters upright when he drags you along. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Once some proper food is in your stomachs, it’s decided that splitting up is the best option to cover more ground. Oysters may flow constantly throughout the weekend, but historically it’s not unheard of for other vendors to sell out of supply before the day is over. And as the crowd only peaks as the afternoon goes on, Jake is surprisingly up to task and it is.. Nice.

When it comes to the restaurant, there is no doubt that with the long hours, post-shift late night outings, and occasionally the spaces in between, that those you work with consume the majority of your life. But Jake is.. Different. Admittedly, he’s an asshole, with a wickedly dry sense of humor and a passing dislike for the general public. Things you aren’t necessarily opposed to. Things that, admittedly, you have in common. You like him. He’s an actual friend. It just so happens that sometimes you want him a little bit more than that.

It is a fact that you are more than content to deal with, even if today makes it more of a challenge. Today is more than the shared cigarette breaks and the moments of hiding out in the walk-in, and it feels a far cry still beyond those late night outings with the rest of the crew. This is proper fucking bonding and perhaps it would be less daunting if Jake didn’t appear to be enjoying it so fucking much.

You take turns holding a place in line while the other will wander off in search of something else, only to reconnect immediately after to split the reward, sharing quite literally, whether it be off the others’ plate or via an outstretched hand. The strategy sees you through to the aforementioned clam chowder (a satisfying win as Jake - who adamantly refused to approve of the creamy soup - wound up stealing the last ounce of it by snatching your wrist to guide the final spoonful toward his greedy mouth), grilled scallops and octopus, steamed mussels, and eventually a lobster roll.

At other times you merely stand aside and watch as Jake schmoozes with vendors. He asks questions with an uncharacteristic interest, oozing enough charm that they inevitably offer up a small sample of something to taste for free.

The oyster tent remains a frequented spot. The queue has grown; has more than doubled in size since your initial stop, even as it manages to maintain the assembly line pace. Two pints of locally brewed beers are cradled close to your chest as you depart what’s considered the designated alcohol tent. It’s separated from the rest of the festival, an enormous setup that requires a stamp on the wrist to gain entry. Inside is cold beer on tap, a limited selection of Long Island wines, and a projector screen that will air this week’s Sunday night football. The crowd packed inside is far from small.

You bob and weave your way back to where Jake waits, ready to purchase another ten or so oysters (you both lost count after thirty), slipping through a thicket of people so dense that you focus on keeping the drinks upright, and don’t so much as notice the two young women chatting him up - until you’re just a few arms lengths away and come to an abrupt halt.

Well, fuck.

It’s being too used to seeing this type of scene play out that makes you check the time, a part of you wondering if Jake’s about to bail and disappear with the both of them. In your defense, it wouldn’t be the first time; his reputation precedes him and it certainly isn’t unearned. His ability to attract may sometimes seem beyond the point of his own control - you’ve often wondered if it comes with the territory of being a bartender - but he has never been above easily taking what’s thrown his way either.

Their appearances likely mean little to Jake, he’s nondiscriminating that way. But upon second glance, you are all too familiar with their type. One of them is a tall brunette, the other a softball-built-yet-petite blond. Both clad head to toe in yacht club gear: pleated shorts and polo shirts, brown leather boat shoes. Even their headbands practically match in bright elastic shades of pastel.

They’re North Shore girls. And a guy like Jake tempts in the form of parental rebellion and a potential connect for drugs. Whatever reservations you briefly experience are brushed aside, and now there’s little hesitation as you sidle up beside him, interrupting their conversation with a light nudge against his elbow.

“Your beer,” you announce, with eyes only for him.

Jake looks down at you, head cocked with a knowing grin. There’s something soft there too, difficult to see through the sunglasses, but you can sense it nonetheless.

“Thanks, babe,” he says, voice a gentle rumble. He takes the beer and before you know it, his arm is wound across your shoulders and he leans in, ducking down until those rosy lips meet yours in a gentle kiss.

There are few times you find yourself grateful for drunken mishaps of the past, and this split second happens to be one of them. For if you hadn’t kissed Jake prior to this, hadn’t felt the silk of his lips caught in a suspended moment of pleasure, perhaps the effect could melt you to your knees. As it stands, your lashes flutter across the tips of his cheeks. Without bidding, your mouth responds, drifting along the seam of his, and it’s lucky he moves with it even if it’s smugness you sense that drives him.

For a second you almost manage to forget what’s brought this on, but then there’s that prickling sensation of being watched. By a pair of ogling stares, specifically. You force yourself apart from Jake and clear your throat, grateful your voice is stronger than you could’ve guessed as you survey his current company. “Making friends?”

The girls emit enough dismay at your arrival to stroke an ego, but not without a glare and a roll of their eyes. The brunette crosses her arms under her chest with a drawl of - “We were just talking,” while the blonde ignores you completely, focusing on Jake with an accusatory - “You didn’t mention -”

“My girlfriend,” Jake finishes smoothly, and you resist the urge to balk at him. “She’s showing me around her hometown.”

“Close enough,” you retort dryly. Your actual hometown is out farther east, a little detail that matters to precisely no one at the moment. Apart from your arrival, your presence is barely acknowledged. The twin glares stay trained on Jake, put out and bitter as they half turn to catch up with the rest of the line. “Maybe we’ll see you around.”

“That was salty,” you snark once they’re out of earshot. Though not quite out of sight, as you both trail slowly behind them. “I’m your girlfriend now?”

He doesn’t outright laugh, but from being nestled against him (his arm has stubbornly stayed in place), you can feel something close to it as he mulls it over.

“Consider us even.”

You scoff and sputter immediately. “That was one time!” The time in question being at a disco, of all places. A creep had been harping on getting your number and then some. Everyone was too busy dancing to notice except for Jake who - thanks to his antisocial tendencies - was reliably stationed at the bar. He was more than welcoming to your advances, and the strange man left you alone after that.

“Works pretty fuckin’ well though, huh?”

He’s not wrong, you admit, and relent a little at that. “Fine. I’ll allow it.” And if you feel emboldened by both the title of endearment and the public display of affection, well, you will simply refuse to look at it much more deeply than that… Even if, admittedly, your voice comes out a little flirty when you go on to add - “But if I’m your girlfriend, then that makes this a date and -”

Jake’s pained groan echoes inside his cup as he takes a long pull of beer.

“And we’re at a festival which means you have to win me a prize at one of those shitty carnival games.”

He stops short, forcing you to stop with him, and fixes you with a glare. It lasts a breath too long, but you stand your ground, refusing to give under the weight of it, when eventually -

“I fuckin’ rock at shitty carnival games.”

Your face splits with a grin, and a smirk tugs at his.

“Guess you’re gonna have to prove it.”

But before any games, there is one last stop that can’t be missed: a lobster dinner for a measly twenty bucks. No such deal would exist anywhere either on Long Island or back in the city, and anyone who deemed themselves a lobster lover would be foolish to pass up on the offer. One that likely wouldn’t last much longer this late in the day.

So when you manage to anxiously outlast the line, you’re grateful once you both walk away with a plate each in hand, and for the last iota of room in your belly that still has an appetite.

The both of you assume a spot at a picnic table - few and far between, and shared with a trio of friends who occupy the opposite half - with Jake perched on top of it, and you sat on the bench beside his legs. In near silence now as you chow down as if eating hasn’t been the sole productivity of the day. The lobster is perfectly steamed, not dry, an error all too easy to make, and with a half-ear of corn and quarter-pound cup of melted butter as accompaniments.

There is a nagging thought, though. One you’ve been mulling over since parting ways with the two obvious up-to-no-good snobs. You peer up at Jake while you finish chewing, already moving on to cracking open a claw, having an inner debate on whether it’s worth it or not to bother mentioning. Jake is.. Well, private isn’t exactly the correct term. In the time you’ve known him, he can be almost too open with certain topics once you get him talking. But it’s rarely too personal, the deep down nitty gritty. And depending on what mood he’s in, he’ll either shut down completely, or bite your head off.

But the day so far has turned in a direction you hadn’t predicted. It’s gone better, much better than you could’ve hoped for when you first took the plunge in inviting him to come with. And in any case, his mood is as good as you’ve ever seen it. His fingers work the lobster tail apart, lips pursed in concentration, an oily sheen to them from the butter and eventually he pauses to take a few gulps of beer.

He looks fucking gorgeous and you can’t stand it and fuck it -

“So,” you start, noncommittally at first. And you can only tell he’s listening by the raise of his brows. “I.. can’t help but notice that. Y’know.. You didn’t run off with those girls.”

There’s little reaction to that. The upraised brows drop, he lets out a small huff before forking a couple of bites into his mouth. “You thought I was what - that I was gonna leave you here? Have a fuckin’ coke bender with them? Get laid?”

“Oh, I knew it!” you snap a tad overzealous. “Sorry. I fucking knew they wanted drugs. Anyway.”

Jake snorts, unbothered by the outburst. “Yeah, I’ve seen the type. They fuck you for drugs, and then their frat sized boyfriends just happen to show up. Conveniently in time to kick the shit out’a you. Rob you, obviously. I like my asshole where it is, thanks.”

You hum around a mouthful of lobster. “Sounds like you’re talking from experience.”

“Or maybe I just know a thing or two about a thing or two,” he sasses back. He takes a bite of his corn on the cob, an act that has no business being attractive and yet -

“People like that over there too, huh?” you ask out of curiosity, and he nods slowly.

“Starting to think this place isn’t too different from the Cape.”

“Aw, I can see why you miss it so much...” Another thing you have in common; you both happen to share a resounding hatred for where you’re from. The sarcastic remark draws his attention, fixing you with a stare so amused you actually wish he wasn’t wearing sunglasses, simply to see the sharpness of his blue eyes.

“And I, uh.. I wouldn’t leave you like that.” He speaks slower now, enunciating his words as if it might almost pain him to admit, and eventually he looks away. “I’m actually - enjoying myself. With you. Today. And I don’t feel like pretending.”

His phrasing sprouts about a dozen or so other questions at once, spurring sudden whiplash in your mind. Interest piques to the point you have to forcibly temper the urge to press him for more, likely to ruin the moment altogether. And in any case, more importantly, lies the admitted sentiment. It's, dare you say, heartwarming. Surprising.

But you also know that if you acknowledge it aloud, he’ll tell you to fuck off.

You smile at your plate instead. There’s just the one claw left now. It’s your favorite part, one you would normally savor, except you realize you’ve been slowly picking it apart with your fingers into little tiny unrecognizable pieces, distracted.

“I wasn’t gonna let you wander off with them anyway. So.”

“Is that right,” Jake asks, and you glance up at him again just to find he casts down an unnaturally bright smile. He’s teasing you. “Feeling jealous?”

“Terribly,” you drawl, but the feigned glare hardly sticks once you can hear him chuckling. “No, I just - I guess I fucking hope that’s not your type, but either way I could tell exactly what they wanted from you. And I didn’t. Want that, I mean.”

“You were protecting me.” Jake muses, and a retort is ready at your teeth that he requires no such protection. But then the fleeting image of a certain tall blond floats to mind like an old bad dream, and you have to stomp it down before it can rise to the surface. Focus instead on quelling the angst that worries at your food. At the more pleasant low timbre of Jake’s voice, not quite done talking. You realize he’s in the middle of a thought you’ve missed the first half of only to catch the tail end. “So why haven’t we?”

“Haven’t what?” you ask cluelessly, in the midst of losing said stress to several healthy swigs of some Long Island pale ale.

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

It’s asked so casually, so passive and without hesitation that you choke mid-gulp. There’s a split second of panic, a flashing image of splattering beer all over yourself, and somehow you force yourself to swallow. Nothing more than a few dribbles pass the corners of your lips, and you smear them away with the back of a shaky hand.

“Fuck, Jake,” you wheeze.

Jake doesn’t laugh at you, not out loud anyway. But there is a noticeable bounce to his shoulders. “Cool. If that’s the term you prefer. Why haven’t we fucked?”

The glare you send him this time is real, even if it’s less impactful over the rim of your cup. You chug the rest of its contents to ease away the scratchy rasp in your throat. It’s not like you’ve never discussed sexual things with him before, being friends for a time and well - him being him, it’s sort of inevitable. It’s just never been directed toward you, or rather, the two of you together. To the point where on more than one occasion, you’ve been referred to as the girl he ‘skipped’. Equally frustrating and weirdly resonating inadequacy when you feel -

Nope. Not doing that. You slam the empty cup on the table and take the first normal, deep breath you’ve had in recent minutes.

“You’re not available,” you finally tell him.

“I’m not,” he says, clearly disagreeing.

“Not in the way I need.”

He hums in consideration. “The way you need… That’s what - emotions? Romantic shit? How stimulating.”

Also exactly the opposite of how he maneuvers through his own entanglements, and so begs the question how it could possibly pertain to you - if that really is something he’s contemplated before. You cock your head at him, absolutely mystified while he’s predictably nonplussed. He drops his plate next to your empty cup, bare to the bones, before gathering the collective trash, and climbs off the picnic table to toss it away. And when he returns, it’s with an outstretched hand, beckoning.

“Let’s go. We can’t leave until I win you something.”

The irony of the situation is not lost on you as you take it, and once again let him pull you along.

As it happens, Jake was not kidding when it came to being good at carnival games.

It starts at the bottle toss booth, a simple enough concept that when he wins the first round on a single throw, you assume it’s a fluke. But then there’s the second round, and the third, and a fourth for (showing off) good measure - and each time without fail, Jake knocks out every bottle on the first throw. He moves on to balloon darts after that and to your (and the booth operator’s) astonishment, Jake is an image of poise, sipping his beer while popping any balloon he aims at.

“What.. the fuck?” is all you can say as you watch in awe. Of course, you’ve done miserably; haven’t landed any darts, and you could barely even keep up with the bottle toss. But Jake simply looks pleased with himself, providing no explanation to this hidden corner of his personality. Instead, he peruses over the strung up stuffed animals that make up his winnings.

“Which one do you want?” he asks. When you have a hard time finding your voice to answer, he picks out an oversized teddy bear and shoves it into your arms. And for a moment, he doesn’t quite let go. He blinks down at you and you curse the removal of his sunglasses, something about concentration. The icy blue practically glitters beneath the multicolored flashing lights of festival attractions, and all you can do is stand there, dumbly transfixed.

A slow smile overtakes him. “Next loser buys the drinks.”

Another series of wins follow in quick succession. You take turns at a variety of shooter games which, lucky for you, requires slightly less skill. Jake may still get first place, but it’s you who shouts in triumph when you don’t come dead last in a water gun race.

The classic ring toss is the only obstacle that gives him a challenge. A few dollars spent gets a large bucket of little discs that have technically been made to fit around the mouth of a liter sized bottle, but they never quite stick the landing. Jake insists the strategy is all in how it’s thrown, and though he has his own handful of misfires, eventually he smoothly tosses the rings like he would skipping rocks and lands several back to back.

It’s impressive enough to warrant some cheers from onlookers; other players who are about as successful as you in their attempts. All the while, Jake’s gloating is a quiet kind; he tilts his head and bats his eyelashes at you, and frankly you’re too astonished to mind.

“You’re like, amazing,” you tell him.

He straightens immediately like he’s been pinched, and the rosy blemish that suddenly warms his cheeks is all the smug victory you need.

What started simply with just a teddy bear turns into a giraffe with cartoonishly wide plastic eyes. Then a big blue shark with felt teeth, and finally largest of all, a neon green snake with a frilly pink tongue. It's so long, it curls over Jake’s shoulders and still almost brushes the ground while he waits for you to return from the bathroom.

It’s a sight you have to pause and photograph to memory; notoriously moody, scowling Jake wrangling cute stuffed animals in a chokehold while he smokes a cigarette. You try to keep from laughing but the alcohol in your system does nothing to help. You’re not completely toasted, no, but the buzz in your veins keeps your face flushed, and you cannot stop smiling as you make your way back to him.

The pair of you had lost complete track of time while the afternoon lost itself to twilight, and the Sound now reflects the glowing blues and purples of the sky. Nearby, the school buses are still on their rotation. Families climb on board with their children to depart for things like dinner. Most of the food vendors have closed out for the day, save for the typical carnival fare - soft pretzels, popcorn, corn dogs and such - but the Bay stays thrumming as the crowd shifts into the rowdiness of nightlife activities.

Jake rolls his eyes when he catches you staring. “Having fun?”

“Oh, yes,” you emphasize. “Not as much as you, though, huh?” The next bout of laughter becomes an oof! in a gust of air as he thrusts the stuffed animals at you so fast you have to keep from dropping them. Lastly is the snake, even though it suits him. He thoughtfully pulls your hair aside before tucking it around your neck. “S’that some sort’a Cape boy persona you keep locked up in hiding?” Hands full, you pucker your lips at him expectantly.

“Somethin’ like that,” he admits. He holds the lit cigarette to your mouth and you gratefully pull a drag or two off of it. The tips of his fingers graze your lips, and his eyes flit toward the light touch. “I was.. Kind of a shithead kid back then. In a pack of other shitheads. We’d steal beer, get drunk off a forty. There was the county fair, or the harbor. Turns out I liked throwing things.”

It’s a rare detail of his adolescence you’ve never heard before, and you’re cradling a stack of stuffed animals.

“What about you?”

“I sucked.”

“Wasn’t gonna hold that against you. Makes me look better.”

“I, uh, I would try to find out how much funnel cake I could eat before riding the Zipper without throwing up.”

Jake hums with delight, brows almost disappearing into his hairline. “We could go try that right now.”

“I did actually. Get thrown up on. By my friend. People could see it from the outside, it was - we don’t have to.”

For the first time today, Jake laughs. It’s boisterous and at a higher pitch than one could expect, and you love it even if it’s caused by the image of you covered in vomit. It makes a small part of you not want the day to end; this pocket of time where it’s just you, and not the stifled air and bull shit drama of the restaurant. But there’s still the trek back to the city, a bus and a train to catch, and at the thought of it small ounce of dread fills your stomach because fuck -

The LIRR is packed.

You should’ve predicted as much; it’s not only the Long Island residents that need to get home, but it’s been a minute since you made such a commute, after an event no less, to have considered its capacity. The train has already left the station, streaks through the county with a steady rock and the occasional flicker of the overhead lights, by the time you manage to find a seat after an off-balance weave through train cars - a lone three seater among a sea of loud passengers.

There’s a large group of rowdy boys, college kids from the looks of it, clearly drunk and a fraction of whom are dressed in matching football jerseys. They shout back and forth at each other across the aisles and over the heads of the girls who sit among them. They make a show of snapping at them to quiet down to no avail; ultimately as uninhibited and shrill as the boys are. And music plays from an unknown source, overpowering the volume of the overhead speakers. There’s only one other quiet pair; two women who share a set of earbuds to watch a cellphone streaming from their laps.

Jake props his boot atop the armrest in front of him the moment you both sit down, a force of habit to prevent anyone else from sitting with you. He receives the odd dirty look from stragglers passing by looking for a seat, only to slouch and nestle into your side in petty retaliation. It’s oddly satisfying, like you can hold onto the illusion of being alone with him just a little longer.

But they keep shuffling through, and a dirty look evolves into an ahem and an eyeroll, and someone even pauses a second too long, and Jake takes it a step further. You were content to feign ignorance, staring out the window while the exchanges played out, but suddenly he’s dragging your arm over his shoulders. He angles toward you, a warm hand slipping around the curve of your thigh, and then his mouth finds the crook of your neck. Your breath hitches as it tucks itself there, trailing feather light kisses along your skin.

There’s an audible “Oh, whatever,” and receding footsteps and you can feel him smile into your pulse point.

“Is that totally necessary?”

“Mhm.” He withdraws but doesn’t go far. Merely tilts his head back, shifting within the circle of your arm until you’re perfectly level with each other. It’s intoxicatingly close; the tip of his straight nose a hair’s breadth away, his eyelashes a dark blur over his cheeks. You can smell him this close. The smokiness of cologne or body wash, and a hint perhaps of something sweet like shampoo. “I don’t wanna share. And your furry little friends weren’t doing the trick.”

“And kissing me was your call to action, huh?”

He shrugs noncommittally. “Proved effective. Unless they happened to be into watching random strangers fool around. Not that I mind, but -”

“Oh, is that what we’re doing?” you ask dryly.

“I could be. Open to that.” He licks his lips and you gaze steadily back, trying (with futile effort) not to fluster as he smirks. Acutely aware of the hand on your thigh, how his thumb strokes absentmindedly along the inseam of your jeans, stoking something inside that’s growing harder to ignore. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You scoff, momentarily relieved with the urge to laugh. “If this is about the damn disco again -”

“Actually I was thinking of that time in the walk-in.”

“.. Ah, yeah. That.” As it turns out, mishaps of the past don’t exclusively refer to isolated incidents. You just refuse to dwell on those moments, knowing they’ll never amount to more than just having fun for Jake. Not that there’s anything wrong with that - your heart skips a beat from simply recalling the memory. But feelings.. Complicate things.

You’re not going to dwell on that now, either, though. Not when there is little subtlety in the way you both inch closer together. Not when you can feel his breath on your lips. Jake’s head tilts, the bridge of his nose brushes along yours. Attraction thuds in your veins to the point that it’s a chore to find your own voice. “So, what you’re saying is, you’ve become one of my bad habits.”

He makes a noise of amusement, closing what minute space is left between you. “It doesn’t have to be bad.”

“I said - tickets, please.”

The conductor’s voice jolts you like being snapped out of a trance. It’s a rude awakening - both the intrusion itself, and the jarring transition back into reality. It’s no wonder neither of you heard the first request. Now an actual football is being lobbed around the train car. A chorus of voices sing along to the music blasting, competing with the echoes of multiple conversations occurring at once. Has it been this loud the whole time?

You disentangle from Jake who appears mostly unbothered but for the slightest of sulks as he reorients himself. He pats around his pockets until fishing out two train tickets from his jacket, then hands them over to the conductor. You watch the scene unfold, baffled. It’s quite possibly the most mundane fucking thing that could be happening right now.

Once the conductor moves on to the next row, you coo sweetly at Jake. “Aw, hon, thanks again for the ticket.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, then reassumes the position as if the moment had been merely paused. He reaches for you, slipping a hand around the back of your neck, his thumb teasing along your earlobe, and even if it weren’t for the way his mouth seals seamlessly over yours, you’d still be melting instantly.

You release a trembling sigh, eyelids fluttering closed at the feel of him yielding as the kiss deepens. Jake’s lips part over yours and you open for him immediately, groaning helplessly when he licks into your mouth. The remnants of cheap beer and cigarettes evaporate into something entirely, pleasantly him. The headiness of his spit, the furl of his tongue. It’s dizzying, and arousing. Your surroundings fade back into white noise yet adrenaline surges through your limbs, leaving you to clutch at him desperately. Seeking purchase in the fabric of his shirt, a sleeve of his jacket, anything you can reach, and one can only assume he warms to the notion from the way his body gives.

He surges even further into you, pressing you as far back as you can go without meeting resistance, and just as you worry the twist of your spine to accommodate might grow tiresome, a series of long dragged out squeaks wheezes from the nondescript pile at your backside.

“Not quite the response I was looking for,” Jake murmurs between kisses. “Gonna make me regret winning those for you, huh?”

“Not on your life,” you retort, voice a breathless thing. You gaze up at him, swallowing hard at the sight of him like this; pupils dilated, darkening the shade of his eyes with dramatic effect when the lights flicker again. You graze your fingertips over his lips, spit-slick and swollen, then smile and try to tease with - “Think I might just name one after you-”

The thought is abruptly cut short when his mouth descends upon yours once more. His thumb presses into the hinge of your jaw, tongue slipping greedily along yours the moment you part for him. Hungrier this time, as if each interruption only makes him more impatient. His hands quickly trade places; one cups the back of your head, keeping you stubbornly in place as he steals the air from your lungs. While the other threads down the scope of your torso, breezes over your hip and maneuvers beneath your legs and - the comfort is an instant relief when he pulls them over his lap.

It gives him freer reign this way. You arch into his touch as his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt, and he breaks the kiss with gasping breaths. Seeks reprieve in the curve of your jaw. Not remotely dwelling on the wanton display that anyone could simply look over the edge of their seat only to witness him finding the sensitive spot of your throat where his lips pucker and suck, the noises he makes shooting sparks of pleasure deep in your belly.

“Jake,” you warn through clenched teeth. It’s not so much that you want him to stop - quite the opposite while you try to resist writhing over his lap. It just might make for a small problem while you’re on a fucking train.

But he makes a disapproving sound, something like a huff in your ear, then sharply nips something fierce around your skin. You lurch despite your efforts, let slip a strangled moan. Then he soothes the mark with the heated drag of his tongue, and you’re melting all over again, whimpering as his breath raises goosebumps along the trail of saliva.

“Just like that.” His voice is breathy, muffled as he kisses his way back up the line of your jaw. “Is that what you like?”

Fuck, you want him. Little thought is spared on anything but him as his hands never quite stop moving, from grazing your bare rib cage to grabbing your ass. Your needy fingertips card through the black mess of his hair, tearing him back to your mouth, and Jake fulfills. Kissing you hard and slow. Growing bolder as he feels you squirm for any semblance of relief. His touch slips down your belly, curls along the zipper of your jeans. And when his hand sinks between your thighs, the last fleeting, coherent thought you do have is that at least no one will be able to hear a single sound you make.

A transfer at Jamaica and a subway ride later finally sees you back to familiar streets. It's well into the evening now, the cityscape lit up with its typical bright neon glow. It floods the sidewalks while you walk, milling through an altogether different type of crowd as you make way for the restaurant.

It’s almost inevitable, winding up there every night. Regardless of the complaining, the more-often-than-not haughty guests, Howard managing with his quirks, the restaurant remains a single constant for most of the staff, and even on a rare day off, you still come crawling back to its doorstep.

The sight of its stoop on the street corner, well lit beneath its overpriced lanterns, makes it almost seem like a typical Sunday. The main difference being that your arrival isn’t usually accompanied by an armful of stuffed animals. Nor do you make a habit of reporting to work while painfully horny. The walk has done you some good in that respect; it feels like you’ve been properly, thoroughly edged.

The ride on the train took a turn you.. weren’t expecting - though it certainly made for a way to pass the time. It’s as if you can still feel Jake’s lips on yours, still taste a remnant of him. Like the very scent of him has buried itself somewhere deep inside your lungs. The aforementioned makeout sessions do not hold a candle to what has just occurred, as mostly over the clothes as it was. Voyeurism isn’t really your thing, and though you wouldn’t hold it past Jake to be up to task, it was the closest you’ve toed a line in that territory, and you feel - you feel. That cliche spark, that flutter in your chest as powerful as the ache of arousal in your belly.

It wasn’t just the kissing, either. It was the heavy petting, it was the talking in between. Telling Jake about your first broken bone, learning how he split his chin open skateboarding when he was a teenager - still has the scar that’s hidden by the usual scruff of his facial hair. You wonder if he feels it, too. Felt anything at all or if it was just having fun, which, to reaffirm to your current overthinking state of mind, is still okay.

You chance a glance at him walking beside you, his own expression unreadable as ever as he smokes another cigarette. Just moments ago, his lips were kissed swollen. His pale skin heated with a flush that ran low beneath the collar of his shirt. And now, the only remnant left behind is the muss of his hair.

But the restaurant inches closer. Service is over by now. The both of you could walk inside, join those partaking in shift drinks, wind up at a bar later, then go your separate ways. Or you could.. ask for more. See if there is an ounce of weight to what he brought up earlier. His pace slows short of making it to the entrance, intent to finish his cigarette, and now is as good a time as any.

“Hey, so -” you suddenly remember the stuffed animals cradled in your arm, and for the second time tonight feel a little foolish. But there’s still some liquid courage left in you yet. Some bolstered confidence from the days’ events.

“So, I know we’ll probably go for drinks and whatnot, but later…” You’re stood between him and the building and Jake steps closer; whether to shield you both from passerby or impose with his body some more is unclear as his gazes sharpens, pinned on you while a plume of smoke cascades from his nostrils, and he raises a questioning brow. God, you are so fucking fucked but you’re smiling and shaking your head as you finish your thought. “Later, maybe you’d wanna come back to my place?”

There’s the slightest lift to the corner of his lips. His head tilts back in appraisal.

“Okay.”

You blink rapidly. “Okay?”

“Yes,” he enunciates with a little more gumption, appearing amused. Definitely imposing now as he moves even closer until you are nose to chest. “I’d like that. But, uh.. You should know.” He dips his head as if to kiss you again, and quite honestly, you’re not sure if you can remain standing if he does. “I’m unavailable.”

A snort of laughter erupts from your throat, and even as he leans in, you can’t resist a roll of your eyes before they flutter closed and -

The front door of the restaurant bursts open and the moment is quickly lost to a series of recognizable voices: Ari, Sasha, Heather and Will. Scott with a few guys from the kitchen. All talking a mile a minute as they file down the stairs and swarm over the sidewalk.

It’s Scott that notices you first. “Hey, look who finally decided to show up. Lookin’ like a bunch’a fuckin’ dorks.” He purposely knocks his shoulder into Jake’s as he strides past, tossing a vague gesture behind him. “C’mon, shitheads, I’m fuckin’ hungry!”

“Ooh, what’s this?” Sasha tugs at the snake and drapes it around himself like a feathered boa before striking a pose. “I’m keeping this one.”

“No fuckin’ way!” you snap, just as Ari plucks the shark from your grasp.

“I thought you were going to an oyster festival,” she drawls, inspecting the toy. “Didn’t think that meant a carnival, too. I’m working my ass off all day..”

“Okay, just don’t drop them please? Jake won them for me.” You immediately regret your choice of words as they come to a complete halt.

“Jake did what now?” Ari asks, her eyes - along with Sasha’s and Heather’s - flicker up at him in genuine shock. Will merely chuckles as he passes, trailing after Scott and the crew.

Jake’s face stretches with a dry smile. “Fuck off, Ari.”

“Y’know for someone who doesn’t date, you’re awfully fucking good at it.”

“Jake? Good at dating? Now that’s one I’ve never heard before.”

So occupied by the current company, you had taken no notice of Simone’s approach. She’s out of her stripes, donned in her well maintained image of class. An expensive knit sweater, pressed pants. Her signature red lipstick is freshly applied, and her long blond locks are left to cascade softly across her shoulders.

She looks you up and down as she draws near, taking in your appearance but not quite meeting your eye before looking coolly at Jake. “You didn’t tell me this was a date.”

Her tone is coy enough, but not a single one of you is under the false impression that there isn’t more underlying to what she says. Sasha makes a comment under his breath and Heather quickly jabs an elbow into his side to quiet him.

“They’re just teasing, Simone.” You snatch the shark back from Ari, feeling annoyed. Like you’re being scolded by a school teacher when you haven’t done anything wrong. “It wasn’t a date, we just had -”

“I’m glad you two had a good time,” she finishes for you, and when her gaze finally meets yours, it’s like this conversation has somehow escalated into a standoff, and each bystander lights up a cigarette during the tense pause.

Eventually, Simone flicks her hair. “Impeccable timing, Jake... Walk me home?”

Fuck. You hate the way your stomach plummets at that.

You look up at him, clinging to some notion that he’ll deny her just this once, that he has felt something, that he wants to see the rest of the night through. That he wants - you.

But at the very moment you see his face, you know that’s not happening. For a second, he looks back at you, mouth hanging open around unspoken words. And when Simone calls his name again, you watch him shut down completely.

“Sure,” he intones.

“Alright, c’mon babygirl.” Sasha grasps you by the arm in effort to tug you away. Follow after Will and Scott who’ve likely made it a couple of blocks down the road by now.

You falter on the first step as if you’d been glued to the spot, stubbornly staring at Jake, trying desperately to swallow around the sting of disappointment and rejection so it’s not plain for him - or anyone else - to see.

You think you manage to tell Jake ‘goodnight’, but then your back is turned on him and you let Sasha steer you away with the girls.

The three of them link arms with you tucked somewhere in between. It’s apparent you’ve done well steeling yourself; there’s a bounce to their steps as they carry on as before, talking one over the other with no regard to whatever the fuck it was that just occurred. Onward to what you can only hope is a repeat of last night, with little left over to remember come morning.

#jake sweetbitter #tom sturridge #sweetbitter #jake sweetbitter x reader #my fic #no use of y/n

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thepaintedlady00 · 7 months

Text

Nightshade

Chapter 23 | Chapter 25

TW: As always: language, mentions of drugs and alcohol, smoking, sex, general mature themes. We've got some Tony in this chapter, some clear violations of the law and personal property/privacy, Simone's back (...yaaaaayyy), I'm gonna blue ball y'all just one more time with the big conversation our two idiots gotta have, another painting, some mentions of grooming, Lena's not in the mood for any of the shit this chapter, Jake's being the good "friend" he is. Some lies get told, and finally our dummies have THE conversation but also not really xD Enjoy!

Chapter 24: Burn the Ice

The morning chill stung his face as he exited the car - a reminder that the snow could start any day now. With calm, leisurely steps his fine leather shoes echoed amongst the chaos of the city. It was loud and crowded and smelt like cheap street vendor food. Disgusting, he thought to himself, glaring at the slouched-back people running the dirty stalls for a minute before starting up the steps.

Her building was old and smelt of mold, something he couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction about. It was obvious she wasn't living as well as she had been with him. The landlord gave him a wide-eyed look, one he was well accustomed to - the style of the rich was always something poor people gawked at - but all he did was smile that charming smile and offer the old man a wave as he made his way past.

At the door he let the others do their work, patiently drumming his fingers along the hard cover of the sketchbook while they did. The door made a loud creaking noise as it opened. “Wait here. I won't be long.”

The faint smells of cleaning materials and dust filled his nose. She'd been staying here less and less the closer the cold months got. A lingering trauma that made her unconsciously cling to that pathetic family of hers. A trauma he felt a burning frustration and an undoubtable swell of pride whenever he recalled it. Running his fingers along her countertop, looking at the living room filled with paintings she'd done after slipping away, Tony allowed himself a rare moment of quiet.

In that quiet Tony breathed in the faint smell of her cherry perfume with a grimace. He'd always hated that smell, hated the tiny fruit in general. But, he admired the malice behind it… The choice to douse herself in it was one clearly made to slight him. She could do nothing without thinking of him, even if it was in anger, for now, Tony enjoyed the simple fact that Lena still thought of him every day. It was a testament to a larger, even more satisfying truth.

This sad, pathetic little life she'd scrounged together was nothing without him.

Jules’ heavy footsteps intruded on his quiet, but he did so with respect so Tony would allow it. “He's coming this way.”

“How long?”

“Four minutes.”

“Good.” Right on schedule.

Tony set the sketchbook back on the counter and pulled the lovely orange flower from his breast pocket giving it a sniff before setting it on top of the book. Jules handed him the envelope with her name neatly printed in his decadent handwriting. “We'll see each other soon, my Lena.”

Jules had timed it perfectly, as he always did, right as Tony stepped out the door onto the steps of Lena's apartment the old biker turned onto the street. His eyes grew wide in terror and rage as he spotted him. Perfect. With a wide grin, Tony lifted his hand and offered them a wave before he slid into his limousine. “Take us home, driver. We're done here for today.”

A sweet smell filled Jake’s nose as he rolled onto his stomach, arm draping over the warm body lying beside him. The sweet, fruity, decadent aroma was one he recognized in mere seconds. Cherries. He happily buried his nose in that smell. Lena.

He cracked an eye open, catching that heavenly glimpse of the sun hitting her hair just right making it glow like fire. Pretty as that was, it paled in comparison to the sight of her bare back peeking out from beneath his covers. Her skin was soft as silk beneath the tips of his fingers as he lazily traced the snake tattoo.

The warm fuzziness that filled his chest made every touch, every smell, and sound feel almost dreamlike. He would have thought this was just another dream like he had the first time he woke up to her in his bed, but the sensations were too defined to just be his imagination. That and he felt so damn tired from the long night he'd spent in the throes of such physical activities.

With a pleased sigh, Jake recalled all the ways they'd made up for wasted time. He could still taste the sweetness of Lena's lips, still feel her soft skin rubbing so deliciously against his own. If he closed his eyes again he was sure he'd see the heavenly image of her moving on top of him. It was seared into his mind now just like his name felt forever changed now that he'd heard it on her lips as she came apart beneath him. The hickeys on his neck and the faint marks left by her fingernails clawing at his back would be more obvious things to remind him that last night had been real. Those marks would fade in a week or two unless he let her give him more, which he gladly would.

Lena had taken her time with him, kissing him, teasing him, working him so expertly he'd actually struggled not to come prematurely. She was just as talented as she'd built herself up to be and he felt like a damn fool for ever even doubting her. As if she needed more added to the list of all her perfections now she could add being the best he'd ever had.

She was vocal, not just in expressing her pleasure but in encouraging his own. No matter how hard he thought Jake couldn't remember ever feeling as satisfied during or after sex in his life. In between the three rounds of their newfound intense passions, Jake found himself… Present. Usually after an orgasm or two, he'd just fall asleep not caring if his partner did the same or not, but with her, he felt awake… Alive.

They spent just as much time talking, laughing, and enjoying each other's company as they had tangled in his sheets. They ate, drank, and played with their cat whenever the little creature slinked from his hiding place. It all felt natural and oddly intimate and, for better or worse, Jake enjoyed it.

Physical intimacy was something he'd always excelled at. Flirting, foreplay, all of it came naturally to him. Jake had spent his fair share of time between the legs of beautiful women but Lena was something else entirely. Something new. Being with her made him feel like his pleasure - he - mattered just as much as hers. It was a concept he'd never truly understood, let alone experienced until now.

Ever since he could remember Simone - women in general - had told him exactly what they wanted from him. Touch me. Kiss me. Fuck me. Faster. Slower. Harder. They told him how to please them and he listened. It was a good time for all parties, but deep down Jake always felt that sting of emptiness. It’d been more about following their orders than it had been about just getting to enjoy the moment. He felt used… Like he'd only been good for a quick fuck and nothing else.

Normally Jake would have swallowed that feeling and forced himself to move… To physically shake off the very thought of it. He'd busy his mind with reading or mundane tasks like showering or cleaning. He'd build up the wall between him and whoever he'd fucked the night before - distance himself from feeling anything at all. Right about now, Jake should have been justifying his dickish, asshole behavior by repeating the words Simone had said to him since he could remember. This is who you are, love. You're just not built for ordinary people.

Ordinary people turned out to be everyone. Everyone but Simone. And now… Maybe… Lena.

He never truly understood how powerful feelings like this could be. He never knew that one person - even one as perfect as her - was capable of making him feel like an entirely different person. Jake felt more like himself, a self he barely even knew any more than he had in practically his entire life. He let the peaceful silence and that warm feeling in his chest stay as he curled further into the back of his sleeping redhead.

It wasn't until Hemingway climbed over both their legs, shimmying beneath the curtains and pushing them open to further blind him with sunlight that Jake truly woke up. Pleased with his work the cat proudly pranced across the pillows to stare down at him with an impatient and demanding meow. He couldn't help but chuckle as Hemingway slapped his forehead with a fleshy paw. Lena mumbled something in her sleep, burrowing her face in his blanket with a happy sigh that practically drowned out the cat's noise. God, he wanted to wake her up and kiss her, feel her, fuck her until they were both too exhausted to continue.

After laying in bed for a minute longer - until Hemingway was on the verge of exploding - he slowly slid out of the sheets and stretched his tense back out with a quiet groan. Briefly glancing over his shoulder to make sure that he hadn't woken her, Jake slid on a pair of pants picked his shirt up off the floor, and dished up Hemingway’s food with a quiet scold, “There, was that so hard to wait for?”

He cleaned up the remnants of the night, tossing the now nubs of melted wax in the trash and putting the leftover oyster shells in his sink. When he moved to put the champagne in his fridge he was bitterly reminded of how little food he had. Shit. He set the champagne back on the counter, closing the fridge to look back at the bed. Did he really want to have the conversation in some overcrowded, too-loud diner?

The thought sat in his mind for a second as a list of possible interruptions made him shake his head. Nope. He wasn't going to risk not talking about this any longer because of anything. Maybe that Chinese is still good? Nope. Jake may have been lazy but even he was above serving month-old Chinese food for breakfast.

Jake knew Lena wouldn't care about where they ate breakfast, but he didn't want to risk anything going wrong. Besides, Lena deserved a proper breakfast. He wanted her to know that he'd thought about this. That he was ready - willing - to put his best foot forward. Jake wanted to show Lena that this wasn't just a one-night stand and that he wasn't going to vanish now that he'd finally fucked her. More than anything he wanted her to see how much last night, she, meant to him.

He quietly put on his shoes and grabbed his keys and wallet. Writing her a quick note, he set it on his pillow and pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. I'll be back before she even wakes up, he reassured himself as he turned and headed out the front door. The diner by his house would be open. It may not have been the best food, but it'd have to do.

I'm definitely going grocery shopping tomorrow. When Lena spent the night again, he'd be ready.

I woke to an abrupt slap to the center of my forehead followed by a loud, demanding meow directly in my ear. The silhouette of Hemingway's pointed ears was all I could see as he stood in front of the sunlit window. “Good morning to you too.”

Another demanding meow was the creature's only reply as I stretched my arms over my head and yawned. Hemingway jumped off the bed the second I'd sleepily rolled over to throw my arms around the body that should have been beside mine but wasn't. A nervous, gut-wrenching pit filled my stomach as I patted the empty mattress. “Jake?”

No answer.

“Jake?” I called out just a bit louder as I held the blanket to my naked chest and sat up in his bed, looking around his now-empty apartment.

The bathroom door was open and the shower was off. His kitchen was empty, although cleaner than it had been when we'd finally fallen asleep. There weren't many places one could hide in an apartment as small and open as his. I shifted slightly, fingers brushing against a thin piece of paper on his pillow.

Relax Princess, I just ran to grab us some breakfast. Should only be ten or fifteen minutes. Make yourself comfortable and DO NOT feed the cat again no matter how much he meows at you!

Air filled my lungs and my body relaxed back into Jake's soft sheets. He was safe. I was safe. Everything was alright.

For how long though? When he returned we'd have to finally have that discussion. The discussion. I'd need to have answers - need to admit just how much I'd fallen for him. The very thought of looking into his stupid, beautiful eyes and pouring my heart out to him made me feel dizzy.

Would he feel the same now that he'd achieved his original goal? Would Jake still want me as much as I still wanted him? And how much did I want him? How far had I really fallen since the start?

Too far. Was the only answer I could admit to. I was naked in his apartment. I had slept with him in his bed. I was waking up with the cat we'd both unofficially adopted. There was no denying it. I was hopelessly, pathetically, irreparably in this - whatever this was. There was no going back to how things were before, not when all I could think about was just how perfect Jake's lips felt on mine and how amazing last night had been.

Sex was nothing new. It was something I'd had a lot of experience in, good and bad. I knew all the steps, all the moves, and still last night had taken me by surprise. Sex with Jake had been… different. It was unlike every other sexual experience I’d had.

I often had to find ways to keep myself in the moment, something that got easier the more I was with someone or the more time had passed. But, with Jake, I was just there. I didn't need to remind myself to breathe. I didn't need to force my body to relax and repeat his name to remind myself whose hands were touching me.

It was fun, exciting and intimate. Instead of feeling that shameful disgust, the one I needed to tell myself wasn't real, I felt at peace. There hadn't been a single moment when we were tangled together that I’d felt anything but completely and utterly cherished. I felt safe, unburdened by all the shit that'd been complicating even the simplest things in my life. Last night nothing else mattered, nothing but us.

Us. It was a word that made my lips quirk up in a smile. Us was simple. Us was what I wanted. And us was ultimately what I was most afraid of.

There were just so many ways it could all go wrong. I could fuck it up. He could fuck it up. We could both collectively fuck it all up. And then what? We'd just have to go about our lives working together, seeing each other every day, watching each other meet new people, and moving on? Even just the possibility of seeing Jake with anyone else made me feel sick.

No, I thought sadly. We're in too deep for that. I couldn't live without Jake. His asshole attitude and his smart mouth, his smile, his laugh, he was entwined in my life now in a way I couldn't undo even if I tried. So, the choice was already made. I'd - we’d -make it work. No matter what I had to do to keep this from falling apart - to keep him in my life - I'd do it.

After surviving another round of Hemingway's desperate attempts to convince me to feed him, I was out of Jake's bed staring at the sulking cat as I searched for Jake's dresser. “Hitting me doesn't change the fact that you already ate!”

He hissed.

“You better watch that attitude,” I replied. “Or I won't sneak you any of my breakfast when Jake gets back.”

Hemingway’s eyes narrowed and with a moment of consideration before he rubbed himself against my feet. “Yeah, that's what I thought.”

As respectfully as I could, I searched Jake's drawers until I found his clothes. While they were kind of baggy on me, it was better than walking around in his blanket all morning. Besides, I enjoyed the way they smelt like him and felt softer against my skin than my own clothes had.

My eyes trailed along his shelves, taking a more in-depth look at his books and pictures and odds and ends that he'd saved over the years. There was so much history in his space. So many things that had been saved for a reason I couldn't know just by looking at him. Curiosity swelled in me, my mind running wild with all the possible reasons he'd held onto things. For the first time in a long time I wanted to ask questions and get closer to someone. I wanted to listen to him tell me every story and every detail about his life before I entered. I wanted to know every piece of him.

My fingers traced one of the seashells as his front door opened and he stepped inside with a bag from some diner. His eyes instantly found me, that shimmer in them making me blush and my heart soar. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he replied, clearing his throat. “Sorry, I was gone so long.”

“It's no problem,” I answered, watching his eyes take in the clothes I now wore. “I… Uh… borrowed some of your clothes. I hope that's okay.”

As he set the bag down his eyes continued to roam down my body, that sinful smirk answering me long before his words did. “That's fine, though I was looking forward to coming back to a beautiful naked woman.”

“If you'd been quicker you woulda gotten that,” I teased. “I just barely got dressed.”

He clicked his tongue. “Damn. Maybe next time.”

Definitely next time, I thought as my mind played through all the new possibilities available to us now that we’d crossed the threshold. Clearing my throat, I moved to stand next to him as he unpacked the food, distractedly watching his hands for a second before asking, “What's for breakfast?”

“The works. Bacon, eggs, sausage, waffles,” he watched my nose scrunch up and chuckled before pulling a box out of the bag and setting it in front of me. “Don't worry, I got you pancakes.”

“You remembered,” I replied, eagerly opening it to the smell of the sweet stacks. “I'm impressed.”

With a shrug, Jake shooed the cat away and leaned back against the counter. “Don't be. It's not like it was a big secret.”

We both took a few tentative bites before neither of us could contain our nerves anymore. “So-”

“We-”

Chucking at one another's interruptions I nodded to him. “You go first.”

Jake watched me, the ocean in his eyes rolling with tense waves and anticipation. “Well, I guess now's as good a time as any for us to talk about last night… and the ones before.”

Don't freak out, I told myself. Just be honest. “Yeah, things have been… Interesting… between us lately.”

“Good interesting?” He asked with a cocky grin, taking a step closer to me.

I nodded, “Great interesting. Right?”

“Right.”

“So…” The words caught in my throat as Jake took one last step closer, putting us chest to chest.

His breath, slightly sweet smelling, rolled across my face. “So…”

“I… I want t-” The front door swung open and the head of blonde hair made my teeth snap shut in anger.

Simone stood in the open doorway, that red-lipped mouth hanging open in shock for a moment before it closed. Jake turned, brows furrowed and the tension between us quickly shifted into just tension. “...Simone?”

She smiled at him, quickly with no sincerity before she looked me up and down and nodded to herself. “Lena. What a surprise.”

I bit my tongue and simply nodded at her while my eyes scanned the floor for my shoes. Jake watched Hemingway dart to his hiding place before returning his attention to the new interruption. “How was your trip?”

The mood soured further as Simone just shook her head, her eyes wide with rage and the smile on her lips quickly shifting into a sneer. “Oh, it was just fantastic. I always love dealing with my mother alone.”

Time to go. I knew if I stayed for even another sentence Jake would be pulling me off Simone and everything between us would be stained with chunks of blonde hair and blood. I may have been able to see her for what she was, but Jake wasn’t and an attack on her - physical or otherwise - would effectively jeopardize everything I had or may have had with Jake. I pushed my hair behind my ears and hastily grabbed my things, quickly pulling on my shoes. “I should go.”

“You…” Jake started to protest, but quickly thought better of trying to keep Simone and I in a room together for longer than necessary. “We can finish this later.”

With a nod I pressed a soft kiss to his lips and forced myself to smile through the disappointment in an attempt to show him I was still ready to have the talk whenever we could find the time. “See you at work.”

“Yeah,” he answered softly, breathing out a slightly relieved sigh. “See you at work.”

As I turned I held Simone's glare, telling her without any words that she wasn't getting rid of me so easily. I grabbed the champagne bottle off the counter and slid out of Jake's apartment, closing the door behind me. The entire walk to Quinn’s I forced myself to swallow the lump in my throat and kept repeating positive thoughts to keep myself from crying out of sheer frustration.

I let myself in, setting the champagne on the table next to Quinn and Ari who just looked at me in confusion. “Good morning?”

“Yeah… Morning or whatever,” I replied flopping onto Quinn's couch and melting into the cushions.

“Long night?”

“Was it bad?” Ari asked, practically jumping up from the table. “I didn't think Jake could fumble the bag when sex was involved.”

“Simoneshowedup,” I grumbled into the cushions.

Quinn settled on the arm of the couch. “Say again?”

Lifting my head I turned and glared at her. “We fucked. A lot. It was great and then right when we were about to have the talk Simone just invited herself in.”

Both Ari and Quinn's mouths formed an O. “Yikes.”

“Anything we can do?” Quinn asked, gently rubbing my back.

Flopping back onto the couch I sighed. “Kill me.”

The second the door closed all hell broke loose. Simone threw her bags to the ground and angrily stomped around his kitchen to open the wine she'd brought. “Can we not do this?”

With a joyless laugh, she glared at him. “Not do what? Not keep our promises to each other? Cause you sure as hell have already started that.”

"Jesus," Jake breathed with a frustrated shake of his head. "It just barely happened. What did you want me to call you during and let you know?"

Simone glared at him, her lips thinning into that tight line. "Do not mock me, Jake.”

“I'm not mocking you. I just… I don't fucking understand what you want from me.” His whole body felt so tight he was sure he'd explode any second. “One minute you're telling me to do what I want and the next you're pissed at me for doing what I wanted to!”

“I want you to show me some goddamn respect!” She shouted, slamming her hand down on his counter. “I have been carrying you since you were eight years old and it has been the only thing I've asked of you! Yet you still find ways of failing at that too!”

Jake felt that ugly swell of tears burning behind his eyes. He felt his whole chest ache and his mind sluggishly repeat the word. Fail. Fail. Fail. That's all you ever fucking do. You fail Simone. You failed your mom. You'll fail Lena too. That's all you're good for. Gritting his teeth Jake forced himself to breathe. He forced himself to stay standing, to blink the tears away and speak, “I do respect you. I respect you more than anyone else! I just… It just barely happened, Simone. I was going to tell you the second I got the chance-”

“And when would that have been?” She asked the anger in her voice never wavering. “In a month? Two? Until I had to walk in on you?”

“It would have been when I saw you!” Jake shook his head. “I tell you everything, Simone. I always have, I always will. That's what we do. We tell each other things, we trust each other.” Slowly he could see Simone's shoulders relax and that glimmer of love return to her eyes. “Do you trust me?”

She finally abandoned the wine and gently took hold of his face. “Of course I do.”

The ache dulled as she stroked his cheeks and he finally felt like his lungs were filling with air instead of acid. “I was going to tell you.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I do. I just… It surprised me. And you know how much I hate surprises.”

“I'm sorry,” he whispered.

Simone smiled and pressed her lips to his, a kiss that once would have sent his heart soaring but now made his gut twist in his chest as he inevitably thought of Lena. She pulled back and nodded. “I know.”

“Are we good?”

“Yes. We are. Honestly, now I guess I’m…” Simone shook her head as she poured her wine and with a heavy sigh, Jake prepared himself for the word he knew far too well. Disappointed. “Relieved.”

“What?”

She picked at Lena's discarded dress, shrugging a shoulder as if she hadn't just been screaming at him over this. “It's done now. You've gotten it out of your system and things can finally get back to normal.”

In some sense she was right. It was done now. He tamed the tiger just like he'd wanted. Normally that did mean that Jake would move on and things would go back to normal. If Lena were anyone else he would probably fuck her a few more times before ultimately tossing her aside in favor of a new fling. But she wasn't anyone else, she was Lena…his Lena.

Jake didn't want things to go back to normal. He didn't want to feel that emptiness - the weight of being so alone and detached - again. So, Jake stared at Simone as she tidied up his apartment drank wine, and lectured him about how rude and selfish it'd been of him to abandon her over the holiday. For an hour - one that should have been filled with Lena's soft touches and breathy moans - Jake listened to his every flaw being brought to the surface.

Usually, he'd bite back and argue - defend himself against Simone’s angry accusations and slanders. But, that morning he didn't bother. Jake was tired, frustrated, and now anxious. Simone's interruption had put him and Lena right back where they started. Their pile of rain checks had barely been touched and now they'd have to restart the awkward, nervous, avoidant dance around each other. Only this time it'd be worse because they'd actually fucked.

This time the longer they went without talking about it the more likely they both were to write it off as some one-night stand and just go back to how things had been before that first kiss. The longer he sat with that thought, the more obvious it became that he couldn't survive not talking about this. Jake needed to know how Lena felt. He needed her to know how he felt.

“Are you even listening to me?” Simone snapped with a disappointed sigh. Before he could answer she'd rolled her eyes and turned away from him. “Of course you aren't.”

God it was going to be a long day.

The locker room was filled with gossip as I entered and shoved Sasha off as he jumped around me practically squealing, “Let me see, let me see!”

“See what?”

“Baby Jakey's work!” He replied. “From your sex!”

I glared at Ari, who sheepishly smiled. “Oh… Were you not telling people?”

“Fuck off. All of you,” I warned, opening my locker and getting changed as quickly as I could to try and avoid Sasha's peeking. The Russian only let up when a familiar broad-shouldered bartender set his bike down and entered the locker room.

“JAKEY!” Sasha purred. “Take your shirt off!”

Jake brushed past him, shaking his head. “Not in the mood Sasha.”

“Oohhhh,” he glanced between the two of us. “Was the sex that bad?”

I whirled around and slapped his forearm, cursing him in Russian until he retreated from the room giggling with Ari. “Fucking dickhead.”

Jake and I locked eyes. Desire and frustration vibrated between us, but neither of those made my heart drop… the uncertainty in Jake’s eyes, the new sliver of doubt shining back at me did. Had Simone talked him out of whatever this was? Had she dug those talons into his back hard enough for him to abandon the feelings I knew we both felt? Or had all of this… everything between us really just been part of some long game for him?

My racing thoughts must have been obvious, because Jake took a step toward me, mouth open to try and say something before Simone stepped into the locker room, happily humming as if she hadn't interrupted us at all. The apologetic look in his eyes was the only thing that kept me from punching that smug blonde bitch in the back of the head. I ground my teeth together and turned around to finish getting ready.

I left the two of them and their small talk in the locker room and headed to the table for family meal. Howard, who looked slightly tanner, offered me an apologetic look of his own that I didn't understand until I sat down and my eyes found the new painting hanging on the wall. Right. That's a fucking thing.

The vivid orange petals were splattered with red. I found my mind having to remind itself that it'd been wine instead of blood this time. The jagged cuts in the canvas and its slightly bent shape made it all too clear what'd happened to this particular empty showcase.

The glass shattered over the top of the painting at my feet, wine sloshing over the half-painted petals and the shards of glass slicing the canvas where it struck. If this had been any other circumstance I would have admired how artistic it made the piece look. But this was just another bender.

Tony lay on the ground next to the broken glass, laughing. It didn't matter how much or how loud he laughed, I could see the tired bags under his eyes and the hazed far off look that made me wonder if there was some human part of him deep inside. I almost pitied him, if just for one fragmented moment.

Jules checked his pulse and shoved my painting aside to keep him away from the broken glass. Turning to me he nodded to the mostly incoherent man at his side. “Stay with him while I get the doctor.”

“Of course,” I obediently answered, moving to kneel beside Tony. Jules gave my shoulder a soft squeeze as he stood and hurried toward the elevator.

My eyes fixated on the broken shards of glass just a few inches away. I could easily take one and shove it into his neck or cut his wrists. I could make it look like an accident… Like he'd done it to himself. Before the fear or the guilt could stop me I was reaching for the largest shard.

“Lena…” Tony mumbled, voice quivering as his glazed-over eyes searched for me. “Lena?”

“I'm here,” I answered quietly, my finger lingering on the glass as I looked down at him.

He relaxed instantly at the sound of my voice, lifting his hand to search for me in the dimly lit living room. “I… I can't see. Lena?”

Pity, understanding, and sympathy slowly replaced the darker thoughts in my head. With a gentle sigh, I slid closer to him, taking his hand in mine and pulling Tony into my lap. “I'm here.”

“W… Will you stay?” He mumbled kissing my hand. “Will you stay with me?”

The reply was practically instant… trained. “Of course.”

Tony set my hand against his chest, forcing me to feel the beating of his heart that cruelly reminded me he was a living, breathing human being. “Promise?”

Staring down at the floor of broken glass and then at the tender, beautiful face of the man I hated and feared and… Loved… I nodded. The words sounded sincere but filled my chest with a numbness that made it hard to breathe. “I promise.”

It was a low blow, reminding me of my supposed love for him. Reminding me that I'd made promises… Attempting to guilt me back into obedience. What was worse though, was that it worked.

In an entirely, uniquely twisted… Fucked up way my whole body went into some old, automatic tense posture. My chest burned with shame and my head filled with guilt-riddled thoughts. You broke his heart. You abandoned him. You said you'd never leave… Grinding my teeth together and balling my hands into fists I forced myself to remember the truth.

Being with Tony hadn't just been lavish gifts and eloquent love letters and expensive trips abroad. Those moments were far and few between. Being with him was filled with venom and rage. Being with him meant being held down, fighting… Aching. It was full of bloodied knuckles, bruises, and broken glass. Obey or be punished. Obey or starve. Obey or drown.

It wasn't love, I told myself, forcing that thought to be louder than all the others. What we had was never love.

Jake sat across the table from her, silently cursing himself for not offering her the reassurance she clearly needed in the locker room. The glassy, scared look in her eyes as she picked up on that tiny part of him that doubted if he deserved her, was stuck in his mind like a sliver. Beside him, Simone quietly ate her food while all he could do was watch Lena. Her eyes hadn’t met his again, unsteady they were fixed past him on the flower painting that now hung on the wall. He could see so much emotion raging in her distant eyes. Fear, fondness, guilt, shame. It wasn't like the other paintings. Those had just made her afraid, angry but this… This was one of those things he didn't understand and it made his chest tighten.

The only thing that drew his gaze away from her was the neatly pressed suit and the fucking pervert that wore it. Howard was back. To his credit, the manager barely looked at him, but Jake could still see the faint bruises that he'd done his vest to conceal. With steady steps Howard approached Lena, one hand holding a bottle while the other lifted, moving toward her shoulder.

Howard's eyes locked with his and Jake did his best to convey the ass-kicking he'd be dishing out if he so much as tried to touch her. Do it. I fucking dare you. At the last second his hand shifted to the back of the chair and a smug sense of pride made Jake's mouth twitch into a smile.

“A gift…” Howard told her carefully, setting the wine down in front of her. “An apology for my involvement.”

Lena’s gaze slowly drifted away from the painting to glare at the bottle. For a moment, her face remained expressionless before a thin, bitter smile spread on her lips. “Expensive.”

“And one of your favorites.”

She said nothing as she stood and began pouring the wine into her glass. Lena's eyes were fixed on Howard even as the glass began to overflow, wine staining the white tablecloth in seconds. The manager pursed his lips, disappointment and a mild look of frustration playing out on his still slightly discolored face. No one said a single word as the bottle finally ran empty and Lena set it back down.

Howard sighed. “Was that truly necessary?”

Still, without a single word, Lena knocked the glass over, sending wine down the table. She strode past him and toward the kitchen just as everyone at the table burst with laughter and gossip. Jake leaned back in his seat and grinned at Howard, enjoying every second of the manager's hateful gaze.

Simone looked at the mess with a disapproving shake of her head. “Such a waste.”

Howard's glare shifted to Sasha and Ari as they continued their laughter. With a snap of his fingers and a swift gesture to the mess he barked out the order, “You two, please get this tablecloth in a soak and clean this up?”

“No fair,” Ari pouted quietly as they started cleaning. “Tiger Bitch makes a mess and we have to clean it.”

“Nepotism,” Sasha answered almost flippantly. “Tiger Bitch is special baby.”

Jake took his plate and Simone's back to the kitchen, eyes finding Lena among the dish crew with ease. She had her head down, focused completely on washing the dishes in the sink. As he set his dirty plates down he watched the water, trying to gauge how hot it was in an attempt to tell how fucked up the painting and Howard had her. It was bad, but not as bad as the first time.

He didn't want to leave her, not when she was like this. A hand waved in his peripheral vision, drawing his gaze to the line where Isaac nodded him toward the door. A silent but reassuring message that he'd keep an eye on her through this shift. Jake spared one last look to the back of her head before he sighed and left the kitchen.

Service felt longer than it should have. Wave after wave of rich assholes poured through the door and gawked at that painting hanging on the wall with Lena's name on it. It made him feel angry and sick to his stomach even just imagining what horrible memory she'd tried to bury in that paint. And there these fuckers were, complimenting it… Calling it a masterpiece. Worse than that Jake knew that even if they knew the full story they'd still find it just as fascinating - maybe even more.

As he made the drinks and served the guests in front of him, Jake made it a point to glare at Howard. The disgusting man was practically trying to sell the damn thing. He stood beside the crowd, pointing out the details of the piece and praising the painter, who he'd already revealed worked in the restaurant. When he'd walked past the bar toward the kitchen it took all of Jake's willpower not to hit him again.

Only a minute had passed before his heart dropped into his stomach at the sound of shattering dishes. In an instant Jake was moving towards the kitchen doors, his heartbeat practically echoing her name. Just as he reached the end of the bar, Sasha fled the scene with a deviant smile, effectively blocking Jake's path. “The hell happened?”

“Tiger Bitch is not in a playful mood tonight,” The Russian answered. “Dear Howard was telling her that some of the guests wanted to speak with her about her painting and she just held up a plate,” he illustrated the throwing movement as well as the crash with his hands, “She threw a plate and told him she'd throw one every time he spoke to her.”

A part of him couldn't help but feel satisfied at how hostile she was acting towards Howard. She may not have known what he did, but Jake was glad she was giving him hell even if it wasn't for the worst of his crimes against her. But, beneath that satisfaction was the simmering worry that it would all be too much for Lena to handle and he'd have to watch her spiral into another night of panic and drowning her fears in alcohol.

Sasha watched his face, reading it carefully as he set his head in his hands and leaned on the bar in front of Jake. “Something about those paintings puts Tiger in a bad mood.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he replied curtly.

“Tell me what you know, pretty Jake,” he urged.

Jake leaned forward, looking around them for a moment as if he cared about who could hear them. “I know you should get the fuck off my bar and back to work.”

The Russian cursed and waved him off. “Ha ha, you so funny.” With a thoughtful look, he shifted his question, “So, what's next?”

“Next?” Jake asked with a pointed look.

Sasha smirked and gave him an innocent shrug. “Well, now that you've tamed the tiger you'll be taking on a new project, yes? A new hostess maybe?”

Turning his head to the hostess stand Jake caught the new girl bashfully averting her eyes from the bar. In the past, he would have felt a thrill at the idea of stringing along another sweet, innocent hostess… But now when he looked at her and saw those blushing cheeks that told him she was interested all he could think of was how boring it'd be. No one would ever be able to offer him even a fraction of what he had with Lena.

No one else would challenge him the way she did. It didn't matter how pretty the hostess was, she wouldn't tease him encourage him, or support him the way the redhead did. No one could be more beautiful than her, funnier than her, smarter than her, more badass, or fearless. No one would be Lena and if it wasn't her… Well, he just didn't want it.

“Nah,” Jake finally replied, returning to his work. “No new projects.”

Sasha made a shocked face and with a quiet, almost supportive hum he asked, “Who really tamed who?”

The second service ended, I grabbed my shit and left out the alley door. I'd wanted to wait for Jake to talk to him, but after seeing that painting and having Howard tell me about the requests some rich asshole made to meet me… It was too much. As I wandered the brisk city, desperately trying to force the pit in my stomach to dissolve with the movement, I had to continuously pull myself from wave after wave of old thoughts trying to plague me with guilt and make me doubt what I knew to be true.

It wasn't love. It was never love.

Everything I'd been through, all the years I'd spent moving on, and all it took was one painting to make me feel like that sad, lonely, dead little girl. One painting and in whatever fucking twisted way I was looking back on the times when Tony made me laugh or smile or feel anything good. Those memories were ones I had to combat with the truth and the truth meant remembering and remembering meant I couldn't just pretend like everything was fine.

Tony had not only been in the restaurant but had weaseled his way into Howard's ear, and quite possibly my aunt's. He'd hung the paintings to elicit a very specific response and I'd played right into it. The larger message was simple. It was a reminder that in this game we were playing, he was the king. He snapped his fingers and everyone would play whatever tune he wanted, me included.

Fear, anger, guilt. What was his next move? I wondered as I had many times before. And just like every time before, I hadn't the faintest idea. Even with all the time I'd spent with him to give me a clear picture of who he was and how he thought, I'd never been able to predict his moves. The one thing I knew to be a certainty was there wasn't a damn thing he wouldn't do and that meant everything I loved was at stake… that meant the people closest to me were in danger.

Ozzy, Peter, Patrick, Quinn, Prue, Nana, Abdul, Isaac, Dom, Scott, Ari, Sasah… Jake. They were all possible targets for Tony to choose from. It was terrifying to think about and so I forced myself to not think about it. The lights over Ozzy's bar eventually flashed ahead of me as I did my best to shed myself of the powerless feeling that was now firmly rooted in my stomach. I had to keep moving forward, even blindly. I had to focus on the good around me, even if it was just a tiny speck of it.

He wouldn't take this from me. He would never take anything from me again.

As I made my way to the door I heard the rumble of Dom's bike engine and felt a sense of relief wash over me. As he pulled into the bike spaces I reminded myself of my one advantage in this fucked up game. I had Dom. He wouldn't let anything bad happen. Not ever again.

He had a tired look in his eyes as he flung his leg over the side and stood, thanking the bikers around him as they followed suit.

“Busy day?” I called out, drawing his attention to me.

A thought made his brows pinch together as he sighed and walked toward me. “Yeah.”

As he walked with me through the bar door a faint, floral smell lingered on his jacket. I leaned in, smelling him a bit deeper. “You open a flower shop or something?”

“Huh?”

“You smell all flowery,” I replied tugging on his jacket.

Dom's face drained of any emotion as he shrugged. “Right. Yeah, I… Had some business with a florist.”

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “Are you back in the game of wooing Mav?”

“No.”

“Oh come on, you can tell me!” I playfully urged. “You know I'm in full support of your “marriage”.”

With a sigh he stopped, gently placing a hand on my arm. “Lena… There's something we should talk about.”

A sudden tightness seized my throat at his serious tone and blank expression. “What's going on?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Sasha and the group waving their hands in the air, urging me to hurry and join them. “Tiger! Come on!”

Dom glanced at them and quickly shook his head. “I… just wanted to give you a heads up that Nana's got a big celebration planned for your birthday.”

“Oh.” A relieved breath left my lungs in the form of an anxious chuckle. “Oh, good. Fuck, you scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry,” he quietly replied.

“It's okay. I promised Nana she could go all out this year and… I dunno…” Glancing back at my group, at my brothers and Quinn and Prue, the restaurant crew… Jake… I smiled. I had these people in my life. They may have been in danger by being here - being close to me - but they were here nonetheless. None of them cared about possible dangers, they still chose to be here with me. The weight that had made everything feel so heavy slowly eased as I looked at my friends… my family and smiled wider. “Maybe it won't be so bad this year.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he mumbled, giving me a pat on the head. “That's real good, kid. Now go on. Enjoy your night or whatever.”

I caught his arm before he could go too far, squeezing it and offering him a sad smile. “You been to visit her yet?”

Dom's whole body tensed. He likely thought I forgot, or maybe he just didn’t want to talk about it, but with a quick shake of his head, he answered “No… I don't know if I'm gonna this year.”

“Well if you do, tell her I said hi.” I knew that Dom didn't really believe in ghosts or angels. I knew to him Sarah wouldn't hear him or even know if he'd visited at all, but every year I still encouraged him to go to her grave as some kind of birthday gift to her. He had yet to do it, but I could tell that speaking of her fondly from time to time - acknowledging that his sister existed and had been important - helped ease the hurt in him a little.

But, tonight that didn't seem to be the case.

Dom averted his gaze, cleared his throat, and nodded to the group with a firm, “Go on.”

The chaos of the night continued as expected. My friends and their antics helped me push all the bad the day had to offer back into their boxes and as I met Jake's eyes over the bartop. I was scared that he’d still have that speck of doubt lingering in those beautiful eyes, but as he stared back at me all I could see was the desire. It reminded me of the good… of the possibility that I could have something normal.

Remembering how right it felt to kiss him, to feel him in every way physically possible made me flush with a shameless want to do it all again. Jake's never-faltering gaze didn't help either. It was like he knew exactly what I was thinking and that he wholeheartedly agreed. As the night progressed and the bar slowly started to slow I found myself avoiding leaving it. The pit in my stomach, though lessened still filled me with a lingering and old voice urging me to take the quickest, easiest path away from potential heartache. End it.

That conversation we didn't get to have was now right in front of me and I felt scared. Terrified that something had changed. If Jake told me he wanted to move on from last night it would gut me. But if he said he wanted us to be something official… That thought made me feel almost as sick, just in a different way. Get him as far away from you as possible.

How many men had come before him? All of whom I'd deeply felt for and all of whom Tony had destroyed in some way or another. So what would he do to Jake? What would Tony do to the man that I cared for most… The man who was different from every other in a way I didn't even fully understand. Protect him.

Ozzy set a hand on my shoulder and nudged me to the door. “Go on and get some rest, dear. You've helped enough.”

“Thanks,” I whispered, accepting the kiss on the head and making my way out the back door where I attempted to steel myself.

The gym was quiet, with only a few lights left on to illuminate the old pictures on the walls. As I looked at my dad's smiling face in every photo that scared voice in me quieted, instead replaced by his. “Why you gotta fight me every step of the way?”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” I’d replied coldly, angry and terrified. Dad had done nothing but offer me love and acceptance since I’d gotten back for the summer, two things I knew weren’t given away for free. He wanted something but instead of telling me what it was chose to play some cruel game instead.

My dad’s shoulders slumped slightly, a sigh falling from his lips as he stared down at me with a pitiful look. I prepared myself for his disappointment, but it never came. “I don’t want anything from you, Lena.”

Shaking my head I swallowed hard. “Everyone wants something from me.”

“Alright,” he finally relented. “I do want one thing. I want you to live.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I asked, timid but still angry.

“You’re alive, sure,” he replied, carefully reaching out to touch my shoulder. “But this ain’t living. This hostile… bitterness you’re carrying, it’s not what life’s supposed to be like. Especially not for a kid.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, guilt filling my lungs as another failure was added to the list.

Dad bent down, forcing our eyes to meet, and smiled. “Don’t be sorry. It ain’t your fault. Just… let us help you. Let me help you, sweet girl.”

With tears building in my eyes, I answered, “Okay. I… Sorry I’ve been making it so hard for you.”

He pulled me into his arms and kissed my head. “You make my life, all our lives, better just by bein here. All we want is for you to see that…” He pulled away, taking my face in his hands and smushing my cheeks the way he thought was funny. “Come on. Let’s go start livin, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The sound of the alley door opening spurred me back into motion. As I headed up the stairs to the apartment I could hear Jake's steady footsteps following me. His movements didn’t sound rushed or hesitant, just steady. My heart hammered in my chest and my head filled with a hundred thoughts, a hundred voices all shouting different things at me. Jake appeared in the stairwell, hands in his pockets as he put one foot on the bottom step before stopping himself. “Now a good time to talk?”

The longer I looked down at him the quieter my mind got. Nodding I opened the door and shrugged. “As good a time as we’re probably gonna get.”

He trudged up the stairs with a faint smile on his face and all the noise, all the extra baggage weighing me down fell away. The smell of alcohol, faint cigarette smoke and Jake’s colognue reminded me that I was here. I was in this moment, not the ones in Tony’s paintings or in picture frames. I was here. I was alive and now I wanted to live.

Jake stepped inside and quietly watched me as I closed the door behind him. “You okay?”

“Yeah!” I replied, clearing my throat and taking a tensely casual position by the table. “Why wouldn't I be?”

He shrugged. “You seemed to be kind of somewhere else today… after seeing that painting.”

My jaw clenched as the ugly emotions in me wanted to return. “Yeah… That wasn't great but, I'm okay now.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.” I laughed a little to myself, forcing my body to focus on that feeling of steadiness and safety that Jake’s presence brought me. “Besides, we have other stuff we need to talk about, don't we?”

Now he looked just as nervous as I felt. “Yeah.”

“We're kind of horrible at this, aren't we?”

Jake nodded in agreement, chuckling before he spoke, “Yeah… okay… Fuck it, I'm just gonna start. Neither of us do well with labels,” Jake offered before quickly stammering over his own words. “Not that I'm against labeling this as… Whatever. I just mean…”

“Why put a label on things when we're still figuring out exactly what things are?” I finished, ignoring the slight sting of disappointment that festered in my chest by focusing on the wave of relief.

“Exactly.” He scratched his head and cleared his throat. “So… We… keep it casual.”

“Casual,” I agreed. Casual was fun, predictable but most importantly safe. Casual was familiar to both of us and given everything that had happened - changed in our lives and in our friendship - maybe that was a safety net we both needed.

Casual.

Jake nodded, taking a careful step forward. “If someone were to ask what we were… What would we say to that?”

I watched his lips, resisting the urge to end all the tedious talking by kissing him. “We'd say we're casually seeing each other? Friends with benefits? Fuck buddies? Whatever feels right to you I'm fine with.”

“So, you're a girl I'm seeing… casually?”

Nodding I forced myself to meet his eyes, not that it helped either of us stay on track. “And you're a boy I'm seeing casually.”

Jake's hands slid around me, urging me to lean into him. With that simple touch, everything else faded into the back of my mind. I felt myself relax into him, my body finally able to focus on those tingling sensations of desire and excitement. “And since we're seeing each other, casually, it'd be perfectly normal for us to kiss, right?”

“I think it'd be expected, really.”

“Good,” he mumbled, running his thumb over my lower lip. “I liked being your friend and all, but I don't think I can go any longer without fucking you again.”

As if it had a mind of its own my tongue slipped out to lick his thumb and tug it between my teeth for a second. I wasn't entirely sure what I was doing, teasing… Testing the waters… Inviting him to fuck me as much as he wanted? “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Smirking, he brushed my hair behind my ears. “That.”

His lips further erased every ounce of tension, guilt, disappointment, and fear from my lungs. The way his hands cradled my face replaced everything with a warm fuzzy sense of safety. The painting, Howard, Simone… Nothing else mattered. As long as I had this, him, somehow I knew everything would be alright.

When he pulled back for air he smiled with a quiet sigh. “This is how our morning should have gone. Sorry about Simone.”

“It's alright. We’re here now.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, leaning back down towards me. “I haven't been able to think about anything else all day.”

Before our lips could connect again I threw one last taunt at him, “I knew you liked being my friend.”

Jake rolled his eyes, warm hands sliding down my cheek to take hold of my hips. “God you're insufferable.”

I ran my hands down his chest and whispered against his lips, “You like it.”

“Shut up.” Our lips finally touched, soft hands quickly turning into heated grabs at one another's clothes.

With a half step forward Jake pressed me into the back of a kitchen chair. His tongue invaded my mouth as his hands pulled my sleeves away from my shoulders, clearing a path for his lips and teeth to follow. The way his lips felt against my skin was something that made me shiver. Jake was… How had he put it? Adept in the art of pleasure? Smug bastard… And completely right.

“God,” Patrick groaned the second he opened the door. His hand slapped over his face, covering his eyes and sighing in defeat. “Guess I should get used to that now that you two are officially a thing.”

“Casually,” Jake and I both corrected.

My brother blindly made his way around the kitchen table. “Yeah yeah, “casually” whatever ya say. Just keep alla that “casual” touchy-feely shit in your room or something.”

“Sorry,” we both mumbled watching Patrick run into his bedroom door before quickly opening it and fleeing inside.

I nodded to my bedroom door and smiled as I tugged Jake toward it. He followed, pushing the door closed behind him. I practically pounced on him, pressing my chest into his as I pulled his head down to reconnect our lips. Jake stumbled slightly causing the door to rattle. Before we could say anything else Irish folk music blared through Pat’s speakers. A crystal clear message.

“Shhh,” I whispered against his collarbone with a giggle. “We have to be quiet!”

“I'm not the one that needs to worry about that.” To prove his point he took a handful of my ass and ground himself against my core, pulling a sharp - loud - moan from me.

“Nope! I'm leaving!” Patrick shouted as the music turned off. “You two have an hour before Pete gets back! For the love of god, be done before then!”

I smirked at Jake. “Now I finally have you all to myself.”

“Looks that way,” he replied. “You gonna entertain me?”

“Of course! What kind of host would I be if I didn't?”

His eyes sparkled with lust as he watched my mouth move. “Well, what's your plan?”

Leaning in I pressed my lips to his neck, occupying my hands with his belt and starting the slow drag of my body down his. When my knees hit the floor and I'd gotten Jake's pants down I looked up at him, fluttering my lashes and smiling at him. “I'm sure I'll think of something you'll enjoy.”

My dearest Lena,

In the unlikely event you're reading this letter I simply wished to send you a simple reminder of my devotion to you. A token of my love will be finding its way to your door soon and soon we will be reunited once more.

Yours, Anthony

Dom stared at the letter, examining each line as meticulously as he would an engine. He needed to know what the sick bastard had planned. Needed to know how to protect her from whatever was coming. Tony wouldn't make it easy or fair. He never did and this time was different. He was braver than before, bolder in his actions than Dom had ever seen him.

After the beating he'd given him upon hearing all he'd done to Lena, Tony should have been cowering in some far corner of the world. He should have been terrified to even set foot in the city again and yet there he was, in her apartment, waving at her landlord, waving at him.

The longer he held the evidence of Tony's visit the more guilty he felt for keeping it secret. Lena deserved to know. Her brothers had the right to know about the danger. They all deserved better than he could give them.

With a sigh, he lifted the lighter to the corner of the paper and watched the fire spread to the cursive words in ink. He dropped it into the empty bin and picked the orange flower up off the table before tossing it into the fire too.

He should have killed Tony a hundred times by now. A mistake he wasn't going to make again. Then and there Dom silently vowed that the next time he saw that fuckers face he'd put a bullet between his eyes.

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