#yes it was a period piece but it doesn’t even matter c it was canceled

[miscellaneousqueer]

i wish more wlw media was mainstream popular. like i so desperately want a heartstopper or a rwrb or a young royals that was more focused on a wlw relationship. like i love a good lesbian period drama but guys im so tired

[yukichilovesbakugo]

Within Reach

Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

Chapter 3

Warnings: Cursing

Master List

It didn't take long for your acceptance letter to arrive. You got in with 65 villain points and only 10 rescue points. Apparently they docked points because you went out of bounds. Didn't matter much to you though, you got in! Bakugo was pretty pissed when he found out you all made it. He wanted to be the only one. Though, to be honest, he seemed more upset that the mouse made it rather than anyone else. Today was your first day at U.A. Academy. Your class was the ever so popular 1-A, and you had a feeling you'd have two of the same classmates from middle school. A small chuckle escaped your lips thinking about it as you slid on your skirt. When you had the whole uniform on, you stood in the mirror. Although you liked function over fashion, you just loved skirts. They were breathable, they flowed well, and they could look both cute and sexy. You loved them. You heard your alarm go off, letting you know it was time to leave for school. After saying goodbye to you grandfather, you headed out. As luck would have it, after a few blocks you ran into Bakugo. Instead of running up to him, you simply teleported next to him.

"Hey." You greeted. The poor boy nearly had a heart attack.

"JESUS FUCK!! WHY DO YOU DO THAT!?" He exploded. Literally. You just shrugged your shoulders.

"It's just easier than trying to catch up normally."

"Well at least warn me or something, asshole." The boy grumbled walking forward.

"You should just expect me to come out of nowhere." You teased a bit as you followed.

"What, are you stalking me?" He gave you a grossed out look. A sigh rang out.

"More like you're always were I am." You shook your head.

"Tch, whatever." He slouched over.

"So, what class are you in?"

"Not telling, shorty. What about you?"

"Guess you'll find out, huh?" You let out a deep yawn. The walk to school wasn't terribly long and you guys ended up getting there pretty fast. You guys searched around and finally found the door labeled 1-A. As both of you reached for the handle, you sighed.

"Same class again." You grabbed the door and pulled it open. After taking a look at the seating chart, you found your seat. Right. Next. To. Him. 'Fate has something against me.' You groaned. The blond just sat down and kicked his feet up. Soon a tall boy with glasses came up to talk to him. You tried to ignore them when you saw a certain green haired boy open the door. You shouted out to him.

"Oi, mouse!" He froze and looked at you.

"Y-yes!?" Poor boy was shaking as you approached him.

"You got in, didn't you? So stop shivering in your shoes." You smacked his shoulder. The tall guy named Iide, something like that, came over as well. You peered over your shoulder to see the blonde click his tongue. When you turned back, a cute brunette and a man in a sleeping bag had appeared. Everyone quickly focused on the man. He got out of his bag.

"I'm Shota Aizawa, your teacher." He started to talk while pulling something out of his bag. "Now hurry up and change then shove off to the PE ground." He then took his leave. The class was left in wonder while you just did as told. You quickly got changed. On your way, you teleported periodically to the field. Of course you were the first one there beside Aizawa. You had recognized your teacher as Eraserhead, the hero that could cancel out quirks.

After waiting a bit, a gust of wind came. It was mildly strong. Your h/l, h/c colored hair blew behind you. Some leaves flew past you. You turned slightly to see someone had arrived. There stood the blonde, who clicked his tongue and looked away. He strolled up to you, but refused to make eye contact.

"What's up with you?" You tried to peak at his face. With his hand he pushed your face back.

"Nothing!" He grumbled as you smacked his hand away. You definitely thought he was acting weird, but you just shook it off.

"Whatever." You guys stood in silence as you waited for the others. After a while, he spoke again.

"Hey-" his eyes glanced at you before he heard the voices of others. "Tch." He shoved his hands into his pocket. The others joined and Aizawa started talking. He explained the quirk assessment and told the class that whoever gets last place will be expelled. The test were fairly easy for you. With the 50 meter dash, you got the best time, 0.25 seconds. It startled everyone a bit at first. For the other test you tried to find creative ways to use your quirk. Then it came to the ball throw. When it was your turn you grabbed the ball from him.

"Aizawa-sensei. You said not to leave the circle, but is the space above it fair game?" He pause for a second, then nodded. You continue to the circle. You stood there, then disappeared. If the students looked in the sky, they could see that you teleported far above and threw the ball. They got a bit scared to see you fall to the ground, but you just teleported back to the circle. Your teacher held up the screen that read '352.7 meters'. After you yawned you returned next to Bakugo. Next up was the mouse. When he grabbed the ball, he seemed to be in conflict with himself. That's when you noticed that Aizawa activated his quirk. He erased whatever the mouse was going to use. This peaked you intrest.

"Weird." You mumbled underneath your breathe. The blonde side eyed you. After the teacher gave the mouse another chance, you figured it out. Before the ball even left his hand, you put two and two together. That was when the ball went flying. The blonde was in utter shock. He then started to charge the green haired boy, quirk going.

"DEKUUU!" It seemed you and Aizawa had the same idea. The man used his quirk and ropes to stop Bakugo while you teleported in front of him, staring him down. As the boy calmed down and walked away, you eyed the mouse.

"I never would have thought..." you trailed off as you followed Bakugo. Soon the other test were completed and the score board was showed. You didn't really care of your rank so you just started to head back to change.

"Hey," you heard a strange voice and turned around. A yellow haired boy walked up to you. "I'm Denki Kaminari, nice to meet you." He smiled at you, but you just looked at him blankly.

"F/n L/n. A piece of advice, staring at people can be considered rude." The boy flinched and let out a nervous chuckle. He had been stealing glances at you since class started.

"O-oh. I'm sorry, I just couldn't help it. You're so beautiful." He winked at you. With a blank face, you spoke.

"Thanks, I guess." You turned to leave when he grabbed your arm.

"W-wait." He tried but you teleported a few meters forward. With a scary voice, you gave a warning.

"Don't touch me, I don't like it." You turned back to him. "And you should give up now. I'm not here to make friends." When you went to leave again, you were met by the blonde.

"Oi, go get changed." He demanded with his arms crossed. After a sigh, you walked away. Unbeknownst to you, the blonde gave the flirt a pretty nasty look before leaving aswell. Once you had changed and gathered your things you went to go home.

°•°•°•°

On your way out the gate you saw the boy Kaminari. He went to cross the street, but there was a speeding car. The horn sounded and the boy looked up in horror. Within a split second, you teleported to him and then the sidewalk. You held his arms.

"You okay?" Your e/c eyes met his golden ones. His heart skipped a beat. He ended up short circuiting and shocked you a bit with his quirk. You flinched slightly, thinking you scared him.

"OH MY GOD I'M SO SORRY!!!!" He bowed at you profusely. You let out a rather long sigh then spoke.

"It's okay. I didn't mean to startle you, sorry. Just be more careful." After pausing for a moment, you noticed your quirk felt weird. You mentally cursed at yourself. Electric type quirks were your weakness. This is why you didn't want to touch him.

"Oi, shorty, you okay?" A deep voice rang out. You turned to see the blond jogging up to you. Just when he was near, your quirk 'glitched'. You teleported rapidly three times, each time within a foot from your original spot. It ended where it started though. "W-what the!?" His red eyes stared at you. Next to you the yellow haired boy stood in shock aswell. You let out a frustrated wine, then explained.

"For some reason, electric quirks always cause me to lose control of my quirk temporarily. It's such a pain." The pikachu boy stared at you in horror. He felt so terrible for doing that to you. Now the other boy, he glared at the yellow haired mess. He had seen the whole thing, and he new that Kaminari didn't mean to hurt you, but he was still a little upset at him. You started to feel some pain gradually build in your head. You knew it was coming. One thing you didn't mention was that it could also cause you get really bad headaches sometimes. "I'm going to head home. You guy be safe." You turned to leave. When the blond went to follow, you turned back again. Your quirk glitched again. "Alone, please." This time you left for good, taking a short cut to the shrine. Poor Bakugo stood, wondering if he did something wrong. He shot Kaminari one last glare, then went to go home aswell. He was deep in thought. All throughout the day, he has had a funny feeling in his chest. To make matters worse, it was only with you around. He doesn't understand it though. Maybe something's wrong with him?

Tag List: @maisyyx

[anavoliselenu]

Hiched chapter 4

“The infamous Justin Tate, not interested in chasing tail? Do I need to call you an ambulance?” she teases. “Or are you just having too much fun bugging me and keeping me away from work?”

My temper rising, I stand my ground. “Because I think of myself as a taken man now.”

Her eyebrows dart up. “Are you serious? You’re really not going to mess around?”

“Not with anyone who isn’t you,” I say smoothly.

“I—um . . . So, monogamy really is part of the deal?” she stammers. “I’ve had a standing Wednesday-night thing with a guy from the gym. Should I cancel that for the next little bit?”

My nostrils flare and I bite back my temper. “Hell yeah, it is, and yeah, you should. What goes for me, goes for you. You aren’t to mess around with anyone who isn’t me. I don’t even want to think about another man touching what’s mine.” I lean down and growl the last part close to her ear.

She sucks in her breath, her pupils dilating, then composes herself. “As long as you know that this works both ways. If I find your totem pole next to anyone else, consider yourself castrated. Think Lorena Bobbitt, but without the whole finding-it part.”

On the surface, her reaction isn’t exactly promising. But I know that deep down, I’ve affected her. I’ve seen the way she looks at me when she doesn’t think I’m watching.

“And for the record, I was kidding about the guy at the gym, Justin.”

Thank God, because I was already planning to go down to her gym after work and find the helpless fuck to punch him square in the kisser.

I step away from her desk and watch as Selena’s eyes narrow on my form. Tucking my hands into my pockets, I almost chuckle as her gaze follows the movement, her eyes drifting down to my crotch. But they dart up again and she lets out a frustrated huff.

“If you’re so confident, how about we place a bet?” I ask.

“Name your terms.”

She smirks at me, pretending to be unaffected. Too bad I know exactly the effect I can have on a woman when I turn on the charm.

I lean in closer. “I’ll give you four days until you’re begging for me to fill your hot little cunt,” I murmur.

Her jaw drops, but she recovers quickly. “Not even in four years.”

“I was going to say four hours, but I didn’t want to get cocky,” I tease.

“Trust me. I can hold out for a long time.” Selena leans back in her desk chair, her pose casual and confident.

“Dry spell?”

She rolls her eyes. “Perpetually.”

Fuck. That makes me want her so much more, knowing that she’s all pent-up and unsatisfied.

“No battery-operated boyfriends.”

Her gaze darkens. “Fine. No hand jobs either then.”

My jaw tenses. Like that will happen. “There’s always the trial run I proposed at happy hour.”

She chews on her thumbnail. “I haven’t had time to consider it yet, but I’ll keep you posted when I decide.”

A knock on the door grabs our attention. It’s Fred.

“Hey, kids, time for the meeting.”

Selena checks her watch. “Be there right away, Dad.”

Knowing our conversation isn’t even close to finished, I offer her a hand to assist her from her seat, bringing her eye level with me. “We’ll finish this later, Snowflake.”

She scoffs and struts down the hall in front of me, her gorgeous round ass swaying as she moves.

“Four days,” I call to her as I catch up.

Chapter Eight

Selena

Late the next afternoon, a knock on my office door startles me out of my work trance. “Come in,” I say automatically.

The door cracks open and Dad pokes his head in. “Hey there, sweetie. Sorry if I’m interrupting anything, but could we talk for a minute in my office?”

I blink first at him, then at my computer screen before closing my laptop. “Sure, Dad. What do you need?”

“It’s good news, I promise,” is all he says.

I follow Dad to his office, where Justin is already sitting in one of the armchairs. He stands up when we walk in.

I glance between him and Dad suspiciously. What fresh hell is this?

Dad picks up a thin sheaf of papers from his desk. “In all the recent hubbub, I forgot to tell you kids about my wedding gift.” He hands over the document with a proud smile.

I scan the first page and my heart plummets. It’s a signed lease for a furnished penthouse apartment in the heart of the city, its security deposit already paid, as well as first and last month’s rent. And there’s only one bedroom.

No way.

Realizing that I probably shouldn’t just stand here in a stupor, I say, “Oh. Um . . . wow, Dad. This is so generous.”

Dad chuckles and squeezes my shoulder. “Anything for my girl. I figured you two wouldn’t have much time to go house-hunting right now, so I found you a place myself.”

“Thank you very much, sir. I’m sure we’ll love it,” Justin interjects.

Jackass. He always knows exactly what to say, how to smooth over any situation. Whereas I’m struggling to remember how to breathe.

I force a tight-lipped smile at my dear, sweet future husband. “Yes. Justin, can we talk about this in your office? There’s a lot of arrangements that need to be made.”

• • •

As soon as we’re alone with the door locked, I let my emotions burst free.

“What the hell are we going to do? He’s already spent so much money, which T&C really can’t afford, by the way, and he’ll expect us to move in, and . . . what a clusterfuck!” I push my hands into my hair, not caring in the slightest that my perfectly coiffed bun just became a hot mess.

Justin holds up his hands. “Whoa, hey, calm down. Living together isn’t really that big of a deal, is it?”

“Of course it’s a big deal. I don’t want to move in with anyone, especially not you.”

He narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, get over yourself. I’m sure you don’t want to live with me, either.”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

I stare at him. “Why? Wouldn’t that get in the way of your drinking and whoring?”

“I told you I wasn’t going to do that anymore.” Justin rakes his fingers through his hair irritably. “Okay, just listen to me for a second. Even if we ignore the fact that you’re sex on legs and any sane man would give his left nut to spend a night with you—”

My laugh sounds ever so slightly hysterical. “You’re seriously trying to flirt right now? Is that the only way you know how to communicate with women?”

“Even if we ignore that fact,” he growls out, “we still have Tate & Cane’s public image to consider. How bad will it look if we don’t even live under the same roof?”

I rub my forehead, partly to ground myself and partly as an excuse to hide my expression. I can’t cry in front of Justin. I don’t cry, period.

Why am I even getting so upset? I already knew we’d have to live together sooner or later. I’ve seen this coming since day one. That was one of the reasons I didn’t want to sign the stupid contract in the first place. And I’m still feeling optimistic about Justin and our budding friendship. I’m not over the moon about having to share my private space with a roommate again, but I’ll survive. Hell, it may even be fun. I have a lot of awesome memories from living with Camryn.

Really, Justin’s right. It’s not that big of a deal. But for some reason, it feels monumental. Like I’m about to lose yet another piece of myself.

I just hate surprises. Dad’s wedding gift broadsided my composure and splattered all sorts of uncomfortable emotions everywhere. I need a moment to scrape myself back together.

“We don’t really have a choice, Snowflake,” Justin says. “Everyone—the media, our employees, our rivals, our stockholders—they all have to see us together. The starry-eyed young couple, poised to take over one of the nation’s biggest companies. That’s who we have to be.”

I drop my gaze, chewing my lip hard. Finally, I admit, “Yeah, I know. You’re right . . . our hands are tied. Sorry I flipped out for a minute there.”

I half expect Justin to make some perverted joke about tied hands. But instead, he just touches me on the chin—the gentlest possible hey, buck up.

I meet his eyes as his fingers tilt my face to his. Can he tell how stupid and frustrated I feel? Why can’t I hide anything from this man? Why can’t I stop exposing my weak points?

Justin’s sympathetic expression is both comforting and humiliating. I’m torn between the urge to relax, to let him support me, and the urge to jealously guard my dignity.

“No, I’m sorry too,” Justin says in a much softer tone than before. “I know this situation really sucks for you, but we’ll figure out ways to make it easier. Like our dads always said, we can accomplish anything if we’re together.”

I take a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Already my mind is starting to quiet. On the way back to my cool, collected self.

“You’re right,” I say. “We have to make this courtship look real. So, living together will kill two birds with one stone—keep up appearances and let us get more familiar with each other.”

Justin cocks his head with a salacious half smile. “Really? You’ve changed your mind about . . . ?”

“I haven’t, so get your mind out of the gutter,” I huff. Leave it to the immature horndog to purposely misunderstand me. “I meant that there’s certain things we need to know about each other. Trivia, fun facts, stuff that could come up in conversation.” We may have grown up together, but we haven’t spent much time getting to know each other as adults.

“Like yesterday, when you just assumed I drink coffee.” Justin raises his eyebrows in mock outrage.

“Right. If anyone had been watching, we would have looked like total strangers.” Then I try to joke, “Although I still think that was a reasonable assumption on my part. I mean, who the hell drinks only tea? Tea is for relaxing; coffee is for waking up.”

“Excuse me, Snowflake.” Justin grins in the crooked way that I’ve come to learn means game on. “You’d prefer me to be a twitchy addict like you? I’ve seen the sludge you drink. Pitch black . . . just like your heart.”

“Actually, it’s not,” I reply coolly, smiling despite myself. “I take sweetener. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

“Fair point. We both have a few things to learn about each other.” He thrusts his hands into his pockets and glances away for a second. “About the tea thing . . . my mom was English, and she really lived up to that particular stereotype. She loved ‘a good cuppa.’” His voice lifts to imitate her lilting accent. “So I drink tea to . . . honor her memory, I guess you could say. It’s my way of taking a moment every morning to think about her.”

My jaw almost drops. His mom passed away when he was just ten. God, I remember that year like it was yesterday. It was such a sullen time. So dark and so quiet, like all the life had been sucked out of Justin and his dad in an instant.

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. I know his mom was British, but somehow it never dawned on me that he may have a special connection to her home country.

Justin shakes his head, looking a little embarrassed, and walks around me to perch on the edge of his desk. Leaving me to feel like a total bitch.

Biting my lip, I turn to face him again. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make fun of you like that. I think your little tea-drinking memorial is . . . really sweet.”

He shrugs. “Thanks, but don’t worry about it. I wasn’t offended. Especially since I know you’ve also lost your mom.”

“Yeah, but I was practically an adult when she died. You were only ten. Just a little kid. You needed your mother.” A sweet memory of him on her lap—when he was too big to fit, but not too big to want to be there—flashes through my brain.

“You could argue that being older just makes your pain fresher.” Justin sighs. “Look, let’s not get into some kind of weird Grief Olympics here, okay? Of course I miss Mum, but your experience wasn’t better or worse than mine, just different. What matters is that we can understand each other.”

He’s always so smooth and confident about everything . . . even death. Before I can say anything more, Justin changes the subject.

“About the apartment—we should probably start spending nights there ASAP. I’ve got dinner plans with Sterling right now, but how about we meet back at the new place at . . .” He checks his watch. “How’s eight?”

Considering all the preparations I need to make, I nod slowly. “Sure. That’ll give me time to grab some food and pack.” I turn to leave, but Justin interrupts me.

“Hey, Snowflake . . . can you do me one last favor?”

I stop, glancing back. “Yeah?”

“Could you smile again?”

For some reason, his directness flusters me so much that I blurt, “W-why should I?” Then I want the floor to swallow me up.

What the hell, Selena? You sound like a bratty teenager.

“Because I don’t want you to leave unhappy.” Justin reaches out to brush my jaw with the back of his hand. The lightest, most fleeting touch, gone before I can say a word. “And because it looks good on you. I’d like to see that smile more often.”

My face is on fire. I’m not sure how much of that heat is because I just embarrassed myself and how much is because of Justin’s heated stare.

“I . . . I guess you’ll get plenty of chances, now that we’re living together.” My attempt at a snappy retort comes out stuttering.

He inclines his head without breaking our gaze. “Great. I’m looking forward to it.”

I swallow the boulder in my throat. He’s actually looking forward to it?

“Hey, Justin?”

“Yes?” he says sweetly.

“Why do you call me Snowflake?”

He steps closer and runs one finger along my cheek, making my skin tingle in its wake. “Because you’re just like a snowflake. Beautiful and unique, and with one touch you’ll be wet.”

Justin turns to leave, striding away with me staring after his broad shoulders and tight ass, with my mouth hanging open.

Dumbfounded, I shut the door behind me. Was that last comment meant to get a rise out of me? Or did he think I was really flirting?

Was I flirting? I thought I was just being bitter, but . . . maybe a tiny bit. I don’t even know. And it doesn’t help that my mind is still reeling from that bet we made yesterday.

• • •

I eat dinner alone at a little Italian bistro around the corner from the Tate & Cane building. I guess I was craving some comfort food. Spaghetti with meatballs and a glass of merlot do the trick nicely.

I take a cab home, and when I arrive, I e-mail my landlord to get the ball rolling on terminating my lease early. Then I start packing an overnight bag. I’ll arrange for the rest of my clothes and other personal items to be delivered to our new place later. My furniture will just have to be sold.

One hour later, my little maroon suitcase is stuffed full. I have no excuse to linger further. But I do anyway—walking through slowly, looking at everything one last time.

This apartment has been the backdrop of my life for the past four years, ever since I got my undergrad degree and stopped rooming with Camryn. Everything within these walls is a product of my decisions and mine alone. I chose this place for its airy architecture, its honey-colored hardwood floors, even the blue-diamond tile pattern in the kitchen and bathroom. I bought every stick of furniture, striking my ideal balance between stylish and cozy. I decorated its walls with framed art prints that suited my tastes. I filled its fridge and cabinets with my favorite snacks. I cluttered the bathroom with my beauty products, not worrying about leaving space for anyone else’s stuff. I organized everything according to the system that would best help me remember where I put it. Now . . . I can kiss all of that sovereignty good-bye.

Sure, I can bring a few more of my things to the penthouse, but so can Justin. He’ll add his own unique flavor to our new home.

Our new home . . . I wonder how long it will take me to get used to that. And it’s already fully furnished—which means no bringing my beloved squishy gray velvet sofa. Most importantly, there’s only one bedroom. I won’t have anywhere that’s truly my domain anymore.

But Justin must feel the same way. He’s also sacrificing the privacy and freedom of his bachelor pad. In fact, he has more to lose than me, since he actually had a sex life. And from what he said yesterday, it seems like he’s serious about giving up his entire playboy lifestyle. Even though he’s probably never been monogamous in his whole life.

Man, watching him try to keep it in his pants is going to be hilarious. And just what is his plan if I do take up with another man? Start a brawl like a couple of teenage punks?

I shake my head. That will never happen, anyway. Work is my whole life—I don’t have time to invest in dating. And even though I’ll never admit it to Justin, I don’t have the stomach for one-night stands. I can’t imagine myself enjoying physical intimacy without emotional intimacy. Unlike Justin, who seems to have zero problems whipping it out at the slightest provocation.

At least, he did until we started dating.

I seriously don’t understand what’s going through that man’s head. All I wanted was for us to go from acquaintances to friends. Why does he have to push for overachievement? Why is he so determined to play the perfect boyfriend, even when nobody’s around to witness his act? Why does he feel like he has to stay faithful to me?

Just to keep up appearances for the public? To gratify his male pride? Or because . . . he genuinely wants to woo me for real?

I realize I’ve been staring out the window for almost five full minutes. I haven’t even been watching the dark, twinkling cityscape—moving lights for the cars, static ones for the offices working late or the families relaxing together. A glimpse into millions of people’s lives, spread out in stars like a reflection of the night sky. I suddenly feel very small . . . and lonely.

It takes me a moment to recognize the feeling because I’m usually lonely in the abstract, daydreaming of a faceless fantasy lover. A hazy ache for human contact. Someone to brush his fingers through my hair and whisper sweet things in my ear. Someone to hold me and tell me everything will be okay. Someone to investigate when there’s a noise in the night. Now, though, my loneliness is specific and sharp.

I want to see Justin.

He’s the only person in the world who understands how I feel right now. Camryn can try to sympathize, and she’s definitely done a lot to help me through this, but she’s not down in the trenches with me. Justin is.

I’m not sure if I want to talk to him right now, but I at least want to see him. I want to know he’s still there, by my side. I need to hear his optimism and see that smirk on his mouth to know that maybe, just maybe, I’ll make it through this.

I pick up my suitcase, turn the lights off, and leave my apartment for the last time.

• • •

Even at this time of night, Manhattan traffic isn’t fun. As my cab crawls through the packed city streets, I suddenly get an idea.

“Is there a tea shop nearby?” I ask the cabbie.

He gives me a confused look in his rearview mirror. “What, like a café?”

“No, I mean a place where I can buy . . . equipment? Teapots and kettles and stuff.”

He starts tapping his GPS screen. Fortunately, we’re stopped at a red light, but I get the feeling that he wouldn’t care if we weren’t.

“About three blocks west,” he says after a minute. “You got some shopping to do there?”

“Yes, please.”

He promptly muscles into the right-turn lane, ignoring a few shouts and middle fingers from the other drivers, and speeds through. Somehow we arrive at the store without causing any vehicular manslaughter.

As I count out my fare, I say, “Can you wait for me? I shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes.”

He raises his bushy eyebrows. “That long? You sure? I’ll have to drive around the block, and the meter’s runnin’ . . .”

“I can afford it.” For now, anyway. Tate & Cane isn’t totally underwater yet.

He shrugs. “Okay, lady, whatever you want.”

I step out of the cab and he’s gone before I reach the front door.

The tiny boutique has an entire wall devoted to tea gear—cups, pots, kettles, infusers, strainers, paper filters, little wire racks for organizing boxes, airtight jars and tins for storing loose leaf. I consider the display, tapping my lips with one finger.

Finally, I choose a squat, Japanese-style ceramic teapot with a mottled forest-green glaze. Its shelf tag reads: Ao-Oribe ushirode kyuusu, tenmoku glaze, sasame filter.

I haven’t the faintest idea what any of that means. And the price is slightly horrifying. But its color and elegant shape are perfect—tasteful, yet eye-catching, not too masculine or too feminine. A symbol of compromise, a hope for harmony. A gift that I chose myself, but in recognition of a ritual that Justin holds dear.

Just for the hell of it, I take a pair of matching cups too. I’ll definitely stick to coffee in the mornings. But maybe, late at night, it wouldn’t be so bad to share a hot cup of tea with Justin.

I make my way to the front of the store, smiling to myself, feeling calm at last.

Chapter Nine

Justin

“I’m in the mood for red meat,” Sterling says as we walk down the crowded sidewalk after work.

“Damn. Dry streak, buddy?” I rub my chin thoughtfully.

“What?” He squints at me in the fading light.

“A craving for red meat usually means a lack of sex. A desire for a certain other kind of meat, if you will.” I grin at him.

“Shut it.”

Oh yeah, he’s in a funk. I know for a fact he’s been going through some type of dry spell, but I have no idea the cause. Before I can pry, he’s chuckling next to me.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re so misguided, it’s not even funny. You’re the one who’s going to be in for the world’s biggest case of blue balls—marrying someone as hot as Selena Cane and not getting to fuck her?” He makes a pitiful noise. “That’s just a damn shame.”

“Who said anything about not getting to fuck her?” I pull open the door to the Grassland Steakhouse and gesture for him to enter.

He shoots me an odd glare, but approaches the hostess to request a table.

Once we’re seated with our drinks—a whiskey neat for me, a pint of imported beer for him—Sterling leans closer. “Did you and your lovely bride make more headway on your relationship than I’d realized?”

I shrug. “Not yet.” She’s far from being my bride, for one thing. “But I, for one, am not giving up hope.” I take another sip of my drink. “In fact, after dinner, I’m meeting her at our new apartment. A gift from her father.”

“No shit?”

I nod.

“Living together, huh. That’s a big step.”

“Indeed.”

For a moment, I put myself in Sterling’s shoes and wonder if he’s feeling like he’s suddenly lost his best friend and wingman. We used to go out every weekend together hunting for pussy and fun—in that order. Now, I’m practically a married man with a new housemate, and probably a curfew.

But when I glance back at Sterling, he’s grinning at me like the cat who ate the canary, and I’m certain he knows something I don’t.

• • •

After dinner, I arrive at the penthouse first. It’s a stunning apartment in the heart of the city.

I take my time looking around, flipping on light switches as I go. Expansive views from an airy twentieth-floor balcony, a modern kitchen with a little Italian coffeemaker on the counter that I’m sure Selena will love, and expensive finishes everywhere I look—from the thick crown molding to the marble countertops to the hand-scraped oak flooring. It looks every bit like a marriage retreat. The walls and furniture, carpeting and linens are all in various shades of white and cream. It feels pure and untouched.

Honestly, it feels a bit like walking through a museum. It’ll take a while to think of this place as home. I’ve held on to my little bachelor pad near the F Line for so long now, I don’t like the idea of leaving it. But I know this is all for the best. A future with Selena is what my father wanted for me.

And speaking of fathers . . . a bottle of red wine and two glasses have been left on the counter with a note from Selena’s dad.

Justin,

Thank you for doing this, son. I won’t be around forever, and it feels so good to know that you will be there to take care of my little girl. I know you won’t let me down. There’s not another man I’d trust with both my company and my daughter. I hope you know that.

Very truly,

Fred Cane

I fold the paper into a square and stick it in my pocket. I realize that Selena’s dad always trusted me with her. Even when I was a horny sixteen-year-old kid with a new driver’s license, and she wasn’t allowed to date, I alone was awarded the privilege of taking her on outings. We boated, played mini golf, went to the movies, you name it.

I open the bottle to let it breathe and cross the room to look out on the city skyline below. I can’t help thinking back on all the good times Selena and I have shared. And the difficult ones too. We’ve been there for each other through the loss of our mothers and watching our company crumble.

I stand here thinking for so long, I lose track of time. Surprised, I blink back to reality and look at my watch. She’s late.

With a sinking feeling, I wonder if she’s even coming. Why in the fuck should I care if she wants to live here or not? She’s made it clear how she feels about me—how much she hates the idea of being stuck with me. I’m akin to a piece of dog shit on the bottom of her five-hundred dollar heels.

But I know there’s a lot more to it than that. I’ll be sorely disappointed if she decides not to show.

Finally, there’s a click in the lock. I try not to sprint to the door like a golden retriever.

Selena comes inside. I’m not sure what I expected, but she’s changed out of her work clothes and into a pair of slim-fitting jeans and a lightweight sweater.

“Hey.” Leaving her suitcase by the door, she crosses the living room toward me.

“You’re an hour late,” I say as I make my way toward the kitchen.

“I was picking something up.” She sets a brightly colored shopping bag on the counter. “Something for you, actually.” She treats me to a rare, warm smile.

I watch as she removes a box from inside the shopping bag and sets it on the counter.

“Well . . . are you going to open it?” she asks.

I figured she’d want to see the apartment first, but I oblige, coming to stand beside her. I can smell the light notes of honeysuckle on her skin. Damn, that’s going to be distracting if we’re living together now. I’ll be in a constant state of arousal. Awesome.

I lift open the flap on the cardboard box and dig through the packaging until I find it.

“It’s a teapot,” I say, holding it up and inspecting it with curiosity.