Archive of Our Own ^beta

You’re cruel to them, these boys who adore you. You simply don’t care for their feelings at all. Do they have feelings? Probably not. 

Everything about you promises a connection, releasing a spark that lures them in. Yet you can flit from one to another without a second glance. This magic in the air? You switch it off and on again at will.

Outwardly you may look like you’re searching for love, but in reality, nobody penetrates deeper than your need for them to want you. To be blinded with their greed for you so they can think of nothing else. For you to be the pulse at their throat, the pull towards the dance floor, the hand they long to reach for. But they can have your body, nothing more. Nobody gets to scratch the surface because what if they don’t like what they find? There’s never disappointment if there's still a promise lingering in the shadows. 

You melt into the night; much prettier in the darkness, beyond charming when you leave them searching for more. A dirty Polaroid tucked in a book. Tasted but never consumed. 

Want, want, want. 

“Please, please, don’t kiss me and then run off with someone else this evening?” 

And you swear you won’t, you swear to him, this sweet boy who’s supposed to be your friend and you shouldn’t be kissing in the first place. But soon enough you’re tangled with someone else on the dance floor and if you have a conscience, it doesn’t even graze it. Goes hurtling right past in a blaze of vodka and bummed cigarettes.

There’s nothing really out of the ordinary with the boy you’re flirting with this evening. A little older than some, younger than others. Late twenties? No wedding ring making things more complicated, not that you’d have cared. What’s important is that he’s looking at you the same way they all do. Hungry for your on-display flesh and barely hiding it behind darkening brown eyes, a strong hand reaching to touch you more with each sip of his drink. 

Your thighs are sticky on the booze-soaked bench under you, your denim mini skirt is much too short to be decent, but fits in with the vibe of your favourite dingy downtown Austin club perfectly. You lean in to hear his soft Southern lilt over the din of the music.

“Joel Miller.”

You hold his eye contact, make sure you have his full attention, “Mr. Miller, pleasure to meet you.” 

He smiles then, heavenly crinkles around his eyes that you find yourself more charmed by than you were anticipating. There’s a natural charisma that sits alongside this handsome face, a confidence that feels a little bit dangerous. Just how you like them. 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see some boy you were toying with earlier approach the table, but you purposefully ignore him, turning your body all the way towards Joel. This is much more fun. 

“You know this guy?” Joel shoots a warning glance at the stranger. He’s got a protective streak. Interesting. 

“What guy? I only see one guy here.” 

You swirl the ice in your drink, making sure his focus is back on you as you take a slow sip. Careful not to smudge your painted lips while still leaving a hint of red pigment on the glass. Lips now wet with alcohol, you know he’s thinking of kissing it off, imagining what you’d taste like if he pulled you close. It’s written all over his beautiful face. 

Sometimes it’s too easy. 

There’s a charge in the atmosphere, making you tip your head back and take him in properly as you experience a twist of uncertainty fizzing in you. You can almost taste it, this longing. Sure, he’s beautiful, but there’s something more. A compulsion you don’t usually experience calling for you to run your thumb down his strong nose, pinch at that pouty mouth, rest your head on his broad shoulders.

You bite at your lip, squeeze at the skin between your thumb and forefinger. Another sip of your drink and you’re back in control, hand at his knee and big bedroom eyes steady and trained on Joel, “You wanna get out of here?” 

Joel shoots you back a fine-looking smirk in response, one single dimple visible through his patchy beard and you want to lick it. What the fuck. 

He’s shaking his head, “I can’t, I’m here with my brother Tommy, can’t leave him. Liable to get into some trouble if I don’t keep an eye.” He gestures over at a rowdy group of boys by the bar who practically spell out caution. Your kind of fun normally, probably would have made similar big eyes at the equally dark-haired brother if you hadn’t spotted Joel first.

You huff dramatically, give him your best bratty pout, “Dance with me, then?” 

He’s laughing as you slide off the bench and pull him up by both hands, your thighs unsticking from the bench unpleasantly. Maybe the way you link your fingers with him is overly familiar for a first meet, but you don’t care, he feels hot against your skin and it’s… it’s good. 

There’s a clash of guitars coming from the band playing downstairs and your body pulses to the rhythm as you pull Joel behind you. Can feel his eyes devouring you as you sway your hips, know he wouldn’t be able to break away even if you didn’t have him in your grasp. 

You brush past your bestie Gracie as you weave through the tightly packed crowd, keeping a hold of Joel’s hand as you lean into the beautiful shell of her ear and suggest she’ll have fun with a boy named Tommy at the bar.

“Looks like you’re having fun already,” she purrs back to you, giving Joel an instant appraisal with the flick of her sharp eyes, “Enjoy.” 

As she slips into the crowd, you hear her calling out, “Which one of you handsome boys is Tommy?”

Joel is right up close behind you now and there’s a pleasing scratch of his scruff against your neck as he shakes his head, lips tantalisingly close to your bare skin, “You really are something else, you know that?”

You turn, head over your shoulder, so close you can feel his breath meeting yours, “Oh, I know.” 

The band launches into the unmistakable first chords of Every You Every Me by Placebo and a wicked grin breaks over your face. You like the way it makes your body feel. The pure alchemy of the vodka running through your veins melting with the thrum of the guitars, making your whole being vibrate with an energy that matches the fizzing in your stomach that you feel each time you look up into Joel Miller’s eyes. 

You can’t help but laugh, it lights up your eyes as Joel arches a brow at you, amused and, you hope, intrigued. It all feels hot and sweaty and intuitive; for a tall broad guy, he has a natural rhythm that draws you in and it feels good. He has a presence that’s helping to heat your skin, a flutter in your chest you’re not entirely used to. He’s letting you show off your body without crowding you, dragging his eyes up and down appreciatively but not pawing at you, seemingly confident you’re not going to disappear. Maybe you won’t. 

You put on your best performance, let the lyrics lick at his skin as you sing along and effortlessly move your body in time to the beat, eyes never leaving his, making sure you pout your lips just right around ‘every you’ and don’t hide the desire that’s making you bite at them with ‘every me’. 

Like the naked leads the blind

I know I'm selfish, I'm unkind

Sucker love I always find

Someone to bruise and leave behind

Joel holds you close, arms draped over your shoulders so you’re almost caged in but you can still move, swaying in time together. You rest your palms flat on his broad chest and feel the quickening beat of his heart through the thin cotton of his t-shirt as you rock your hips against him, perfectly matching the dark, brooding vibe of the song. But the tempo of his pulse and the hungry look in his eyes isn’t enough. It’s never enough. You simply must feel if he physically needs you, you have to be sure of it. 

If he doesn’t want to fuck you, what’s the point? 

Your body presses against his and there, you can feel him now. Hard against his jeans, just as he should be. You lift your arms up intentionally slowly, drag your thigh against his in a way that makes him dig even more into you, your favourite feeling. As you wrap your hands around the back of his neck, appreciating how his skin appears almost golden under the flashing lights of the club, your eyes linger on the freckles you find there. Take in the hard swallow that makes the skin tighten at his pulsing throat as he anticipates what’s coming next. 

You look up and find the darkest, most teasing brown eyes you’ve ever seen staring back at you. Hungry, but warm, mischievous. Delicious. You let your thumb run over the soft, almost curls at the nape of his neck and pull yourself up on your toes to bring those devastating lips to your own. 

“Fuck!” You leap back instantly, a jolt of something when you connect with him that makes you jump, “I think you just electric shocked me.” 

He’s laughing, pulling you close, those lips already just a breath away from yours again, “I think it was a lightning bolt, darlin’.” 

A whole new song plays and you don’t even notice.

From the moment Joel’s mouth finds yours, everything else just disappears. A part of you wants to pull away. A little voice inside says you need to take a breath, to resist the way his tongue caresses yours, a divine twist that feels both desperate and soothing all at once. That he could be both greedy for you and savouring every moment? It’s confusing, it’s complicated and it feels… it feels so fucking right. Like he just fits. 

You rock your body against his. You couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. It’s like a dance you’ve been practising for all your life that you’re finally getting to experience. One of Joel’s hands is against your face and pulling you closer, while the other lifts your body higher by tightening around your thigh and raising you up against him as you curl your ankle around his leg. You nudge your body very gently up and down on the ball of your foot so you’re almost imperceptibly grinding against him and you can feel him pulsing beneath you. It all happens without thinking, without speaking, your mouths seemingly whispering secrets while locked in an embrace.

He breaks away first. You have no idea how long you’ve been wrapped together on the dance floor, you feel dizzy with it, lost in him. Jesus fucking Christ. 

“Sweetheart, you are doing something to me, I am not going to be able to contain myself for a minute longer.” His voice is like honey dripping into your ears, you want to shiver with it, want to taste it with your teeth. 

Joel’s hand snakes under your skirt and he gives your ass a rough squeeze. You practically gasp with it, wonder if he can feel the heat coming from you, how desperate you’re becoming. The mess that he’s creating. He swoops in for another kiss, lighter this time, playing with your tongue in a way so intimate you feel uncharacteristically exposed. Something akin to nerves flutters within you. No, that can’t be right, you don’t get nervous about boys. 

A large, strong hand brushes your cheek, so gentle now. He runs the tip of a finger across your lips and you let your tongue wet it, eyes never leaving his as your breath hitches.  

“Let’s go outside for a smoke shall we, darlin’? I need to cool down, before I do something that gets us thrown out of here.”

You happily follow that devilish smirk, feet gliding through the thronging crowd. You know people are watching, can’t miss the energy that dances around you. You grab two shots on your way out, crossing hands and pouring into each other’s mouths. Vodka still burning as you kiss again, lips eager for each other. 

The cold air hits you but does nothing to cool this flame between you. You sit down on an empty bench and watch as Joel lights two cigarettes, passing one to you. You hook your ankles over his broad thighs, cross your arms. His hands are so warm and feel tight as he wraps them around your ankles; you flex them a little, enjoying how delicate they look under his firm grip, little dainty stiletto heels poking out.

He watches as you take a long drag on the cigarette, and you take pleasure in knowing how good it makes you look.  

“You ever buy a cigarette in your life, darlin’?”

You shake your head, tipping your head in mock indignation, “This girl? No need. I hear they’re bad for you anyways.” 

You take another slow drag, looking down your nose at him as you exhale the smoke in the opposite direction, all the while admiring how the obvious natural litheness of his twenties is turning into something more solid. You’d like to push against him, feel the resistance, sink your teeth into the muscle you can see where his t-shirt has slipped around his collarbone. He gives your ankles a squeeze again, pulls them up closer to his crotch so you’re heavy against him. This all feels so sultry and charged, you can’t help but tilt your head and raise an eyebrow, a satisfied smirk showing exactly how much you’re enjoying every moment of his want.

“Tell me some stories, Joel. What’s your naughty little brother up to?”

“Always up to somethin’. I’d rather hear about you, darlin’, seems like you’ve got a legion of admirers in there tonight. Am I gonna have to fight anyone for your hand?” 

You snort a laugh. This man is playing you like a dream, hitting all your high notes, drawing you in with that bewitching, broad smile and those beautiful crinkles around his heavenly soft, brown eyes.

“A woman can’t live on bread alone, Joel,” your eyes roll coquettishly and you give your bare shoulders a little shake. “You wouldn’t want me if no one else did anyways.”

“I’d want you if I was the last man on earth.” 

You’re laughing again but his answer is so serious, it catches something in your throat. You move your ankle ever so slightly, so you’re rubbing against his jeans, searching out his hardness again, gifting him with a flutter of your lashes while you take another drag. 

He starts to say, “You really are somethin’ else…,” leaning towards you in the hope of another kiss, but trouble bursts into the courtyard instead. The distinct shape of Tommy in a brawl with someone, might even be that guy from before. You turn away quickly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. This is what happens when I take my eye off… TOMMY!” Joel roars into life and jogs off after the bouncer, his brother and whoever else that is.

As you watch him go, you realise he didn’t get your number and immediately fall in a terrible sulk. You continue your night as you would have done before Joel Miller appeared, with perhaps with a few more glances over your shoulder than normal. You’re bored, you carry on drinking, dance with Gracie in a way you know keeps all eyes on you, continue smoking other people’s cigarettes. 

You’re outside the club waiting for a cab and you end up kissing your friend JT, again, because, well, he’s there and it is just too easy not to. When he starts pestering you about taking you on a date, you tell him in no uncertain terms to fuck off. Disdainful, mean. He surprises you, because he’s actually furious. Some of those boy emotions you don’t believe in coming and hitting you right in the face.

“Why do you always do this to me? You lead me on again and again, and then you just dump me without a second thought. You know I’m in love with you, right? You’re a cold hearted bitch, you know that too?” 

And you do an awful thing. You laugh. Because you simply. Do. Not. Care.  

But no, no, that’s not the most awful thing. There’s a prickle down your spine as you turn, and you know what you’re going to see before your drunken eyes even settle on him. Joel has come back to find you and you are certain he’s seen it all. The ugly kiss, the hurt, the nasty, cruel laugh.

Joel’s shaking his head in the worst possible way, disappointment, “You are fucking chaos, darlin’.” It hits you in the stomach like a punch.

“Thanks,” you curtsey, your voice hard and edged with sarcasm, and hop in a waiting cab, pulling Gracie in behind you with a hard tug as she gives Joel a shrug of the shoulders. Same old, same old for her.

“Girl…” Gracie holds your hand as you stare out of the window. You simply will not cry.

“Shhsss don’t say anything. I fucked it ok?”

“That man did not look happy.”

“Some man though, right?”

“Fine as hell, babe. Thought you…?”

You nod but have to shake your head to stop the sudden, unexpected tears that are spiking your eyes, looking up at the taxi roof and forcing them back in. You don’t cry about boys, they cry about you. That’s the whole fucking point. You steel yourself and desperately try to find your composure. Ignore how your lip won’t stay still, bite at it to try and shake off that look he shot you, like you’d let him down. Like maybe… no. 

“You got any more to drink at yours?”

Gracie gives your hand a squeeze and you wipe one errant tear away with a hard swipe of your finger. 

You manage a little cafe in town and it’s fine. 

You make the sandwiches, get to drink all the coffee and the kids you work with are your little found family. Today is very much your normal Saturday, a collective hangover that everyone is battling through with varying levels of success. It’s looking a bit grim, so you ‘accidentally’ drop a cake on the floor so it can’t be served. 

The cafe has a tiny open-plan kitchen behind the counter. The four of you are surreptitiously wolfing down the fallen cake behind the display fridge and groaning about your heads when you see a floating child appear above the cash register. You brush the crumbs off your face and whip round. Efficient, despite the throbbing at your temples. 

You smile, feel your chapped lips crack a little at the effort, “Hi miss, what can I get you?”

The child is not floating. She’s attached to Joel fucking Miller’s shoulders. Fuck. 

Your hangover lurches and there’s a sharp drop in your already swirling stomach. You take a jagged intake of breath, you will not be sick. You can practically feel the blood drain from your already wan face, your scraped back hair is suddenly achingly tight against your skull. You wish you’d at least washed off last night’s eyeliner.

“I should have known you’d be fucking married,” it tumbles out of your mouth, thankfully only loud enough for him to hear. 

Joel is quick to mask the surprise on his face with an unnervingly calm shake of his head, a slightly exasperated look on those dark eyes, “I am not married. I’ve got a kid,” he leans in real close, voice level and eyebrow cocked, “Do not swear in front of my kid. Please.”

You try and shape your face into something neutral, but a quick glance at the mirror by the coffee machine and you know you look harsh; narrowed eyes with smudged make-up adding to the overall impression of a moody teenager about to slam their bedroom door. You feel wildly out of kilter, your usual nonchalance is not in reach. Must be the hangover. Must be. 

You suck your teeth somewhat dramatically, “How can I help you, sir?” Your voice is clipped and the whole team turn towards the cash register, knowing you only use this tone on the most obnoxious of customers. It’s your kill with kindness routine. Doesn’t fit at all with the handsome dad standing in front of you with the adorable kid draped around his impossibly broad shoulders.

“Sarah, what would you like, babygirl?” He squeezes her hands, raises a devastating eyebrow at you, “Tell the nice lady.”

Sarah. 

She looks around five, maybe a little shy, looks at her dad for reassurance before she ventures, “Do you have milkshakes?”

“Sure do, missy. Chocolate, vanilla or strawberry?” You soften your features for her, giving her a little sneaky smile and whisper conspiratorially, “I hear the strawberry one comes with sprinkles.”

“Daddy, can I, please, Daddy?”

“Whatever you’d like, sweetheart.”

“Please may I have a strawberry milkshake?” You nod along as you tap it into the cash register, impressed with her beautiful manners, “Of course, honey. Would daddy like a milkshake?” 

Fuck. 

Your hand instantly flies up to your mouth. You know your eyes lit on fire as soon as the word slipped out, think your eyebrows might have hit the ceiling. Tasha behind you audibly gasps. Before you can stutter an apology, Joel cuts in quickly.

“Just a black coffee for me, please. We’ll take the table by the window.” 

He sets Sarah on the floor and she clambers up the small set of steps away from the counter and up into the cafe. He hangs back a moment, turns his full gaze on you with a tilt of his head, “Careful.”

You can’t tell if he’s teasing you or actually telling you off? It’s infuriatingly hot. The coffee machine jumps into life grinding fresh beans and you flinch at the sudden noise. You turn your back to him, walking the two small steps to your prep area. Trying real fucking hard to breathe normally.

“WHO was that?” Tasha and Sam are instantly standing either side of you, pressing into the small space where you make the sandwiches, backs to the cafe.

“Oh, some guy I hooked up with at a club the other night. Didn’t know he had a kid.”

“That was In. Fucking. Tense.” You know that Sam is absolutely buzzing, she lives for this shit, “Daddy? Would Daddy like a milkshake? Daddy?” she croons to herself as she stacks some plates fresh from the dishwasher on the shelf above your head.

Adam leans in and rests his head on your shoulder, “Did Daddy get some? He seems kinda pissed at you.”

“He got a little somethin’ somethin’. But no, not the full special.”

“Unlucky for him. You are one hot mess babe.” He gives you a playful kiss on the cheek with all the intimacy of friends who’ve fucked but love each other despite it. Sam slaps his head away from you quickly because of course Joel is back at the counter. Yes, you want to shout at him, yes, everyone gets to kiss me. 

“Could we please have a slice of the carrot cake as well? Two forks?” Sam leaps into action, flicking a strand of poker straight blonde hair over her shoulder as she taps it into the till.

“No problem at all sir, we’ll bring it over with the drinks.” Joel nods, shoots you a glance you can see reflected in the mirror above your station and stomps off back to his table. 

Everyone grimaces at each other, before a giggle makes its way round, the four of you trying to silently laugh and do your jobs at the same time. It’s a miracle the milkshake makes it to the tray in one piece. Tasha, Adam and Sam all place one hand on the black tray, you can see they’re each desperate to take it over.

“I just wanna look at Daddy’s pretty face again, please, please?” Sam gives you her best wide eyes and perfect pout.

“I’m gonna tell him what a great fuck you are, yeah?” Adam sweeps his long floppy fringe out of his eyes, smirks as Sam whacks him again. Little Tasha just grins at you.

“Fuck’s sake. I’ll take it over.” 

You take a deep breath, redo your hair and pull out a few strands at the front so it’s not so severe, brush the bread flour from your apron. Pinch at your cheeks like some kind of Victorian temptress. This is your domain, your stage. You’ve worked at the cafe on and off since you were 16 and you’ve served plenty of boys you’ve kissed. No biggie. 

So you skip up the steps, very conscious of the others watching you, let your hips sway a little as you pop the drinks down and place the extra large slice of carrot cake in the middle. Two forks. Sarah squeals with delight and you smile easily at her, turning briefly to let Joel enjoy the last second of it. When he smiles back it reaches his eyes with such a playfulness it brings a heat to your chest, almost like a blush beginning to bloom. Not that you blush for boys. That would be pathetic. Your hand reaches up to your exposed neck and you feel a warmth prick at your skin. He’s still grinning at you.

“Enjoy!” You spin back around, tray pressed to your heart.

The lunch rush has hit by the time Joel and Sarah get up to leave. You’re fully in the sandwich making zone as they stroll past the counter and down the stairs to go out through the shop below. Joel calls out ‘Thanks guys’ and everyone trills ‘Thank you’ in unison and then erupt into laughter immediately.

“Subtle guys, subtle,” you sigh at them, taking a big swig of coffee before plating up a ciabatta, “Table four please.”

Sam comes running back into the kitchen, making an almost off-the-scale high-pitched sound.

“Daddy left his fucking NUMBER on the table. Here, here, here!” 

And it’s there, signed Joel. With a $10 tip. Sweet.

It becomes Sarah and Joel’s routine, every Saturday morning after Sarah’s soccer practice: a milkshake and black coffee, maybe a slice of cake. 

You can’t help but watch, letting your mind wander as you consider all the different set-ups that mean he has her for the weekend. You try and piece it all together quietly. Slowly, over the months, you learn that he has her all the time, that Mom isn’t in the picture at all. You think he must have had her when he was about your age. Mildly horrifying.

You observe their ups and downs, seeing how sometimes they’re bickering and at other times, Sarah is attached to his lap the whole morning and peppering him with little kisses and grubby hands. It’s almost painful, being able to feel the love they have for one another, the little sparkle it adds to your Saturday mornings. 

One morning after a particularly busy rush, Joel invites you to sit with them and catch your breath on your break. From then on, rather than nipping out for a smoke, you always find time to sit with them for at least a few minutes, have a corner of their cake or bring them something new you’ve made for them to try. This stolen time together, it’s your little window into the beauty of their everyday domesticity. Sarah likes to talk to you about her school friends or how she thinks there are fairies at the bottom of the garden and you find you like to listen. You want to chat with Sarah, you love to make her laugh and help her tease Joel. It feels like she gets taller every week and you’re already nostalgic about how quickly she’s grown in the months you’ve known her. 

Maybe you don’t admit it to yourself, but you also like to feel close to Joel for a few moments, have him look at you with those dark eyes and remember what it was like to kiss him. How his mouth slotted over yours like it was always meant to be there, how his taste is something you’ve never quite forgotten, how the smell of his sweat is pressed into your memory. 

Your problem is that Joel has a clear view of your Saturdays too. He can see when you’ve been out the night before, when you’re so hungover you’re functioning on autopilot, when you’re clearly wearing last night’s clothes or worse, someone else’s clothes. 

It’s written all over your body; the hickey from the latest boy, the stamps on your wrist from last night’s club, someone’s too big band t-shirt paired with the emergency Vans you keep in your work locker. 

You couldn’t be a starker contrast to Joel’s perfect little unit. 

Sometimes last night’s conquest comes for a coffee and you desperately have to try and get rid of them before Joel and Sarah arrive, whipping whoever he is up a quick sandwich and pushing him back down the black stairs.

“Thanks for the coffee. Don’t worry about the shirt. Call me, yeah?”

This one grabs at your ass, steals an on the lips kiss, pushes past Joel and Sarah on the too small staircase. You grimace, acrid taste of the night before still in your mouth. You can’t even remember his name. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Joel trying not to stare, a flash of something over his eyes.

“Morning sunshine,” you pat Sarah gently on her pretty little head, “I found one of your fairy books at the thrift store, let me get it for you.”

“Oh! Thank you, they’re my favourite! My Daddy says they don’t make them any more, that’s why it’s hard to buy them.” 

You pull it out from underneath the counter and walk over to her to hand it over. She squeaks a thank you and gives you a quick hug around your waist, you let your hand rest on her tiny shoulder for a few moments, enjoying her happiness and how it sits in your chest. 

Joel reaches for his wallet, “Let me give you some money.”

“Nah it’s fine, it was like a dollar and you have more than paid for it with your generous tipping,” you try to distract Joel with a half-smile, hope he can’t smell the nameless boy on you.

“Morning Joel, hi Sarah!” Sam gives them both one of her pageant-winning grins, “We’ve got some raspberry ice cream in for milkshakes if you’d like to try it, sweetie?”

“Yes please! Thank you, Sam.”

Sarah makes her way to their usual spot on table six by the window, but Joel hangs back for a second. You can see he’s hesitating. 

They’ve been coming in for months and still how beautiful his face is makes you pause. You look now, savour his playful eyes and strong profile, his always a bit pouty lips under that deliciously patchy beard. Impossible not to think what it would feel like to once more tug at one of those almost curls in his messy, dark hair. Slide your fingers over his scruff, let your fingertips trace that empty patch that looks like a heart. You want to slap yourself. Pathetic. 

“You never called me.” 

The team all stop in their tracks for a heartbeat, quick glances in your direction confirm you’re stood frozen behind the counter. They all chime in at once.

“She never calls anyone.”

“She’s never called me in my life, and we’ve been friends since we were 17.”

“She makes me phone all our suppliers.”

You shrug your shoulders, all true. You’ve kept his number saved in your phone like a security blanket all this time, happy it’s there but knowing full well you’ll never use it.

“Pass me your phone.” 

You pull it out from your apron, unlock it and hand it over, weirdly compliant for once. You watch as he calls himself and hangs up.

“Ok, fine. Now I’ve got your number and I will call you…” He looks up at everyone, “Does she answer the phone?”

Adam begins to answer ‘no,’ but Tasha chips in with a giggle, “She will if it’s you.”

A smile slips between the two of you but you shrug, noncommittal as ever, “I guess I will if it’s you.”

Only a few hours later and your phone lights up with what must be Joel’s number. He’s wasted no time at all.

“So, whose shirt were you wearing today?”

“Oh, just a friend’s.” You’re purposefully blasé, you’re not going to see whatever his name was again if you can help it. 

“You kiss all your friends goodbye?”

“Joel, I kiss everyone. I thought you knew that by now.”

“You’re telling me I’m not special.”

“Oh no, you’re special. My stalkers don’t normally bring their daughters with them. Cheap shot really, reeling me in with the cute kid.” 

“Are you telling me he’s not going to show up again?”

“Who?”

“You really are somethin’ else aren’t you?”

“So you keep telling me.”

“I really don’t like to share.”

“Important part of growing up surely, learning to share? Bet you teach Sarah that all the time?”

“Fine. I don’t want to share you. With anybody.”

You swallow thickly, you don’t have a smartass answer for that. The truth is, you don’t know if you could do it. You’ve cheated on every boyfriend you’ve ever had. This continual need to be wanted but not have to reveal yourself, you don’t know if you can hit stop. 

“You still there? I scare you away?”

“I’m not good at this, Joel.”

“I don’t need you to be good.”

You play with your hair, worry at a hangnail.

“I gotta go. See you Saturday?”

Joel sighs, “Sure. See you Saturday.”

“Daddy, just ask Darlin’?” 

You can’t help but burst out laughing. Sarah has taken to calling you by Joel’s nickname and it makes you giggle each time. Her face is always so innocent, her voice so sincere, it’s like being dusted in a little bit of joy every time she uses it. 

“Ask me what, sweetheart?”

Joel doesn’t meet your eyes, there’s a faint blush on the apples of his cheeks, the intrigue is killing you. 

“It’s Uncle Tommy’s birthday and my babysitter is sick. I want you to look after me, please? Please daddy, please can you ask?” 

You laugh again, tipping your head towards Joel with an arch of your brow, “Sarah, I would love to. If your daddy is happy with that? Tonight?” 

Sarah whoops with delight and Joel finally finds his words, “Only if you’re sure? I know it’s a Saturday night and you’re probably busy…”

“Sure as sure.” 

The evening has been exhausting but delightful. Once the awkwardness of Joel leaving was over, he must have asked you seven times if it was still ok, you and Sarah slipped into an ease that made you smile from ear to ear. 

Sure, it’s strange to be in Joel’s home, surrounded by the detritus of his and Sarah’s every day. Little shoes scattered by the front door, pictures of baby Sarah on the walls and half-finished craft projects discarded on the dining table. You’ve never seen so many stuffed animals in your life. 

But there’s a warmth in the domesticity that makes you feel homesick for something you’ve never had. You love listening to Sarah chatter away and you’re proud of your little friendship when she requests you read her a bedtime story. Once her teeth are brushed, hair braided and jammies on, you snuggle down in her butterfly-filled bedroom with her favourite fairy story in hand. It’s the one you gave her. She’s asleep before you’ve reached the last page. 

Joel had ordered you a pizza and left a bottle of red wine, so you’re pottering in the kitchen, tucking into a slice and pouring yourself a glass when you hear the front door. It’s barely ten past nine. 

You know you must look confused as Joel sheepishly walks into the kitchen. 

“You’re back early? I wasn’t expecting you here until 11?” 

“I couldn’t…” Joel pauses, you watch as he slides his hands, palms flat, onto the kitchen counter. Gives them a little tap, shifting from foot to foot as if to buy himself more time, rolling around the words that must have been in his head the whole journey here but he seemingly can’t quite grasp onto, “What I want to say is, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop thinking about you. In my house, just walking around, looking like that.” 

Instinctively you look down, arms raised and a slightly bemused look on your face. You point at yourself, the old sweatpants that sit low on your hips, the worn cosy baby-t that stops just short of your navel. What you’d describe as your comfies, not exactly designed for seduction. 

You tilt your gaze up at him, a smile ghosting over your lips, “Like what, Joel?” 

Feigned innocence, as if you hadn’t been wandering around his house practically biting your fingers to stop yourself burying your face in his shirts. Lifting up each framed picture you found five times to scrutinise his ridiculously handsome face. Stood in front of his shower door for far longer than was necessary thinking about him in there, hands slippery against his naked skin. Did he ever think of you? 

“Looking like I need to be doing something about it.” 

Oh, oh he does, he does think of you. 

“Joel Miller! Do you have a sweatpants kink?” 

“I think I have a you kink.” 

And you don’t laugh as you usually would, instead you let it sink in. Feel his honied tones drip into you as you take a sip of your red wine, the warmth of the rich red liquid pooling in your mouth before you swallow it down with this newfound knowledge that he’s just as deep into this as you are. That every time you’ve watched him walk up the stairs to the cafe and felt a buzzing in your belly, an electric current under your skin when his hand brushed yours as he handed over his money, perhaps he felt it all too. 

Joel doesn’t move, but his eyes hungrily follow your mouth, watching as you swipe away a tiny drip of wine that’s escaped with your index finger. You delicately suck it off your fingertip, pondering if he’ll get to you before you reach him. 

Maybe you both move at the same time, because within half a second you’re pressed up against him and every thought you’ve ever had disappears. Lost in his smell, his natural warmth, how the metal of his belt digs into your exposed, bare flesh. His hands are at your face and you slip yours under his Henley, around the sharpness of his hips. Find they fit just right. 

“I’ve run over in my head a thousand times what would have happened if I’d stayed that night I’d met you.” 

“I would have had my wicked way with you, Joel. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about it either.” 

He kisses you now, so gentle, a featherlight brush of those plush lips against yours, his hands guiding you in how he wants you. You can feel his smile against yours before he whispers into your ear, “Yeah? Well I’m glad I didn’t, know I would have regretted it.” 

You pull back a little, study his face, “Oh? Well, I don’t believe in regrets. Missed opportunities, though, now those are to be commiserated.” 

“Would have regretted not getting to take my time with you. You’re more than just a quick fuck to me. I’ve liked this, getting to know you. To watch you, find who you really are. Doubt you’d have let me see that otherwise.” 

A flush of shame runs through you, a need to pull away as you feel exposed. His words have flicked off a layer of skin. You know you probably would have tried to disappear into the ether if you’d fucked him. That he knows this? Too vulnerable, it’s making you way too vulnerable. But Joel’s got you in his hands and all you can do is swallow thickly, look into those deep, dark, sincere eyes and question what it is he sees there. 

“And you still want to hang around me? Even when you saw what I’m like?” 

“What you’re like? That you’re whip smart and thoughtful, that you always remember things about Sarah to make her feel included, talk to her like a grown-up? That everyone in the cafe adores you and would literally fight for you? That what you mean?”

You don’t want to speak it out loud, but you shake your head, force yourself to say the thing that’s making your chest physically hurt, “What about what I did to JT?”

“That boy at the club I saw you with? Course that wasn’t good to see darlin’. I guess what I can’t understand is why you gotta be so cruel to those who want to love you?”

“I think,” you start feeling a bit dizzy, like maybe the world is beginning to spin too quickly, “I might just be mean. Like, inside? I’m not a good person.” 

Your head drops down, but Joel catches you, lifts your chin with a single finger. He kisses you again, deeper this time, your mouth opens and his tongue caresses yours. It’s still soft, but urgent, wet and warm. You actually feel your knees becoming weak as you lean up to reach him, lips chasing his in a slow dance that’s leaving you dazed. The same as before, this loss of time, this disappearing into a strange peace that clears your mind and unsettles your senses.

You whine as he breaks the connection, but he’s just pulling back so he can lift you up onto the counter, sliding you so your legs are either side of him and your arms are now wrapped around his neck, his fingers rubbing at your hips. 

He looks you dead in the eyes, “You are not a bad person. You make bad decisions sometimes, that doesn’t make you a bad person, darlin’.” 

“Bet you say that to all the girls.” 

Joel pulls his bedroom door closed quietly, holding his finger to his pouting lips. You grin wickedly at each other for a whole heartbeat before you’re frantically kissing once again. 

‘I need you to be silent’

Joel’s words echo in your head and you’re trying so hard to comply. Trying to be good. But it’s an almost impossible task; you want to groan with delight as you wiggle him out of his clothes, peel that Henley over his head and reveal those broad shoulders and golden skin, kissed with freckles that you simply have to run your tongue over. A chime of joy is stuck in your throat as you tug at his belt and feel the strength of his desire for you, you could have cried out with how hard and thick he feels in your hands. Just as he should be.

You close your eyes and try to quiet your breath as you run your hand down his length and very gently pulse, feeling the heat pool in you with every movement, a burning desire that has you choking down a whine. You stifle your whimpers as he throws you down on the bed, pushes your legs open with his strong thighs, whispers in that low, soothing voice that he is going to “Fuck you full of me, fuck you until you can’t think, fuck you until your legs won’t stop shaking.”

Fuck.  

Joel’s got a filthy mouth and you find you’re desperate for his words, that the simmering pleasure that’s racing through your body is feeding off every ounce of smut he lavishes on you.

“Fucking perfect darlin’, just like I dreamed it.”  

The praise tingles up your spine and makes you flex your fingers as you stroke at his skin, brush your hands against his divine, patchy beard, rub your nose against his. Kisses on kisses that are sending you spiralling towards ecstasy so fast you can’t catch your breath. 

“Being such a good girl for me, look at you. Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

The only time he stops talking is when he’s devouring you, licking and nipping and toying with your cunt with his tongue. You want to scream, want to cry out his name as he edges you until you can barely see. Your legs are hooked over his shoulders and you lift your hips for him, so wet already and aching, aching for him. You pull at his hair, greedy for those almost curls as he laps at you, finally able to caress him in the way you’ve been fantasising about for months. Stars dance around your vision as he expertly twists his thick fingers inside you and his tongue draws circles on your clit. 

You can only make a quiet ‘oh’ as an orgasm courses through your body with a warmth that has you soaking him with your release. Your mouth is slack and you fall into a rush that feels like heaven as you pulse around his fingers, his mouth, his tongue, and into your bliss. 

You’re smiling so much it almost hurts.

The sight of Joel’s beard shiny with your release and the taste of you on his lips, it aches in your chest in a way you can’t quite understand. It’s sex and lust and something else? A longing that’s becoming a sweetness. 

At some point, you start laughing and you can’t stop. You bite at your lips, willing the giggles to subside as you try and remain as quiet as possible, but with each scrape of his scruff against your neck, each trail of his fingers down your back as you stretch around his cock, you lose all reason. The rumble of his own laugh against your throat certainly isn’t helping. Fucking someone has never been this fun before. 

“That feel good, darlin’, being full of my cock?”

“So fucking good, Joel.” 

“You feel that, feel how good you’re taking me? Like you were made for me.” 

Your hands are wrapped around the headboard, bracing yourself against the steady thrusts as Joel’s cock pushes deeper and deeper into you. The coil of excitement that’s tightening in you is threatening to explode as another giggle rises up in your chest. 

He whispers into your skin, so quiet but wicked, “Fuck, darlin’, I can feel it, I can feel you, you gonna come again for me?” 

You nod your head vigorously. You feel giddy with it, full of joy, full of him. Joel fucking Miller. 

You pant back, a little bit too loud, “Only if you will too.” 

Suddenly a big, thick hand clasps over your mouth, trying to subdue the unholy noises you’re making, feeling you tighten around him in anticipation of the cliff edge you’re teetering on. 

“Shhs, darlin’, you gotta keep quiet,” but he’s laughing too, drowning in the pleasure. His other hand is at your clit, sliding against the wetness there, finding what makes you buck and quietly whine as he fucks you with his cock and takes you apart with his fingers.  

You nip at the fingers against your mouth, bite at them, feel the soft flesh pinched beneath your teeth as you come undone against his cock. Joel loses all rhythm as you shake with the pleasure of it, he’s coming while his mouth is at your ear, licking, kissing, softly laughing in your shared bliss. Spilling himself into you with a groan so loud he has to push his mouth into your back to try and conceal it. 

You turn your head so he can slip his tongue gently into your mouth, all softness and delight, an afterglow that has you both laughing silently as you collapse together on the bed. Hot and soft, tangled together in a flurry of kisses and entwined limbs. 

Joel’s trailing a finger down your back gently, a featherlight touch that sends a delicious tremble through you. 

“I hate to do it, but I don’t have people staying over. Sarah… you know, it can be confusing? Are you ok to get home? I can call you a cab?”

You sit bolt upright, “Oh no it’s fine, no worries. Totally get it.” 

It physically stings. Like a flick of hot wax where his fingers have just been. 

Sure, it’s not the first time you’ve been kicked out of bed, probably won’t be the last, but for a minute you’d let yourself think you’d be falling asleep in his arms. Would wake up curled up into him. Safe, warm, sleep gently easing away as you opened your eyes to find Joel waiting for you to rouse. A ridiculous fantasy. 

He’s pulling on his boxers, dragging a t-shirt over his head. But you feel like you can’t see, your eyes have gone blind. It’s burning. 

You slip your legs over the side of the bed, “I’ll drive, it’s not too late.”

You contemplate your body for a minute, recognising the slightly dull ache between your legs where Joel has just been, the mess of him spilling out of you. You allow yourself to think for a moment of all the things you’ve put it through. All the bad hook-ups, all the late night and early morning disappearing acts you’ve pulled. 

How depressing you’re back here again, planning on creeping down the stairs like someone’s dirty little secret once more. At least it’s not a sleeping mother you’re slinking past, that was a bad one. You let a little shudder of cold run down your spine. Something had felt different this time but you guess you were wrong. Same, same.

Joel tries to lean in close, “You ok, darlin’? You’ve gone awful quiet.” 

You switch on your smile for him, lean in for a quick kiss and feel nothing, blank yourself back into neutral. You will not let this hurt.

“All good. See you Saturday?”

“Ah, Sarah’s got a playdate, so we can’t make it.”

Oh. There it is. He’s got what he wanted, and you’ll not be seeing him again.

“See you around then.” 

And you’ve bolted, clothes half pulled on and keys already in your hands. You’re out the door before he even realises what is happening. 

You don’t see, but he’s still sat on the bed, mouth half open in shock. 

“Joel is here…” Sam hisses at you as you crawl up the stairs to the cafe, head pounding and uncharacteristically half an hour late for your shift.

“Fuck.”

“He’s got fucking flowers. Babe, he was watching from the window and he saw you get out of that guy’s car. He is not happy.”

“Fuck.”

“What did you do?”

“I fucked it up again, didn’t I?”

“You look awful, are you ok?”

“I really don’t know.” 

You sit down on the top step, staring back down the stairs and half contemplating throwing yourself down them. You’re not even sure where you’ve left your car. Adam brings over a coffee, stands behind you and leans down to stroke your tangled hair, “You’re a hot mess, honey. He’s coming over.”

You can’t look up, can’t bear to see the pitiful state of yourself reflected in Joel’s eyes. He squeezes down next to you on the stairs and sits beside you. He’s too big for the space, feels hot and heavy next to you.

“You’re supposed to be on a playdate,” your voice sounds strangely flat, like it doesn’t belong to you. 

“I swapped so Sarah went to theirs. Thought I’d surprise you. Realise now that was a mistake.”

You still can’t look at him, flick at your hangnail until it begins to bleed, “I told you I’m not good at this.”

“You didn’t even give it a chance? I tried to call about five times.”

“I thought you were done with me.”

A wave of nausea hits and you put your head between your knees. Your mind is spinning and a mess of thoughts begin pawing at you. Everything tilts. Did he really say he was done with you? Or did he politely ask you to not confuse his kid and then try and ring you all week? You sit upright suddenly. 

“I’ve got to be sick.”

He’s gone when you eventually emerge from the bathroom, beautiful pink peonies left on the counter.

Joel hasn’t come into the cafe for a month and it’s driving you to the very edges of sanity. 

He hasn’t tried to call and there’s no way in hell you’re ringing him. The text with his address sits there as his last message to you but you won’t give in, won’t text him. 

What would you say? Sorry, I’m a slut? Please don’t hate me? Love me? You shake your head and carry on ferociously slicing lettuce. Your mood has infected the tiny kitchen behind the counter, the team are mute as you storm around the small space. A regular tries to complain that the avocado in their toastie is too brown and you realise too late that you’re waving the large bread knife in their direction as you tell them in no uncertain terms it is fine. You’re beginning to look slightly unhinged.

“Doll, why don’t you take an early lunch? You look like you’re going to stab someone and I don’t want it to be me,” Adam manoeuvres you away from the prep area, handing you a coffee and points you towards the almost empty cafe, “I’ll make you your halloumi bruschetta, table six is free.”

You huff and puff your way to the table with a scowl seared onto your skin, grabbing a paper from the rack so you can angrily flick through the pages and not absorb a single word. 

You’re sitting in Joel’s usual seat and find yourself replaying his greatest hits, memories crashing into your mind relentlessly and you push your hands against your eyes as if you can stop them cascading into your mind. 

Your stomach turns cold as you remember the weight of him sat next to you in the too small space on the stairs, a sharp contrast to that heavenly feeling of him carrying you to his bed. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. You don’t ruminate over boys. They’re the ones left pinning, they’re the ones that moodily stare out of the window thinking what might have been. You? You dust yourself off and start again, no backwards glances. 

‘Fuck,” you hiss at yourself. 

You’re pushing your bruschetta listlessly around your plate and, yes, fine, staring out of the window when you catch sight of Joel. There is the briefest moment of relief that cracks into your chest, before you make sense of what you’ve seen. 

He’s with someone else. 

Someone polished and clean looking, make-up carefully but sparsely applied so her natural beauty shines through with a warmth and comfort you know your face will never, ever give.

“Guys!” You yelp almost feverishly. The pane of the glass is cold against your face, as you hear the other three run from the kitchen. Tasha is still holding a tea towel and the cup she was drying. They join you at the window.

“No fucking way!” Sam gasps, “They cannot be coming in here? I’ll spit in both their coffees!” 

You give her arm a rub as a thank you. You can see this woman is trying to come into the shop downstairs, but Joel shakes his head at her and you swear you can detect anxiety in his furrowed brow as he steers her back down the narrow street. He’s not quite leading her by the hand but she’s leaning into him, clearly angling for some contact. He glances back up at the window and grimaces as all four of you wave pointedly at him, heads all tilted to one side. 

You chew on your lip, defeat aching at you.

“We’re going out this evening, yes?”

“Yes ma’am,” they all chorus at you.

There’s a prickle down your spine and you know exactly who is staring at you. 

Your stomach drops to your feet but you take a hard inhale on your cigarette, shake your head and resolutely refuse to turn. You’re outside at the club, almost exactly where you sat with Joel over eight months ago. The pretty boy in front of you shifts nervously, eyes darting up repeatedly behind you. You plaster an insincere smile on your face, as if the hairs on your arm aren’t standing up, as if you can’t feel Joel’s eyes boring into your very soul. 

He nods in Joel’s direction, “Do you know that guy? Only he looks like he’s about to deck me. He your ex or something?”

You snort a laugh, “Yeah, or something,” you roll your eyes, “I don’t have ex’s, I have unsuccessful applicants.” Your tone is nasty, you’ve lost interest in toying with this boy, no need to keep playing the game. He was tedious anyways. 

“Well, he’s coming over here and I don’t want to stick around to enjoy the show.” You just tut, go back to smoking your cigarette, looking anywhere but Joel. 

The boy tries to slide past Joel but he must get a little too close because you hear Joel bark at him, “Do we have a problem?”

“No problem man, no problem. I’m getting the hell out of whatever this fuck this is,” you glance round to see as he raises his arms up quickly, placatingly, before he hurriedly disappears into the crowd.

Joel sits down on the bench next to you. Doesn’t say a word, just watches as you make a show of finishing your cigarette right down to the filter, crushing it under your heel with your face set to ice-cold. You know how to blank yourself to nothing, make your face absent of that warmth of connection he once got to experience. Once it’s gone, you kill it, let it die. 

You finally meet his searching eyes, but you keep yours dead, uninterested, “You scared my boy away.”     

“Your boy?”

“He wishes.” 

You purse your lips. Quell this sickening feeling that’s racing around your gut. He’s close enough that you can smell him, an assault on your senses, because he smells good. It’s a heady warmth, smells like you miss him with every fibre of your being. A flick of your hair and you dismiss these treacherous thoughts, nurse instead at the anger that also fights for your attention. That he could make you feel like this, that he could expose you to these emotions, make you hurt? You? How dare he.  

You go with a a barbed, “What about your new girl”  

“Look, I’m sorry if I upset you, but you made it clear that…”

You cut him off, you’re not interested in any platitudes, you’ve got the bit between your teeth now, letting out some of the poison that’s been eating away at your insides and rotting in your brain, “Who is she? Did you fuck her? Are you fucking her?” 

It’s come out so hard, pointed edges that you hope cut him. Nick at his skin the way it’s slicing at yours. No matter how much you try and resist, these thoughts of Joel with someone else, they’ve broken the skin, each uninvited image pouring bitterness into the wounds like salt.

The hypocrisy is not lost on you. 

He tries to speak but you close your ears to him, the fight in you is too angry to let something like his version of the truth seep in, “Thought you were supposed to be obsessed with me? Last woman on earth, remember? Just fuck off Joel, I don’t want you any longer.” 

You’re all pointing fingers and dramatic arm movements, you cross them against your body now, as if deflecting any of his words from penetrating this awful mood you’re falling into. 

“That’s all you want, is it? For me to be obsessed with you? Doesn’t matter to you that I actually care about you?”

You huff like a child being told off, arms still very much crossed, body leant as far away from his as possible, “All you wanted was to fuck me.” 

He moves closer to you, shaking his head but palms open, beseeching, “Jesus Christ, can you hear yourself? Of course I wanted to fuck you. But I didn’t come into your cafe with Sarah for months just to see you, spend all that time with you, just for one night? Why would I do that? Not everything is about making people want to fuck you.” 

Those hands reach up and they’re at your face now, gentle, the softness of his thumb rubbing at your cheek, much more comfort than you deserve, “I know you don’t want to hear it, that perhaps it’s too late, but you should have let me in? Might be something worth saving.” 

Maybe, just maybe, you misunderstand him on purpose. Your voice is flat, eyes downcast, “I don’t need saving. Certainly not by you. I meant it Joel, leave me alone. You were a fun distraction but now you’re boring, I’m bored by you.” 

“Darlin’, don’t. We’re more than that, aren’t we? Don’t be cruel.”

You lean in real close to him, lift your hands so they’re resting on his, let your breath mingle for a moment. You watch as he softens, those dark eyes pleading, asking you for something you know you can’t give him. There’s a flash in your own eyes as you bite out the words, you need to say them quickly before you lose all courage, “I am cruel Joel.” 

You pull his hands away from your face, feel no resistance. Walk away without a backwards glance. 

You did a stupid thing. You called Joel. 

It is so unusual for you to phone, ever, he picked up on the second ring and you found yourself pleading with him to come over to your place. 

Earlier when you’d been stood in the bar, surrounded by your friends and bright eyed boys, you’d felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness. Of a need to rest your tequila-filled head against Joel’s chest. A drunken moment of clarity; you’d understood that you wouldn’t know peace until you could hear his heartbeat against yours. You’d been wasted enough to think that maybe you could make it right, the unrelenting image of the way he looked at you the last time you’d seen each other plastered in your semiconsciousness. There had been hope there, right?

You’d been sure you could make it good again. Sensible enough, if you hadn’t been drinking with Adam and Tash since close and now you’re barely coherent. You don’t really remember leaving the bar, you’re not even sure what time it is, all you know is it’s pitch dark out and your tongue feels thick with it, limbs heavy with indecision. Everything feels scattered, cracked, difficult to grip onto as your world tilts like a ship at stormy sea.  

Now with actual, real-life Joel standing in front of you, everything you thought would make sense has disappeared. 

Even in this grim state you know it’s a mistake, know you’re making it worse and you’re forcing Joel to witness you disintegrate in front of him. There’s pity there and it’s making you choke. There’s a rush of thoughts that you’re scrambling to try and keep a hold of, you dread to think what he’s had to do to have someone look after Sarah at this hour, all so he can rush over and find you broken and desperate.

To your absolute horror, great heaving sobs are escaping your chest. It’s both physically painful and excruciatingly humiliating. You feel like a child. The tears are hot against your skin and you can’t think of a time when you’ve cried like this, like the stopper has been taken out and you can’t force it back in. In truth, you’ve never really cried like this. Even as a kid you bottled everything up and pushed the tears down, put on the brave face of the eldest daughter. Sometimes you let a few escape but your self-control wouldn’t ever allow more than a smattering, more salty pinpricks than actual tears. 

You don’t know how to handle this madness or make it stop as it’s crashing out of you. It tastes like panic. 

“Please, please,” you’re begging Joel, spiralling into hysteria, “I just need you to stay. You don’t have to fuck me, you don’t even need to touch me. Just sleep next to me, please.”

Then before you know it, somehow, rage.

Because Joel’s shaking his head, that horrible, awful look of pity on his beautiful face. As much as you long to be in his arms, let him comfort you, even if he doesn’t want you, it flips on that anger that’s always sitting so close to the surface these days. It rips through you. Some boy has made you feel like this?  

Any semblance of your sanity just got up and left. You leap up towards him, slapping at his broad chest and trying to push him to the door, “Fuck you then, fuck you. Leave, just leave. I meant it before, I don’t want you any more.” 

Joel is remarkably calm, stands stock still and just lets you flail, “Darlin’, you know I can’t stay… but I can’t leave you like this.” 

You don’t know how long this goes on for before you collapse in a heap on the floor, your arms ache from the exertion and you can’t shout any more. 

You just ugly cry, cry, cry. Every horrible, awful thing you’ve ever done is aching away at you, crawling up your throat and constricting your airways, drowning you in your misdeeds and casual cruelty. 

Joel quietly goes and gets you a glass of water and some tissues, gets down on his haunches and meets your sodden eyes. His hand reaches out to your shoulder, but you flinch from him, snatch the tissues out of his hands. You hate the feel of them, but you have to try and remove some of the snot that’s making you look even more pathetic. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, darlin’. ” He’s using a voice you imagine he used when Sarah was a toddler and had thrown an enormous tantrum. Shame stings at your eyes. 

You feel so gross, right through your soul to the tips of your toes, “I bet you wish you’d never met me.” 

There’s an air of defeat that settles over both of you. You can feel it, making the air thick. Joel takes a deep breath, he holds out his palm and you lean your cheek against it, wetting his skin with the salt of your unstoppable tears. 

“I could never think that. Being around you, it’s like a kind of magic?” He lets out a low chuckle, “Messy, but magic. That’s you darlin’. But I can’t do it to myself? You said you don’t need me to fix you and I wasn’t trying to, but I do need something from you that I don’t think you can, or want, to give?” 

You know what he’s saying is true. It doesn’t stop you crawling into his arms, curling up against his chest and letting him wrap his arms around you. A little broken ball clinging together on the floor. 

He kisses at your hair, rests his head there, “I do love you, I do…. But I can’t pretend that we can work like this. I selfishly want you all to myself. No, that’s not true, it’s not just me, I got to think of Sarah. Of the life I want to give her. I can’t be awake all night fretting about you and then getting up in the morning and fixing her breakfast like everything is ok. If you’re going to be in her life, you got to be all in.” 

He hasn’t said ‘I love you’ to you before. Lots of boys have; weaponised or cajoled with it, got their dick wet with it or placated with it, thrown it around without a care like it didn’t mean a thing or begged you with it. 

This is the first time it’s ever meant anything to you. 

Joel doesn’t want anything in return and you don’t know what to do other than break in half. You hide your face in the worn softness of his flannel, shaking with tears you can’t bear him to see any more. He just holds you. 

Eventually you think the tears have run out, place the flat of your palms over your stinging, hot eyes, “I’m just so tired.”

“I know darlin’. You just stay here a minute, I’m going to get your bed sorted for you.”

Joel disappears for a few moments and when he comes back, you let him pick you up off the floor and carry you to your room, where he’s cleared the bed and remade it quickly. There’s no fight in you any longer, you’re so limp and pliant underneath him, feeling almost boneless as he tucks you in.

You try and kiss him then, little muted, desperate reaches towards his face, but he turns so you can’t connect. It physically hurts. 

He stills you with a forehead kiss that feels like a goodbye, “Please take care of yourself.” 

You hear a distant knock at your front door. 

“I called Sam from your phone, I’ll let her in. You stay in bed.”

You can hear them in the hallway, a whispered exchange that might as well be happening in another world. You so desperately want to be asleep, to block everything out.

“Thanks so much for coming, Sam. She’s a bit of a mess. Please promise me you’ll stay with her, I don’t want her doing anything stupid.” 

When you next wake, Sam is in the bed with you, watching trash tv and sipping on a hot tea.

“I’m here babe and I’m not going anywhere. I called you in sick to the cafe.” 

You try to say thank you, but the tears are back. She gently strokes your hair and lets you weep.

Joel’s POV 

It’s been months since he last walked up the old, too small, winding black stairs into the cafe, but it feels like coming home. His shoulders relax, sure now coming here was the right decision. 

He’s listening intently, hoping he can catch the sound of your laughter drifting down the stairs, ready to catch your face beautiful face from behind the cake fridge in the open-plan kitchen. 

He sees tiny Tasha first, intently manning the coffee machine, her miniature frame shrinking from him as he makes his way up the last few steps. He’s always felt like he took up too much space here, that he was awkward against the pretty coffee cups and fancy cakes. 

It was just you that fastened him to it. The time spent together here with Sarah always felt stolen and special, like he saw you when you were at your very best. The smell of freshly ground coffee reminds him of you now, the sound of the machine bringing him back to so many mornings watching you from table six as you worked and laughed, flirted and scolded. 

“Hey stranger!” Sam calls out to him, a genuine smile breaking across her face. 

Joel tried to stay away, tried to stop thinking about you, to stop worrying that you needed him, but it’s been impossible. He’d been patient with himself; knew that, for him, loving someone wasn’t going to disappear overnight. But it was more than still there. This love, it had a physical presence; it was a hand hard against his throat, lips at his ear, quietly chanting, what if, what if, what if.

An unanswered prayer in the darkness. He hadn’t expected to hear from you, but the silence had been deafening. 

One desperately lonely night, he’d even gone back to the club, hoping he’d accidentally run into you again. Sat nursing a terrible, cheap whiskey until 1am when he was absolutely certain you weren’t going to sneak up behind him and rest your arms on his shoulders, whispering secrets. Found Tommy and Sarah asleep together on the sofa when he got home, a reminder why he didn’t usually ask Tommy to babysit. 

He’d thought about messaging Sam but it felt like checking up on you, so he’d left it. Just sat at home and fretted he’d made a terrible mistake. Made increasingly random plans for Saturday mornings so Sarah wouldn’t keep asking about going to the cafe and whine about not seeing you. Her expectant, disappointed eyes made it hurt all the more. 

It had been last night when he’d sat up late with Sarah, comforting her from a bad dream and reading her favourite fairy story, when the resolve he’d been clinging to had finally broken. The book you’d found her, the one she cherished so much she knew it by heart, he hadn’t realised you’d written a note on the inside cover, ‘Darling Sarah, I hope you always believe in magic.’ 

The grip around his throat had tightened and he’d genuinely lost his breath for a second. 

This pull towards you, it wasn’t loosening. If all of the mess fell away, the chaos that follows you around, what was it that kept you constantly in his thoughts? Sure, there was a physical connection that made him dizzy. An absolute need to have your skin against his, to be lost in your kisses and disappear into the heaven of your scent.  There was an alchemy in the bliss that made him throb if he let himself think even for half a second of you fucked out and wrapped in his arms. But more than that, you had a secret sweetness, a tenderness he saw you share not only with the cafe lot, but with Sarah from the moment you met her, quietly letting her into the gang and showing her a purity of love that made his chest ache.  

Having Sarah, it had felt like his heart had been ripped from his body, a terrible vulnerability he now just has to walk around with every day. To have to protect and love her, yet let her be her own person, work every day at being proud of the life he’s able to give her. If he were to bring someone else into that hard won everyday? What he wants more than anything? For whoever is going to share this with him, that they’d fully open their heart to Sarah, too. 

Like you did. Like, maybe, you still could. 

Which is why he’s here, his heart exposed once more, eyes searching for your face. He really hopes he’s not too late. 

“Hey, Sam. Is she here?” 

Sam shakes her head, looks back at Adam, who appears to have been promoted to chief sandwich maker, as if checking what to say. 

“She left Joel. Like, she quit kinda left. She went back to her Mom’s?” 

It feels like his stomach just dropped out of his body, a physical sensation that’s so sharp he has to put a palm down onto the cold counter to steady himself.

“Where is that?”

“I’ve got it,” Adam rips off a bit of receipt paper, copies the address from his phone, “She was talking about maybe going back to school…” Adam trails off while giving him a hard stare, but Joel feels like there is a silent understanding there. The people who love you, they really love you, feel fiercely protective of you. 

Tasha suddenly blurts out, “She couldn’t keep working here, it reminded her too much of you. And Sarah.” She’s blushing, handing him a black coffee in a takeaway cup, “It’s on us.”

“Thanks,” he nods his head, waves the scrap of paper at them before sloping off down the stairs again.

“Don’t be a stranger!” Sam yells after him.

It takes him about an hour to drive to you. Nondescript suburbia, rows of 60’s builds that look identical and suffocating. He knows them well, grew up in something similar. Absentmindedly he reaches to smooth his hair into submission as if anticipating a telling off.  Maybe he’s going to get one. He’s anxious your Mom is already going to hate him and think he abandoned you when you needed him most. Damn it, that’s certainly how he feels. 

He’s not sure what his plan is here but he knows he can’t not see you, needs to tell you he still believes. 

He tried to call before he set off but, of course, you didn’t answer.

You’re sat in your usual spot in your old childhood bedroom. Sort of half-dressed, curled up on the hard chair next to your desk, supposedly checking for jobs but mostly staring out of the window. 

You hear your Mom opening the front door and letting someone up, so you brace yourself, glancing around your disaster of a bedroom  but quickly deciding there is nothing to be done with the chaos. Boxes from your apartment stacked in a corner that you haven’t bothered to unpack, shelves overflowing with your plants that have nowhere else to go, clothes and books strewn about the floor. 

You sigh to yourself, knowing your Mom will have been as dishevelled as always and with the ever-present cigarette on the go. Not that you can talk. You hope your bun is giving nonchalant cool rather than unshowered hermit. You have an old, oversized purple t-shirt on, faded and yielding, the kind of comfort you’re seeking right now. But while you’re crumpled and tired, you are sober. Boy sober and alcohol sober. A miracle.

You wonder who it could be. Gracie isn’t due back until the weekend, Sam and Adam said they were going to come up on Friday. 

Nothing felt right in your old apartment and it’s not ideal here, but you at least feel safe surrounded by your old things and the familiar faces on the fraying posters and tatty pictures of you and your school friends. Before you became jaded, sharp and cynical, spiky edges catching on the boys that you so desperately needed to want you. 

There is no simple answer to why you are the way you are. You’re not just going to wake-up one morning all open and warm, with wide open arms and a song in your heart. But you have changed. You understand you can profoundly hurt and, in turn, what it feels like to have your very heartbeat broken. You broke it yourself. It was you, you, you. 

The creak on the stairs, you think for a moment it sounds almost like Joel’s footsteps making their way up the cafe steps, but you must be mistaken. You close your eyes and feel that awful feeling; hope.  

Heat behind your eyes burning, your mouth feels hard and drawn down, your hands cold and clenched together. 

There’s a brief knock at the door and then it opens. 

“Darlin’.” 

You let out a guttural sob as Joel drops down to the edge of your seat, throw your arms around his shoulders without a second thought. He holds you impossibly close, your face buried in his neck, a fat tear rolling down onto his hot skin. 

Joel pulls back so you are eye to eye, breath tangled and no room to hide, “You left the cafe?”

“I couldn’t face it. I’ve let everyone down. I fucked everything… everyone.” Another tear escapes and he kisses it away. 

“I shouldn’t have left you. I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” 

You stop him speaking by kissing him almost chastely before lowering your head down against his chest and resting your head over his heart, one hand tucked around his broad shoulder and the other linked with his. So close, you’re so close, you can’t believe this is real. The sound of his heartbeat, just as you dreamed it, it slows everything down, stops you from spiralling. 

“Please don’t apologise, I can’t bear it. I needed to change something for me, to do it myself. It was all getting too brutal. I couldn’t stand that I hurt you like that, that I could have upset Sarah,” it all falls out in a rush of words but you don’t try and stop them, “I don’t want to not feel anything anymore? I don’t want to be the hot mess. Gracie helped me move out, helped get me back here.”

“It should’ve been me,” he shakes his head but you only pull closer, squeezing his hand.

“No. I needed some time on my own, away from everything, to ease up on the drink and the boys. I’m so sorry for hurting you, for pretending like I didn’t care. I cared so, so, so much, it made me sick to my stomach. I didn’t know what to do with it,” your lip wobbles, your voice cracking, “I’m still not sure, Joel. I don’t know if I deserve to have you in my life.”  

There’s a deep frown on that beautiful face, creases on Joel’s forehead that you want to smooth out with your fingers, erase the fact it’s you that’s caused them, “That’s enough now, enough. Sarah and I, we want you back in our lives. We need you. Come home?” 

“I… this is my home now, Joel. I don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m stuck here.” 

You hear him swallow, there is a heavy pause that eats away at the silence, you feel something constricting in you. Tense, tight, the air humming with possibilities. 

He holds onto your face with both his hands, “Come home with me, darlin’. Come stay with me and Sarah.” 

Seeing Sarah again, it’s like no time has passed at all and as if you’ve been gone forever. You keep saying ‘You’ve got so tall’ over and over again, astonished at the size of her, how her movements have lost some of that slightly ungainly, could bash into something at any minute quality and become more considered. She’s turning into a little lady.

Some things are still the same; she squeezes you just as tight when she hugs you, chatters away just as fast as she tries to tell you every single thing that’s happened at school since she last saw you. Joel watches quietly, keeps meeting your eyes with the kind of pride he can’t hide as Sarah stuffs the drawings and paintings and hand-crafted butterflies that she’s apparently been secretly making for you over the months into your hands.  

She almost has an enormous tantrum when Tommy comes round to pick her up so that you and Joel can have your first night together alone. 

“But I want to stay with Darlin’! She can stay in my room!” Her foot actually stamps and you’re so close to immediately giving in, looking to Joel and ready to say she should stay, but Tommy saves the day with the promise of ice cream on the way back to his and eventually Sarah trots happily off holding onto his hand. 

Joel pulls you into an embrace as you wave goodbye out the window, “She’s gonna have you wrapped around her little finger in no time.”

“Oh, she already does. I’m fucked.” 

You talk for hours. Some part of you always touching, soft caresses to reassure you both that the other is still there. You try and make some practical plans, talk about what this could look like in reality. You admit how you don’t want to let anyone down. How scared you are that you’ll fuck this up. 

It’s exhausting, being this honest.  

You’re so shattered that you crawl into bed, kisses and kisses and kisses. Nothing more tonight. You fall asleep wrapped in Joel’s arms, cocooned in this warmth he seems to radiate and you wouldn’t want it any other way. He doesn’t need to fuck you to prove anything; that he wants you here with him, with Sarah, it’s enough. Maybe you’re enough.  

“Are you real?”

Joel laughs, throaty, low, “I think so.”

You let your hands rub against the bristles of his patchy scruff, a divine scratch against your skin, “I saw you every night in my sleep, I need to make sure I’m not still dreaming.”

Your eyes drink each other in, wrapped together in the bedsheets, so close you’re not sure where he begins and you end.

Joel takes a hold of your hand, pulls it onto his lips, still puffy with sleep, kisses at your fingertips, making a smile break across your face. A proper smile, all teeth, and you feel it reaching your eyes with a glitter. 

“You’re not, but I might be darlin’.” He tugs at his old t-shirt you pulled on last night, “I like you in my clothes. I like you in my bed. I can’t quite believe it? That night, when I came to yours, I wanted to kiss you so bad, wanted to make it all ok. But this is better, this feels right.”

You press sleepy kisses on him. It all feels hazy still, a dreamlike quality to the early morning light that’s streaming into the room and bathing Joel’s golden skin. It's hypnotic the way your mouths move together, how his tongue searches out yours, gentle, almost lazy strokes as you melt together once again. You don’t think you’ve ever felt more peaceful, that anything has ever felt this easy? Like you just fit. 

You slide your naked leg over his hip, feel him pull you closer, hand wrapping around your ass and holding you so tight. His thumb traces the line of lace, sending a steady heartbeat of longing down your spine. You let out a little whimper. Without thinking, your hips begin to move, little tiny increments, seeking him out, finding him warm and hard against the cotton of your panties, straining against his boxers already. 

You take a deep breath, focus on exactly how it feels. Yes, you’re searching for the high of knowing Joel wants you, that you’re doing this to him, but you know that it’s more than that. 

As Joel continues to slowly kiss you and lets his tongue dance with yours with the gentlest of pressure, it’s almost as if the room seems to flicker. You don’t think you’ve ever been this intimate with anyone without the cushioning of alcohol or narcotics, but somehow this seems even more unreal. You can feel everything. Each sweep of his tongue against yours, the gentle nip of his teeth against your lip, the grip of his hand at the base of your neck, firm and sure.

The usual sharpness of contact is instead a burning ardour, softening into slow, deliberate movements, a tightening at your core that’s making your head spin and your cunt fucking throb. He squeezes his fingers at your neck at the same time that his hips chase yours, shifting his weight hard against you so you can grind against his cock as his tongue plunges deeper, deeper, making you whine.

The numbness that so often takes over your encounters is absent, replaced with a secret ache that’s making you breathless. An invisible string is wound around your heart and it tightens with each brush of his lips. Too late you’ve realised it’s threaded through all of your being, weaved underneath your skin and with the power to hold you together or pull you completely apart. 

Joel uses his weight to roll you on your back and you adore how heavy he is, pinning you to the bed, still grinding, delicious friction making you gasp as he moves his attention from your lips to your neck. You welcome his hot, wet mouth against you and it’s like you’re disappearing into the honeyed trance of the licks and kisses at your throat. He begins to explore the rest of your body, all the while still pressing, still moving his hard cock against the thin material that separates you, so that you’re shaky with it, soaking with it, moaning with it. Biting at your own lips, spiralling into the tenderness he’s devouring you with. 

Joel unwraps you like a gift, pulling the worn t-shirt over your head, yanking your sodden panties down over your ankles. His fingers brush at the inside of your thighs and you open for him, intoxicated by his touch, heady with the passion you feel buzzing in your veins every time you collide together. He’s kissing at your skin, dancing around where you need him most before slipping one thick finger into your cunt. You find yourself rocking against him hungrily, suddenly much more urgent, much more frantic in your race towards the pleasure that is building in you, a knot that’s rapidly coming undone for Joel and Joel alone.

You groan at the obscene sounds of his fingers playing with you, with how good it feels, “Joel, baby, I want, I want you.”   

He’s grinning, pure mischief, clearly delighted to have rendered you a fucked-out mess. 

“Yeah? That all darlin’? That all you want to say?”

It’s divine torture, he’s watching you with heavy lidded eyes, pupils blown to blackness with lust. He licks his lips, keeps toying, teasing, making you lose all reason. You watch the way his arm moves as he flexes his fingers in you, take in the broadness of his shoulders, the smattering of hair across his solid chest and softer belly, his cock so hard and leaking. It’s not helping your desperate state. 

“Joel….” it comes out a breathless whine, you’re syrupy in your almost bliss, dizzy with the way your body is begging him, pleading with him. This pleasure, it’s threatening to steal your words away from you completely. 

“Yes, darlin’, you wanna come? You want me to make you come? Fuck you with my mouth?”

You clench against his fingers. It’s almost unbearable, how close you feel, you almost want to cry with it. 

“Yes, yes, please, I want you, I n-need you.”  

He’s crawled down so you can feel his breath against your heat, eyes still locked onto yours, still teasing with another sweep of his tongue against his lips as his fingers curl and caress deep within you, “You need me, darlin’? You sure about that? Want me, need me? I think you love me.”

You gasp as he licks a hard stripe against your throbbing clit, hot and firm and delicious, but just as quickly gone, leaving you out of your mind. If you didn’t need to come so bad you might die, you’d seriously consider murder right now. But instead you let it out, that secret at the tip of your tongue, the one that twists around your insides, terrifying yet somehow dragging you through each day, making sure you wake up each morning.  

“Yes! Fuck! Fuck, yes, yes, I love you.”

The satisfied look on that beautiful face is enough to make you want to kill him all over again. 

“Good girl. Now let me love you.”

And you know, he isn’t asking you, he’s telling you. The string hasn’t snapped, it’s fastened you to Joel. 

You don’t have a second to feel vulnerable. Joel’s movements go from languid to rushed and eager, his tongue against you, rubbing that fine nose along your clit in a way that’s making your body twist in delight, a gush of arousal with each not-so-gentle nudge. Your whole being is tuned in to his every move, an almost white light blinding you as his fingers curl in you and he sucks, hard, at your clit. You’re crashing against his mouth and greedy, so greedy, gripping onto his hair and tightening around his fingers as you feel your whole body flood with heat and sweetness.

“I’m coming, fuck, Joel, I’m coming, I’m coming.” You might as well have just cracked into a scattering of stars, every tiny piece of you feels bursting with light. 

You pull Joel up for a deep kiss. He tastes like sex and forever. 

“You love me,” you sigh into his beautiful face, those gentle eyes still alight with desire, framed by heavenly crinkles as he smiles a lopsided smile at you. 

You’re drunk on each other, on what these words mean to you both. 

“Yeah, and you love me,” he groans back, pressing his face into your neck as you reach for his cock and guide him into you, leg hooked over his hip so you can take him all in, feel that divine burn of him. Joel takes over then, pulls your hands above your head and pins them there as he fucks into you at a relentless pace, all softness forgotten. 

It’s heaven, a crash of your bodies against each other as he pulls almost all the way out and before stretching you around him, again and again. He manoeuvres you on top, your body so soft and pliant for him, slotting your knees on either side of him. 

“Look at you darlin’, doing so good for me, such a good girl. Never prettier than when you’re fucking my cock. Love watchin’ you.”

You keen at the praise, clenching around him as it goes straight to your core, so high on this burning connection your words come out slightly slurred, “S’good Joel, fuck, you feel so good. Love, uh, love, fucking you.” You have your palms flat on his chest so you can use him as an anchor to roll your hips and feel every inch of him, “Love, fuck, you.”  

Joel is desperate now, gifting you with hungry kisses as he takes a fistful of your ass and drags you back and forth. He frees one hand to slap your ass and you hum with delight, with the frenzy that’s driving you both on, skin hot, sweat at your brows, sliding together in a quiet saturated with the sound of skin on skin. 

You try to focus your heavy, blissed-out eyes as he holds his hand tight on your jaw, his words gentle, breathing them into your mouth, “I love you.”

You grip onto his wrist, feeling the race of his pulse under your touch, as his thumb pushes against your tongue and you bite down. It’s all becoming so much, you’re so full of him, full of this love. You roll back against him quickly and feel a hot, bright throb within you as he uses his spit sodden thumb against your clit. 

“Feels so good, darlin’. Been dreaming of you riding me like this. Watching you bounce on my cock like you were made for it.” 

You lean back and lift your hips, let him have full access to you as you moan his name, “Joel, fuck, I want you to come, want to feel you come in me.” 

He croons at you, “I know, darlin’, I know. Gonna make you come first though.” 

When the orgasm hits you, it’s like a wave of heat that makes you collapse with the intensity. Joel catches you and lets you sink into your ecstasy, still rocking against you and kissing at your lips, your cheeks, rubbing that divine nose against yours. You doubt you even know your own name at this point but you can’t stop saying his, over and over again, binding him to you in your softness, twisting your souls together in your afterglow. 

He has the devil in him now. You are on your back again as he hooks your legs over his shoulders and pushes back into you, all rhythm gone as he fucks deep into you. It’s too much and not enough all at once. You both gasp a ‘fuck’ as he comes, his release floods you and you let your eyes close in the sheer wonder of it.

A few stray tears escape your eyes but you let them, there’s no shame in joyful tears. 

He folds onto you, a gentle kiss on your forehead before he’s searching your eyes, hands brushing the hair out of your face and gifting you a hot, messy kiss, all teeth and tongue.

“My girl,” he says, kissing the tears from your face. You savour the feeling of him still in you, purposefully tighten around him, willing him to stay joined like this forever. In all your suppleness and warmth, in uncomplicated devotion.

“My man,” you sigh, and hope, hope, hope you mean it.