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The bed dips. A familiar, purposefully ungraceful shifting of weight that Beth doesn’t need to open her eyes to picture clearly.
Rio crawling in beside her, lifting himself on to his forearm – feeling his gaze land on her in the pitch black of the room – as the bed shifts again in an unsubtle wake up kind of jostling motion. His breath tickles her collarbone where he’s propped up above her, gazing down as she pretends to be asleep.
He huffs like he knows she’s awake.
“Yo.” He purrs, thick with suggestion, kissing her shoulder.
“Don’t ‘Yo’ me.” she sighs, amused. Eyes still shut, face turned toward the French doors.
“What? M’just seein’ if you’re up.”
“Please.” Beth rolls her head to him and blinks her eyes open, adjusting to the dark enough to catch him biting down on his bottom lip. “I know your Yo’s - and that one was taking my panties off.”
Rio’s smile peels across his face, lighting up the shadowy room with it, as he lazily hauls his body further over her. A big, cold hand snaking up under her baggy t-shirt, squeezing the dip in her waist, making her shiver as he settles between her legs. “Aw, you got me.” he hums against her mouth.
He kisses her slowly, a relieved hello in the way he melts in to her arms. He’d told her he’d be late coming back from the warehouse, that she should get some sleep instead of waiting up, but she’d been restless for hours. Until she heard the bedroom door closing, comforting soft sounds of Rio taking his clothes off, the swish of his thick sweater being pulled up and over the crown of his head. The clang of his belt buckle swinging loose before a thud that signalled his shoes and jeans were in a pile on the floor.
His skin carries the chill from outside, especially his hands – proof he still wasn’t wearing the gloves she bought him - a stark contrast to the cosy cocoon she had made of her bed sheets. So when he runs his icey right hand down her stomach, dipping under the elastic of her panties and strokes two fingers over and inside the warmth of her cunt, she gasps, body jolting.
“Sorry.” he whispers blearily, realising how cold his hand is and moving to take it away. But Beth reaches out to grab his wrist, holding him in place.
“Don’t stop.” She commands. It feels good. Tingly and sharp in a way that shoots through her. All her nerves uniquely focused on the soft press of his cool fingers inside the wet heat of her center.
He leans back down to kiss her languidly. A lazy pulse with his fingers. He tastes sweet – too sweet – like cinnamon sugar. And it’s then she realises, the fog of pleasure clearing enough for her to drag a hand up, grabbing his jaw so his mouth puckers, ignoring the way his full bottom lip pops out, shiny from kissing her, his eyes hazy and confused when she pulls his face back – “Did you eat one of the snickerdoodles I made for the PTA tomorrow?”
He huffs, rolling his eyes as he wriggles out of her grip, taking his hand out of her panties and slowly licking his fingers clean as he speaks. “I mighta ate a cookie or two when I got in.”
“A snickerdoodle.”
“Yeah, mama, I ain’t callin’ them that.”
“They weren’t for you.” She chides as she lightly slaps his chest. “You know I’m stressed about tomorrow, I don’t need you eating the stock.”
“Alright, alright, won’t happen again.” He leans back down to kiss her but she pulls back.
“Do you think I made enough? I mean, the blondies and the red velvet bites were so popular the last time we did a bake sale that I ran out and I think I made enough but I wanted there to still be variety, you know? But if I run out of the popular stuff again then I know I’m gonna hear it from Melissa and –”
“Baby,” Rio cuts in, his calm voice like an arrow through her worry as both his hands come up to cradle her face, “seen as I could barely make out the kitchen through all the plastic containers, I think you’re good.”
His eyes glow with something deeply fond and amused, his thumbs stroking over her cheeks, and she lets the motion settle her - - for about five seconds.
“But I also promised Melissa I would get there early to set up the foyer and the tables,” Beth rolls out from under Rio, his dramatic groan muffled by the pillow he falls in to, “but now Dean’s not coming to get the kids until five so it’s going to be a crazy rush to get everything done on time.”
Beth drags herself up so she’s sitting against the pillows, mentally running through her checklist for tomorrow as Rio rolls to face her, pulling himself up so he’s leaning his shoulder against the headboard next to her.
“Well, I could help you.”
“What?”
“Help you get all set up. Stay and hang wit’ you if you like. It’s for a basketball game, yeah? How bad could it be?” He smiles, suddenly tickled by the thought of himself perched behind a table loaded with baked goods.
Beth gawps – knows she should speak – but that would mean – they would all see – and he would – and they –
“But – but don’t you have Marcus tomorrow night?”
“Nah, switched days so I can take him to the Pistons game next Saturday.”
Beth nods, remembers him telling her that, but can’t think of something to say. Can feel his eyes on her as she scans the darkness of her room for a response. Her hands fidgeting with the bed sheet.
She was touched, really. So touched. She wanted him to come with her and stand at her side and to share it with him. That side of herself. Dean had never once come to a PTA event. Had never offered his assistance when she was floundering. She was just – so used to doing it by herself, that was all. It felt strange to accept Rio’s help. To involve him in this side of her life. Oddly profound.
There was also the other mom’s. The people at the school who she had carefully crafted an image for, who were only just aware that Dean and her were divorced. What was she supposed to tell them when they saw her with Rio? Would they say it to her face or whisper behind her back? Would they judge her? Worst of all, would they judge him? Take one look at him and his neck tattoo and decide he wasn’t worth their time. Would she be able to stop herself from scratching their faces off if they dared look at him funny?
And why did she care? Why did she care?
She looks back to Rio, aware she’s been silent for too long, but his face looks – different. Cautiously blank. The smile faded as he watches her.
“I mean - yeah that would be great.” She reaches out for his hand splayed on her thigh and squeezes his fingers, hoping he can feel the gratitude in her touch. Traces the purple string of her hairband wrapped around his wrist. Tucks her finger under it and hooks it there.
“Cool.” He nods, satisfied as he leans in to press a kiss to her lips quickly.
“But – please don’t feel like you - I just - you don’t have to come, you know. If you don’t want to.”
“Elizabeth,” he sighs playfully, reaches up to push her messy hair back from her face, but there’s something strained in his eyes he fails to conceal. “Do you not want me to come?” he asks, carefully even.
“No, no it’s just – I know it’s not really your crowd.”
“It ain’t.” he shrugs, “But you’re my crowd. So if you want me there, I’m down.”
She can’t help her smile then, the initial sense of panic fluttering differently inside, in to something like butterflies. “I want you there.” She whispers.
And she does. She does. She just has no idea what that looks like.
He beams at her, before catching himself and crushing his lips together in an attempt to hide it, but his eyes are still bright with how pleased he is.
“Aight. Good.”
“Sooo,” she stretches out the sound, “I’m you’re crowd, huh?” she pokes him in his pec, teasing, enough that he rocks back with it.
“Okay, c’mere.” He waves her off, reaching for her hips and dragging her down the bed so she falls flat on her back, a surprised squeak escaping her lips at the sudden movement, Rio rolling on top.
“What?” she giggles as he hovers above her, “I mean, that was pretty cute, you’ve got to admit.”
“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Mhmmm, sure.” she hums, teasing.
“You done?”
“Yes, promise.”
“Okay then,” he drawls, lowering his face even closer, lips brushing hers -
“I’m your crowwwdd.” She sing-songs just before his kiss, wrapping her hands behind his head and tickling down his neck when he groans, turning his face and resting his cheek against her mouth as she giggles.
He doesn’t say anything as she laughs, just immediately turns his head and aims for her neck with intent. Sucking his way down her throat, skirting his hands under her t-shirt and pushing it up so he can get at her chest, mouthing at her pebbled nipples before running his lips down the soft line of her stomach, crawling down her body.
He’s trying to distract her. Stop her laughing and teasing. She knows.
But even as he pulls back to tear her panties down her legs, leaning back in to nip at the inside of her thighs, she laughs.
Like that’s gonna work.
She’s still giggling softly, breathlessly, tickling the patch of sensitive skin behind his left ear that normally makes him squirm, refusing to let him win.
“That’s not gonna wor - k - uhhhhh -” she keens as he turns his head suddenly and licks a line up her wet folds. Moaning in to her, low and dangerous, like he’s waited all day for this. Fingers wrapping around her thighs tightly. Making slow, maddening patterns with his tongue before he dips it inside, her legs falling wider, needing more.
And okay.
Maybe it works.
* * * * *
It doesn’t start out weird. But it gets weird.
Or - not weird exactly, but – fascinating.
Yeah. Fascinating.
It was dead on quarter past five when they’d pulled up to the school. The sun trying desperately not to set, thick swirls of orange and purple clouds hanging heavy in the sky. Rio’s giant, sleek G-Wagon, loaded with bags of unwashed cash not two hours ago, now loaded with Tupperware containers full of cookies and cupcakes - and a restless Beth in the front seat. Anxious to get everything set up in order to catch the first wave of people before the game started at six.
She’d loaded both their arms up, the red lid of the tub on top of Rio’s stack slotting in just under his chin, before she shepherded him towards the entrance of the basketball gym, trying to suppress a smile when he noticed the teams golden emblem painted in a giant mural above the door.
“The Eagles, huh?” He’d asked. Doing his best to grab the door handle for her without dropping anything in his arms.
“The Eagles.” She’d confirmed, catching his eye, dropping her gaze to the tattoo on his throat pointedly. “You’re gonna be popular.”
They had stashed the containers near the double-doors to the gym, shedding their coats before Beth had asked him to help her drag out the box with decorations and serving trays from the supply closet, and the large folding tables they needed to set up - one for her and one for Melissa’s coffee and cakes.
“Why ain’t Melissa here setting up her own shit?” Rio says, flipping out the folded metal table legs with two rusty clack sounds, lifting it so it stands up properly, ready to use.
Beth rolls her eyes as she gets her table in the same position next to it. “Because I offered. She’s not able to get here until like, ten minutes before the game. Easier for everyone if her tables mostly ready to go, don’t you think?”
“I guess.” He mumbles. “Aight, what’s next, mama?” He pushes the long sleeves of his black Henley up his forearms, the soft cotton ruching around his elbows.
“Um - tablecloths.” Beth clears her throat and reaches in to the box of decorations, pulling out two long pale blue sheets and chucking one to Rio. “Here.”
It’s when she’s watching him unfold the sheet, the tight t-shirt stretching around his shoulders distractingly as he billows the fabric out, brow furrowed as he tries to get it perfect and even on the table, running his big hands down the cloth to smooth it out – that’s when she first notices how different this is.
Good different. Really good.
And she’s still watching him like he’s something rare caught on camera in one of those nature documentaries he loves until he lifts his dark doe eyes and notices her ogling.
“Stop lookin’ at me like that.” He purrs as he stands up straight, sauntering towards her.
“Why?” she asks, innocently.
“Cause you don’t have time for where that look goes.”
Beth sighs dramatically, ignoring the spike in her pulse. “I guess.” She reaches up to pinch him in the side. “Come on, people will be arriving soon.”
They hang the gold bake sale banners across both tables, lay out plates and napkins as the sounds of the team warming up start to reach them, sneakers on polished hardwood and blurred yelling echoing through the doors.
When Beth gets out a little chalkboard easel and explains that she wants it to say ‘Bake Sale! Help us fund a new kit for the team!’ and Rio offers to write it, she kindly explains that people will need to actually be able to read it - so it’s best if he sticks to laying out the sweets.
She puts out her handwritten index cards with names, prices and ingredients and asks Rio to place everything in its correct spot while she runs to collect the change tin.
When she walks back down the hallway she slows to take in the sight of him popping lids, putting brownies, blondies and lemon bars on to white serving trays, arranging everything neatly, moving her place cards in to a configuration he prefers.
It’s ridiculous – what it’s doing to her.
Beth leans against the corner of the wall a moment, watching his long, lean body gliding around the table with focus, his silver chain swinging out of his collar when he leans over, nimble fingers handling the food she poured her time and thought in to with such care, seeing the impressed twitch in his lips when he stops to appreciate the chocolate cupcakes with basketballs intricately frosted on top. Her heart beating strangely at the sight of him - soft like this. Sweet and domestic in a way that undoes her.
And there’s definitely something wrong with her because she shouldn’t be this turned on watching Rio set out the cookies.
She can see him picking up a snickerdoodle to shove in to his mouth when she finally heads over.
“You gonna pay for that?”
He spins, pausing half-way through biting in to the cookie, rumbled as his eyes meet hers, before eating it with glee. “Can I get an IOU?”
“No you may not.” She comes to stand right in front of him, looking up in to his eyes as he smugly grins down at her. His free hand clutching her waist and pulling her flush against his chest.
“C’mon, darlin’. You know I’m good for it.” His eyes sparkle darkly as he lifts the cookie to his mouth again and she watches him take a bite, tongue flicking out to lick the dusty cinnamon sugar off his lips, ears pricking to the indulgent mmmm sound he makes as he chews.
“Beth!” a shrill, flustered voice sounds from the entrance.
Beth jumps away from Rio instantly, turning to see Melissa shuffling through the door with big heavy carrier bags full of stacked cake containers.
“Melissa, hi! You made good time.” She plasters on a fake, tight smile and then turns to look back at Rio. But he’s looking at her funny. Brow furrowed, eyes running up from where her feet are now planted a good distance from him.
“Oh, sweetie, I know. Ran a couple reds, don’t tell anyone.” Melissa pants, shuffling nearer. “Tables look great!”
It’s not until she sets her bags down that she acknowledges Rio, but Beth sees it. The way her eyes ping-pong between them, trying to make sense of the situation.
“I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.” She grins a little warily when she takes in the neck tat, but she’s obvious in the way she flicks her auburn hair over her collarbone, the way she bats her eyes.
Please.
“This is, um - this is -”
“Rio.” He interrupts. A charming, friendly smile on his face, “Yeah, Elizabeth needed some help with all this,” he waves his cookie holding hand towards the table, “so I’m gonna be around if that’s all good.”
Beth can feel Melissa’s eyes on her, but she’s stuck on Rio. The easiness, the openness of his face. And she knows him well enough to see that there’s something performative about it, but it does the job of putting Melissa at ease.
“Oh, well, of course. The more the merrier.” And when Beth turns to Melissa she can see the question forming on her lips – How do you two know each other? – but she’s saved by the first bunch of people coming in for the game.
Melissa hurries off to fill her coffee thermos as Beth drags Rio to stand behind their table so they’re ready for the crowd.
“Well that wasn’t so bad.” Beth sighs, nudging Rio in the side, pleased to see that odd look from before hasn’t returned to his face.
“Why’d you think it’d be bad?” eating the last bit of his cookie, “Momma’s love me.” he winks at her.
A few people drift over before going in to their seats, and they manage to sell some of the basketball cupcakes and blondies straight away. Rio puts himself in charge of handling the cash while Beth does the customer service stuff, making it all run smoothly.
When Melissa gets her cakes set up, pre-sliced and ready to go, she throws an enthusiastic thumbs up Beth’s way, and people bee-line for her table.
Beth huffs as she scans her selection of bakes, “I knew I should have made more variety.” whispering to Rio. “Melissa’s got mint chocolate cake.” She laments.
He makes a disgusted face. “Well that’s Melissa’s problem.” shaking his head like he can taste it.
Oh yeah. They’d had a fight about this a few weeks back when she bought some ice-cream home and he said he hated mint chocolate.
Shit tastes like toothpaste, he insisted.
And he’s said some ridiculous things in his time, but that really set her off.
She doesn’t have time to re-iterate how wrong he is right now. She notices some of the mom’s she knows from PTA, can see how their eyes settle on Rio. A mixture of blatant attraction and blatant distaste. Both making her wring her hands nervously. Both igniting a violent urge to defend him.
Some of them whisper to each other as they check him out, judgmental glances thrown in to the mix - aimed at both of them. She does her best to ignore it. Rio clearly is. She overhears him talking to a few people; some of them make comments about how he must be a huge fan of the team to get the eagle mascot tattooed on his throat. He smiles good-naturedly every time, plays along like nobody else has made that joke.
A peroxide blonde she doesn’t recognise is squashed in near Beth’s side of the table when it’s at its busiest, sees her eyeing the snickerdoodles at the other end, in front of Rio.
“I’m sorry,” she waves to get his attention, shrinking in to herself and turning red when his eyes land on her. “Um, what are those?”
Beth watches him, expectantly, lifting an eyebrow.
He sighs, “Cookies.”
“What type of cookies?” Beth jumps in, faux helpful, determined to hear him say it.
He clicks his tongue against his teeth, blinking slowly at her like never gonna happen. “Cinnamon Sugar.” He tells the woman cheerfully. She seems to lose interest at that and can’t be persuaded to try the red velvet bites in front of Beth.
Rio dips his mouth to her ear, “Don’t get cute.” He says, low enough so only she hears it, and she scoffs. She was going to hear him say snickerdoodle if it killed her.
It starts to quieten down as it approaches six, and she can feel his eyes on her, catches him staring in her periphery. And when she turns fully he’s just smiling, warm and devious, enjoying watching her gabble about her baking to the stragglers.
She’s just finished selling two basketball cupcakes to the parents of the Eagles point guard, people shuffling past and checking out the table, promising to return at halftime as it gets close to the start of the game, when it dies down enough for her to turn her attention to Rio.
“Stop lookin’ at me like that.”
“Why?” he hums, all pleased.
“Cause you don’t have time for where that look goes.” She teases.
Rio drags his eyes up and down her body, lingers on her glossy lips before dropping to the dip in her bright blue sweater, considers her playfully, “Baby, we got at least two quarters. Can get up to plenty in twenty minutes.”
He drifts closer, lifting a finger to push a strand of hair out of her eyes, dropping his hand to gently knead the back of her neck - and he makes her crazy enough that she actually considers it. Thinks about him fucking her against the rickety shelves in the supply closet - before Melissa comes back in to view.
She pushes back, turning her face away from his touch, clearing her throat and smiling politely at Melissa across from her. Rio follows her gaze, his jaw rocking, the muscle in his cheek flexing where he grinds his teeth, tilting his head as he slowly turns back to her.
And it’s the look again. The one she doesn’t understand.
They hear the crowd in the gym erupt as the game starts and Rio’s phone starts vibrating in his pocket, breaking the odd moment.
“I gotta take this, mama. Be back in a sec, yeah?” he squeezes her arm as he passes her to answer it in private.
He takes a while, and when she pointedly ignores Melissa to avoid conversation she’s relieved that she goes in to the gym to watch the game.
She’s reset the table, cleaned up by the time he reappears, and the call seems to have irritated him enough that he’s almost happy to get back to selling cupcakes.
“Everything okay?” she queries as he sighs, stroking a hand down the scruff lining his jaw.
“Yeah, yeah, just – Mick. Some shit at the warehouse. S’all good though.”
The two quarters are over surprisingly fast, and when they hear the whistle blow for halftime, the quiet foyer is flooded with noise as the gym doors open. The crowd filtering out for the fifteen minute break.
The space is full of pockets of people chatting, the excitement and adrenaline from the game following them.
It gets busy fast, and when she checks in on Rio he’s drawn a crowd. It’s a pleasant surprise, seeing people instantly warm to him. There are wary looks, sure. Some people don’t go near him. But the ones who get near enough to fall in to his glue trap of charm get stuck there. Eventually a group of Dad’s seem to have gathered around his end of the table, involving him as they enthuse about the events of the game so far.
She can hear Rio bringing up the Pistons and they all laugh like they know their team’s not great.
At a slow moment she resets the table so it looks less empty, Rio moving to help her wordlessly.
“Beth Boland!” A shrill voice calls as Lauren comes in to view, Asmita trailing behind her, making an irritating nose-scrunch in Beth’s direction in lieu of a hello.
Beth blanks for a second. Marks she winces internally. It’s Marks now. They know that. But she doesn’t say it. Rio stands tight to her left shoulder as he pushes the last of the lemon bars in to the centre of the table, eyeing the two women.
“Look at this! You’ve done such a good job, I mean – those basketball frosting thingy’s? I could never.”
“So pretty. And you have got to tell me the secret to your blondies. To. Die. For.” Asmita chimes in.
Beth nods, finding words again as she watches their eyes drift to Rio. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to lend you the recipe.”
“Oh, you’re too good to me.”
They all smile tightly at each other. The silence stretching.
Please just go. Please just go.
“So?” Lauren pushes, “Who’s this?” her eyes shine at the opportunity for gossip and Beth has the strange urge to yank on her hair.
“This is Rio.” Beth says quietly. She turns to him, gesturing stiffly, “Rio this is Lauren and Asmita. They’re also on the PTA.”
“Good to meet you, ladies.” He nods, friendly but cautious.
Asmita’s cheeks pinken, her little mouth twisting in a flustered smile, clearly happy to leave them to it. But Lauren’s not done.
“And how do you two know each other? I mean -” Her grey eyes pinch meanly as she looks at Rio, like he doesn’t belong. “We’re all just dying to know.” She tries to soften it, but the implication that they don’t match is clear.
She doesn’t know what to say. Hates that she doesn’t know what to say. That she can’t spit it out. We’re together. We’re dating. He’s my b -
Rio’s hand lifts, the tips of his fingers on her waist like he’s about to snake it around her in a comforting motion, a clear visual that they’re together, something she normally loves the feeling of, the touch that signals they’re each other’s person, but in front of Lauren and Asmita, she feels exposed. Like she’s still Bethie. And something on old instinct makes her jump away from his hand before it can circle around her hip.
“He’s just a friend. I needed help with all this so – he’s helping. Right?”
When she turns her face to Rio, the look is back. But it’s worse than before. So much worse. And she knows what it means now as his eyes cloud over in disappointment.
He’s hurt.
“Yeah.” He drawls, voice suddenly tired as he looks back to Lauren. “Yeah that’s right.”
The women don’t look convinced, both sensing the tension as an announcement is made and they head back to their seats for the third quarter.
The foyer empties again and she eyes Rio, sorting the cash in the tin. “You alright over there?” she asks, sweetly.
“Sure.”
It’s blunt. Not rude. But off.
Melissa tells Beth nobody really hangs around after the game, that they normally head straight out to party with their friends and family for the remainder of their Friday night, so if Beth wants to head home she’s happy to do the clean-up.
Beth agrees, their table basically empty anyway, and hands the tin of money over to Melissa before going to collect her things.
Rio helps her with her coat silently, but doesn’t kiss the back of her head, doesn’t squeeze the ticklish spot on her waist just to hear her laugh.
They ferry the empty Tupperware containers back to the car and when they’re all loaded in the back, he goes to open the passenger side door for her, but doesn’t put his hand on the small of her back as he guides her in.
He doesn’t stroke her knee on the drive home.
He doesn’t crowd in to her back or nuzzle her neck as she opens the front door.
He doesn’t touch her at all.
He walks past her, still silent, and she watches him take his coat off in the living room before he heads for the drink cart, grabbing the expensive bottle of Mezcal he likes, circling the wall and heading for the kitchen island.
The lights are still off. The house steeped in darkness, and he’s pouring himself a shot when she passes the den, knocking it back straight away when she comes to a stop opposite him, her hands resting nervously on the countertop.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or are you just not talking to me now?”
“Nothin’s wrong.” He stares at her, and the look in his eyes, the feigned apathy when he’s clearly pissed off, irritates her more than anything.
“Oh, sure. Because you normally act like this. Sorry, must have slipped my mind.” She takes her coat off as she speaks, hanging it over the back of one of the chairs.
“Yeah, that must be it.” He mutters meanly as he pours himself another shot.
“If you didn’t want to come tonight you should have just said.”
“What are you talkin’ about?” he frowns.
“Well, why else would you be acting like this?”
“You tell me, ‘friend’.”
The silence stretches for a moment, cold and uncomfortable, and she hates it.
“You cannot be serious. That’s it? Really?”
“Nah, that’s not it, actually.” he slides his empty glass aside and leans his hands in to the edge of the counter, rolling his shoulders, his body nearly vibrating with tension.
“Well, go on, the suspense is killing me.” She waves her hands out at him, inwardly frustrated, wishes she could pause and calm herself down.
“I dunno, sweetheart, maybe it’s the way you jump outta your skin to get away from me when we’re in front of people. Maybe it’s the way you always do that. Like you don’t want nobody to know you’re with me. Maybe I’m tired of it.”
She falters. She doesn’t do that. Does she? “I don’t jump away from you, you’re being dramatic.”
“Oh, cool, so I imagined all that earlier then?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say here! It was just a weird situation, okay? I didn’t want attention on us like that. And people were looking at you like - like -” she gestures at him, struggling for words.
Like you don’t make sense with someone like me.
“Like what? Like I’m a criminal? Well, newsflash, darlin’. Whether you look like it or not, that’s what you are too. We’re the same!”
“Stop, that’s not what I -”
“You happy to fuck me in private, go places where you don’t know nobody, but we get in front of your desperate housewives crew and suddenly you’re too good for me, huh? Ashamed of me?”
“No! Of course not!” she yells, feels something hot building behind her eyes. How could he think that? “Where is this coming from? You always touch me when we’re out together. I – I want you to touch me.”
Please don’t stop.
“Yeah, maybe when we go my kinda places you like it. But anywhere you might know somebody you can’t get away from me fast enough. Why is that, huh?”
“That’s not fair.”
“You know what’s not fair? You treatin’ me like I don’t fit in a part of your life. Cause I do fit. I was there. I was there for you cause I wanna be and you shouldn’t have to do all that shit alone! That’s what you do when you’re with someone.”
Beth sighs, dropping her head to her chest. “I don’t want to talk to you about this right now.” She bites out as she begins to turn away from him.
“Really? Shit, you mad cause I wanna touch you? Cause I wanna be able to put my arm around my girl? Kiss you? Cause I ain’t cool wit’ you tellin’ people I’m just your friend?" he growls at her, calling her back to him as he rounds the island.
She spins on her heel, “Well what was I supposed to call you?! Huh? It’s not like we ever even do that with each other now you want me to tell the world that you’re – what? What?! Please tell me what you are to me so I can be better prepared to not hurt your feelings at a bake sale in the future.”
“Jesus, what are we, 15?” he sneers, shaking his head.
“You’re the one bent out of shape over labels.” She jabs a finger in to his chest.
“Nah, I ain’t bent outta shape, I’m fuckin' pissed off.”
“Yeah, I can see that and it’s ridiculous.”
“How would you feel?” he says, suddenly quiet. Painfully so.
She double-takes, struggling to catch her breath, “What?”
“How would you feel if I told people you was just my friend? Like you ain’t shit to me? Like I was embarrassed to be with you?”
She takes a moment to hear him, really hear it in his voice as he says the words, “It would hurt me.” she whispers, voice cracking.
“Right. And that would never happen. Cause I want you in my life. All of it. Every part. Cause I fuckin’ -” he swallows down the end of his sentence, closes his eyes in frustration.
“I know that, okay. And I wanted you there. But those people - they don’t see me like you do. I have to be different in front of them. They’ve known me for so long, since Dean - - they expect an old version of me. I don’t know how to just switch that off.”
“You’re clingin’ to somethin’ that’s gone, baby! That ain’t you.”
“It is me!”
“Not all of it. Not what makes you happy.”
“Oh, and you make me happy?!”
It’s out of her mouth before she can take it back. Before she can stop the way his shoulders slump, all the air leaving him, his brow furrowed, the pain in his eyes a ghost of a moment she’s worked hard to forget.
“Well, I sure thought I did.” He sighs, deflated.
And he does. More than anything. More than she can bear. He must know she didn’t mean it?
“Rio, I -”
“No, you know what, ma? I ain’t with a past version of you. So don’t treat me like I’m him, don’t blame shit you do now on how you used to be. It’s not my fault you wasted 20 years of your life with that piece of shit.”
It’s not true. Not in any way. But the words hurt her. Deep. Like he knew it would.
“I did not waste my life.” She hiccups. Feeling a heavy tear break through her lower lash-line, watching him through glassy eyes as she sees the regret wash over his face. Sees his fingers twitch at his side with their impulse to reach out and comfort her.
The way he doesn’t makes her cry even more.
* * * * *
Beth goes to bed early, having ignored Rio for the rest of the night. At least alone in her bedroom he wasn’t flitting in and out of her periphery, moving from the dining room to the kitchen and back again as he busied himself in work. Work that didn’t need doing.
She’d buried herself in her couch cushions, the TV volume up high as she watched some mindless reality show. (She might have snorted when she turned it up so loud that Rio had to take a phone call he was having in the kitchen out on to the patio.)
She kept trying to tune him out, until the emotional exhaustion of the night caught up with her and she headed for her bedroom.
She doesn’t know how long she’s been lying there, staring at the French doors, wide awake, replaying the mess of their fight, when she hears Rio come in.
Her back’s to him as she hears the sounds of his Henley being pulled over his head and dropped on the floor, the metallic click of his rings against his belt buckle, the sounds irritating her in a way they never used to.
“I don’t want you here.” She blurts out. Unsure if she means it. But she knows she’s not ready to talk to him yet.
“Baby, I just wanna sleep.” She hears him mutter, his voice small in a way she can’t stand.
“Sleep on the couch then.”
She can feel his eyes running over her. Hears him sigh. “Elizabeth, I’m not sleepin’ apart from you.”
She shivers at his tone, his need to be with her even when they’re both angry. Making her feel safe somehow. Safe knowing he’s not going anywhere even when it’s messy.
She’s still about to tell him too bad when –
“Please.” He asks - begs almost. And it wraps around her heart, soothes something gnarled within, hearing him like that. His scratchy voice, thick with needing her.
She knows she’s going to let him sleep here, knows deep down that if she banished him to the couch she’d probably end up making her way to the living room later in the night to be with him anyway.
But right now – she’s still thrumming with a need to not give in.
“Fine.” She bites out, but decides quickly that she can’t just let him have this, can’t concede fully, and she rolls over to eye the stack of thick pillows on his side.
It seems logical - to her at least - when she rears up, grabbing at the top pillow and smacking it down by her legs, then the next one near her shoulder, as she starts building a pillow wall.
She can see him watching in the corner of her eye, a smirk creeping on to his lips, but he says nothing. Crossing his arms over his bare chest as he patiently lets her steal his three cushions, before sacrificing one of her own so it’s even.
She gives the top of the makeshift barrier a definitive, angry pat with both hands before looking up at him. He’s moved a hand to his mouth, a big palm caging in the smile he wasn’t able to smother when he flicks his eyes to hers and turns sombre again, realises she’s still really not in the mood. Seems to remember his own hurt feelings as well as he sniffs and looks away, turning his focus to taking his jeans off.
She just needed something to stop her seeing him in the night, stop her from finding her way to him in her sleep - ending up tangled in his arms like she normally does or waking up to him pressed against her back.
“Goodnight.” She throws at him before turning away defiantly and lying down. She thinks she hears him whisper night, darlin’ but she can’t be sure. Just hears him finish undressing and get ready for bed. Feels the mattress shift when he slides in. And when she peeks over her shoulder she’s thrilled to find her little wall works because she can’t see him.
She’s thrilled.
* * * * *
She knows she sleeps. Drifts in and out. Fitfully and shallow and cold. But she sleeps.
Knows she was asleep anyway - her eyes fluttering open when she feels something tickling her foot.
She pushes up on to her elbows, squinting in the dark, trying to make sense of what she’s looking at -
Rio sitting up near the end of the bed, trying to gently push one of his long black socks over the toes of her right foot, having managed to get the left sock on without disturbing her.
He freezes when he notices her watching, before he scoffs and stops being comically timid with his hands, having failed in not waking her, and yanks the sock down under her heel, tugging it as far up her calf as he can get it.
“Am I dreaming?” she whispers, throat rough from restless sleep.
“Nah, mama.” He laughs softly, squeezing her ankle.
“Then why are you putting your socks on me in the middle of the night?” She wiggles her toes, feels how cold they are, numb enough to almost hurt.
“Your feet were like ice, okay? They get cold all the time when you’re sleepin’, you don’t notice?” he drags himself a little further up the bed so he’s sitting nearer her side.
“Not normally, no.” she says, bluntly.
“Yeah, well, you normally shove ‘em between my legs to keep them warm.”
She tilts her face up to look him in the eye where he hovers somewhere near her in the dark, filters through the shades of night and finds the unique blackness of his eyes. “No I don’t.”
“Yeah, you do.” He nods, pouting as he says the do in that exaggerated way of his.
“Why don’t you stop me?”
He’s quiet for moment, “Maybe I like keeping you warm.” He whispers, earnestly. “But I can’t do that with the passive aggressive pillow wall you got set up – hence the socks.” He taps the pillows between them, amused, and the soft smile in his lips as he looks at her feels like a peace offering.
She exhales deeply, before slowly pushing up so she’s sitting upright, wordlessly crawling over the pillows between them. Rio watches her carefully, moving back to make space before she pushes him down so he lies flat with her beside him, resting her head against his bicep where he lifts his left arm to loop around her.
She looks up at him through her lashes, their faces close where he’s turned to watch her. Her hand fiddling with the pendant of his chain against his sternum as she picks her words. The hand he has wrapped around her stroking her shoulder. Waiting.
“I’m mad at you for what you said. You hurt me.”
“I know.” he murmurs, regretful.
“And I’m mad at myself for hurting you.”
“I know. Me too.” He pauses, “Y’know I didn’t mean it, right?”
She nods softly, tilts her head so she can look him in the eyes, feels her vision get cloudy as she tries to think of the right words. Tries to explain where she’s coming from – why she pulls away from his touch sometimes – why she freezes up – why the thought of claiming him in front of people feels huge and scary - but she doesn’t seem to need words. She can see it in his face as he watches her wrestle with herself.
“I ain’t him, okay. I always wanna touch you. I don’t wanna be quiet about what we got. It’s just how I wanna be wit’ you.” He squeezes her shoulder, eyes running over her face. He lifts his right hand from his stomach to stroke his thumb under her bottom lip softly. “But I get it, yeah?” he sighs, “You ain’t used to that. It ain’t fair to you to think you gotta want what I want. It just – it don’t feel good when you pull away. Honestly it fuckin’ kills me.”
The look in his eyes twists something inside her. The thought sinks that she’s been slowly chipping away at his easiness, the generous touch that she cherishes but struggles to mirror. The fear she once had that he might start second-guessing himself when he does these things and stop suddenly real and awful.
“I’m not used to it.” She agrees, “But I want to be. I want to be like that – how you are with me, but I – I always stop myself.”
Beth thinks about all the times she’s wanted to take his hand in hers, loop an arm around him, kiss him when they’re out somewhere. All the times she felt like she couldn’t possibly do that. That everyone would stare. That she would do it wrong somehow. That everyone would wonder what they were doing together.
“Why?”
“I’ve never felt like that before.” She answers, voice hushed. “It’s new to me. Dean was never - - tactile like you are. And if he was it was awkward and – I didn’t like it. So I think I learned to be that way.”
His focus on her is deep and patient, listening intently to every word.
Safe. She feels safe.
“But it’s different with you. I’m different with you. I like it. Really, I do, I just – old habits, you know?”
“Mhmmm.” He hums in understanding.
“I’m not ashamed of you.” She stutters, can barely say it the thought is so ridiculous to her, can’t stand him ever thinking that. “But when people look at us like we don’t fit, like we don’t match, I let that get in my head. I know I shouldn’t, but I do.”
She shuffles closer, until they’re nearly nose to nose. Lifts her hand from his chest to his cheek, rubs a thumb over the heart shaped freckle she loves and glides her fingers down the sharp line of his face gently, all the way down to his neck, tracing the wing on the side of his throat.
“You’re my crowd too, okay?” she tells him. He just smiles, but she needs to hear him say it.
“Okay?” she urges.
“Yeah, mama.” He chuckles, warm and familiar and precious to her.
They just look at each other then, taking each other in silently, letting themselves mellow. The air between them becoming heavy with something intense.
“You’re not my friend.” She whispers, seriously. Eyes pleading with him to hear her. The things beneath.
Whatever he sees stuns him, just for a second, but it’s there. “Good.” He smiles, eyes going heavy-lidded. “You’re really not my friend.” He drawls as he lifts an eyebrow, his grin sharkish, pulling her into him for a kiss.
She laughs against his mouth, but then he’s kissing her slow and deep and purposeful, a rumbling sound in his throat that melts her straight to the bone, sucking on her bottom lip until it feels pink and raw.
And neither of them says it, but they kiss their sorrys in to each other’s skin, pepper it everywhere with their touches, holding each other like that until they drift to sleep. Her socked feet tucked between his calves.
* * * * *
It’s late when they’re in the grocery store, nearly closing time, a last minute plan to make a nice dinner together back at Rio’s leading them to do a quick stop-off after work for supplies. Beth’s deciding whether she wants a bunch of red peppers or green, Rio patiently holding the shopping basket and telling her to just get ‘em all by her side – when Lauren turns her shopping cart down the fresh veg aisle.
“Oh, god.” Beth mumbles under her breath, hearing Rio chuckle softly behind her. She’s really not in the mood. Really not sure what to do. The events of yesterday still fresh in her mind.
“Oh Beth, hi!” she scurries towards them. “Heard you raised a bunch of money yesterday, yay you!” She pushes her cart close, leans in to her slender hip as she comes to a stop right next to them.
“And – oh my gosh – I’m such a scatterbrain today what was your name?”
“Rio.” He reminds her, shuffling his feet close to Beth’s left side.
“Yes, yes of course.” Her eyes flit between them and Beth can see her gearing up to quiz them again. To challenge the friend of it all.
“Hi, Lauren. Little late for your weekly shop isn’t it?” Beth questions, but when she looks in to Lauren’s cart, it’s full of chips and dips and bottles of cheap pink wine.
“Well, I’m having a little impromptu girl’s night actually. Last minute dash for supplies, you know how it is. Hey! Why don’t you come? I’m sure everyone would love to see you.”
She doesn’t know where it springs from, the change, but the anxiety she normally feels about showing affection in public, in front of people who know her - it’s not worrying her right now.
And when the impulse comes to take Rio’s hand in her own, an impulse she would normally squash, she listens to it.
She dips her hand quickly, sliding her palm in to his and interlacing their fingers.
She keeps her eyes cheerfully on Lauren but she can see Rio whip his chin down to their clasped hands in surprise, his fingers slack until she gives his palm a squeeze and he squeezes back.
It’s as a clear a signal as any when she leans in to his side, his hand in hers.
“Actually I can’t, Lauren. We’ve got dinner plans, don’t we?”
She smiles up at Rio. A soft, pleased pout on his lips as he blinks at her slowly, quirking the corner of his mouth before he answers. “Yeah.” He nods at Lauren, “Yeah, big plans.”
Lauren takes the hint and after making a few more awkward pleasantries she rushes off and leaves them to it. Beth steps forward to go back to picking peppers but springs back when Rio doesn’t let go of her hand, doesn’t budge his feet and move with her.
She turns to look at him questioningly, but his eyes are sparkling, his big hand swallowing hers, clinging to her tightly. His eyes drop to her hand in his, watching his thumb stroke over her knuckles a moment, before his gaze bounces back up, shining with a new kind of hunger.
“Alright, c’mon.” He drops the basket carrying half their dinner abruptly on the floor and yanks her towards the exit.
She giggles, pleasantly baffled as he pulls her along, “Rio, what are you -”
“I need you home. Now.” he lets go of her hand only so he can wrap it tightly around her waist to help her keep up, almost lifting her off the ground with it.
She laughs at his sudden haste, skipping in her heels to keep pace with his long stride.
He can’t get her back to his fast enough. His hand snaking up her long violet dress on the short drive, Beth’s knees falling open as he strokes his fingers all the way up her thighs and rubs her softly over her panties, hooks two fingers underneath the blush pink cotton and pushes them inside her shallowly.
Beth’s left hand reaches over the center console to grab the inside of his jacket, twisting and pulling the fabric as she moans softly beside him.
There’s a harsh beep as a car horn sounds behind them when Rio gets distracted watching the pulse of his knuckles in and out of her cunt and misses the lights change to green. She tells him to pay attention to the road, her voice breathy and high.
He lifts his hand slowly out of her panties, an irritated grunt as he brings his wet fingers to his lips and sucks them clean, putting his foot on the gas.
They make it to the top floor of his building before Rio gets too impatient and presses her back in to the wall near his front door.
It’s quiet; nobody but them in the short hallway - Rio’s place the only apartment on this floor - and the sconces on the wall throw a low golden light over the dark green walls.
They’re technically still out in the open, the apartments below just an open stairwell away, but it almost feels private.
He kisses her harshly, bruising, running his lips down her throat and yanking her coat down her arms so it falls to the side, leaving her in just her dress.
He’s dipping his lips to her cleavage, burying his face there and sucking at the tender skin when the thought flashes in her mind.
“Rio -” she whispers, trying to get his attention, bringing her hands to the back of his head, scratching her nails through his short hair, “Rio,” pulling his face up from her chest to look at her.
He rests his forehead against hers, breath harsh as he exhales, hands clutching her to him, “Mhmmmm” is all he says in answer, distracted as he eyes the red, shiny marks he had started to make on her milky skin.
“Say it for me.”
His eyes flick up then, searching hers for what she means, and he tips them up to the ceiling, playfully annoyed when he realises.
“Nah,” he murmurs, leaning in to catch her lips, but she pushes him gently back.
“Just once. Please.” She bats her eyes up at him, making them all big, her voice soft and falsely meek in a way she knows he likes, “Then I’ll drop it.”
He huffs as he considers her, mouth twisting, zeroing in on her lips before he looks to the side, like if he can’t see her then it won’t be as embarrassing for him.
“Snickerdoodle.” He growls, all grumpy.
It’s ridiculous how sweet it sounds, how serious he says it, but his deep husky voice saying the silly word shoots something hot down her spine like an electric current straight between her legs.
When he looks back to her he smiles softly - for one second - before he grabs her hips and flips her so her so her face is pushed in to the wall, her hands flat against it, gasping at the sudden movement.
He presses in close and nuzzles in to her neck. “You like that, huh?” he whispers next to her ear, making her tremble in response.
“Yeah, I see you.” He runs his hands down over ass, slowly bunching up the loose fabric of her dress until it’s pushed all the way up. “You like me like that. Think I don’t see you starin’? Gettin’ yourself all worked up over me settin’ your cookies out. Whenever you watch me doin’ Dad shit. You like seein’ me soft.”
He grinds his pelvis into her, can feel him painfully hard through his jeans and she can’t help the way her spine arches in invitation, pushing her hips back, desperate for friction.
He slips a finger in to the string of her thong, pulls it out and aside, pinching tight over the swell of her ass cheek where he hooks it out of the way. Her ears prick to the sound of a zip being pulled, and she chokes on air when she feels Rio’s hard, thick cock slip against her cunt, dragging the tip through her wet folds.
“What about that?” he stutters in to the hinge of her jaw. His breath hot, teeth scraping her skin, her cheek crushed against the wall as she pants frantically. “You like that, too?”
“Yes,” she whines, “Rio, please.”
He pushes inside her slowly, harsh curses under his breath as he bottoms out, before setting a punishing pace. His hands clutch her hips tight so he’s in control as he thrusts in to her, hers sliding everywhere as her fingernails scratch against the wall. He has to cover her mouth when she moans loudly, the sound so wrecked and needy she’s almost embarrassed, but he’s struggling to muffle his own noises against the back of her neck, grunting and mewling, the sounds echoing through the hall along with the sharp stick of their skin.
She can feel herself winding up, her body tingly and tight and when he hits a spot inside that makes her vision go spotty she clenches around him hard. He bites her shoulder in response, reaching his left hand around her hip to stroke between her legs, circling his finger around her clit to push her over the edge and she shatters, biting the palm of his hand as she comes.
He grunts when he feels it, the way she convulses around him, crushes her even closer to the wall as his rhythm gets erratic. He takes his hand away from her mouth but keeps his fingers pinched around her jaw, brings his own lips close to hers to capture the soft sounds she makes as she clenches again and he snaps, groaning, gasping as he spills inside her, the sounds swallowed by her open mouth.
They put themselves back together slowly, limbs heavy and sated. He pulls her thong back in to place with a snap that makes her wince with how sensitive she is, before he spins her so she’s facing him. Cups her over the damp fabric, watches as her eyes flutter, smiles all pleased and possessive as he feels his come dripping out of her through the cotton.
“We don’t have anything for dinner.” She chuckles, voice dazed.
“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that, baby.” He kisses her quickly, “C’mon, I’ll make us somethin’.”
She grabs her coat and heads for his front door, leans in to the frame as she ponders what he could possibly whip up using the sparse supplies he has, kindly suggests they just order-in, but as soon as the door clicks open and he pulls her in to his arms she stops caring.
He kisses her slowly as he walks her backwards in to his apartment, kicking the door shut behind him, guiding her in to the dark open space, chucking his keys on to the side table as she drops her coat on the floor.
He’s heading for the couch; she can tell by the way he pivots her, laughing when she trips over her own feet, feeling light-headed, still wobbly from her orgasm.
But when she backs in to something hard, something where the couch cushions should be, something that feels like a boot attached to a leg, she squeals, turns to look down at what blunt thing her thigh came in to contact with and screams, jumping back when the shadowy shape of a man comes in to focus.
Rio instantly clocks the situation and pushes her behind him, his left arm forming a protective shield in front of her as the other reaches in to the back of his waistband for his gun.
“Woah woah!” the man yells, his feet flailing where he was woken suddenly by Beth’s yell, trying to sit up, his hands stretched out in front of him defensively.
“Easy, man. It’s me!” Beth clutches in to Rio’s arm, can feel when the adrenaline in his muscles starts to fade, the hand reaching for the gun coming to a sudden stop as he hears the voice, turning to switch on the lamp instead.
Does he know this man? What’s going on?
The orange light from the lamp illuminates the open space, and Beth can see a young man she’s never met before, stretched out on the couch. She turns to look up at Rio and his face softens into tired irritation. But he definitely knows the person he’s looking at.
“Rio, who the hell is this?" she asks, the panic leaving her enough to just be pissed off.
He glances down at her like he doesn’t know what to say, mouth making silent shapes before lifting his hand to stroke her cheek reassuringly.
When he turns back to the man, his eyes drop to his dirty boots still resting on top of the cushions.
He reaches out to slap them away, “Get your fuckin’ shoes off my couch, what’s wrong with you.” He scolds, but there’s no real venom in it. Like he’s said it before. Like he’s used to it.
“Alright, Jesus.” The stranger does as he’s told, rolling his eyes, swinging his feet to the floor and standing up. He’s tall. Not as tall as Rio, but he’s trying to get there, pulling his shoulders back. He’s broader though, bulky in his stance in contrast to Rio’s agile strength.
And his face is kind as he smiles at her in apology.
“The fuck you doin’ here, man?” Rio grunts, annoyed.
“Nice to see you too, hermano.” The man sighs, gesturing to Beth. “You gonna introduce me to your girlfriend?”