16. fallon
SIXTEEN
fallon
A n hour later, I filled Thomas in on everything between me and Fitz, including his most recent interaction, asking for my number. I’m trying not to read too much into that one. I’m his boss. It makes sense that he’d need my number. Thomas reminded me that Fitz has his number, though. If it was something work-related, he could just reach out to Thomas.
“I just don’t like the unknown,” I mutter, dipping a wing into the ranch and popping it into my mouth.
“Not everything needs to be defined,” Thomas replies. “When was your last relationship? Mizzou, freshman year, right? You’ve avoided men since then?”
I threw my napkin at him, then regretted it when I realized my fingers were covered in wing sauce. “He broke my heart! I haven’t been avoiding men. I just never found someone I wanted to be with. I was too busy?—”
“Studying,” he interrupts with a sigh. “Yeah, I’ve heard this story. You realize that’s a bullshit excuse you hide behind, don’t you? Many people socialize and study.” He leans forward and covers my hand with his. “Your ex-boyfriend from eons ago is not why you’re guarding your heart, Fallon.”
“Don’t,” I warn gently. “I don’t want to go there.”
He squeezes my hand. “How much longer can you live like that? You have to face?—”
“Thomas.” With all the patience I can muster, I convey the seriousness of the subject he’s about to broach. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He holds his palms up like he’s trying to prevent a rabid dog from biting him. “Fine.” Picking up a piece of celery, he points it at me. “But that’s why you’re wanting a definition. It feels safer to you when you know what to expect.”
“Stop weaponizing vegetables and change the subject.”
He does. He asks me questions about my upcoming trip to California, asks if Fitz is serious about going with me, talks about how whiny Ansel is when he’s ill, and then goes into how much fun his younger brother is having on his trip to Paris.
I try not to die of envy. At twenty-five, this is the time to travel and experience the world. Traveling to Europe and learning about cultures different than mine is a dream I don’t have time to live. I was supposed to go to Paris after graduating from college, but… I don’t finish the thought.
My phone lights up with a text, pulling me from my thoughts. The name that flashes makes me drop the wing I’m holding and reach across the table to retrieve my napkin.
How are the wings?
“He just texted me,” I say, rereading the simple question five times before I respond.
Wingy.
How is your dinner?
I didn’t expect to hear from him at all this evening, but he made an effort, which has admittedly excited me more than it should for a man I could hardly stand just days ago.
Loud.
Jace brought us to a Mexican restaurant that gives you sombreros and sings to you when it’s your birthday.
A picture comes through of Andrew wearing a sombrero with a scowl on his face. Jace is next to him, holding up a frozen margarita, his mouth open like he’s singing along.
I show the picture to Thomas before replying.
Is it Andrew’s birthday?
No.
Jace is just a dick.
I laugh while taking a sip of my cola. As interesting as Fitz’s friendship is with Jace, there does seem to be brotherly love hidden beneath their unfathomable competitiveness. They wouldn’t spend so much time together if there was genuine dislike. Jace and Andrew certainly wouldn’t travel here from Boston as often as they do.
I heart the picture.
I want to see the sombrero on you.
I didn’t realize you were into role-play.
You’ll be the matador?
I throw my head back, laughing, the scenario playing in my mind of what that would even look like.
Something to consider.
What are your plans after dinner?
Oh, god. Oh, god. “Oh, god.” I show Thomas the text, trying not to jump around in my seat. “Does he want to see me? What do I say? I don’t have plans.”
“Don’t say that,” Thomas replies, watching me dance around with a bemused grimace. “Tell him you’re not sure, then ask him if he has suggestions.”
I send the emoji of the girl shrugging.
Have any suggestions?
How do you feel about hot chocolate?
* * *
The small cafe across from my apartment building, Corner Brews , is one of the best in Sanderling and is always busy. There are rarely any tables available, and even if you find one, you’ll be subjected to a noisy environment and a constant chill from the door opening and closing. Shoreline Scribes partnered with them once to host a Caffeine with your Literacy ? Day. Each location had coupons available for customers to use at either place. I offered 10% off a purchase, andBrews offered a free 12oz coffee or discount off their specialty drinks. Not that I consider them my competition, but they’re probably the second most viable new business in Sanderling.
“That’s a brilliant partnership,” Hayes says after I explain to him how beneficial it ended up being for both businesses. “You doubled the amount of funds poured into your local economy. People are starving for the ability to support a small business. Genius, Fallon. Truly.”
“Thank you,” I say proudly. “The owner opened Brews shortly after I opened the store. She’s a single mom. Her seven-year-old son loves to come in once a week after school and always chooses two books. It’s how we met. I was happy to partner with her.”
Fitz nods as he listens. “Would you say connecting with other local businesses improves your sales?”
“ Improves them?” I wrinkle my nose in thought. “Maybe? I try to befriend the owners of local businesses strictly to support them, but maybe the relationships I build with them somehow translate into word-of-mouth customers?”
We walk across the street to my building. We ordered our hot chocolates and decided to skip the experience of trying to find a place to sit. And now, I’m trying to calm my raging heartbeat and work up the nerve to invite him upstairs.
I punch the security code into the pin pad, place my hand on the door handle, and blow out a breath. “Want to come up?” I ask, knowing I’ll melt into the cement if he declines.
He doesn’t pretend to contemplate. Instead, he follows me inside without a word. I’m on the top floor but always skip the elevator. He doesn’t complain during the climb up four flights of stairs or seem breathless when we make it to my door. Through the tightness of his shirt today, I could see the lines of his abs. I imagine Fitz is as perfect underneath his clothes as he is when you can only see his face.
“Did Jace and Andrew go back to Boston?”
Fitz follows me inside and places his cup on the small table in the entry to remove his jacket. “No, they’re staying at my place this weekend. That’s why I didn’t invite you over.”
Staying at his place? Because we’re a high-traffic tourist area, Sanderling isn’t a cheap place to live, especially if you have more than one bedroom. My one-bedroom apartment works perfectly for me, but if I had someone staying here? That would be a tight squeeze. “I’ve noticed the three of you are attached at the hip.”
“Don’t I fucking know it,” he mutters, tossing his jacket over the arm of my couch.
I shrug off my jacket and hang it up in the very tiny coat closet by the front door. “Was it not like that when you lived in Boston? It doesn’t seem like they’re used to being away from you.”
He cocks his head while reading the titles of the books I have stacked on the mantle. “It was. When I travel, they’re there. When I go anywhere, they’re there.” A combination of a sigh and a laugh leaves him. “Jace’s fucking ringtone for me and Andrew is that song from The Hangover .”
“The one Zach Galifianakis sings?”
“The very one.”
“That’s adorable.” I point to the switch beside the fireplace. “Why don’t you flip that on? That hot chocolate wasn’t enough to warm me up. That’ll make it feel like a sauna.”
Instead of doing as I asked, he gave me a knowing grin. “We don’t need that to warm up, Fallon.”
I swallow. “Oh?” I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t what I was hoping for by inviting him up. But having him here now, already having crossed that line with him, and with Thomas’ warning about Fitz’s body count still living rent-free in my mind, I’m suddenly questioning everything.
Should I light candles? Put on something more revealing? I’m still in the leggings and oversized sweatshirt from work today. It’s not exactly my sexiest look. Not that I even own lingerie to tease him with. I’m wholly unprepared.
“I’m not going to bite you,” Fitz says softly, his voice a quiet rasp.
I glance up, caught by the teasing tone in his voice. “Then why do you look like you want to?”
He chuckles, and for a second, the tension breaks. But only for a second. The moment his eyes meet mine again, it returns, stronger this time, like we’re standing on the edge of something we both know we can’t turn back from.
The living room is dimly lit by the soft glow of the floor lamp, casting shadows that dance gently against the walls. The city lights outside are muted, a constant hum beneath the quiet stillness between us. I try to pretend like my heart isn’t pounding in my chest. The air between us is thick, charged with something unspoken that has been building since the first time we met. Every glance, touch, and moment we share seems to pull us closer to this.
My pulse quickens, and I can’t help but feel the pull toward him. Without thinking, I cross the room until I’m standing in front of him. Fitz remains still, watching me carefully, his eyes dark with desire and something deeper.
I can’t think about this. I have to just let it happen.
“Kiss me,” I whisper.
His hands find my waist beneath the sweatshirt, warm against my skin, and for a long moment, we simply stand here, the tension thick between us.
Is he reconsidering?
Then, as if the dam breaks, he pulls me into him, his lips crashing against mine with a force that leaves me breathless. The kiss is deep and urgent as if he’s been holding back all day just as much as I have. His hands roam to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and I melt into him, my hands threading into his hair and tugging him closer.
His lips move against mine with an intensity that makes my head spin. A surge of heat explodes between us like a spark igniting a fire I’m only now realizing has been there.
I moan softly, the sound barely escaping my throat as his hands slide down my back, pulling me against him, feeling the hard planes of his chest against the softness of mine.
“I want you,” he whispers against my lips, his breath ragged. “Fuck, Fallon, I want to feel all of you.”
I don’t know how to respond, how to put into words how my body is reacting to him, or how every part of me seems to hum with the need for more. Instead, I kiss him harder, my lips parting as his tongue gently presses against mine. The world around us seems to fall away, leaving just the two of us lost in each other.
He guides us toward the couch, the back of my knees hitting the cushions as the heat of his body presses against mine. His hands move to the hem of my sweatshirt, slipping it over my head in one smooth motion, exposing the soft skin of my torso. I shiver as the cool air of the room meets my skin, but the warmth of his hands quickly replaces it, his fingertips grazing over my bare skin, sending electric jolts through my body.
“Keep me burning,” I plead.
“Fallon,” he breathes, his voice low and rough as his lips trail down my neck, leaving a trail of fire wherever they touch.
I arch into him, a gasp escaping my lips as the pulse between my thighs intensifies. My hands move to his shirt, tugging it over his head, my fingers tracing the defined muscles of his chest as I marvel at the way he feels beneath my fingertips.
“Are you sure?” Fitz asks, his voice is hushed but thick with desire. He pauses, his forehead resting against mine as his breath mingles with mine. “You can tell me to stop.”
“Don’t stop. Do the opposite.” I say hurriedly.
I capture his lips with mine again, pulling him back down on top of me. I don’t want more hesitation or doubt or thinking . I want him in the most primal way.
The moment his lips meet mine again, it’s like a floodgate opens. His hands move with a sense of urgency, peeling off my clothes until I’m left with nothing but the warmth of his touch and the overwhelming pull between us. Every inch of my skin feels alive under his touch.
The emotions running through me are foreign, but I welcome them with open arms. It’s the most I’ve truly let myself feel in a year. He’s settling my mind.
That should terrify me.
But all I want is more.