Chapter Text
“Jesus, Tommy.” Joel steps close his brother, his voice tight with irritation. “She’s a kid.”
Tommy’s smile is lazy, his eyes following Joel’s narrowed gaze to the curvy brunette pouring iced tea from a gallon jug. “Naw, she’s not. Rosie’s twenty-one.”
“Your truck’s older ‘n that.” Joel is trying his damnedest not to roll his eyes, especially once the young woman starts walking towards them with two brimming-full glasses. She holds them out to the men, a sweet smile lighting up her face as she looks at Joel.
“I’m so glad you were able to come to my party!” She snuggles her body into Tommy’s as he wraps his arm around her. “Tommy’s told me so much about you and I was dying to meet you.”
It's the way she says ‘dying’ – dragging out the word with a lift at the end. It's just like how Sarah says it – Sarah, who is only four years younger than this girl his brother is patting on the ass in the middle of her mother’s backyard.
He grits his teeth, forcing a polite smile onto his own face. He’ll deal with his brother later. “I ‘ppreciate you inviting me. Happy birthday.”
“Thanks!” Her response is a cheerful chirp. “Oh, Joel, I wanted to introduce you to my mom. Mama, this is Joel Miller.”
“We’ve met.” The woman’s voice comes from his left, and Joel’s stomach sinks into his boots as he turns to face it.
Your eyebrows are arched, hands resting on your hips, as you let your eyes drift from Joel’s mostly-clean t-shirt to his seen-better-days jeans; he bristles a little under your open inspection. It’s been at least 20 years since he’s seen you, but your cool appraisal makes him feel like a teenage boy all over again.
“Shit.” He didn’t mean to let the curse slip, but it makes you laugh.
“Good to see you, too, Miller.”
“C’mon, sugar.” Tommy gives the girl a nudge and turns her back towards the festivities of the backyard party. “We’ll let these two get reacquainted.”
Joel is suddenly grateful for the glass of tea in his hands – he takes an achingly slow sip while you watch, something razor-sharp playing around the edges of your smile. Truth be told, he feels a little like a worm on a hook, waiting for you to bite.
It’s almost a relief when you do.
“You know, Miller, I have a niece who’s nineteen. If you’re looking for a girlfriend, too?”
“Funny.”
You shrug, looking across the yard at where your daughter is perched on Tommy’s lap, feeding him bites of cake from her fingertips. “Gotta laugh not to cry. Your brother is lucky I don’t own a shotgun.”
“Got one you can borrow.”
You laugh again, and this time it feels warm – feels like the girl he used to know. “I might have to take you up on that.”
“Didn’t know you had a daughter this old.” He hears those words – this old – and wishes he could take them back as you nearly wince.
“Some people went off to college right after high school. I had a baby.” You let your shoulders rise and then drop, your expression turning playful. “Don’t worry, though. She’s not yours. Can’t have babies from what we did.”
Joel nearly chokes on his sip of iced tea. “Jesus.”
You grin at his spluttered coughing. “I think I remember you saying that back then, too.”
He clears his throat, with half a mind to tell you what he remembers, too, but someone shouts your name across the yard, and you’re already turning from him.
You flash a quick smile over your shoulder as walk away. “Nice to see you again, Miller. Stay away from the kids, please.”
---
Joel hears the front door slam and barely has time to shove the old yearbook under the couch cushion before Sarah bops into the room, her backpack on her shoulder and her earbuds looped around her neck.
“You’re home early.” She narrows her eyes at him. “Everything okay?”
“Can’t I take off early sometimes?” He rises from the sofa and crosses the room, wrapping her in a bear hug that throws her off balance. “Hang out with my kid?”
She laughs, her stumbling feet catching the toes of his boots. “Your kid has, like, two hours of calc homework.”
“Okay, Einstein.” He gives her a smacking kiss on the top of the head and a gentle shove towards the stairs. “Go be a genius. I’ll make dinner.”
She grins, her feet already thumping up the stairs. “I’ll listen for the smoke alarm.”
Once he hears her door slam, he snags the yearbook as he walks towards the kitchen. He’d only wanted to glance at it, only wanted to look at your picture a few rows away from his in the grid of smiling school portraits. Mo – the nickname suited you better than what you called the country-club name your parents had given you, the one printed under your picture with a list of clubs and awards. He takes another quick look at your photo before shoving the book onto the bottom shelf of the bookcase.
You were pretty then. But he thinks you might be prettier now.
---
The bottle of wine feels slippery in his slightly sweaty hand as Joel takes the stairs to Tommy’s apartment two at a time. It’s a cheap red – grabbed at the last minute from the grocery store down the block – but decent wine is wasted on his brother and that girlfriend’s barely old enough to drink. Why spend the money, he’d reasoned as he stood in front of the paltry selection. But now that he’s about to knock on the door, he’s a little embarrassed by the choice.
“She wants to have a dinner party.” Tommy had shrugged, passing the box of wood screws up the ladder to where Joel was securing the header. “You gotta come.”
Joel tipped the box into his toolbelt pouch, letting the final screw bounce off the edge and graze Tommy’s cheek.
“Shit, Joel, be careful. Gonna take my eye out.” Tommy gave the ladder a warning shake, as Joel turned his smirk away.
“When?”
Tommy had to nearly yell to be heard over the whine of the drill. “Friday. Seven-thirty.”
“Fine.”
If Tommy had thought it was awfully easy to get Joel to agree, he didn’t say it – just grinned dopily up at him. “Thanks, man. It’ll be fun.”
Joel has his doubts about that as he stands on the other side of the door but fixes a smile on his face as it swings open. The girlfriend – Rose, he corrects himself – looks like a fifties housewife as she beams at him from the other side: a frilly apron is tied around her waist and there’s a bow the size of Texas on her head. Joel can’t for the life of him figure out what she might see in his rough-and-tumble brother.
“Hi, Joel!” She waves him in, taking the bottle he holds out. “Oh, my gosh, this is so sweet. We’ll have it with dinner!”
“Oh, that’s not –” his words are lost as she hurries him into the living room. The cramped space is full of faces young enough to be his kids: three women and a man, plus his brother looking awkward in a buttoned-up shirt.
“This is Addison and Danny.” Joel nods as Rose makes the introductions. “And this is Macy and Chey. Y’all, this is Tommy’s brother Joel.”
Regret is settling into Joel’s shoulders as he shakes each hand, politeness making the expression on his face feel frozen. Why did he think this was a good idea?
“Hey, hon?” Your voice carries from the little galley kitchen and he sees your face lean around the corner. “Your timer’s going off.”
“Ooh, thanks, Mom.” Rose rushes towards you; the tiny kitten heels she’s wearing make her wobble on the thick shag carpet, but Joel barely notices.
Because you’re grinning at him from across the small apartment, your chin lifting in greeting. He edges through the living room and into the narrow strip by the kitchen that qualifies as a dining room, leaving Tommy to his young guests.
You smell good. That’s the first thing he notices and he almost says it – almost tells you that you smell like summer sunshine and open windows, but swallows it at the last minute.
“Hey, Mo.” He makes his voice casual. “Didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”
It’s not a lie. He didn’t. But maybe he’d hoped.
“Really? Because I definitely knew you’d be here.” Your eyebrows arch, and you wave your hand towards the chattering girls in the living room. “Knew a Miller couldn’t resist all that.”
He frowns at you. “I’m not…that’s Tommy. Not me.”
“Mm.” It’s a noncommittal hum, your cheek dimpling. “How’d you get roped into this?”
“Free food.”
Your laugh is exactly like he remembers: full-throated, a cackle really. And your eyes crinkle now at the corners, but he likes that, too. You must smile a lot.
“What’s the joke, brother?” Tommy’s inched into the space between the dining chairs and the wall, his eyes moving quickly between Joel and you.
“Always you, Tommy.” You give him a broad wink and sashay into the kitchen, leaving Joel smirking in your wake.
“She doesn’t like me much.” Tommy shakes his head, watching you go.
“Yeah, it’s a damn mystery.”
“Huh.” Tommy’s smile is almost as snarky as Joel’s. “You need a corkscrew for that wine you brought or is it just a screw-top?”
Joel’s never had risotto before and he’s not sure he wants it again; flecks of undercooked rice are still wedged in his molars as he helps clear the table after dinner. With a fistful of silverware in one hand and a stack of plates in the other, he tries to find a path to the dishwasher, but the kitchen is blocked by his brother. Tommy’s mixing a lethal pitcher of something brown from the five bottles of booze that line his counter.
“Here.” You appear next to Joel, reaching to deftly slide the stacked plates and the silverware from his grip, plopping them back on the dining table. “That’s a problem for later. Hey, hon?”
Rose looks back from where she’s passing Tommy glasses from the cabinet. “Yeah, Mom?”
“I’m going out to the balcony.” You hold up a lighter, and Rosie wrinkles her nose but nods anyway.
“You coming?” Your question is quieter – just for him. Joel would be willing to follow you anywhere to get out of the cacophony of this dining room.
The glass door slides closed with a solid click. The twilight air on the balcony is balmy, warmer than inside, but the quiet is worth it.
“You still smoke?” Joel remembers the omnipresent crumpled pack on the dash of your handed-down Buick.
“Oh, god, no.” You grimace, stuffing the lighter back into the front pocket of your jeans. “But I let people think I do. I like the breaks.”
He huffs out a quick laugh, leaning onto his forearms on the wooden railing. The balcony overlooks a drainage ditch, bordered by weeds and standing with brackish brown water. “Not much of a view.”
“I’ll try not to take that personally.”
“No, I….” He cuts himself off when he sees your grin. “You know, I told Tommy she’s too young for ‘im.”
“Oh, that.” You lean back against the railing next to him, your hip barely grazing his forearm. “I figure that’ll burn itself out. I just need your brother not to give me a grandchild before it does.”
“Jesus.” Joel shakes his head. “Don’t even like to think about that.”
“You don’t? You’d just be the uncle. I’d be the grandma.” You tip your head back, eyes on the darkening sky. “I might be old, Miller, but I’m not grandma old.”
“You’re not old.” He straightens, resting his palms on the railing now. The side of his hand is touching the denim of your jeans; the warmth of it makes his breath feel caught in his chest.
You rock your head onto your shoulder, meeting his eyes. “I don’t know. A lotta men are like your brother.”
“My brother’s an idiot.”
“Be honest, Miller. You wouldn’t want some pretty young thing looking at you all starry-eyed?”
“Don’t want that.”
“Oh, yeah?” You shift your body, facing him on the small balcony. “What do you want?”
The first time he ever kissed you was on the tailgate of his truck, in that empty pasture that bordered the airport. You liked to watch the planes take off and he liked you, so he’d taken you there one hot summer night. He’d backed right up to the razor-wire topped fence, spread out a blanket on the dropped tailgate, handed you one of the cans of Coke he’d gotten at 7-11 – he’d felt so damned suave.
At least until the first plane passed over and damn near deafened you both.
Your hands had been pressed to your ears, wild laughter shaking your body, your lips shaping words he couldn’t make out.
“What?” He’d shouted it, his ears still ringing even as the plane streaked to the west.
“I said –” you yelled back – “I usually watch from the airport. Not, like, the runway.”
“We can leave if you want.”
You’d leaned towards him then: close enough he could smell the cherry gloss coating your smile. “I don’t.”
It was so easy then to kiss you: to close those few inches, to feel the sticky sweetness of your lips, to taste them.
It’s just as easy now.
He curves his hand around your jaw: tilts your face up until he sees the glint of the rising moon in your pupils, sweeps his thumb once over the contour of your bottom lip. And then leans in, his eyes closing when you meet him halfway.
It’s not a long kiss. But it’s long enough.
You smile against his mouth, then pull away so you can meet his eyes. “I think we should get out of here.”
---
Joel’s truck is parked in the shadows at the edge of the lot: by the Dumpsters and next to a row of half-dead Bradford pears somebody should cut down. He’d left first – made some excuse about an early morning – and had been waiting for you for fifteen minutes. When he finally sees you jog down the stairs from Tommy’s apartment, your eyes scanning the lot, he flashes his headlights once. Even from across the dim parking lot he can see you smile.
“You always took me to the nicest places, Miller.” You climb into the passenger seat, and he’s glad he’d folded up the center armrest when you slide all the way across, until your thigh is right against his.
“Sarah’s home or else we could –”
“Shhh.” You press a finger to his lips. “We’re not doing that tonight.”
“We’re not?” He feels your fingertip trace the perimeter of his mouth – feels you stroke the corner of his mustache.
“Nope.” You’re close now, exhaling warm on his cheek. “We’re doing this.”
This. He can’t remember the last time he did this.
It’s the ache in his back that finally makes him notice the time: notice the way the windows have grown clouded with your shared breaths, notice the way your lips are swollen, nearly chafed, from the scruff of his jaw. You’re stretched out beneath him on the bench seat, head pressed against the door, one foot on the floorboards, other leg caught between his side and the back of the seat.
You shift with a moan, rolling your hips into him – he’s so goddamned hard it hurts, and he squints against the sensation. You do it again, and a third time, and he digs his fingers into the curve of your ass through the denim of your jeans, gripping hard to still you.
“No, no, no.” You frown at him, wiggling now and tangling your hands into his hair, pulling at the curls. “Let me. Feels good.”
It does – but he’s a fucking grown man and he’s not going to come in his pants like a teenager. “Can’t keep going.”
You sink your teeth into the plump of your lip, eyes sparking and narrowed. “Please.”
Jesus.
He gives your ass a squeeze – rolls his hips into yours, watches your head fall to the side as your eyes close. Your pulse is racing at the side of your throat – he can see it, see it humming beneath your skin – and he presses his mouth to that spot as you rock beneath him, finding what you need.
“Oh, fuck.” Your voice is hoarse, soft, aching. “Oh, fuck, Joel.”
His name: he settles his teeth into the tender skin of your neck, careless that he’ll leave a mark.
“Oh.” You shatter: voice breaking, fingers clutching at his shoulders, body bowed under him. “Oh.”
He grits his teeth not to follow right behind you, squeezes his eyes shut hard as he can.
Your sigh drifts out on a laugh as he feels you loosen beneath him. “Holy shit, Miller.”
He smiles into your throat, trying to ignore the throbbing ache of his cock pressed against you. “You good?”
Another laugh. “So good. I might need to give you my number.”
---
He’s just turned off his bedside lamp when he hears the ping of the message.
I’m not looking for anything serious.
i’m not either
But I’m okay with having some fun.
tonight was fun
Yeah, it was.
want to have fun again tomorrow night?
You know where I live.