#( *slams hands together* let's hope thanksgiving break gives me some muse and more time to write !!! )

[burketm]

( i sure as hell hope my muse comes back soon 🙃🙃🙃 )

[until-we-fall-in-love]

Ingénue: Chapter Five

-Read Chapter Four-

-Masterlist-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader, in later chapters Natasha Romanov x Reader, and Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: You take a job as a showgirl in an illegal speakeasy owned by two of the most notorious mobsters of New York City in 1921. Caught up in the glamor and mystique, you go spiraling into a world a little more dangerous than you had originally thought. 1920s AU.

In this chapter, there’s an argument, and deeper feelings are revealed.

Warnings: Smut in this chapter, other chapters there will be violence, etc. 

If you are under 18, you should not be reading this!

A/N: sorry this one took awhile guys! i’ve been really busy with end of semester, so hopefully things will begin to slow down soon and i can write more frequently! i hope you enjoy this chapter and pls let me know what you think!! also happy thanksgiving to americans!

***

“I don’t believe we’ve met yet.” 

Alexander’s voice is smooth and airy and you lift your eyes to find his eyes which are glued to your face with an eerie curiosity. As if he has found a jewel or gem, something interesting and incredible; something that he can use and twist and break. 

Bucky grows tense beside you. 

You sit up, though, tilt your chin up slightly and try to find your pride as you stare down the notorious Alexander Pierce. You try to find a piece of that bravado you bring on stage every night; the one that caught Natasha’s attention, that enamored Bucky and Steve and half of New York. 

The courage that a mobster’s girlfriend might have. 

You give him your name through hooded, haughty eyes. Your lashes curl against your cheek which are soft and rosy in the candlelight. Your hair is curled loosely, tousled from the stage and you’re still smelling like roses and violets; flowers that were gifted to you after your performance. You offer your hand to Pierce as if you are a princess to be revered, royalty to be looked upon with adoration and respect. Pierce places a kiss to your knuckles, a twinkle in his eyes as he assesses you closer. 

“You’re as beguiling as everyone says you are.” Alexander comments, but the way he’s gazing you is more akin to grotesque fascination rather than genuine attention. 

You withdraw your hand daintily, “Thank you.”

“What do you want, Pierce?” Bucky snaps suddenly, the low timbre of his voice a warning, a trace of a growl around the edges.

“Always so impatient, Mr. Barnes.” 

“Pierce,” Steve says, more evenly, but sterner, “What do you want?” 

“Only to talk.” He says easily, settling back into his chair a little more as if he owns the place, as if he is quite comfortable.

“Then why’d you bring half your crew?” Bucky insists darkly, eyes flitting out to him. 

“Precaution, is all. Never sure with you two.” He comments lightly, as if this is an easily fixed issue. “Now,” And he claps his hands together, “Let’s get down to business, shall we, gentlemen?”

You blink between them.

“Does she know anything?” Rumlow asks suddenly instead. Pierce looks briefly irritated, but his features are schooled so quickly, you wonder if you imagined it. 

“No,” Bucky says quickly, “She’s totally in the dark.”

Pierce narrows his eyes, puckers his lips, “That so?”

“That’s so.” Steve says firmly. And then he turns to you, ducks his face closer to yours and says, “Why don’t you head to the ladies room for a moment, huh?” 

Your eyes widen in sudden surprise and fear-- he’s not serious, is he? You search his face wildly for a moment, and find that he is. Your breath comes in quicker, a little more rapid. He’d really leave you alone?

“Steve,” You almost beg. 

“Go on,” Steve urges, gentler, hand on your waist to ease you past him and out the booth. 

Pierce watches on a little too closely. When you stand on shaking legs, trying to straighten your back, bring your breath in deep, all eyes are on you. It’s almost as if you can feel the warmth of stage lights, the glare burning into you there and then. So you school your features again and glide forward surprisingly well.

Faintly, you hear Pierce muse, “So she really is in the dark, then.”

A woman of Pierce’s follows after you, seemingly casual but she makes your teeth grind. When you enter the bathroom, it is eerily quiet. The long, old mirrors are prettily distressed and your reflection shimmers before your eyes. 

You force yourself into being calmer, even as the door slams shut behind you two. 

You pretend to fix your makeup, your fingers are shaking though, a slight tremble that betrays your disguised face. 

The woman leans against the wall casually, watching you like a hawk. 

You flutter your lashes innocently, “I like your trousers.” You tell her, trying to gauge her, to express your naivete. 

She quirks a brow as you rattle on, “I wish I could pull off trousers like that.” 

She doesn’t give you a response, but looks rather amused with you, or perhaps annoyed that she’s been given the duty of watching someone so asinine. Your insignificance is both a little insulting and suddenly comforting. You gain a swell of bravery, turn back towards the mirror to play with your hair, humming a little tune to yourself. 

You make yourself wide eyed and silly and nothing like her. Ditzy and blind about everything; which isn’t a lie, in some ways. Steve and Bucky have let you in on so little in regards to business. They keep you safely tucked away in their garden, in their house on top of a hill, far from the reaches of intel and mobs and danger.

Another woman suddenly steps into the restroom, glances between you two. You keep humming to yourself, a little flitting tune that makes you seem distracted as you push and pull at your hair in the mirror. 

You don’t even glance at them as one says to the other, “Everyone’s in place, interceptions ready. We’ve gotta go.” 

And just like that, she disappears, leaving you without a thought. You’re not a threat, just a girl caught up with the wrong crowd. 

You give yourself a moment, drop the tune, inhale sharply. Whatever was intercepted is likely important, likely something Steve and Bucky need to know, but when you glance back out at the tables, Pierce still sits comfortably.

You return to the bathroom, ring your hands and try to breathe. You ease through your thoughts and try to unravel a plan. Is it too long to wait until Pierce is gone to tell them? It feels it, the time tick, tick, ticking by too quickly.

You worry your lip, think harder. Could you tell them secretly? Would it matter if you could? What would they do when they’re outmanned and outgunned?

You wish you could just tell Natasha or-- or Sam.

And like lightning your plan comes all at once, in a great strike of heat and spark. 

You force yourself not to rush out of the bathroom, glide back towards the kitchen where Donna had ushered many of the staff back. She welcomes you back there with open arms, hushing and cooing at you about what brutes they are, how she wants you to stay back here until they’re gone. You sniffle and agree, but only to ask your next question;

“Do you have a telephone, perhaps?”

She looks at you quizzically for a heartbeat, but then nods, “Yes, yes, in the back office.” And she points you down a hallway. 

“May I use it? I’d like to call my sister. She always knows how to calm me down.” 

Few can deny your wide eyes and in moments, you find yourself in the small, back office. The telephone is mounted on the wall and Donna shuts the door behind her, leaving you alone. 

You rush towards it, dial for operator, and rush to answer him so he can connect you to the mansion and beg for someone to answer. For a fearsome, horrible moment you fear the worst. But then it’s Sam’s smoothe, warm voice--

“Sam!” You gasp into the phone.

“Hey honey, what’s going on?”

“Alexander Pierce is here.” You respond hushed and quickly, “And I caught word of some of his henchmen-- they’re intercepting something. I don’t know what, and I can’t warn Steve or Bucky right now.” 

Sam goes deathly silent for a moment. 

“Sam?” You ask, voice breaking, “Sam, do you know what they’re talking about?”

“Yeah,” He says then and his voice has gone hard, too, “Yeah, I do.” And then, “Are you safe? Do you need me?”

“I-I’m safe. We’re really outnumbered but he’s just-- Pierce is just talking to them.” 

Sam’s breath is a shaky exhale, “I think he’s distracting them. You stay where you are, okay? Don’t get involved with this.” 

“O-okay.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll do something about all this. Just hang on.” Sam promises fiercely, and then as soon as the conversation had started, it’s over. Your heart is throbbing, a fierce pulse in your chest but-- but you had to have done something, didn't you?

Pierce leaves in fifteen minutes. 

When you return to Steve and Bucky’s sides, they are tense and abrasive. But Steve looks you over with concern. He cradles your cheek with delicacy, his eyes a flurry over your features, your body. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, blue eyes blazing. 

You nod into his hands, leaning in to the comfort. “I called Sam, after I heard one of Pierce’s girls say that they were ready to intercept something—“

Bucky and Steve look at each other sharply, Steve’s hands falling from your face. Evidently, they know what it is that Pierce would be intercepting. You can see it in the flood of worry or anger on their features. Bucky curses before Steve looks back at you.

“Wait, you called Sam, sweetheart?”

You nod quickly, “I figured it was important to know so I went to the back and said I had to call my sister and I called Sam.” 

Bucky’s brows quirk upward and he regards you with surprise, a little astonishment, “You lied like that? Just off the top of your head?”

You nod again, slowly, “I couldn’t tell you, so I assumed I should tell Sam.” You look between them, your eyes fluttering back and forth, “What were they talking about intercepting?”

Another slow look is shared between them, silent. 

“Honey,” Steve starts, placating and soft and you know he won’t tell you. Not with his voice like that, all gentle and coaxing, a way to get you to his side before he’s even said no. Usually, it serves to make you melt, but this time, it makes you harden. You jerk away from his touch, tilt your chin up and try not to pout at him. 

“I want to know.” You say suddenly, and the moment you do, you realize how much you want to know. You realize your own naïveté, the way they’d coddled and hid you from everything and you’re not angry—

You’re not angry yet.  

You’ve simply never thought to ask. You’ve never been engulfed in it, in this life of criminals and mobsters and crime. You’ve been kept tucked away in soft, linen beds and in rosy, summer damp gardens. Should you be angry at them? 

You blink hard, suck in a sharp breath. 

“I want to know everything, I don’t like being in the dark anymore.” You say and your voice is firm, new to even your own ears. 

Steve shakes his head, “It just isn’t safe--” He starts gently, reaching for your hand now.

You pull away again, adamant, your cheeks flushing with color, “After tonight, don’t you think it’s more dangerous if I don’t know?” You glance good Bucky to gauge his reaction, “What if I’m approached alone? Or without you? What am I supposed to do?” 

Steve and Bucky are quiet for a moment. 

It’s Bucky who says, “We didn’t want to involve you in all this.” 

And you say, with your nose turned up, perhaps a little too coldly, “Then you should have never started dating me.”

Steve’s eyes flare like a lightning strike; there’s an argument in them, you can see it brewing. There’s some hurt, too, swirling in the brightness of them. And you know he’s stubborn, you know this is going to lead to your first real argument. Perhaps you should be more scared, perhaps less challenging, but you meet Steve’s eyes head on and don’t falter.

“We’re not talking about this here.” Steve says sternly, as if to scold you. 

“Fine,” You respond, insolent and breezy, as you pick up your purse and ease out of the booth seamlessly. You glide towards the door with your chin up, expecting them to follow without another word.

It’s bratty, you know this. But it’s also to preserve your own images. You won’t argue with them in public, you won’t let rumors spread. Especially when, recently, every other column in the newspaper is about you. Everyone has an opinion on you, condemning you or loving you, judging you or adoring you. And Steve’s right, you shouldn’t speak about this here, but he’s made you testy with the burning look in his eyes and the hard-set jaw. 

So you turn your back on them and walk to the car with elegance and briskness, your heels clicking against the stone, a swish in your hips. 

Bucky and Steve share another look, longer this time. A silent conversation. Bucky is the first to move, jogging to catch up to you. 

The car ride home is quiet and you hang your head off the side in the back, cheek pressed to your arm, the breeze tangling in your hair. 

You wonder if ignorance really is bliss, and if it is, why do you want to leave it so badly? 

***

When you arrive back to the mansion, Sam and Natasha are there. In fact, Sam sweeps you up into his arms with a broad smile. The air leaves your lungs just as he praises, “There’s the heroine of the hour!” 

He spins you around and because of your morose mood you can’t find it in yourself to smile, but you do throw your arms around him and bury your face in his neck. You huff lightly, just as he sets you down on your feet. He’s still got you around the waist, strong and sweet, as Bucky asks over your head;

“So you stopped them, then?” 

“Hell yeah we did.” Sam says, chest swelling with pride. And then he pulls away to look at you, to grasp your chin, “All because of your wits, princess.” 

He finally takes in your sullen features, the way your lips are pinched into a pout. “What’s a matter, huh?” He asks then, dropping his voice for you so it settles warmly into your chest, along the column of your spine. “Pierce scare you?” 

You shake your head, “Not really.” 

“Rumlow?” Natasha asks then, eyeing you. 

You scoff lightly, step away from Sam and glide past them to the velvet settee, sink down upon with another little huff, moving to pull your shoes right off. 

“Someone’s gotten awfully brave after one encounter.” Steve says and there’s a cutting edge to his voice that makes you bristle, it’s sharp and if you’re not careful, you’ll cut yourself on it. You tense, glance at him over your shoulders as you begin to take out your earrings.

“I’ve met Rumlow before.” You counter, letting the pearls drop into your open palm like dew drops. 

“And you cowered behind Natasha the whole time.” Steve shoots back and you flush with anger and a tinge of embarrassment, the heat prickling uncomfortably at your neck. Much to your irritation, bitter tears spring to your eyes. Pressure builds inside of you. But you refuse to let it out this time, take a deep, rushed breath to try and keep it all carefully in the back of your throat. 

“Well, that’s what I’m supposed to do, isn’t it? Cower behind everyone.” You snap back, and this time your voice is thick with emotion, “Maybe I should’ve cowered tonight, Steve, and then your--” 

You don’t even know what it is you managed to help save. You swallow back your frustration, all the pressure in you building. 

“Whatever-- would’ve been intercepted.” You bite out, scrub angrily at your cheek when a silken tear slips free. 

Bucky moves to you now, moves to sit beside you, “A shipment of booze. A big one that would’ve hurt business badly if it would’ve been taken from us.” He supplies, and he lays his arm across the back of the settee, it hovers behind you, a pressure at your back. He doesn't touch you, but leans close and drops near you. 

You try to ignore him, begin stripping off your gloves angrily to distract yourself from his probing eyes. You toss them to the floor. And then, unashamed, you move to your stockings, bending over and hitching your dress up to roll them down from your legs quickly. You feel suddenly constricted in all your clothes and jewels and pins. 

“You did good tonight, sweetheart.” Bucky murmurs, fingers skimming the bare skin of your shoulders.

You aren’t ready to give in to him yet, though. Even if a part of you longs to lay your head against his chest, feel the thud of his heart beneath your cheek. Let him wrap you up in his arms, curl you into his lap. But you’re being stubborn, too.

“If I did so well, why won’t you tell me anything?” You ask, a hiss of breath between your teeth as you toss your stockings to the floor, too. 

“I told you this would happen eventually.” Natasha muses aloud, leaning against the wall casually, her cat eyes following the three of you. Steve throws her a glare before moving. 

“It’s dangerous.” Steve says firmly, finally coming to your other side. “And you know it.” 

Your eyes flash, shimmering with tears and your temper. “What are you gonna do, Steve? Keep me here forever?” 

“You know I don’t keep you here.” 

“Might as well. I know it’s what you want, keeping me all helpless and tucked away here.” You stand suddenly, your emotions bubbling. The pressure in you mounts, presses at your eyes and throat and heart. 

“We’re trying to keep you safe.” Steve grinds back--

 And you shouldn’t say it, but you’re upset and maybe your adrenaline is still burning through you like a candle burns a wick and the words burst forth from your lips like a stray bird being loosened from a cage; 

“I’m just someone to keep your bed warm! Entertain you for awhile. I’m your little toy to protect, isn’t that right?” You seethe, a few tears suddenly dripping onto your cheeks, making them dewy and glittering in the low light. You know you’re getting irrational now, you know you’re throwing a tantrum, but you can’t stop it now. Not when it’s spilled over and out of you, crybaby girl, trying to make all the noise in the world, drown the whole place in your tears. Until the chandelier sinks and everything turns blue and bubbly and muted.  

So you turn away, glance over your shoulder, “I’ll be in your bed, then!” You tell Steve, raising your voice, suddenly reaching to grasp at your dress and peel it right off your body. You shuck it off and let it drop to the floor as you head down the hallway towards the bedroom, the beads clatter and skitter across the marble floor as some burst free from the fabric, “Since all I am is some dame on your arm!” 

You’re down to your silk slip now, the fabric hanging high on your thighs. “Some floozy that doesn’t know anything!” You yell because it hurts, because it feels like they don’t trust you, because--

Because you want more, still. You don’t want to be dumb and clueless anymore, you don’t want to look foolish or be left in the dark to wonder and grasp at God knows what. Even more, you want to help them. 

You want to be apart of this, apart of them, fully and without constraints. 

“Get back over here!” Steve says after you, but you slam the door to the bedroom before he can reach you.

It rattles on its hinges, the sound echoing inside of you, making your heart tremble, too.  You throw yourself down onto the bed, grab a pillow to bury your face in and yell and cry until you’re hoarse. 

Until you fall asleep, curled around the pillow, around yourself, all lonesome on a too-big bed. 

***

You don’t rise easily in the morning, linger in the sheets that smell of Bucky and Steve. You turn inward, half-embarrassed, and half too prideful to be the first to appear. You gnaw on your bottom lip, twist and turn and roll around restlessly until there is a knock on the door. The sun is pale and muted by the curtains. 

Quietly, you slip from bed, pad over to the door and open it. 

Bucky stands before you, dark hair tousled, and in his boxers. He’s bare chested and sleepy-eyed; he looks warm and like you want to drag him to bed. 

“Can I come in?” He asks, voice rough and soft.

You let the door swing open wider, turning from him to sit upon the bed once more. 

“Where’s Steve?” You ask, since it was the two of you that had really started the spark and caught flame. 

“On a run.” Bucky answers, and he tentatively sits beside you on the bed. You fiddle with the end of your slip, which you hadn’t changed out of before drifting off to sleep the previous night. Your fingers twist and turn in the fabric, focusing on anything but him.

The silence that becomes thick and tight between you two is broken by him again, “Steve thinks, the less you know, the less our enemies will be interested in you.” Bucky explains gently, watches you closely as you tense again. “We’re trying to keep you safe.” 

“Safety isn’t a cage.” 

“Do we cage you?” Bucky asks quietly, brows pulling together and he’s earnest and worried, “Do you not like it here?” 

You deflate slightly at his tone, at the care he gazes at you with, “No,” You say lightly, “No, I love it here.” You admit, your eyes falling away from his face and to your hands. “I just-- I want to be apart of this, too.” 

Bucky lets out a slow breath, “We don’t want to risk you, sweetheart.” He shakes his head, “If anything happened to you because of us--” 

“It isn’t your choice to make, though.” You tell him, soft, but your tone is firm, and you reach out to him finally, touch his face with seeking, cold little finger tips. “I should know what I’m getting myself into.” 

“I know, but--” 

“Bucky.” You say, “This is my choice.” 

Bucky loosens another breath, but this time you can tell that he knows what you say is true. He’s giving in, you can see it in his eyes, in the slightly fond curl of his lips as he says, “You’re gonna give Stevie a run for his money when it comes to stubbornness.” 

You give him a small, sheepish smile back, “Someone’s gotta.” You say and Bucky surprises you with a warm, rumbling laugh. 

“C’mere, doll.” He murmurs and then you’re being pulled into his warm lap, twining your arms around his neck and shoulders. He noses at your neck, at your collar bones, inhales deep and fits you close to him. As if he missed you dearly and sorely, as if it hadn’t been a night but a week. 

“You know you mean the world to Stevie and I, right?” He then says into your hair, the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “You know we don’t think of you as—“ 

“I know.” You respond on a breath, nudging your nose against his cheek. “I only said those things because I was angry.” You admit, embarrassed and shy, burying yourself in Bucky’s arms. He rubs at your back, your neck, let’s you stay hidden in the warmth of his bare skin. 

Bucky leans away slightly, only to snag your lips in a slow, light kiss. It’s soft, slightly teasing, and full of love and forgiveness and an apology. And you return it, force him to deepen it and tighten your arms around him. You can feel a smile on his lips at your sudden eagerness, the way his hand slides along your shoulders, pulling you that much closer.

You kiss languid and sweet, trying to get rid of the sting from the previous night. Bucky tangles a hand in your hair, rolls your hips against his. 

There’s a creek at the door, a shuffle of feet. You pull away from Bucky’s lips, and he pushes his nose and lips to your neck, in the curtain of your hair as you turn to look over your shoulder. 

Steve stands in the doorway, in shorts and a t-shirt. His skin is flushed and damp with sweat, his hair disheveled, too. Your eyes clash with his for a heartbeat, before you turn back into Bucky’s shoulder and bury your face there. You huff into his shoulder, still a little sore after last night, 

You hear more than you see Steve step towards you two, a little tentative, but he eventually stands behind you. Bucky faces him and you think there’s a shared, silent conversation before Steve’s hand gently nestles into your hair.

He cards through it lightly, delicately, working his way down from the crown of your head to the ends. You try not to sink into the touch, to lean back and bask in it. 

After a moment, he says, “I’m sorry about last night.” 

“S’okay.” You mumble into Bucky’s neck, still clinging to him. You feel childish, feel needy and vulnerable somehow. You should apologize, too. Your pride has a hard time going down, but you swallow it and add, “I’m sorry, too.” 

“It’s okay.” Steve says softly, “You were right, in ways. I only wanted to keep you safe and happy and free here.” Steve admits, “I just—“ 

And he pauses, swallows his fear, settles his hand into the nape of your neck. You think you can hear his heart beating, pounding like a little drum. His mouth opens, closes, opens again;

“I love you. And I got scared last night.” 

You pick your head up finally from Bucky’s shoulder, heart soaring or dropping or stuttering. You fill with the light of dawn, the peach burst of sweetness, the warmth of honeyed summer, thick and heady with it. 

You fill with nervous, too, twisting butterflies that burst through you. As if they might break free from your ribs and flit about the room. 

Your lashes flutter as you look back up at Steve, arch your back and gaze at him over your shoulder. The morning is hazy and gauzy white through the curtains. You let him cradle your skull with a broad hand, let him sink his hand deep into your hair at the nape of your neck, where you’re vulnerable and precious.

“Steve,” You breathe, and his fingers flex in your hair, like they might tighten, but he stays gentle. You turn slightly, reach out to him, snag his t-shirt to yank him down to you. 

His lips meet yours in a messy sort of desperate kiss, the clink of teeth, the harsh breath that pulls from his lungs and seems to fill yours. You try to steady yourself by grasping Bucky’s shoulder, your other hand balled into a fist of Steve’s shirt. 

His hand tightens in your hair, tilts your head up to open your lips further to him. Bucky’s warm mouth touches your neck, pulls a sweet whine right from the pit of you.

When you pull away, breathless, chest rising and falling against Bucky’s, you stay close to Steve. Keep your eyes shut a moment; as if you could hold this moment in the dearest, softest part of you. As if you could cradle it forever in the fire bloom of your heart. Your eyes open to Steve’s and there are tears there, shining and new and tender.

So you tell him, with all your adoration and love and ache for him wrapped around the petal-soft words;

“I love you, too.” 

His lips come down on yours again, harsher this time, with a violent sort of need. A desperate love, the kind that is raw and open and vulnerable, trembling and weak and horrified and elated. He possesses you and you let him, let him pull your silk slip from your body. Let Bucky rid you of panties until all you are is naked and soft between them. A flower unfurled, bare and lovely and flushed.

When Steve lets you breathe again, you let your lips curl upwards into a mischievous little smile, and your eyes gleaming with new love, “Does that mean you’ll tell me everything, then?” You ask and it’s cheeky, it’s warm, it makes Bucky laugh into your chest. “You’ll let me in?” 

Steve can’t help but smile at you, against your cheek, dragging to the nape of your neck. “Yeah,” He says, “Yeah, but we’ll talk about it later.” He husks and his hand curls around your shoulder, pushes you deep into Bucky, until he has to lay back and send you down with him, with you on his chest. 

Bucky hitches your leg up around his waist, fingers curling into your thigh. You lean into him, nuzzle into his neck with flaming cheeks. 

He leaves you open to Steve, kisses you hard when Steve slides fingers against where you’ve gotten warm and aching. Bucky drinks down all your cries eagerly, his hands rough on the dips and curves of you, fingers digging into skin. 

Steve undresses, slides himself against your core, the crown of him catching, gliding through the wetness. And he takes you like that, pushes inside and there’s an ache still, so you bite down on Bucky’s shoulder and whimper. He hushes you, rubbing his cheek to yours. Steve doesn’t give you time to adjust, begins moving while there is still a bite of pain, stretching you until it hurts. 

You fuss slightly, because it’s overwhelming and you want to. You begin squirming atop of Bucky to get away from Steve. You could handle it, you know you could, but you still want to be a brat. Not let him in so easily. There’s some lingering feelings all tangled up in you, a bittersweetness after the previous night and this morning. There’s still a long talk to be had and—

You whine his name and then gasp, “You’re being a brute.” 

You ease up to rest your hands on Bucky’s chest and look over your shoulder and pout at Steve, “I’ll make you watch first if you’re gonna be mean, Stevie.” You tell him with a flutter of lashes, a haughty little attitude that drives Steve right up the wall.

Maybe you do it purposefully. Maybe you like seeing him worked up.

“Oh, big girl thinks she’s calling the shots now, huh?” He says lowly, his blue eyes dark and glittering. 

Steve grabs your hips and pushes back into you to make you cry out, then. He gets all close, nose at the nape of your neck and guides your hips to move over him, to take him in and out in quick, rough thrusts. “You’ve gotten quite the attitude lately, honey.” He murmurs, grunting slightly then, overcome with you, “God, and you’re still so damn tight.” 

You squabble to hold onto Bucky, your brows pulled together and you kinda want to fight em, kinda want to squirm more and see if he’d force you down into Bucky’s arms  and just—

You moan, a soft, hiccuped little sound because you’re trying to contain it. 

“What are you gonna do, Stevie?” You whimper, trying to keep it together, “Punish me?” 

The sudden sharp pull of your hair makes you inhale fast and hot, makes you dig nails into Bucky’s chest, who hisses slightly. His hips, still clad in boxers, desperately rise against nothing, almost against your own hips, but Steve had pulled you to your knees above Bucky to be so demanding of you. 

“Maybe I should,” Steve says through his teeth, “Whad’ya think, Buck? Think she’d look good over my knees?” 

Bucky almost groans at the thought, at the way Steve is pushing into you. He cradles your cheek with a broad palm, brushes his thumb over your lips, “If she keeps running this pretty little mouth—“ And he pushes it past the seam of your lips, now actually groaning when you eagerly take it into the warmth of your mouth.

He loses his words as your moan around his thumb, as Steve takes you the way he wants. In rough, desperate strokes. But it’s all love, the messy kind, the deeper, darker and more possessive kind. Still fills you with heat and adoration, amorous twists of your heart. Bucky marks up the front of your neck, your chest, and Steve settles marks into the back of your shoulders. He makes you his, makes you burst apart in a dizzying climax, pulls out and spills onto your back where Bucky immediately makes more of a mess with wandering hands.

“Bucky’s aching something fierce, baby.” Steve murmurs then and you can feel more than see Steve taking hold of Bucky through his boxers, who hisses at the touch, desperately pushing into Steve’s hand. 

Your head collapses into the crook of Bucky’s neck. You’re already sore, hurting and throbbing from Steve, sticky and warm and exhausted from your fist peak. You nuzzle there, can feel when Bucky arches his hips up so Steve can strip him bare, return to fully grip Bucky and have him brokenly moan underneath you. 

You end up on your side, leg hitched high over Steve’s waist where he holds you open now, your head on his chest, in his neck, as Bucky spoons you. He takes you from the side in those languid, surprisingly gentle thrusts.

He works you up all over again, fills you until there’s the building ache and pressure in you. Steve strokes your thigh, tells you that you’re good and sweet and his. 

Theirs.

He plays with the golden necklace between your breasts as Bucky ruts into you in slow glides. He tries to take away the ache, let’s you and Steve kiss and make up and murmur to each other. 

Bucky brings you to another peak, this one pulls you under its tide, down deep into the darkened depths of it.

 It makes you cry, glittering tears that Steve kisses away. It makes you grip them tight and desperate and fall deeper into them, your heart tumbling and twisting and dropping. You feel air-borne, plummeting.

And you fall into it like an angel falls from grace, burning and bright, like a comet, a broken star, and fall deeper in love with them.

***

The Daily Bugle wants an interview with you; they have for weeks now and you finally have decided to indulge them. You can’t help the flutter of nerves as Wanda helps you get ready. She stands between your legs, finishing your makeup at the tall, ornate vanity in the bedroom.

“You’re awfully quiet.” She muses, dabbing your lips with red before she swipes at your bottom lip with her thumb.

Your eyes flicker up to her, lips parting. You shouldn’t, but a flash of heat pulses through you. Perhaps because Bucky and Steve are always parting your lips, and your cheeks flush at the thought. 

Wanda smiles, mischievous, as if she knows maybe where your thoughts have wandered to, “Cat got your tongue?” She hums and you blink.

“N-no.” You say, “Just nervous for the interview.” 

She brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear and you lean into the touch, “You’ll do wonderful. Just be yourself, everyone loves you.” She sighs, and you turn your lips to her wrist, playfully kiss her pulse there with smiling eyes. 

Thankful, glittering, and hopeful.

***

The reporter comes to interview you at the mansion, where you’ll host him in the parlor. You’re dressed in dazzling, rosy red. It’s soft and blushing, vibrant for summer but not so much as to hurt the eyes. It’s darling and daring, the gold necklace hanging proudly around your neck, paired with gleaming pearls. 

You greet him with warmth, allow him to take your photo on the settee with his large, heavy camera. You ask how you should pose, smile shyly at him in a way that already has his eyes softening on you. 

He suggests, however you like! Whatever is most you! With a smile and twinkling eyes. 

So you lean against the arm of it, cross your arms and let your head rest there, turning dreamy and soft eyes upward. Angelic and hazy, you gentle your features so you’re wistful and hopeful. 

A burst of light, a curl of smoke, and the picture is taken. 

You usher him to sit as well once his camera is away, offer him coffee you’d made and he accepts some. 

You sit across from him then and he begins, with his notebook on his lap, pencil in hand;

“You’ve grown awfully popular in the past few weeks, did you expect it?”

You shake your head with a slight laugh, “No, not at all! I was only looking for work as a singer! I was thankful I was even hired.” 

“But now you’re the It-Girl of New York. Everyone’s looking to you for fashion and trends. The talk of the town. Is it daunting?”

You draw in a slow breath, become aware that you haven’t even thought of it like that, that you’d been so preoccupied with the people in your life, with singing and performing and living, that you hadn’t paused to consider what the rest of the state thinks of you. 

“I suppose, if I think about it.” You begin lightly, “But I’m not living for them, just for myself, so I haven’t thought long on it.”

“Do you pay much attention to your critiques?” 

You blink, “I try not to. I’m very sensitive.” You say with a slight laugh and he can’t help but smile, too.

“Have you always been singing?” He then asks, steers the conversation into something more light hearted.

“Yes,” You respond with a smile, “I’ve always had music in me. And I think, recently, the worlds just made me want to sing.” 

He smiles at your earnestness, “Would you ever act?” 

“Sure.” You say with a responding smile.

“In those new films?” 

You shake your head, “No, in theater! I like New York, I like how alive the stage is.”

“An ingénue, then!” He suggests and you laugh, which sounds like twinkling bells.

He turns to fun questions, then, entertained and enthralled by you, “Your favorite color?”

“Gold, for now.”

“Favorite flower?” 

“Peonies! We’re having a bush of them placed in the back garden soon!” 

“Favorite food?”

“Desserts! I have a horrible sweet tooth.” 

“Do you have any pets? Would you like one?”

“I’d love a little, white kitten.” 

And the interview presses onward, until you’re feeling a little drained from speaking with someone, but thankful it went so well. You walk him out to the driveway when you’re finished and he kisses your hand goodbye, watch as his car ambles away and out of the tall, iron gates of the estate. 

A week later, the paper is printed, your photo on the cover and the words, written in bold above it;

THE PRINCESS OF NEW YORK DAZZLES 

***   

Steve and Bucky spend night upon night finally telling you and showing you the way the mob works, the way business goes. Natasha and Sam step in, too, guide you through it all carefully. 

They tell you about all they give back to the community; they take care of it, of everyone they can. They’re not out to hurt anyone who isn’t out to hurt them. Their job isn’t to frighten. What they’re doing is illegal, but it’s not without cause. It’s not only for money. You meet other mobsters loyal to them and they all regard you with respect.

A plan is devised; you will act naive still, you will act foolish to keep yourself safe, but you’ll know everything.

There’s an argument about self defense; if you should be taught it or not. 

Steve wishes you didn’t have to know it, but Natasha thinks it necessary. You want to know it. So she trains you when she can, uses your ballet training to teach you to be swift and strong and graceful.

It becomes increasingly important as you become bigger in New York, other mob bosses send you flowers as warnings to Steve and Bucky. You act foolish, gushing about how pretty they are, naive and innocent.

And finally, the biggest bouquet of roses you’ve ever seen is left backstage for you one night. They’re deeply red and white and fragrant, soft petals and their thorny undersides proudly on display. They take up an absurd, obnoxious amount of room. Nothing humble or simple about them, ridiculously elegant and large. A fragrant show of wealth. It’s almost silly. 

But the card reads, in sprawling, messy letters;

To the Princess of New York. I’d love to get a drink with you sometime. On me. 

Humbly,

Tony Stark

[anavoliselenu]

Dublin street chapter 5

“I invited Mitch and Arlene for dinner,” My mom said, putting out extra place settings. Dru was over for dinner since we were working on a school project together, and my dad was settling baby Beth into her high chair.

Dad sighed. “I’m glad I made plenty of chili—as it is, Mitch will probably eat it all.”

“Be nice,” Mom admonished with a small smile on her lips. “They’ll be here any minute.”

“Just saying. Guy can eat.”

Dru giggled beside me, shooting my dad an adoring look. Dru’s dad was never around so my dad was like Superman to her.

“So how’s the project coming along?” Mom asked, pouring us out orange juice.

I shot Dru a secretive smile. It wasn’t coming along at all. We’d spent the last hour gossiping about Kyle Ramsey and Jude Jeffrey. Mostly we just kept saying the word ‘Jude’ like ‘Juuude’ and giggling like idiots.

My mom snorted, catching the look. “I see.”

“Hey neighbors!” a big bellyful of joy called out as Mitch and Arlene opened the French doors, stepping inside without knocking. It was okay. We were used to their overfamiliarity since they were our only neighbors in spitting distance of the house. My mom loved their overfamiliarity. My dad? Not so much.

After a lot of greetings—Mitch and Arlene were incapable of saying ‘hello’ just once—we all finally settled around the kitchen table with my dad’s famous chili.

“Why do you never cook for me?” Arlene complained to Mitch after moaning a little inappropriately at her first taste of dad’s chili.

“You never asked.”

“I bet Sarah never has to ask Luke to cook, do you Sarah?”

My mom threw dad a wide-eyed plea for help. “Um…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Dad, Beth’s dropped her juice.” I nodded at the floor.

Since he was closest, he reached down to pick it up.

“My dad never cooks,” Dru put in, trying to make Arlene feel better.

“See,” Mitch mumbled around his chlli. “Not just me.”

Arlene scowled. “What do you mean, ‘see’? As if another man not cooking for his wife somehow makes it okay for you to not cook for your wife?”

Mitch swallowed. “Fine. I’ll cook.”

“Can you cook?” Mom asked softly and I heard my dad choke on a piece of chili.

I hid my giggle in a swallow of orange juice.

“No.”

Silence descended around the table as we all looked at each other and then burst out laughing. Beth squealed at the noise, her tiny hand hitting her juice and sending it flying again, which made us laugh harder…

That memory was followed by another memory of a Christmas dinner. Thanksgiving. My thirteenth birthday…

The memories triggered a panic attack.

First my head grew fuzzy and I quickly lowered the gravy boat from my now trembling hand. The skin on my face tingled and cold sweat seeped from my pores. My heart was speeding so hard behind my ribcage I thought it might explode. My chest tightened and I struggled to breathe.

“Selena?”

My chest rose and fell rapidly in shallow breaths, my frightened eyes searching for the voice.

Justin.

He dropped his fork, leaning across the table toward me, a frown of concern between his brows. “Selena?”

I needed to get out of there.

I needed air.

“Selena… Christ,” Justin muttered, shoving back from the table, intent on coming around the table to help me.

Instead, I shot out of my seat, holding my hands out to stop him. Without a word, I turned and raced from the room, running down the hall to the bathroom where I slammed inside.

Shaking hands pushed up the window, and they and the rest of me were grateful for the rush of air that blasted over my face, even if it was warm air. Knowing I needed to calm down, I concentrated on slowing my breathing.

A few minutes later my body and mind came back to itself and I slumped onto the toilet seat, my limbs all jellified. I felt exhausted again. My second panic attack.

Great.

“Selena?” his voice rumbled through the door.

I closed my eyes against it, wondering how the hell I was going to explain myself. Embarrassment warmed the blood in my cheeks.

I thought I was over this. It had been eight years. I should be over it by now.

At the sound of the door opening, my eyes cracked open too, and I watched as a concerned Justin stepped inside and closed the door. Briefly I wondered why he had followed me and Ellie hadn’t. When I didn’t say anything he came closer, dropping slowly to his haunches so we were at eye level. My eyes searched his gorgeous face and for once, I wished I could break my own damn rules. I had a feeling Justin would be able to make me forget everything for a while.

We gazed at one another for what seemed like forever, not saying a word. I was expecting a lot of questions since it must have been clear to everyone, or at least the adults at the table, that I had had a panic attack. Surely, they were all wondering why, and I really didn’t want to go back out there.

“Better?” Justin finally asked softly.

Wait. Was that it? No probing questions?

“Yeah.” No, not really.

He must have read my reaction to his question in my face because he cocked his head to the side, his gaze thoughtful. “You don’t need to tell me.”

I cracked a humorless smile. “I’ll just let you think I’m bat-shit crazy.”

Justin smiled back at me. “I already knew that.” He got up, holding a hand out to me. “Come on.”

I looked at his proffered hand warily. “I think maybe I should just go.”

“And I think you should have some good food with some good friends.”

I thought of Ellie and how warm and welcoming she’d been to me. It would be an insult to walk out of her mother’s dinner and I found myself not wanting to do anything that would alienate Ellie.

Taking Justin’s hand tentatively, I let him pull me to my feet. “What will I say?” No use pretending to be cool and collected with him now. He’d already seen me at my most vulnerable. Twice.

“Nothing,” he assured me. “You don’t need to explain yourself to anyone.” His smile was kind. I couldn’t decide what smile I liked more. This one, or the wicked one from before.

“Okay.” I took a deep breath and followed him out. He didn’t let go of my hand until we reached the dining room, and I refused to acknowledge the bereft feeling in my chest as his touch fell away from mine.

“Are you alright, honey?” Elodie asked as soon as we walked into the room.

“A little bit of sun stroke.” Justin waved Ellie’s mom off with reassurance. “She was out in the sun too long this morning.”

“Oh.” She turned her motherly concern on me. “I hope you at least wore sun screen.”

I nodded, sliding into my seat. “Just forgot to wear a hat.”

As their conversation picked up and the tension drained from the table, I ignored Ellie’s suspicious glances and shot Justin a grateful smile.

~6~

By the end of the dinner I was a little more relaxed, although looking forward to getting home and being alone for a while. Determined not to be taken unaware again, I put back up that wall between me and my memories and tried to enjoy the Nichols’ company. It wasn’t hard. They were an easy group to like.

My plans for being alone were foiled by Justin and Ellie who were meeting up with Adam for drinks. I tried to get out of going with them but Ellie wasn’t having it. It was like she sensed I was going home to brood or something.

After bidding the Nichols a goodbye and promising Elodie I’d be back, we headed out to grab a cab to take us back to the apartment so I could pick up my purse. I only had my cell on me and was determined nobody – as in Justin – was buying me drinks tonight, but me. The less I was in this guy’s debt the better.

As the cab drew up to the apartment, a tall, lanky figure sitting on our front stoop made my chest tighten. Heart racing, I jumped out of the cab first, hurrying over to James who stood up, his duffle bag kicked at his feet. Large dark circles plagued his eyes, his face was drawn and pale, the corners of his mouth tight with pain and anger.

“Just tell me one thing. Did you encourage her to leave me?”

Taken aback by all the bristling anger directed at me, I shook my head numbly, taking a wary step toward him. “James, no.”

He pointed his finger at me, his mouth twisted with bitterness. “The two of you are so f**ked up… you had to have had a hand in this somewhere.”

“Hey.” Justin stepped in front of me, calm but intimidating as he spoke to James, “Back off.”

“Justin, it’s okay.” I gazed back at Ellie who was standing watching us wide-eyed. Eyes pleading with her I gestured at Justin. “You two go on ahead without me.”

“I don’t think so.” Justin shook his head, his eyes never straying from James.

“Please.”

“Justin.” Ellie tugged on his elbow. “Come on. Let’s give them some privacy.”

Annoyance burning in his eyes, Justin grabbed my cell out of my hand and started playing with it.

“Wha-”

He reached for my hand and curled my fingers back around the phone. “You’ve got my number now. Call if you need me. Okay?”

I nodded dumbly. As Ellie dragged her brother away, I gazed down at the phone in my hand. Was Justin looking out for me? Was he concerned? I glanced at him over my shoulder. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done something like that. It was just a little thing but…

“Selena?”

James’ impatient voice pulled me back around out of my musings. I sighed heavily, so exhausted, but knowing I needed to deal with this. “Come inside.”

Once we were settled in the sitting room with coffee, I jumped right into it. “I told Rhian I thought she was making a mistake. I would never encourage her to leave you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to her.”

James shook his head, his dark eyes bleak. “I’m sorry, Selena. About earlier. I just… I feel like I can’t breathe. It doesn’t seem real, you know.”

Feeling hopeless, I leaned over to rub his shoulder in comfort. “Maybe Rhian will change her mind.”

“I thought she was over her bullshit,” he continued like I hadn’t spoken, “It’s all because of her parents, you know that right?”

“Kind of. Not really. We don’t talk about that stuff.”

He eyed me with something akin to disbelief. “You two are supposed to be best friends, but sometimes I think you do each other more damage than good.”

“James-”

“Rhian’s mum loved Rhian’s dad. Her dad was an emotionally-stunted, alcoholic prick, but that bitch loved him more than she loved Rhian. He beat the shit out of Rhian and her mum all the time. And Rhian’s mum kept going back to him. Eventually, he took off, filed for divorce, met someone else. Rhian’s mum blamed her. Said she was a f**k-up and that she’d end up just like her dad. For years she’s told Rhian she was just like her dad, a disaster waiting to happen. And Rhian believes it.

You know her mum attempted suicide twice? Selfish cow left Rhian to find her like that. Twice. And now Rhian thinks she’s going to do to me what her dad did to her mum. I can’t rationalize with her. She doesn’t even bloody drink. It’s all in her head! And I thought we were passed it, Selena. When things got serious ages ago we went through all this and thought we’d beat it. That’s why I proposed.” He ducked his head in an effort to hide the tears shining in his eyes. “I can’t believe this is actually happening.” He kicked the coffee table in frustration and I barely even blinked.

My mind was off with Rhian. How could I have been her best friend for four years and not know any of this? This was way more messed up than I could have guessed. Of course, Rhian didn’t know anything about my past either. I suddenly wondered if James was right. How could we possibly give each other advice when we didn’t know the first thing about each other’s demons?

Then it occurred to me, looking at James, crying over the woman he loved, that Rhian was far less messed up than I was. She had told James everything because she’d trusted him with her issues, and she’d dealt through them with him. Or she almost had.

Still, that was a huge step in the right direction.

“Selena,” James was pleading with me now, “Talk to her, please. She listens to you. She thinks if you’re happy being alone, then she’ll be fine too.”

Happy? I wasn’t happy. I was just safe.

I sighed heavily, not sure what to do. “Look, you can crash here for however long you need.”

James looked at me a moment too long, his expression unreadable. Finally he just nodded. “I’d appreciate it if I could crash on your couch tonight. Tomorrow, I’m heading home to mum’s. Until I can get sorted out.”

“Okay.”

We didn’t say anything else after that as I found a blanket in the closet and left it on the couch, along with one of my pillows. I could feel James’ disappointment in me every time I stepped near him, so I left him in the sitting room and closed myself in my room.

I called Ellie.

“Hey, are you alright?” she asked, the sound of music and noise in the background fading, as she wandered through whatever bar she was in and out into a marginally quieter street.

No. I’m not fine. I’m pretty far from fine. “Yeah, I’m okay. I hope you don’t mind, but I told James that he could crash on the couch for the night. He’s heading home tomorrow.”

“Sure th- what?” her mouth pulled away from her phone as she spoke to someone else. “She’s fine. He’s sleeping on the couch.”

Was that Justin?

“No, I said it’s fine. Justin, she’s fine. Go away.” Her sigh became louder as she turned back into her phone. “Sorry, Selena. Yeah, that’s fine. Do you need me to come home?”

Do you need me to come home?

Was I home? Did I need her?

I barely knew her. But like Justin, Ellie had crawled inside somehow. Exhausted by what had turned into an exceptionally emotional day, I shook my head. “No, Ellie, I’m really okay. Stay. Have fun. Just remember there’s a strange guy sleeping on your couch when you come home.”

“Okay.”

Reluctantly, she hung up and I was left staring at the wall. I was reeling. Why did I feel so off-balance? So out of control? So scared?

Why had moving to Dublin Street changed so much in so little time?

So much had changed, but apparently it hadn’t changed enough. I was still alone. But I was alone because that’s how I wanted it. Rhian, I suddenly realized, was a completely different creature altogether. She wouldn’t survive alone.

I dialed her number.

She picked up just as I was about to hang up. “Hullo?”

Jesus C, she sounded like crap. “Rhian?”

“What do you want, Selena? I was sleeping.”

Yeah I could just imagine that she’d spent all her time in bed since James had left. Suddenly I felt angry at her. “I’m calling to tell you, you’re a complete idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Now get on the phone and call James and tell him you made a mistake.”

“Fuck off, Selena. You know better than anyone I’m better off alone. Have you been drinking?”

“No. I’m sitting here while your boyfriend lies crashed out on my couch.”

Her breath hitched. “James is in Edinburgh?”

“Yeah. And he’s heartbroken. And he told me everything. About your parents, about your mom.” I waited for a reply but Rhian had gone deathly silent. “Rhian, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why haven’t you ever spoken about your parents?” she countered.

I blinked back the stinging in my eyes as they landed on the photograph of my family on the bedside table. “Because they died along with my little sister when I was fourteen and there’s nothing else to really say.” I didn’t know if that was true or not. In fact after the panic attacks, I was wondering if not saying anything was the problem. I took a deep breath and told her something I had never told anyone. “When they died, the only person I had was my best friend Dru, and when she died a year later I had no one. I was completely alone. I spent the most impressionable years of my life taking care of me. There’s never been concerned phone calls or people checking in. Maybe there would have been if I’d let them, but I’m used to taking caring of myself and not wanting to rely on anyone else.”

After another moment where the only sound I could hear was the thudding of my heart, Rhian sniffled. “I think that’s the most honest you’ve ever been with me.”

“It’s the most honest I’ve ever been with anyone.”

“You’ve just always been so self-contained. I thought you were okay. I thought you didn’t need anyone to be concerned…”

I settled back on the bed with my own heavy sigh. “The point of this reluctant outpouring of all my crap isn’t to make you feel guilty. I don’t need anyone to be concerned for me. That’s my point. Will that change one day? I don’t know. I’m not asking it to. But Rhian, when you trusted James with all your baggage you decided that day that you were asking someone to be concerned. You were tired of being alone. Will staying with him be hard? Yes. Will fighting your fears every day be difficult? Yes. But how he feels for you… jeez, Rhian… that’s worth it. And telling yourself that it’s okay to run away from him and to be alone just because I’m alone and okay with it, is bullshit. I’m alone because I just am. You’re alone because you made a choice. And it’s the wrong f**king choice.”

“Selena?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been a better friend. You’re not alone.”

Yes I am. “I’m sorry I haven’t been a better friend, either.”

“Is James still there?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want to be alone. Not when I could have him. God, that sounds so cheesy.”

I shook my head, smiling—the tightness in my chest easing. “Yeah it does sound cheesy. Sometimes the truth is cheesy.”

“I’m going to call him.”

I grinned. “I’ll get off the phone.”

We hung up and I lay there in the dark listening. After twenty minutes I heard my front door creak open and shut.

I found the sitting room empty, the blanket on the couch rolled up. A piece of paper lay across it. A note from James.

I owe you.

I gripped tight to the paper and walked numbly back into my bedroom to stare at the photo of me with my family. If anything these last few weeks had taught me, it was that I obviously – like Rhian – wasn’t over losing them. I had to talk to someone. But unlike Rhian, I didn’t want to talk to anyone who could use that crap against me. My therapist in high school had tried to help me but I’d shut down every time. I was a teenager. I thought I knew best.

But I wasn’t a kid anymore, and I didn’t know best. And if I wanted the panic attacks to stop, I needed to make the call in the morning.

~7~

“So, Mystery Man is gone?” The voice scared the bejesus out of me and I jumped, the coffee on my teaspoon scattering onto the counter.

I threw Justin a withering look over my shoulder. “Don’t you ever work? Or knock?”

He was slouched against the kitchen doorway, watching me make my morning coffee. “Can I get one?” he nodded to the kettle.

“What do you take?”

“Milk. Two sugars.”

“And here I was expecting you to say black.”

“If anyone is black around here, it’s you.”

I made a face. “Do you want coffee or not?”

He grunted. “Someone’s pleasant in the morning.”

“When am I anything else?” I dumped his two sugars in his mug with attitude.

Justin’s laughter hit me directly in the gut. “Right.”

As the kettle brewed, I turned around, leaning against the counter with my arms crossed over my chest. I was very aware of the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra under my camisole. In fact, I didn’t think I had ever been more aware of my body than I was when I was around Justin. To be honest, I’d stopped caring about my appearance and all the shit that came with it after my parents and Beth died. I wore what I liked, I looked the way I looked, and I didn’t give a rat’s ass what any guy thought. Somehow that seemed to work in my favor.

But standing in front of Justin, I realized I wasn’t so confident about that anymore. I was curious what he thought about me. I wasn’t tall and skinny like all the glamazon’s that surely orbited Justin’s world. I wasn’t tiny, but I wasn’t tall. I had slender legs and a small waist, but I had boobs, hips and a definite ass. I had good hair on the days I could be bothered wearing it down, but those days came few and far between. It was an indiscriminate color—somewhere between blonde and brown, but it was long and thick with a natural curl in it. However, my hair was so heavy it tended to annoy me unless it was up off my neck, so I rarely, if ever, wore it loose. My eyes were probably my best feature—at least that’s what people told me. I had my dad’s eyes. They were light grey with streaks of gun-metal in them, but they weren’t huge and adorable like Holly’s and Ellie’s—they were tip-tilted and feline, and they were extremely good at glaring.

No. I wasn’t beautiful, or cute, or glamorous. I also didn’t think I was ugly, but worrying about being extraordinary had never crossed my mind before. Justin making me care… kind of pissed me off.

“Seriously, don’t you work?”

He stood up from the doorframe and casually sauntered towards me. He was in another fantastic three-piece suit. Someone as tall and as broad-shouldered as him should have probably looked more at home in jeans and flannel, especially with the messy hair and stubble, but God he worked that suit. As he approached, I found my mind wandering into fantasy land—Justin kissing me, lifting me up onto the worktops, pushing my legs apart, pressing into me, his tongue in my mouth, his hand on my breast, his other hand slipping between my legs…

Unbelievably turned on, I whirled around, willing the kettle to boil faster.

“I have a meeting in half an hour,” he replied, coming to a stop beside me and reaching for the kettle before I could. “Thought I’d stop by and see if everything was okay. Things seemed tense last night before Ellie and I left.”

I watched him pour the water into our mugs, trying to decide whether or not to tell him about James and Rhian.

“Morning,” Ellie chirped, as she strolled into the kitchen, fresh awake and already washed and dressed. Her cardigan was inside out. I reached out and tugged at the label so she could see. Smiling sheepishly, she shrugged out of it and put it back on the right way around. “So I came home and James wasn’t on the couch. Did he sleep in your room?”

Justin stiffened at my side and I glanced up to find him frowning. He obviously hadn’t considered that. I smirked, feeling smug. “No.” I studied Ellie a moment and as my reservations disappeared over sharing the news, I realized I almost, maybe, sort of, kind of trusted her. “James is Rhian’s boyfriend.”

“Rhian, your best friend, Rhian?” she asked, pouring herself some fresh orange juice. She settled with her glass at the table and I thought being near her as opposed to being near her brother was a good idea. I slipped into the chair across from her.

“He proposed, she freaked out, she dumped him.”

Ellie’s mouth dropped open in horror. “You’re kidding me. Poor guy.”

I grinned, thinking about his note. “They’re going to be okay.”

“They made up?” God, she looked so hopeful and she didn’t even know them.

“You’re a sweetheart,” I told her quietly and Ellie’s expression melted.

“You got them back together, didn’t you?” she announced with the utmost confidence in me.

Only Ellie would have that kind of assurance in someone like me. She was damnably determined I wasn’t as detached as I made out. That she happened to be right on this occasion was a little annoying and a lot misleading.

“He was pissed off at you,” Justin interjected before I could respond.

I glanced over at him, still leaning against the worktop, sipping his coffee as if he had all the time in the world. “He thought I talked her into it—breaking up with him.”

Justin didn’t seem surprised by this. In fact, he quirked an eyebrow and replied, “Why am I not surprised?”

Ellie clicked her tongue at him. “Justin, Selena wouldn’t do that.”

“I know she wouldn’t do that. But I don’t think she didn’t do that for the reasons you think she didn’t, Els.”

Crap. So he thought he knew me better than Ellie did. I grimaced inwardly. Maybe he did. Perceptive asshat. Unnerved, I looked away from him, sipping my own coffee and trying to ignore his gaze boring into me.

“Cryptic much?” Ellie grumbled before focusing back on me. “You got them back together though, right?”

I owe you.

The words made me smile into my mug. “Yeah. Yeah I did.”

“You did?” Justin sounded so astonished by this, it was insulting.

Okay, maybe the asshat just thought he knew me. “She’s my best friend. I helped out. I’m not some cold-hearted bitch you know.”

Justin flinched. “I never said that, babe.”

I shivered as the endearment rolled over me, hitting a nerve I didn’t even know I had. My words tumbled out caustically, “Don’t call me babe. Don’t ever call me babe.”

My sharp tone and sudden anger caused a thick tension to fall between the three of us and I suddenly couldn’t remember why I was so grateful to Justin yesterday when he helped me out after the panic attack. This is what you got when you let people in. They started to think they knew you when they didn’t know shit.

Ellie cleared her throat. “So James has gone back to London?”

“Yup.” I stood up and dumped the dregs of my coffee in the sink. “I’m going to hit the gym.”

“Selena-” Justin started.

“Don’t you have a meeting?” I cut him off, about to stroll out of there, leaving the tension behind.

“Selena…” he sounded concerned.

I caught myself with a deep inner sigh.

You’ve made your point, Selena. I didn’t need to continue to be a bitch about it. Sighing outwardly, I looked up at him and offered with snarky charitableness, “I have a travel mug in the top left cupboard if you want to take some coffee to go.”

Justin stared at me a moment, his eyes searching. He shook his head with a quizzical smile playing on his lips. “I’m good, thanks.”

I nodded, pretending indifference to the atmosphere we’d caused, and then I glanced back at Ellie. “You want to hit the gym with me?”

Ellie wrinkled her button nose. “Gym? Me?”

I eyed her skinny self. “You mean you’re naturally that gorgeous?”

She laughed, flushing a little. “I have good genes.”

“Yeah, well, I have to work-out to fit into mine.”

“Cute,” Justin murmured into his coffee, his eyes laughing at me.

I grinned at him, my second non-verbal apology for snapping at him. “Whatever. Guess I’m flying solo. Catch you guys later.”

“Thanks for the coffee, Selena,” he called cheekily to me as I wandered down the hall.

I winced. “It’s Selena!” I yelled back grouchily, trying to ignore the sound of his laughter.

***

“So, now that we’ve got our introductions and all the basics over, do you want to tell me why you felt it was time to talk to someone?” Dr. Kathryn Pritchard asked me softly.

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