#loosely based off one line of the Motley Crue song

[is-emily-real]

Girls, Girls, Girls

Steve stepped into the haze of the club, bass thumping like a heartbeat and giving a little pep to his step. Robin stayed glued to his side as she scanned the room for anyone they knew, but he kept his head high. They were hours away from Hawkins. The chances that anyone from their hometown would be in a gay bar in Chicago for spring break were slim to none. Right? 

Steve sure hoped so, or he’d have to have a very awkward conversation with his mother.

The skirt gave him a confidence he hadn’t had in a long time. He loved the way it brushed against his skin, showing off the legs he was so proud of. The heels certainly helped.

He dragged Robin to the bar, catching the attention of the woman behind it. “What can I get you, doll?” she asked, never losing her rhythm. 

“Two rum and cokes, please,” he replied.

Robin nudged him. “So I’m supposed to go talk to people, right?” She was jittery

“Grab a table first, then I’ll walk you through it.” She nodded and slipped away, immediately apologizing as she bumped into someone.

After a moment the bartender set the drinks in front of him. “Don’t let your friend be a wallflower all night,” she advised with a smile.

“Few more of these, and hopefully she won’t be,” he replied with a wink before cutting through the crowd to the booth Robin claimed. “You’ve really never flirted with anyone before?” he asked. 

“Have you met me? I can’t even ask for ketchup in a normal way.” She took a big sip of her drink before pulling a face. “You’ve seen me try to talk to Vicki.”

Steve put his hands up with a laugh. “I wasn’t gonna say it.”

“Like you’ve done any better. I’ve been watching you strike out for the last year. It’s just embarrassing after a little while.”

“Yeah, with girls. That’s why I’m trying to bat for the other team.” He shrugged. “Maybe it won’t go so bad tonight.”

He gulped his drink, leaving a burgundy lipstick stain on the rim. Ever since he and Nancy had broken up, he hadn’t been able to turn on the famous Harrington charm. And once Robin came out to him in that mall bathroom, he’d let himself ask the questions that had always hovered right over his shoulder, the ones about why he got jealous when certain girls came around his friends and why he liked playing dress-up with Holly. He’d asked them, sure, but he’d never acted on what he found.

Until tonight. 

“If I’m doing awful, you have to come get me okay? Please don’t let me embarrass myself.”

“I promise, Robs. Now finish that. Alcohol makes it easier.” He scanned the room, catching a few eyes and sharing easy smiles. There were a couple people he wanted to dance with, but first he had to get his better half acclimated. 

She drummed her fingers to the beat and shook her hair out once she’d downed her glass. “Lead the way, o romance maestro.” 

He pulled her onto the floor, basking in the energy as they began to move. He felt free here, free in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. He found himself forgetting the Russians, the Upside Down, all of it as he shed the worries he’d shouldered over the past few years. He could breathe again. 

The song changed, then changed again as they came to life. Steve couldn’t help but laugh at Robin’s gawky movements. She swatted his arm with a smile and shouted over the music that she was getting another drink. He kept an eye on her as she disappeared into the crowd.

He felt someone slip into her place. “Babysitting tonight?” a rough voice whispered in his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. The man was about his height, piercing blue eyes in a tan face scanning him up and down. 

“She’s just not comfortable yet,” he replied with a soft smile. “She’ll be fine once someone catches her eye.”

“And you?” the man asked with a smirk. “Anyone caught your eye?”

He batted his eyelashes. “We’ll just have to see how the night goes, won’t we?” The light touch on his arm told him it worked just the way he wanted it to. He leaned into the touch and kept swaying with the music. 

“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful?”

He chuckled at the complement. “Once or twice.” They exchanged small talk as they danced, a warm hand making its way to his waist. It lingered longer than he wanted. He took that as his sign and claimed he needed another drink, slipping away before the man could protest.

Steve felt his eyes stay on him as he looked around for Robin. She was back in the booth, conversing animatedly with a redhead. Thank God.

The pace had picked up since he’d been at the bar last. He leaned against it as he waited, listening to glass clink and people chatter. 

An oddly familiar voice called out behind him. “Charlie, can we get the girl a drink?”

The bartender’s eyes flicked behind him before she asked, “Ready for another round?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He turned to find a face he’d prayed he wouldn’t see here. 

Eddie fucking Munson.

Dark curls framed his soft brown eyes and wry smile. “A bit of wisdom, sweetheart. That guy’s a jackass.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. His heart pounded in his throat, but he fought to keep his voice steady. “And you know this how?”

“A couple bad encounters.” Eddie sighed dramatically. “Some men don’t know the meaning of the word no. But what can you do?”

His heart twisted. “Thanks for the warning. I better go check on my… friend.”

Eddie nodded, a peculiar look on his face, but ultimately let him pass. He sped to the booth.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said with only a glance to the newcomer, “but Robs, I think I’m in the middle of a crisis.” He plopped down onto the bench and set her drink before her.

She didn’t touch it.

Or respond, really. 

She just gaped at him, eyes flicking between him and whoever she’d been talking to. He turned to get a good look at them.

Chrissy Cunningham stared at him from across the table.

“Oh shit,” was all he could think to say. “Aunt Laura’s gonna kill me.”

“If you tell my mom, I’ll tell yours,” she said hurriedly, a threat he hadn’t heard in years.

“Pinky swear.”

“Done.” She extended a hand, and he curled his little finger around hers just like they used to do as kids.

Robin laughed nervously. “Does this have anything to do with your crisis?”

“A little bit?!” He squawked. “When were you gonna tell me about this?”

“I was going to play it off if it was just me, but you ruined that, dingus.”

“You’ve never successfully played off anything in your life. Also, you don’t drive. Who else would have brought you here?”

“Listen, that’s not the point. What’s got you worked up?”

He gripped the edge of the table hard. “I just had a conversation with Eddie, and I don’t know if he knows that I’m me.”

Robin gasped. “First boy crush Eddie? Is here? Now?”

“Who else could I possibly be talking about?”

Chrissy piped up. “Would now be a bad time to say he’s here with me?”

Steve wanted to dig himself a grave right there. A swift death would certainly be better than whatever was to come. He sat with his head in his hands, silently contemplating everything. Robin rubbed small circles into his back as she steered the conversation away from the obvious.

Eddie had called him a girl, and Steve felt good about it. Too good, in fact. His eyes burned as he tried to recall every interaction they’d ever had. They were few and far between, but Eddie’d given him a pet name each time, princess, pretty boy, sweetheart . He’d seen right through his facade in every taunting conversation, every lunchroom callout and run-in at parties. Steve’s bullshit, Nancy had called it, Eddie was able to tear through it like paper, speak right to his core, joking or sincere.

Maybe that’s what Steve always liked about him, as much as he tried to hide it. He’d held on to this “little crush” for so long, knowing full well that it would never come to fruition. For so much of his life, spending too much time with The Freak was social suicide, and so he’d pushed it down, tried to bury it in ashes each and every time that ember blazed to life once more. 

But, fuck, now they were here . Now it could be more than a fantasy, if only for a fleeting moment, until they were back in the hellscape they called home.

He’d let so many chances pass him by in the name of upholding an image he didn’t even like. A max of three people here knew who he was, and not one of them gave a shit that he was Richard’s son, “an all-American boy through and through”. So why should he let this once in a lifetime chance go? 

If he did, tonight would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Steve sat up and squared his shoulders. He needed to make a move.

Robin cocked an eyebrow at him. “Made up your mind?”

He brushed his sweaty palms against his skirt and nodded. Chrissy gave him a crooked grin. “He just stepped out back.”

“How do I look?”

“You are the hottest person here.” Robin clapped him on the back, “Go get him, tiger.”

With that, he stalked to the back door, a bit of sway to his hips. The clack of his heels filled him with a sense of assertiveness. 

The night air nipped at him as he pushed through the door. He spied Eddie leaning against the brick, wisps of smoke curling up from the cigarette in his hand.

Steve walked up to him with an ease not reflective of his mental state. He plucked the cigarette from between his fingers. “Mind if I bum a smoke?” Before he could reply, he took a drag, letting rich smoke fill his lungs. 

“By all means.” The streetlight glittered off Eddie’s rings as he tapped them against the wall. “How’s Miss Birdie?”

“In good hands,” he said with an exhale. “I always knew she had a thing for redheads.”

Eddie took the cigarette back. “And you? You have a type?”

Steve hummed, idly reaching up to twirl one of Eddie’s curls around his finger. “More into brunettes.”

His Adam's apple bobbed as he quickly looked away. “I didn’t think this was your scene, Stevie.” So he did know it was him.

“Well, it’s not quite yours, either.”

“I didn’t think Chris would like the kind of places I usually go.”

He was pleased to see the heels had given him the slightest height advantage. “She’s full of surprises.”

Eddie looked him up and down. “Apparently, it runs in the family.”

Steve felt the tips of his ears heat up as he shrugged, trying to convey nonchalance. “Always wanted to try it, y’know? Just couldn’t do it back home.”

“Yeah. You, uh… you look good.” It was obvious he was balking, the way he wouldn’t quite meet his eyes, instead choosing to peer down the alley, but he could tell there was something there, a nervous air about him, like he was tiptoeing across a high wire.

He’d be lying if he said he felt differently. “Never known you to be quiet, Munson,” he said, looking up at the haze of the city. 

“You just surprised me, is all. Not quite how I pictured my Saturday going.”

“I can leave if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“No,” came rushing out of his mouth, a bit of an edge to it. “It’s a pleasant surprise, trust me.”

“Oh?” He shot him a hooded glance, only to find the man’s lips curled into a soft smile. The amber light brought a warmth to his face, his eyes glittering with emotions Steve couldn’t place.

“This isn’t how things happen. The Munson doctrine firmly states that no incidents of this nature are possible in the cosmic fabric of the universe. No hometown heroes are allowed to contain multitudes. Turns out Dustin was right, the little shit. There is more to you than meets the eye.”

Steve’s heart twinged, a budding hope that this could be something more than some back alley romance springing to life. “I could say the same about you. Don’t get me wrong, Chris is a nice girl, but you of all people taking a shine to her is shocking. I always thought you didn’t care for us preppy types.”

Eddie threw a hand on his chest haphazardly. “My cast iron heart is not immune to sugar, unfortunately. It’s not very metal of me, but we all have our flaws, I suppose.”

He grinned despite himself. “You think I’m sweet?”

“What if I did?”

He could practically hear the crackle of electricity as Eddie threw that lure, gave him an opportunity to make this more than a careful dance. It gave him goosebumps. “That’d be enough to get a first date out of me, if you really meant it.” Good God, did he want it to be more. 

“Then you better call the dentist, baby, ‘cause you're about to give me cavities.”

That got a laugh out of him, bubbling up from deep in his chest and giving him a pleasant buzz. This was so easy , easy in a way nothing had been for years now. Eddie’s tentative confidence drew him in in all the right ways, and he found himself drifting closer, eager to figure out all his idiosyncrasies. The way his bottom lip got caught between his teeth when he was pleased with himself, the rhythms he relentlessly tapped out, the tattoos he knew were hidden underneath his jacket, Steve wanted to learn everything he possibly could before the dawn came.

The excitement sent a shiver through him. Eddie immediately shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over his shoulders. 

The leather was blissfully warm, but more so was the breath on his face, whiskey and tobacco as long fingers remained curled in the collar. He waited on a razor’s edge as dark eyes searched his, flitting back and forth from his lips with a question neither of them dared to ask. His ribs were about to crack under the hammering of his heart. The tension was thick, overpowering, stealing the breath from his lungs like he was at the edge of a high cliff staring down at the wine-dark sea below, watching it froth and churn, knowing the only way forward was down.

“Just kiss me already,” was all he could exhale.

Steve’s eyelids fluttered closed as soft lips pressed against his own, and oh, how glorious was the fall, the rush that passed over him as he sought the touch of the waves. He’d never known what others described as fireworks, but now? Now he felt the blazing heat of the sun tightening his skin, bleaching his bones as he plummeted.

The soft moan that escaped Eddie’s throat plunged him deep into need, a heady, joyous thing that helped his hands find purchase on a lean waist, slotting in place like they were designed by God to fit right there. He wanted to spend forever pressed together against the rough brick, moving in tandem like nothing else existed until all the stars burned out in the sky, until the molecules that formed him folded in on themselves and collapsed under the weight of space.

An unfortunate flaw in his anatomy meant he needed oxygen to survive, so he let that wish slip away, drawing back just far enough to get a good look at the boy underneath him. He looked as punch-drunk as Steve felt, pupils blown and chest heaving like the secrets of the universe had been revealed to him.

“You okay?” Steve asked gently.

“I think I’m having a religious experience,” he gasped.

That was enough to draw him back in, let his hands roam over Eddie’s back as he lost himself in the embrace. He was floating, surely, stripes searing up his throat as hands made their way into his hair, fingernails scraping delightfully across his scalp. 

Steve was determined to kiss him stupid, and he certainly tried his best, letting his lips trail down a pale neck, leaving red smudges along the way. The little gasp Eddie let out when he finally sucked just under his jaw filled all the space in his brain. He slipped his hands under the hem of his shirt, feeling the goosebumps rise as his thumb traced the curve of his hip.

“Stevie?”

“Hmm.” He was a bit preoccupied at the moment, enjoying the brush of Eddie’s stubble against his lips.

“That, uh, that date you mentioned? Were you joking about that?”

“I’d love a date with you, babe,” he murmured against his skin.

“Oh, good.” Eddie caught his lips again, and it was his turn to let his hands wander, leaving tingles in their wake as they traced patterns under the jacket. 

Steve basked in the heat of it all, born again under Eddie’s touch. Time meant nothing to him. Hell, years could have passed and he wouldn’t have given them a single thought. He was wonderfully alive, the electricity in his veins keeping his heart beating its staccato pattern.

His ears pricked up at the sound of the door opening, briefly letting the noise of the club escape, but when a wolf whistle sounded, he pushed Eddie back. Judging by the lipstick he’d left behind, Steve knew he looked downright indecent. “If we keep this up, this is gonna go much farther than I’d like it to in public.”

“Lucky for you, there’s a well-christened bathroom stall less than twenty feet away.”

Eddie cackled when he scrunched his nose at the suggestion. “I’m good for a hotel room, thanks.”

He took Steve by the hand. “Then let’s blow this joint.”

*****

They drove home in the midday light, the radio crooning softly. With a phone number burning a hole in his back pocket and Thursday night plans, Steve hummed along. 

Robin rested her head against the window, the cool glass helping to fight off a hangover. She broached the silence. “So, Chicago?”

“Chicago,” he replied with a grin.

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Step On It - II

Alrighty friends, I have finally emerged from my hole of spotty-Wifi summer jobs to deliver the very, very overdue second part of Step On It! Once again, this was based on an idea from @mendeshoney​ and I’m so grateful for the chance to get to bring it to life. Please reblog and let me know what you think! 

Baby wasn’t exactly sure where it started, but somewhere along the line he had become not only the getaway driver for whatever crew Flint had put together, but was put in charge of getting everyone’s coffees before strategy sessions. And that term was used loosely; more often than not, it just consisted of everyone in folding chairs around some dusty table listening to Flint talk about whose jobs were what. Questions were almost nonexistent— Flint wouldn’t have hired someone who didn’t have the business down to a science. And he’d be damned if anyone had ever been able to get away with suggesting things should go in a different direction. You didn’t mess with the boss, and you absolutely did not mess with his plans. Nobody knew exactly how long Flint had been in the game for, and everyone was always a little scared to ask. Longer than Baby had been alive, definitely, but it wasn’t what he had always done. One of the few pieces of personal information anybody knew about him was that, before he had started the whole ‘freelance crime boss’ life, he had been in real estate. Commercial. 

So, needless to say, Saturday morning found him walking into Rooster Coffee House, popping one earbud out when his place in line reached the front. There was one morning, when he was running late, that he had forgone the usual small hipster shops he tended to try out and stopped at a Timmie’s. It was a mistake. When he had gotten back to the meeting house, Needles, one of Flint’s more volatile agents, had taken one look at the cup, grabbed it, and thrown it straight into the garbage can. Baby thought it was a little harsh; sure, the drinks wouldn’t win any awards, but he didn’t see an issue. Being fond of his own life and well-being, however, he had never brought that particular brand again, saving it for himself. 

“What can I get you?” The barista asked, not unkindly, but clearly a little caught up in the morning rush. 

“Uh, four,” Baby paused a moment, remembering himself, “five medium coffees with room?” He wasn’t sure why he worded it like a question. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. He was ordering five coffees, not asking what artisanal roaster the beans were sourced from. 

The barista nodded once. “Name?” 

“Baby.”

He got a strange look, but he was used to getting strange looks. “8.75.”

Baby pulled out his wallet from his back pocket, fishing out a ten dollar bill and handing it over, dropping the leftover change into the tip jar. Two or three minutes later— Baby wasn’t paying particularly close attention— the coffees were up, nestled into a cardboard carrying case that he hefted into his hand before walking the four blocks to the warehouse. One hand holding the case, the other was tapping along to the rhythm of the new John Mayer album. Unlocking the door and swinging past the half-draped painter’s canvas still left hanging from the ceiling beams, Baby slipped into the main room. He slid a cup in front of each of the four other crew members present, taking the last for himself and settling in his seat towards the back—  Flint wasn’t a coffee guy. 

Baby didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be writing a new song, putting together another mixtape, back at the diner finally getting that waitress’ name, anywhere apart from the cold, dark, uninviting warehouse Flint had adopted as crew headquarters. And he really didn’t want to be sitting in the room while Flint described his newest heist plans, this one involving some kind of shipping or office supply store. It would have been more than a little out of the ordinary; these types of stores weren’t typically rolling in cash, but the manager of this particular place seemed to dabble more than a little bit in money laundering and fencing, and Flint wanted in. He always wanted in. Baby thought that he must have fancied himself a sort of Robin Hood, what with the whole ‘stealing from the rich’ act, but while nobody knew exactly what anyone did with their share of the money, Baby knew Flint wasn’t exactly known for his charitable spirit. It wasn’t like his duties ever really varied much. Get the crew there, stay where he was needed, and get them the hell out of there. Not much to it. The way Baby saw it, every job he worked was one closer to freedom, one closer to the day he’d never have to do anything for that man ever again. So he listened. He listened while Flint described how they’d pull up on LeTorneau, the crew— who this time consisted of Checkers, Wilson, Moose, and Angel (whose name was deceptive, she can and would go toe-to-toe with any of the guys on the crew) would go in through the side door, two would stand guard at the hallway, and the others would break into the vault in the manager’s office. Baby’s job was to loop around the block twice— exactly twice, no more, no less— and pick them up once it was all finished. If everything went to plan, it would take exactly five minutes and twenty seconds. And Flint’s jobs always went to plan. 

It was a day later, and Baby was slumped over in his car, head in his hands, having just returned from the warehouse and the job at the shipping store. A few stacks of bills were haphazardly stuffed under the passenger’s side seat, his share of the spoils from the day’s activities. With a weighty sigh, he glanced out of the window and recalled what Flint had told him as he handed over the cash. 

“This is the last of it,” he had said, still keeping half a hand on the stack of hundreds. 

Baby’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Flint withdrew his hand. “What I mean,” he said, somewhat exasperated, “is that this is it. You’ve paid it back. You’re all squared up.” And just like that, he walked away, leaving Baby with a million questions and exactly zero answers. 

So needless to say, it was all more than a little overwhelming. It was the first time in over five years that he was truly free from Flint’s grasp, that he was no longer under his thumb. It was incredible, it was liberating, and it was a feeling that Baby never wanted to forget. But it left him with a strange sense of emptiness. It wasn’t a life that he had ever wanted, and certainly not one that he would have chosen for himself, so in truth he was just overcome with a pervasive sense of confusion. What was he going to do now? What was he supposed to do now? It’s not like he really had any relevant job experience, and he was pretty sure that “Getaway Driver— did lots of illegal and ethically questionable stuff” wasn’t a good resumé builder. But he could finally work on his music, finally try to get some demos done and songs written without the looming threat of Flint’s next call hanging over his head. Baby clicked in his seatbelt, shoved the car into gear, and got the hell out of whatever parking lot he had pulled into. 

On the elevator ride up to his and James’ apartment, Baby commenced with his semi-regular rationalization of his behaviors. It obviously wasn’t a shocker that he didn’t want to be doing what, until recently, had essentially been his job. Every time he was sent out with whatever motley-crue cast of characters Flint had rustled up, he had to remind himself that he wasn’t doing this because he wanted to. He was doing it to survive. Baby had become something of an expert at compartmentalizing, somehow able to shut off the part of his life that was filled with making James sandwiches and writing music and getting lunch from pretty waitresses from the one consisting of guns and breaking dozens of laws and secret meetings in dark warehouses. It wasn’t something he was proud of— one of the most poignant memories he had of his mother was when she drilled into him the importance of always being himself and always being truthful to others— but it was something he had to do, or he wasn’t sure how he could function. As he closed the front door behind him, James turned his head towards him. Must have seen my shadow, Baby thought. 

Aren’t you early? James asked. 

Baby sighed, leaning down to the loose floorboard and throwing the last of the money under. They said I’m done. 

Done as in?

Done. Baby said, nodding his head for emphasis. I don’t have to work for them anymore. 

What are you going to do now?

He shrugged, noticing an empty cup for Rooster in the recycling can. Music. Try to get a job. Try to be normal. 

                                                        ---------

The next day, Baby woke up bright and early, walking to the library to print out a few copies of his resumé. It now said “Private Driver” and emphasized his people skills (which were, in actuality, pretty minimal). He figured that was probably a good move. After dropping it off at a few different places, he stopped back by Fran’s. Now that he was off of the crew, maybe he could finally get her name. 

Baby slid into a booth, grimacing when he realized that he didn’t even know if she was working that day. And he didn’t even have her name to ask. He fiddled with his phone for a moment before a voice interrupted him. 

“Back again?” It was her. Baby nervously sat up in his chair, running his hand through his hair. His eyes immediately flitted to her breast pocket, where a bright, shiny silver nametag was pinned. Rhiannon. 

“Yep, you know me. Baby. Not like I expect you to remember me, you’ve probably got dozens of customers every shift, I just thought—”

She cut him off with a laugh, a sound that Baby was pretty sure had just become his favorite thing in the world. “Hey, hey, Baby. You’re fine. Don’t sweat it, okay? I remember you, and not just because of your name.” He blushed, dipping his head and pretending to be looking at the menu. “So are you off from work?”

He tilted his hand from side-to-side. In a manner of speaking. “You could say that. I don’t work for the same people anymore, found out that the career,” he paused for a moment, “wasn’t for me.”

She scrunched her nose. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. Seriously. It wasn’t a great place to work, moreso one of those places where it just seems impossible to quit, you know?” 

“Only too well, tell me about it,” she said, huffing slightly. “So what can I get you this time?”

“What’s best?” 

She cocked a gentle smile. “Why don’t I show you?”

Rhiannon wasn’t sure if it was party of Baby’s strategy, but he always managed to come in right after the lunch rush had left and before the dinner crowd made their way in. Not like she was complaining, she had been borderline enamored with the gorgeous boy with the strange name since he wandered in a week or so ago. It was a stroke of luck that they had met in the first place, and let alone run into each other twice; Rhi only picked up a few shifts a week, the rest of her time was generally taken up with her studies. She was a psychology student at University of Toronto, with far-fetched dreams of becoming a trauma therapist. Far-fetched because success didn’t come to girls like her. She was from a small town in Saskatchewan, about thirty minutes outside of Regina, and she hadn’t even been out of her province until high school. Far-fetched because she had been raised by a single mother after her father had died in a construction accident when she was seven. Her mother did her best, balancing a full-time job at the only bank in town with raising her daughter, but there were things that slipped through the cracks. Far-fetched because out of her graduating class of 96, less than half went to college, and only a handful left the province to do so. Two to University of British Columbia, one to a college in California, one to McGill, and two to Toronto. Noel and Rhiannon has been close enough in high school— having a total school population of under 500 necessitated that— but had held onto each other as a sort of lifeline since leaving the lackluster and snowy confines of Lumsden, Saskatchewan. The two were thick as thieves since arriving in Toronto, living together their second year and into the third. Far-fetched because while her mother paid for what fees she was able and she received some financial aid from the school, there was still a gap that she had to make up. So she worked, she found a job that would give her a change, she came with a plastered smile three shifts a week and remained pleasant and apologetic to customers who couldn’t be ruder if they tried. Baby’s presence was a more-than-welcome distraction from the usual sorts of folks she’d get in the afternoon. Fifteen minutes later, she slid a toasted sandwich in front of him, piled high with Swiss cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, mixed greens, and what she was pretty sure was three separate types of meats. “People seem to like this one,” she said with a smile. 

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” Baby said. 

As much as she hated to leave him, Rhi still had other customers to keep an eye on, though in between trips to and from the kitchen window she checked her watch, praying that Baby would stick around for the thirty minutes until the end of her shift. Which he did. What she hadn’t caught was the fact that he had finished his sandwich ten minutes ago, but decided to wait for her, banking on the fact that her shift would finish at the top of the hour. He finally finished the last crumbs, leaving a twenty on the table, and catching her just as she emerged from the back after changing into her street clothes. “Hey, uh, Rhiannon?” He asked. 

“Mm?” 

“I was just wondering, if you, you know, have plans for the rest of the day? Totally get it if you do, just thought I’d ask.”

Rhiannon cut him off quickly. Too quickly, maybe? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t want to be rude. “I don’t have anything planned, really. Have to do some grocery shopping, but that’s pretty much it. Do you want to maybe come along?” She asked hesitantly. Why would someone want to come along for her errands? She certainly wasn’t an expert on human behavior, but was nevertheless pretty confident that putting flour into a bag at a Metro was nobody’s idea of a great weekend. 

“That actually sounds great,” Shawn responded. 

An hour and a half and five bags of groceries later, Baby and Rhiannon sat in the front of her eight-year-old Honda, breaking into the carton of blueberries that they bought. They hadn’t moved in twenty minutes, and for exactly nineteen of those minutes, all Shawn had been thinking of was how much he wanted to kiss her, but there was no way she could catch on, there was no way he’d let her. Frank Sinatra played softly in the background — Rhiannon was a big oldies fan, he had learned — and the mischievous grin she had while trying to throw a blueberry into his mouth wasn’t helping the situation. 

She stopped a minute later, closing the container and reaching around to place it back in one of the many bags. She was looking at him, and Shawn couldn’t quite place her expression. “What’s on your mind, Rhi?” He asked, reaching out and tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear. 

“Tell me something about you that I don’t know. Something you wish I did. I know that you live with your foster dad, I know your folks aren’t around anymore, I know you’re a ‘driver,’” she said, adding air quotes, “but I know there’s something else. Something more.”

Shawn swallowed hard, leaning forward almost imperceptibly. “You want to know something, Rhiannon?”

“Tell me.”

“There’s nothing I want more in this moment than to kiss you.”

Her breath hitched. “Then what’s stopping you?”