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gardenschedule · 1 year ago

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Quotes about John Lennon’s sexuality

This is just a reference post for convenience, not an analysis (but I’ve added some comments here and there). This is extremely long with a lot of quotes! And where there's smoke there's fire, imo.

John's (internalized) homophobia: Starting with this topic to provide context & contrast to the rest of this post

At the party the boys’ old friend Bob Wooler, the Cavern emcee, made a crack to John about his holiday. John, who’d had plenty to drink, exploded. He leapt on Bob, and by the time he was dragged off Bob had a black eye and badly bruised ribs. I took John home as fast as I could, and Brian drove Bob to the hospital.

I was appalled that John had lashed out again. I’d thought those days were over. But John was still livid, muttering that Bob had called him a queer.

Cynthia Lennon, John

[Bob Wooler had] insinuated that me and Brian had had an affair in Spain. I was out of me mind with drink. You know, when you get down to the point where you want to drink out of all the empty glasses, that drunk. And he was saying, ‘Come on, John, tell me’ – something like that – ‘Tell me about you and Brian, we all know.’ And obviously I must have been frightened of the fag in me to get so angry. You know, when you’re twenty-one, you want to be a man, and all that. If somebody said it now, I wouldn’t give a shit.

John Lennon, John Lennon: For The Record, Peter McCabe and Robert D Schonfeld

“The Beatles’ first national coverage was me beating up Bob Wooler at Paul’s 21st party because he intimated I was homosexual. I must have had a fear that maybe I was homosexual to attack him like that and it’s very complicated reasoning. But I was very drunk and I hit him and I could have really killed somebody then. And that scared me… That was in the Daily Mirror, it was the back page…”

John Lennon, talking about a (one sided) fight he had with Cavern DJ Bob Wooler at Paul’s 21st birthday party in 1963.

Everyone in Liverpool knew that Epstein was gay, and some kid in the audience screamed, ‘John Lennon’s a fucking queer!’ And John – who never wore his glasses on stage – put his guitar down and went into the crowd, shouting, ‘Who said that?’ So this kid says, ‘I fucking did.’ John went after him and BAM, gave him the Liverpool kiss, sticking the nut on him – twice! And the kid went down in a mass of blood, snot and teeth. Then John got back on the stage. ‘Anybody else?’ he asked. Silence. ‘All right then. “Some Other Guy”.’”

Lemmy Kilmister, White Line Fever: The Biography. (2004)

“Victim in 1961 was one of the first British films to deal properly and thoughtfully with the subject. Dirk Bogarde welcomed the opportunity to play the homosexual barrister, and there were some very tense scenes between him and his wife, Sylvia Syms. In one scene, Dirk Bogarde lifts his garage door at the back of the mews to discover that someone has painted graffiti about him on the wall. The Beatles were sitting together at a Cavern lunchtime session and John Lennon, who was talking to Paul and George, was making biting remarks about Victim, which was on at the Odeon. I knew by then that Brian was what he was, and I thought, ‘Well, I am surprised at John, who is 21 and a young man of the world.’ He was making such nasty, puritanical observations, but I never said anything as they didn’t know that I was listening.”

Bob Wooler, c/o Spencer Leigh, The Best of Fellas: The Story of Bob Wooler. (2002)

If somebody is going to manage me, I want to know them inside out. He told me he was a fag.

I like “Honky Tonk Woman” but I think Mick’s a joke, with all that fag dancing, I always did

I think its concept is revolutionary, and I hope it’s for workers and not for tarts and fags.

I don’t know about the “history”; the people who are in control and in power, and the class system and the whole bullshit bourgeoisie is exactly the same, except there is a lot of fag middle class kids with long, long hair walking around London in trendy clothes

I don’t dig that junkie fag scene he lives in; I don’t know whether he lives like that or what.

Casual homophobia in Lennon Remembers (Notable for the increase in homophobic language post-primary scream therapy, here is some interesting speculation about how these two things are related)

The violence that had been building inside John Lennon all night came bursting out the moment he left the studio. It struck so fast and unexpectedly that it stunned May Pang. She recalled that John was walking unsteadily toward the parking lot when suddenly he cast a drunken look over his shoulder at Jesse Ed Davis. Running over to him, Lennon gave Jesse Ed a passionate kiss on the mouth. Not to be outdone, Jesse Ed grabbed John and kissed him back. Lennon screamed, “F****t!” — and knocked Jesse flat on his ass.

The Lives of John Lennon by Albert Goldman (May Pang, describing an incident during the recording of Rock 'n' Roll in 1973: p.564)

It turned into a full-on fight. John was incredibly strong! He got me in some kind of a hold behind my back that I could not get out of, like a full nelson. And he started to kiss me on the mouth! He was laughin’ and kissin’ me on the mouth. I was strugglin’ to git away and I couldn’t git away. Then he stuck his tongue in my mouth. God! So I bit him. Bit him on the tongue. That pissed him off. So he grabbed the marble ashtray that we couldn’t break and banged me on the head. Knocked me cold.

The Lives of John Lennon by Albert Goldman (a direct quote from Jesse Ed Davis about a different night: p. 576-577)

Alternatively, he could be openly supportive:

Why make it sad to be gay? Doing your thing is O.K. Our bodies our own So leave us alone Go play with yourself – today.

A poem submitted for Len Richmond and Gary Noguera's Gay Liberation Handbook, on 30 May 1972

John spreading rumours: John (and Yoko) had a propensity for intentionally spreading rumours about his sexuality, with many people claiming that he found it funny. Multiple people refused to believe his own words about his experiences or willingness with men.

John told me he had had a one-night stand with Brian, on a holiday with him in Spain, when Brian had invited him out, a few days after the birth of Julian in 1963, leaving Cyn alone. I mentioned this brief holiday in the book, but not what John had alleged had taken place. Partly, I didn't really believe it, though John was daft enough to try almost anything once. John was certainly not homosexual, and this boast, or lie, would have given the wrong impression. It was also not fair on Cynthia, his then wife.

Hunter Davies, The Beatles: The Authorised Biography (updated edition, 2010)

John himself said he finally allowed Brian to make love to him “to get it out of the way.” Those who knew John well, who had known him for years, don’t believe it for a moment. John was aggressively heterosexual and had never given a hint that he was anything but.

Tony Bramwell, Magical Mystery Tours: My Life With The Beatles, 2014

John roared with laughter at the rumours that began afterwards. Typically, he encouraged the stories that he and Brian were gay lovers because he thought it was funny and John was one of the world’s great wind-up merchants. He told me afterwards in one of our frankest heart-to-hearts that Brian never seriously did proposition him. He had teased Brian about the young men he kept gazing at and the odd ones who had found their way to his room. Brian had joked to John about the women who hurled themselves at him. ‘If he’d asked me, I probably would have done anything he wanted. I was so much in awe of Brian then I’d have tried a night of vice-versa. But he never wanted me like that. Sure, I took the mickey a bit and pretended to lead him on. But we both knew we were joking.

Alistair Taylor, With The Beatles, 2003

Years later, John finally came clean about what had happened: not to anyone who’d been around at the time, but to the unshockable woman with whom he shared the last decade of his life. He said that one night during the trip, Brian had cast aside shyness and scruples and finally come on to him, but that he’d replied, “If you feel like that, go out and find a hustler.” Afterward, he had deliberately fed Pete Shotton the myth of his brief surrender, so that everyone would believe his power over Brian to be absolute.

Philip Norman, John Lennon: The Life, 2008

The next night Elliot [Mintz] took us out with a friend of his, Sal Mineo, and we all went to a gay cabaret/discotheque. John was oblivious to the gay ambience. He was curious about everyone’s sexuality and liked to gossip about who was sleeping with whom, whether they were gay or straight. John made no judgements about homosexuality but was really curious about who was and who wasn’t gay.

He knew that his appearance at a gay club might start rumors about his own sexuality, and it made him laugh. He told me that there had been rumors about him and his first manager, Brian Epstein, and that he usually didn’t deny them. He liked the fact that people could be titillated by having suspicions about his masculinity. Then I was the one who was laughing. “How could anyone believe a man who likes women as much as you do is gay?” I told him.

May Pang’s Loving John (1983).

Q. Have you ever fucked a guy?

A. Not yet, I thought I’d save it til I was 40, life begins at 40 you know, tho I never noticed it.

Q. It is trendy to be bisexual and you’re usually ‘keeping up with the Jones’, haven’t you ever… there was talk about you and PAUL…

A. Oh, I thought it was about me and Brian Epstein… anyway, I’m saving all the juice for my own version of THE REAL FAB FOUR BEATLES STORY etc.. etc..

John Lennon self interview for Andy Warhol’s Interview Magazine (November 1974).

John: Yes, all your best friends let you know what's going on. I was trying to put it 'round that I was gay, you know-- I thought that would throw them off... dancing at all the gay clubs in Los Angeles, flirting with the boys... but it never got off the ground.

Q: I think I've only heard that lately about Paul.

John: Oh, I've had him, he's no good. [Laughter]

John Lennon, interviewed by Lisa Robinson for Hit Parader: A conversation with John Lennon (December 1975).

“It’s great,” Ono laughs. “I mean, both John and I thought it was good that people think we were bisexual, or homosexual.” She laughs again.

“Uh, well, the story I was told was a very explicit story, and from that I think they didn’t have it [sex],” Ono tells me. “But they went to Spain, and when they came back, tons of reporters were asking, ‘Did you do it, did you do it?’ So he said, ‘I did it.’ Isn’t that amazing? But of course he would say that. I’m sure Brian Epstein made a move, yeah.”

And Lennon said no to Epstein?

“He just didn’t want to do it, I think.”

Yoko Ono: I Still Fear John’s Killer by Tim Teeman for the Daily Beast (13 October 2015).

Over dinner the Wenners learned the secrets of the Beatles kingdom from Ono, who would often suggest to Wenner that John Lennon was gay. “She’s always hinted that there was some gay component to John,” said Wenner, “but in a vague or generalized way, like, ‘Isn’t everybody gay?’ Or, ‘I always told John he was gay.’ ” (She also told McCartney this theory after Lennon died, which he didn’t believe.)”

Joe Hagan, Sticky Fingers: The Life and Times of Jann Wenner & Rolling Stone Magazine. (2017)

On the other hand, he supposedly hated the rumours:

Claims have been made since that Brian and John had a gay relationship. Nothing could be further from the truth. John was a hundred per cent heterosexual and, like most lads at that time, horrified by the idea of homosexuality.

It was a holiday John came to regret because it sparked off a string of rumours about his relationship with Brian. He had to put up with sly digs, winks and innuendo that he was secretly gay. It infuriated him: all he'd wanted was a break with a friend, but it was turned into so much more.

Cynthia Lennon, John, 2005

And I just went on holiday. I watched Brian picking up the boys. I like playing a bit faggy, all that. It was enjoyable, but there were big rumours in Liverpool, it was terrible. Very embarrassing. Rumors about you and Brian? Oh, fuck knows—yes, yes. I was pretty close to Brian because if somebody's going to manage me, I want to know them inside out.

John Lennon, Jann S. Wenner, Lennon Remembers, 1970

Unfortunately, certain Liverpool acquaintances (who had no way of knowing that there was a kernel of truth to their allegations) wouldn't let John hear the end of it. All in good fun, no doubt, but John was still too enamored of his macho self-image to take lightly any inference that he was anything less than 100 percent heterosexual.

The Beatles, Lennon, and me - Pete Shotton

John's comments about his sexuality:

It’s just handy to fuck your best friend. That’s what it is. And once I resolved the fact that it was a woman as well, it’s all right. We go through the trauma of life and death every day so it’s not so much of a worry about what sex we are anymore.

John Lennon, interview w/ Jonathan Cott for Rolling Stone: Yoko Ono and her sixteen-track voice. (March 18th, 1971)

I just realized that [Yoko] knew everything I knew, and more, probably, and it was coming out of a woman’s head. It just sort of bowled me over, you know? And it was like finding gold or something. To find somebody that you can go and get pissed with, and have exactly the same relationship as any mate in Liverpool you’d ever had, but also you could go to bed with him, and it could stroke your head when you felt tired, or sick, or depressed. It could also be Mother. And obviously, that’s what the male-female – you know, you could take those roles with each other.

John Lennon, interview w/ Peter McCabe and Robert D. Schonfeld c/o Peter McCabe and Robert D. Schonfeld, John Lennon: For The Record. (September 5th, 1971)

It’s a plus, it’s not a minus. The plus is that your best friend, also, can hold you without… I mean, I’m not a homosexual, or we could have had a homosexual relationship and maybe that would have satisfied it, with working with other male artists. [faltering] An artist – it’s more – it’s much better to be working with another artist of the same energy, and that’s why there’s always been Beatles or Marx Brothers or men, together. Because it’s alright for them to work together or whatever it is. It’s the same except that we sleep together, you know? I mean, not counting love and all the things on the side, just as a working relationship with her, it has all the benefits of working with another male artist and all the joint inspiration, and then we can hold hands too, right?

John Lennon, interview w/ Sandra Shevey. (Mid-June?, 1972)

I was on holiday with Brian Epstein in Spain, where the rumours went around that he and I were having a love affair. Well, it was almost a love affair, but not quite. It was never consummated. But it was a pretty intense relationship. It was my first experience with a homosexual that I was conscious was homosexual. He had admitted it to me. We had this holiday together because Cyn was pregnant, and I went to Spain and there were lots of funny stories. We used to sit in a cafe in Torremolinos looking at all the boys and I’d say, ‘Do you like that one, do you like this one?’ I was rather enjoying the experience, thinking like a writer all the time: I am experiencing this, you know.

John Lennon, Rolling Stone, 1980

I was thinking, if only I could get out of Liverpool, be famous and rich, that would be great. I’ve always wanted to be a famous artist, you know? Possibly I’d have to marry a very rich old lady… or man, you know… to… to look after me while I did my art. But then Rock & Roll came and I thought ‘Ah, this is the one’, so I didn’t have to marry anybody or live with them, you know?

John Lennon interview

There was even some discussion, albeit not very serious, of whether he should stick to his own gender. “John said ‘It would hurt you like crazy if I made it with a girl. With a guy, maybe you wouldn’t be hurt, because that’s not competition. But I can’t make it with a guy because I love women too much, and I’d have to fall in love with the guy and I don’t think I can.’”

John Lennon: The Life

I look at early pictures of meself, and I was torn between being Marlon Brando and being the sensitive poet – the Oscar Wilde part of me with the velvet, feminine side. I was always torn between the two, mainly opting for the macho side, because if you showed the other side, you were dead.

John Lennon, December 5th, 1980

“John believed in my work as an artist wasn’t accepted in part because I am a woman. He got angry when people said about me, “She’s not a woman, she’s a female impersonator.” John said to me, “If I had been gay and gotten together with a guy who was talented like you, after ten years that guy would have become famous as an artist in his own right. Maybe we should come out and say, ‘Actually, Yoko is a guy.’ Maybe that will do it!”

Yoko Ono, interview w/ Jon Wiener, c/o Jon Wiener, Come Together: John Lennon In His Time. (1984)

In this intense, intimate and revealing original cassette recording of a private conversation in 1969 between John Lennon and Yoko Ono, the couple speaks primarily about Yoko’s past relationships, her music and art, and their random views on sex, love, promiscuity, and homosexuality. […] [Lennon] adds that he had never met an attractive woman that had sexually aroused him to any great degree.

Description of the 45-minute audiotape auctioned in 2009 by Alexander Autographs.

Yoko's comments about his sexuality:

“Well, that’s another thing. John and I had a big talk about it, saying, basically, all of us must be bisexual. And we were sort of in a situation of thinking that we’re not [bisexual] because of society. So we are hiding the other side of ourselves, which is less acceptable. But I don’t have a strong sexual desire towards another woman.”

Did Lennon have sex with other men?

“I think he had a desire to, but I think he was too inhibited,” says Ono.

“No, not inhibited. He said, ‘I don’t mind if there’s an incredibly attractive guy.’ It’s very difficult: They would have to be not just physically attractive, but mentally very advanced too. And you can’t find people like that.”

So did Lennon ever have sex with men?

“No, I don’t think so,” says Ono. “The beginning of the year he was killed, he said to me, ‘I could have done it, but I can’t because I just never found somebody that was that attractive.’ Both John and I were into attractiveness—you know—beauty.”

Yoko Ono: I Still Fear John’s Killer by Tim Teeman for the Daily Beast (13 October 2015).

"As mild and oblique as the comment was [Paul's "You took your lucky break and broke it in two" line from "Too Many People"], it seemed to cut John to the heart. On top of the questionnaire inside theMcCartney album and the lawsuit, it was like the tipping point between a divorcing couple that turns love into savage, no-holds-barred hostility. Indeed, John's wounded anger was more that of an ex-spouse than ex-colleague, reinforcing a suspicion already in Yoko's mind that his feelings for Paul had been far more intense than the world at large ever guessed. From chance remarks he had made, she gathered there had even been a moment where - on the principle that bohemians should try everything - he had contemplated an affair with Paul, but had been deterred by Paul's immovable heterosexuality. Nor, apparently, was Yoko the only one to have picked up on this. Around Apple, in her hearing, Paul would sometimes be called John's princess. She had also once heard a rehearsal tape with John's voice calling out "Paul ... Paul ... " in a strangely subservient, pleading way. "I knew there was something going on there," she remembers. "From his point of view, not from Paul's. And he was so angry at Paul, I couldn't help wondering what it was really about.""

Philip Norman, John Lennon: The Life, 2008

I’m sure that if he had been a woman or something, he would have been a great threat, because there’s something definitely very strong with me, John, and Paul.

Yoko Ono, Revolution Tape, June 4th 1968

Friends & acquaintances comments on his sexuality:

I realised I was probably bisexual; there was nothing to be ashamed of in this – John Lennon had reputedly spoken to mutual friends of his own experiments.

Who I Am: A Memoir, Pete Townshend 2012

PAUL: There were lots of people asking cheeky questions, and they were always saying, “Well, why–have you ever tried homosexuality, John?” You know, they always used to ask all that kind of stuff. I remember John saying to them, “No, I’ve never met a fella I fancy enough.” And that was his kind of opinion. You know, “I may go–I may be gay one day, if some fella really turns me on.” He was–he was that open about it. But as far as I was concerned, I slept in a million hotel rooms–as we all did–slept in a million places with John, and there was never any hint of it.

December 24th, 1983: interview with DJ Roger Scott

“And you, Icke?” asked Paul. “Who’s your favourite author?” “Henry Miller. I think he’s very good,” I said. In that moment John suddenly looked over at me. Until then he had been watching Bettina, the bar lady, rinsing glasses and tidying up the bar, with his typical somewhat blasé expression. Our discussion hadn’t seemed to interest him much. Now he was looking directly into my eyes. Quietly and without taking his eyes off me, he walked around the whole counter over to me, planted a kiss on my mouth and went back to his spot. At first, I was quite surprised and didn’t know what to do about it, then I found it rather funny and thought little of it. A few days later, it happened again. I happened upon* him in the hallway behind the stage and again he took my hand and kissed me. At some point the thought occurred to me, “man, he thinks I’m gay, but I can’t help him with that.” What was really going on, I don’t know. Maybe he meant the kisses as overtures; he was even treated as a closet case by homosexuals.

Hans-Walther (Icke) Braun (a friend of the Beatles in Hamburg)

"What happened," John explained, "is that Eppy just kept on and on at me. Until one night I finally just pulled me trousers down and said to him: 'Oh, for Christ's sake, Brian, just stick it up me fucking arse then.' "And he said to me, 'Actually, John, I don't do that kind of thing. That's not what I like to do.' "'Well,' I said, 'what is it you want to do, then?' "And he said, 'I'd really just like to touch you, John.' "And so I let him toss me off." And that was that. End of story. "That's all, John?" I said. "Well, so what? What's the big fucking deal, then?" "Yeah, so fucking what! The poor bastard. He's having a fucking hard enough time anyway." This was in reference to the "butch" dockers who, on several recent occasions, had rewarded Brian's advances by beating him to a bloody pulp. "So what harm did it do, then, Pete, for fuck's sake?" John asked rhetorically. "No harm at all. The poor fucking bastard, he can't help the way he is." "No need to get so worked up," I said. "You know I don't give a shit. What's a fucking wank between friends anyway?"

Pete Shotton, Nicholas Schaffner, John Lennon: In My Life, 1983

I think he was trying to find himself a… what he’d call a soulmate. Someone who had as mad ideas as he had. I think he felt that she had the talent… but that’s debatable. But he needed that— he didn’t need a ‘mumsie’ partner at that point. He needed a mate. And I think he actually said, at some stage, in an interview that, you know— She’s the nearest thing to a man — a mate; man — that he’s ever had in a woman.

Cynthia Lennon, interviewed by Alex Belfield for BBC Radio (2006).

Paul wrote to me from the Star Club in Hamburg once, a great letter, it even had doodles on the front of it, but it was stolen. He said that in one of the clubs one night John Lennon ended up with a stunning, exotic-looking woman—only to discover on closer inspection that she was a he, which all the other Beatles found hilarious.

Sue Johnston (actress), The Mirror. (August 23rd, 2011)

Though raised amid the same homophobia as his companions, John seemed totally unshocked by St Pauli’s abundant drag scene; indeed, he often seemed actively to seek it out. ‘There was one particular club he used to like,’ Tony Sheridan remembers, ‘full of these big guys with hairy hands, deep voices—and breasts. But they used to make an effort to talk English. There was something about the place that seemed to make John feel at home.’

In John Lennon: The Life by Philip Norman (2008).

“We’d read all these things about leather and we didn’t have any leather but I had my oilskins and we had some polythene bags from somewhere. We all dressed up in them and wore them in bed. John stayed the night with us in the same bed. I don’t think anything very exciting happened and we all wondered what the fun was in being ‘kinky’. It was probably more my idea than John’s.”

Royston Ellis

In the same book Pauline speculates, sensationally, that John and her brother had a homosexual relationship. ‘I have known in my heart for many years that Stuart and John had a sexual relationship,’ she writes, though she fails to provide any firm evidence. Pauline wonders whether this ‘relationship’ was the real cause of the antagonism between Paul and Stu.

Fab, An Intimate Life of Paul McCartney

Journalist & author comments on his sexuality:

“No, he wasn’t sexually attracted to Paul. Paul was very very pretty, but he actually wasn’t someone who made gay men fancy him. John was much more likely to make a gay man like Brian Epstein because John seemed so straight, there was nothing sort of girly about John at all. But John wanted to be, in his mind, a real artist, that is someone who painted and did sculpture. And he thought that a real artist or he called it a bohemian, should be open to all experiences. He should perhaps have a homosexual experience. Who was around? Paul was around. They used to share beds you know, in these cheap hotels when they would go around with the Beatles. There was never any question of Paul ever reciprocating such a thing, it was merely a thought that according to Yoko had flitted across John’s mind. Now John could use sexuality, I mean he did somewhat play on the fact that Brian Epstein, the Beatles manager, was in love with him you know, but it was just a game really with John.”

Philip Norman interview

"Yet even [John's resentment over Paul announcing the breakup first] does not explain his later remark to Yoko that no one had ever hurt him the way Paul hurt him. It almost suggests that, deep beneath the schoolboy friendship and the complementary musical brilliance, lay some streak of homosexual adoration that John himself never realised. He might have longed to get away from Paul, but he could never quite get over him."

Philip Norman, Shout!, 1981

And any mention of Paul brought a wintry bleakness to her face. 'John always used to say,' [Yoko] told me at one point, 'that no one ever hurt him the way Paul hurt him.' The words suggested a far deeper emotional attachment between the two than the world had ever suspected---they were like those of a spurned lover---and I naturally included them in my account of my visit for the Sunday Times. After it appeared, I returned to my London flat one evening to be told by my then girlfriend, ‘Paul, phoned you.’ She said he wanted to know what Yoko had meant and that he’d seemed upset rather than angry.

Paul McCartney: The Life - Philip Norman.

“If you had a choice, Eppy,” John said, “if you could press a button and be hetero, would you do it?” Brian thought for a moment. “Strangely, no,” he said. A little later a peculiar game developed. John would point out some passing man to Brian, and Brian would explain to him what it was about the fellow that he found attractive or unattractive. “I was rather enjoying the experience,” John said, “thinking like a writer all the time: I am experiencing this.” And still later, back in their hotel suite, drunk and sleepy from the sweet Spanish wine, Brian and John undressed in silence. “It’s okay, Eppy,” John said, and lay down on his bed. Brian would have liked to have hugged him, but he was afraid. Instead, John lay there, tentative and still, and Brian fulfilled the fantasies he was so sure would bring him contentment, only to awake the next morning as hollow as before.

Peter Brown, The Love You Make, 1983

“[John and Janov] talked…about Brian Epstein…‘He knew Brian had adored him, and there was a lot of guilt there about the way he'd depended on Brian yet mistreated him,’ Janov recalls. They talked about John's notorious Spanish holiday with Brian in 1963 and the (to John) insignificant physical encounter that had resulted. The more Janov heard about Brian, the more he longed to have had him as a patient. ‘God, that was a tragic story. There was someone who needed therapy even more than John did.’”

Phillip Normans book, John Lennon: The Life.

Whilst the Beatles had always been marketed as a heterosexual group - in contrast with the Stones, whose image was androgynous - they were sympathetic to the homosexual population. Lennon himself was alleged to have had affairs with both men and women, and although he never openly admitted it to me, his condemnation of Britain as a land which feeds on a homosexual subsculture persuades me at this late stage that he was speaking from experience. I am sure that the break-up of the Beatles, or, more specifically, of John and Paul, must have been more traumatic than any of us suspect.

Sandra Shevey, The Other Side of Lennon

‘OK: John Reid said that when we were in Boston with Elton and John in 1974, he couldn’t resist asking John whether the rumours about him and Epstein were true. This was in response to John having said to John Reid, “You’re the most intimidating man I’ve met since Brian Epstein.” And so John Reid, never knowingly one to miss an opportunity, said, “Did you ever have sex with Brian?” And John said, “Twice. Once to see what it was like, and once to make sure I didn’t like it.” ‘All these years, by the way, I have not wanted to be the guy who declared, “John Lennon and Brian Epstein had sex.” You can appreciate how I feel about this. Do we want the historical record to be accurate, or does John have a right to privacy? And would it upset Cynthia [by now deceased], or Julian? I don’t mind about Yoko, she’d probably think it was a great idea. Bisexuality, wooh.’ ‘Simon Napier-Bell said that both Epstein and John told him they did it in Spain,’ I said. ‘Ah, I’m not the only one. Good,’ replied Paul.

...

But then there were John’s liaisons with David Bowie, which David himself told me about. According to him, it happened on several occasions. He didn’t go into detail, nor did I press him, but he was perfectly open about it. About Mick Jagger, too, I told Paul. ‘Huh. I feel sort of left out,’ said Paul.

Paul Gambaccini, Lesley-Ann Jones - The Search for John Lennon

"That Bowie worshipped Lennon was no secret…They'd met in Los Angeles, [Bowie] told me, during John's Lost Weekend…The crazy pair went out to play, according to David, when John was on yet another break from May [Pang] and far away from Yoko. They gender bendered about, John indulging again that 'inner fag' of his… They later 'hooked up': 'There was a whore in the middle, and it wasn't either of us,' David smirked. 'At some point in the proceedings, she left. I think it was a she. Not that we minded.' By the time they made it back to New York, the ambisextrous pair were 'lifelong friends!"

Lesley-Ann Jones - The Search for John Lennon

Marriage, Divorce & replacing Paul with Yoko:

"I used my resentment and withdrawing from Paul and the Beatles and the relationship with Paul to write 'How Do You Sleep?'

John (Source: Bill Harry, The John Lennon Encyclopedia, 2001)

JOHN: In a marriage, or a love affair – when the seven-year-itch or the twelve-year (note: there is no such thing as the twelve year itch but guess how long J&P were together) or whatever these things that you have to go through – there comes a point where the marriage collapses because they can’t face that reality, and they go seeking what they thought they should be having, still, somewhere else. I get a new girl, it’ll all be like that again; I get a new boy… But for all marriages, all couples, it’ll all be the same again. But what you lose is what you put into that… relationship.

September, 1980

There seem to be certain cycles that relationships go through. And the critical points are at different parts of the different cycles, different points on the – if there’s a straight line, there are different points, you know? And the bit, the new way of talking is like, “Well, why have a relationship? We can just stop and get another one.” But the karmic joke about that is, that any new relationship, presuming you’re lucky enough to find a new relationship anywhere near the relationship that you’re giving up – or exchanging, or walking away from, or have destroyed by inattention or inadvertent or selfishness or whatever it is – that you have to go through the same thing again anyway. You reach the same point.

John Lennon, interview w/ David Sheff for Playboy. (September, 1980)

"I'd like to thank Elton and the boys for having me on tonight. We tried to think of a number to finish off with so I can get out of here and be sick, and we thought we'd do a number of an old estranged fiancé of mine called Paul."

John, introducing "I Saw Her Standing There" at the Thanksgiving show at Madison Square Garden in 1974

You know, John loved Paul. No doubt about it. I remember once he said to me, “I’m the only person who’s allowed to say things like that about Paul. I don’t like it when other people do.” He didn’t like if other people said nasty things about Paul. And he always referred to Paul as his estranged fiancé and things like that, like he did on that [live] record ‘I Saw Her Standing There’ with Elton in Madison Square Garden.

1990: Former Beatles publicist Tony King

TRYNKA: When The Beatles split, did you feel relief? YOKO: No. I always thought, “John won’t be doing this thing with The Beatles and eventually I can do my work too.” That was my plan. But suddenly he’s saying, “I burned my bridge with them, so now it’s you, okay?” I thought, “My God, he was getting the thrill of working with three very strong individuals, and now I have to take all that brunt.” He did put it that way; he was “riding on the boat called Paul, and now I’m going to ride on a boat called Yoko.”

Yoko Ono, interview w/ Paul Trynka for MOJO. (May, 2003)

“. . . I mean, I think really what it was, really all that happened was that John fell in love. With Yoko. And so, with such a powerful alliance like that, it was difficult for him to still be seeing me. It was as if I was another girlfriend, almost. Our relationship was a strong relationship. And if he was to start a new relationship, he had to put this other one away. And I understood that. I mean, I couldn’t stand in the way of someone who’d fallen in love. You can’t say, “Who’s this?” You can’t really do that. If I was a girl, maybe I could go out and… But you know I mean in this case I just sort of said, right – I mean, I didn’t say anything, but I could see that was the way it was going to go, and that Yoko would be very sort of powerful for him. So um, we all had to get out the way.”

Paul McCartney, interview with German tv program Exclusiv, April 1985.

BARROW: She was a very strong influence on John, and may well have been telling him that he could do best on his own, but I still think that on the back of John’s mind would be this sort of fascination with wanting to get back with the first girlfriend, if you’d like [laughs], and it was to get back with Paul that he had so much history with.

Tony Barrow, The Beatles’ press officer

"[Paul] said it was written about Julian. He knew I was splitting with Cyn and leaving Julian then. He was driving to see Julian to say hello. He had been like an uncle. And he came up with 'Hey Jude.' But I always heard it as a song to me. Now I'm sounding like one of those fans reading things into it...Think about it: Yoko had just come into the picture. He is saying 'Hey, Jude' - 'Hey, John.' Subconsciously, he was saying, 'Go ahead, leave me.' On a conscious level, he didn't want me to go ahead. The angel in him was saying 'Bless you.' The Devil in him didn't like it at all, because he didn't want to lose his partner."

John (Source: Playboy, 1980)

SALEWICZ: Well, I always found it interesting the fact that he got – I mean, it seemed too much like coincidence to me, the fact that he got married a week or month after you. You know what I mean? PAUL: Yeah. I think we spurred each other into marriage. I mean, you know. They were very strong together, which left me out of the picture. So I got together with Linda and then we got strong with our own kind of thing. And I used to listen to a lot of what they said. I remember him saying to me, “You’ve got to work at marriage,” which is something I still remember as a bit of advice. I still remember that. Um… And then yeah, I think they were a little bit peeved that we got married first. Probably. In a little way, you know, just minor jealousies. And so they got married. I don’t know if that’s – I mean, who knows… [inaudible] making it up, anyway.

September, 1986 (MPL Communications, London): journalist Chris Salewicz

“If you look at interviews and stuff with John, from around about that time he was in Imagine [documentary] he kind of admits that he’s having problems with himself. So, well, the first thing you do when you’re having problems with yourself is you bitch about someone else. And the closest person was me…He had a real go at me. I personally think it was ‘cause he was trying to clear the decks for Yoko. He’s got a new love, he’s trying to say to her, “Look, baby, I love you. I hate those guys.”

Paul McCartney

"The line [the walrus was Paul] was put in partly because I was feeling guilty because I was with Yoko and I was leaving Paul. It's a very perverse way of saying to Paul: 'here, have this crumb, this illusion, this stroke - because I'm leaving.'" -John

Playboy, 1980

JOHN: And throwing in the line “the Walrus was Paul” just to confuse everybody a bit more. And because I felt slightly guilty because I’d got Yoko, and he’d got nothing, and I was gonna quit. [laughs; bleak] And so I thought ‘Walrus’ has now become [in] meaning, “I am the one.” It didn’t mean that in the song, originally. It just meant I’m the – it could have been I’m the – “I’m The Fox Terrier,” you know. I mean, it’s just a bit of poetry.

August, 1980: John talks to Playboy writer David Sheff about ‘Glass Onion’.

"I started thinking, 'Well, if that's the case [not getting back together], I had better get myself together. I just can't let John control the situation and dump us as if we're the jilted girlfriends.'"

The Beatles, Anthology, 1995

“After we’d done the One To One concert film,” recalled Steve Gebhardt, “I remember John saying to me that the days of everything being Johnandyoko – one word – were over. I was shocked.” Ono completed her record, Approximately Infinite Universe, which was greeted more positively than her previous releases. Lennon did his best to publicise it, writing a personal note to the Capitol Records boss asking him to throw the company’s weight behind it. But in mid-January 1973 Lennon and Ono quarrelled publicly at another party. “I wish I was back with Paul,” Lennon reportedly said.

Peter Doggett, You Never Give Me Your Money: The Battle for the Soul of The Beatles. (2009)

YOKO: I think that it’s like [John] was married to Paul, and now he was married to me… So it was a situation that he didn’t feel like he wanted to go back, really. John had a lot of respect for Paul, and of course, love. But I would think that if the truth may be told, the love was lost on both ways. There were times that Paul did say a lot of strange things about John, so that I know that it wasn’t like Paul loved John but John didn’t love Paul, or John actually loved Paul but Paul didn’t. I mean, it was like a very healthy situation where they outgrew each other’s company. And only until John became what he is now – which is after John’s death that people started to revere John – it became an issue for Paul. Because you have to understand that table was turned many times. One, when John made the Jesus Christ remark, and Paul became virtually a leader. And John turned the table on Paul by becoming a partner with me, probably. But then the thing is, the table was turned again by Paul becoming extremely successful with Wings. So he was doing alright, while John did Some Time in New York City with me, and then followed that with Mind Games or something, you know. 1990: Yoko

“They loved each other more than most couples do, and when they split it was more wrenching than most divorces”

Beatles publicist Tony Barrow on Lennon and McCartney

““I’m sure that in the case of Paul there’s that feeling that I’m the woman who took away his partner – it’s like a divorce.””

Yoko Ono (You Never Give Me Your Money, Peter Doggett)

“On March 12, Paul married Linda Eastman at Marylebone Register Office in London, amid scenes of hysterical grief from his female fans. None of the other Beatles was present. The news reached John as he and Yoko were driving down to visit Aunt Mimi in Poole. Yoko’s divorce decree had become final a few weeks earlier, and, in a resurgence of Beatle copycat, John told her they, too, must get married as soon as possible”

Philip Norman, John Lennon: The life

“Then also we were like married, so you got the bitterness. It’s not a woman scorned this time, it’s two men scorned — probably even worse. And I had to make way for Yoko. My relationship with John could not have remained as it was and Yoko feel secure.”

Paul McCartney, Interview by Duncan Fallowell in the Chicago Tribune, October 14th, 1984

Knowing John so well, I believe that the only reason he picked Yoko was [he wanted] a negative reaction. I mean, it was purely a negative reaction because he couldn’t take any more girls in the world, actually. I mean, he knew that he could have any girl. And the girls, that were nice-looking—he couldn’t stand them. I mean, from morning to night, there were girls not boys—actually, running after them. We used to go to his house and think that we are in peace. Suddenly a girl with a broken leg is jumping over John’s fence to, to get an autograph. It was a pain in the neck. John wanted to be with a woman. But he needed as well very, very much a friend. He needed a male friend. And my opinion is that Yoko, he managed somehow to combine both. He had a fear for pretty women running after him. Yoko was not very pretty, uh, at all, and he replaced a male in his life plus a female.

Magic Alex, All You Need Is Love – Peter Brown & Steven Gaines

Jealousy regarding Paul Mccartney: I wouldn't consider any of this especially convincing on it's own, however John's consistent dislike for and rudeness towards Paul's partners is notable

I was a very possessive and jealous guy, and the lyrics explain that pretty clearly. Not just jealous towards Yoko, but towards everything, male and female – incredibly possessive.

1970 (audio snippet approx 2:06)

In an entry noting McCartney’s marriage to Linda Eastman, Lennon crossed out “wedding” and wrote “funeral”, the Observer said.

Associated Press: Lennon’s resentment of McCartney reflected in book notes. (July 20th, 1986)

Q: I saw that thing in The Observer the other week, about the manuscript of the Apple Beatles biography and the vitriolic comments John made in the margins. I think that shows the sort of pain he was going through. Look, he was a great guy, great sense of humour and I’d do it all again. I’d go through it all again, and have him slagging me off again just because he was so great; those are all the down moments, there was much more pleasure than has really come out. I had a wonderful time, with one of the world’s most talented people. We had all that craziness, but if someone took one of your wedding photos and put ‘funeral’ on it, as he did on that manuscript, you’d tend to feel a bit sorry for the guy. I’ll tell you what, if I’d ever done that to him, he would’ve just hit the roof. But I just sat through it all like mild-mannered Clark Kent Q: When did you actually get a perspective on it? I still haven’t. It’s still inside me. John was lucky. He got all his hurt out. I’m a different sort of a personality. There’s still a lot inside me that’s trying to work it out. And that’s why it’s good to see that wedding-funeral bit, because I started to think, ‘Wait a minute, this is someone who’s going over the top. This is paranoia manifesting itself.’ And so my feeling is just like it was at the time, which is like, He’s my buddy, I don’t really want to do anything to hurt him, or his memory, or anything. I don’t want to hurt Yoko. But, at the same time, it doesn’t mean that I understand what went down.

Paul McCartney: An Innocent Man? (October, 1986)

Q: "But for a while you didn't get along with Linda." JOHN: "We all got along well with Linda." Q: "When did you first meet her?" JOHN: "The first time was after that Apple press conference in America. We were going back to the airport and she was in the car with us. I didn't think she was particularly attractive. A bit too tweedy, you know. But she sat in the car and took photographs and that was it. And the next minute she's married him."

John Lennon Interview: St. Regis Hotel, New York City 9/5/1971

One night John came in and some chick was in bed with Paul and he cut all her clothes up with a pair of scissors, and was stabbing the wardrobe. Everybody was lying in bed thinking, ‘Oh fuck, I hope he doesn’t kill me.’ [He was] a frothing mad person—he knew how to have ‘fun.’

George Harrison, c/o Derek Taylor, Fifty Years Adrift. (1984)

"One time Paul had a chick in bed and John came in and got a pair of scissors and cut all her clothes into pieces and then wrecked the wardrobe. He got like that occasionally, it was because of the pills and being up too long."

George Harrison (Source: The Beatles, Anthology, 1995)

"I remember I had a girlfriend called Celia. I must have been 16 or 17, about the same age as her...we went out one evening and for some reason John tagged along, I can't remember why it was. I think he'd thought I was going to see him, I thought I'd cancelled it and he showed up at my house. But he was a mate, and he came on a date with this Celia girl, and at the end of the date she said, 'Why did you bring that dreadful guy?' And of course I said, 'Well, he's all right really.' And I think, in many ways, I always found myself doing that. It was always, 'Well, I know he was rude; it was funny, though, wasn't it?'"

Paul, Barry Miles, Many Years From Now, 1997

I came for dinner, and I was the only girl there. John definitely didn't like that. He didn't like me being there at ALL. He was mean and sarcastic. As far as he was concerned, I had no business being invited to dinner with the four of them. For him this was an exclusive boys' club. He was purposely making me feel uneasy. At one point, the boys were handing around a scrapbook -- looking at pictures of that first tour. John made some snide comment like, "What is SHE doing here?" I got the idea that he thought Paul was an idiot to take a girl so seriously he'd actually invite her to dinner, when all he really needed to do was fuck her AFTER dinner.

Peggy Lipton, Breathing Out, 2005

Whether it was her cool confidence or her posh accent, something about Jane goaded John to direct his caustic eyes in her direction. “Well. Let’s all play a question-and-answer-game!” He announced a bit too cheerily. Then he turned to Jane. “So tell us, luv, how do girls play with themselves?” Silence. Jane’s eyes widened. Paul, sitting close to her on the floor, put his hand in the air, as if he could wave John’s words back into his mouth. “John! John!” he yelped. “Stop it. You can’t do that.” John just smiled, peering intently through his glasses. “No, you can tell us. Come on. We all want to know, come on.” Paul, looking aghast, shook his head vehemently. “John. For christsakes, John.”

Peter Ames Carlin, Paul McCartney: A Life

JOHN: So it was always the family thing, you see. If Jane [Asher] was to have a career, then that’s not going to be a cozy family, is it? All the other girls were just groupies mainly. And with Linda not only did he have a ready-made family, but she knows what he wants, obviously, and has given it to him. The complete family life. He’s in Scotland. He told me he doesn’t like English cities anymore. So that’s how it is. MCCABE: So you think with Linda he’s found what he wanted? JOHN: I guess so. I guess so. I just don’t understand… I never knew what he wanted in a woman because I never knew what I wanted. I knew I wanted something intelligent or something arty, whatever it was. But you don’t really know what you want until you find it. So anyway, I was very surprised with Linda. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d married Jane Asher, because it had been going on for a long time and they went through a whole ordinary love scene. But with Linda it was just like, boom! She was in and that was the end of it.

John Lennon, interview w/ Peter McCabe and Robert Schonfeld. (September, 1971)

Random cute things: flirting etc

I remember we were going down to the studio [...] and there was a great crowd pressing against the car. John was sitting in the back and he said, “Push Paul out first. He’s the prettiest.”

Victor Spinetti, in the documentary You Can’t Do That! The Making of ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ (1995).

We were away. The boys had relaxed. As we walked off to do the next scene, I heard them joshing each other, like schoolboys on the way to class. 'Are those jeans tight, Paul?' That was John. 'What do you mean tight?' 'I can see your suspender belt through 'em and your stockings. You've got ladders in them.'

Up Front: His Strictly Confidential Autobiography by Victor Spinetti

“I could even hear what they were saying off-mike; ‘Oh Paul, you’re so cute tonight.’ was met with the reply ‘Sod off, Lennon.’”

Joan Baez on accompanying the Beatles to their concert in Red Rocks Amphitheatre, Denver. 26 August 1964

To Lennon, [Paul] was "cute, and didn’t he know it," a born performer who was also a "thruster" and an "operator" behind the scenes.

Christopher Sandford, Paul McCartney, 2005

In a late wee-hour-of-the-morning talk, he once told me, ‘I’m just like everybody else Harry, I fell for Paul’s looks.”

Harry Nilsson speaking about John Lennon

HARRY: Someone told me a few minutes ago they saw John walking on the street [once] wearing a sign saying – a button, rather, saying ‘I Love Paul’. And this girl who told me that said she asked him, “Why are you wearing the button that says ‘I Love Paul’?” He said, “Because I love Paul.” [laughs]

February 17th, 1984: Harry Nilsson

PAUL: It’s like, uh, “We have to get back.” “We’re on our way home.” JOHN: Yeah. PAUL: There’s a story. There’s another one – ‘Don’t Let Me Down’. “Oh darling, I’ll never let you down.” Like we’re doing— JOHN: Yeah. It’s like you and me are lovers. PAUL: [reserved] Yeah. [pause] JOHN: We’ll just have to camp it up for those two. PAUL: Yeah. Well, I’ll be wearing my skirt for the show, anyway.

Get Back sessions

PAUL: Okay, “two of us riding nowhere” that’s as if…we’re like…two, but then “we’re on our way home” JOHN: It’s like we’re like a couple of queens. PAUL: Yeah. Well, you know. Well, I mean, that’s… JOHN: We’re a couple of queens… PAUL: That’s just too bad. Unless you want to get Paul and Paula in. Poetic license, John. JOHN: You’re telling me, Paul.

Get Back sessions

#mclennon #paul mccartney #john lennon #the beatles #philip norman's quotes are my favourite #that man deserves an olympic medal in mental gymnastics

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f14fun · 4 months ago

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A Cowgirl's Stars, Stripes, and Speed (!black-!cowgirl-!singer x dr3) (C1)

synopsis: in which case y/n, a bold African American country singer, crosses paths with Daniel, a charming Australian Formula 1 driver, both tipsy and unwound by the night.

prose + smau (20.6K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | next ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

author's note: i desperately had to write a daniel ff, because a) the austin grand prix is nearing and b) i'm terribly sad about his sudden departure. daniel, we all love you so much and wish the best for you! remember to #fea (f' 'em all) <3

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

Austin, Texas had nothing on me.

The dingy little bar — well, to me it was dingy because it was the family bar — was dimly lit, with neon signs casting a faint, almost ghostly glow across the weathered wooden walls. The low hum of chatter mixed with the clink of glasses, and even though it was nearing midnight, the place had only gotten busier. Crowds swayed to the twang of a fiddle in the background, boots stomping across the sticky floor. Outside, the summer heat still clung to the air, making the inside feel close and hazy, like the walls were holding in the laughter and stories of the night.

I’d played more shows here than I could count, my boots leaving their mark on the same stage where my granddaddy used to strum his guitar. Most nights felt predictable, but this one felt different, like the air was charged with something I couldn’t put my finger on.

I wasn’t much for Formula 1 — Texas rodeos and horse racing were more my speed — but I knew every year when the race came through Austin, our little bar saw a wave of tourists eager for a taste of country. And tonight, as I leaned against the bar nursing my bourbon, the buzz of unfamiliar accents swirled around me, a reminder that the city had filled up with people from all over the world, looking for thrills in the dust and heat of Texas.

"Y/N, baby, why don’t you get up there and play a few songs?" my mom said, wiping her hands on a towel as she leaned over the bar. Her voice was soft, but that familiar nudge was behind it — the kind that never really left room for much argument.

I hesitated, swirling the last bit of bourbon in my glass. “I don’t know, Mama... it’s packed tonight,” I replied, glancing around at the sea of faces — mostly tourists, loud and unfamiliar. “Besides, they’re not here for me. Just here for a taste of Texas, right? A rodeo queen, not a country girl with a guitar.”

Mama raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “You’ve got more than a taste of Texas in you. Those folks would be lucky to hear what you can do. You know that.”

I sighed, feeling the weight of her words settle in. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to play — hell, I’d been singing since I could talk and playing guitar since I was old enough to hold one. But growing up Black in a part of Texas where faces like ours weren’t the norm? That always added a little extra pressure.

Even though our family had earned our place here, built up the bar and our name through years of hard work and music passed down through generations, it never really felt like the eyes watching me were just listening to the music. They were measuring us.

But over the years, we’d carved out a space for ourselves. This bar wasn’t just another honky-tonk; it was ours, The Dusty Rose, and people knew us for more than the color of our skin. Mama’s voice, my granddaddy’s songs, and the family’s grit had earned us some respect in this town. Enough that people came back, year after year, to hear us sing, drink our whiskey, and pretend for a while that we were all part of the same big Texas story.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight, with so many new faces and voices in the crowd, I wasn’t sure I had the courage to step up. I glanced down at my guitar leaning against the wall, its strings worn and familiar, waiting for me like it always did.

Mama’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Y/N, you’ve got the talent and the heart. Don’t let anyone else tell you different. You’re gonna get up there and remind them why they keep coming back.”

I wanted to believe her, I really did. But I wasn’t sure if tonight was the night to take on the weight of all those eyes.

I took a deep breath, running my fingers along the worn edge of my glass before setting it down with a soft clink. “Alright, Mama,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “Guess it’s time to remind these folks why The Dusty Rose has lasted this long.”

Mama smiled, that proud, knowing smile she always gave me. I stood up, the familiar click of my cowboy boots echoing on the wooden floor, a steady rhythm that matched my heartbeat. Without another word, I slung my guitar over my shoulder, the weight of it settling comfortably against my back, like an old friend. The crowd was a blur of faces as I walked toward the stage, my pulse steadying with every step.

As I stepped up, I saw Orville already seated behind his drum kit, twirling a stick between his fingers with that lazy confidence of his. His bright blonde hair stuck out in every direction, his face splashed with freckles that made him look like a mischievous kid, though he was older than me by a good ten years. He looked up, grinning wide. “Well, I’ll be damned, look who’s finally decided to grace us with her presence. You plannin’ on singin’ or just standin’ there lookin’ pretty, Y/N?” he teased, tapping his snare for effect.

“Could do both, Orville,” I shot back, my nerves melting a little under the familiar banter.

To the right of him, Clyde was leaning over the keys, his cowboy hat tipped low over his brow. With a name like Clyde and a deep Southern drawl that stretched out his words for days, he was about as country as they came. He looked up at me with a slow nod. “Ain’t no time like midnight for a little serenadin’, huh?” he drawled, cracking a toothy grin. “Folks gonna think you’re singin’ ‘em to bed.”

Then there was Gus, seated on the stool, strumming a lazy rhythm on the bass. He had a scruffy beard, worn jeans, and the kind of build that said he spent just as much time on a ranch as he did on stage. Gus tilted his head and gave me a half-smile. “Late night’s when the magic happens, darlin’. ‘Sides, these tourists don’t know country music 'til they hear it this time of night.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. The boys had been with me long enough to know my patterns, and teasing me for wanting to sing so late was their way of easing my nerves. We’d known each other since grade school — back when Orville was the kid who drummed on lunch tables, Clyde would belt out country tunes during recess, and Gus would pluck at strings made of rubber bands, pretending he had a bass in his hands. Now that we were twenty-two, somehow, we still hadn’t split up. Through all the ups and downs, we stuck together, always finding our way back to this stage.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, strumming a few soft chords to tune my guitar, “you all just wait. We’re about to remind this bar why they keep coming back.”

Orville gave his drums a little roll, Clyde’s fingers hovered over the keys, and Gus plucked the bass with a steady beat, all of them waiting on me to start. It was like second nature, this rhythm we shared, a connection built over years of shared songs and late-night jams.

I took one more deep breath, feeling the energy of the room shift toward the stage, my nerves steadying under the soft glow of the spotlight. Time to show them what The Dusty Rose was really about — and remind myself why we never gave up on this.

I stomped my boots on the worn wooden floor, the solid thud cutting through the clamor of the bar. A few heads turned first, followed by more, until the low murmur of voices quieted down after a couple of cheerful whistles and claps from the regulars.

I stepped up to the mic, adjusting the strap of my guitar on my shoulder. “Hey y’all,” I started, my voice carrying over the room. “For those who don’t know me, I’m Y/N. I’m a small singer-songwriter, born and raised right here in Austin.”

Before I could say another word, Gus chuckled from his spot behind me. “Small, my ass. She’s an enigma, and she’s selling herself short, y’all!”

The room rumbled with a few laughs, and I felt the heat rush to my cheeks as I blushed, turning around to swat him gently on the shoulder. “Gus, you’re lucky I don’t throw my boot at you,” I teased, shaking my head before turning back to the crowd.

“Alright, alright, don’t listen to him,” I said with a smile. “I wanted to play a song tonight that’s a little personal. One I wrote not too long ago... when I found my boyfriend — who, funny enough, was also in the band — cheating on me with my best friend, who used to sing backup vocals.”

A few sympathetic murmurs rose from the crowd, and I could see people shift in their seats, intrigued. “Yeah, it was a mess,” I continued, smiling despite the sting of the memory. “Johnny and Carrie — yeah, those are their real names, y’all — are long gone now. They didn’t just break my heart, they broke the band up too.”

I glanced at Orville, Clyde, and Gus, the ones who’d stuck around. We’d been through hell and back, but we never let anyone tear us down. “But we bounced back. And so did I,” I added with a grin. “This song’s about all that, and how you pick yourself up when the people you trust let you down.”

The room was still, eyes fixed on me as I raised my guitar, fingers poised over the strings. “So, here’s one I like to call Blue.” I stomped my boots once more, giving the boys the cue to kick in. The first slow, mournful chords filled the air, and as I started to sing, the bar held its breath, waiting for the heartache in my voice to tell the rest of the story.

I took a deep breath and let the first notes roll off my tongue, the familiar melody filling the room as my fingers danced across the strings.

"Blue, oh, so lonesome for you Why can't you be blue over me..."

My voice lingered in the air, soft yet steady, as the boys followed in perfect harmony. The crowd had settled into the mood, quiet and still, as if they, too, were feeling the heartache threaded through the lyrics.

"Tears fill my eyes 'til I can't see Three o'clock in the mornin' Here am I, sittin' all alone..."

As I poured myself into the song, my gaze drifted across the room, and that’s when I spotted him. A ruggedly handsome man leaning against the far corner of the bar, his stubble-covered jaw catching the dim light just right, giving him an air of mystery. He had a full head of curls peeking out from under a cowboy hat that didn’t quite fit the way a Texan’s would. He might have been trying to blend in, but it was obvious he wasn’t from around here.

The way he carried himself — that casual yet calculated way of sitting, like he was at ease but somehow apart from it all — made me wonder who the hell he was. Something about him tugged at my attention, even as I sang the words that had been pulling at my heart for months.

"Now that it's over I realize Those weak words you whispered Were nothing but lies..."

My fingers faltered for the briefest second, but I recovered quickly, shaking off the distraction and forcing myself back into the song. Whoever he was, I wasn’t about to let some handsome stranger throw me off my game. Not tonight.

I kept going, but the thought of him lingered at the back of my mind, the heat of his presence warming the room just a little more than it had been before.

The gentle rhythm of Gus’s bass hummed through the room, a steady heartbeat that matched the soulful sway of the song. Each note he plucked seemed to cradle the sadness in my voice, grounding it in something deeper, something raw. Clyde’s fingers danced over the keys, soft and mournful, adding a kind of sweetness to the pain, like the last lingering memory of something you loved but had to let go. Orville’s light taps on the drums gave the song its slow, steady pulse, holding everything together in a rhythm that felt like the ticking of time, dragging me back through memories I’d rather forget.

"Blue, oh, so lonesome for you Why can't you be blue over me..."

The melody wrapped itself around the room, and I could feel the audience sinking into the sadness with me, the song casting a spell over the bar. I was in the zone, letting the music take over, but that rugged stranger in the corner was like a stubborn note I couldn’t shake. His presence tugged at me, even with the sweet sorrow of the keys flowing through the air. He wasn’t watching me like the others; he was studying me, eyes dark under the brim of that cowboy hat that didn’t quite belong.

As my voice rose for the next line, I couldn’t help but glance his way again. His stubbled jaw was clenched like he was thinking hard about something, but there was a glint of something else — maybe curiosity — in his eyes. It unnerved me and fascinated me all at once, the way he didn’t quite fit in, even though he was trying to. And those curls, barely contained by the hat, told me he wasn’t used to this kind of scene. Not here, not in Texas. Not in my bar.

"Now that it’s over I realize Those weak words you whispered Were nothing but lies..."

The bass thudded low, pulling me back into the music. Gus knew just when to make it heavy, the vibrations running through my chest like the ache of an old wound. The keys lifted the sorrow just enough to make it bearable, Clyde’s touch delicate but deliberate. Together, we made the heartache sound beautiful.

But no matter how much I tried to drown myself in the song, I kept catching glimpses of him. The stranger, leaning back casually, his body language saying he was here for the ride, but his eyes telling me there was more to him than that easy posture.

The lyrics fell from my lips, but my mind kept wandering to the question burning in the back of my head: Who was he?

As the final chords of the song rang out, the bar was quiet for a moment, letting the last notes settle before a soft wave of applause rippled through the crowd. I smiled, feeling a strange mix of relief and adrenaline, my heart still thudding in my chest. The boys gave me a few approving nods — Clyde even tipped his hat — and I turned back to the mic, clearing my throat.

“Well, uh, that was a little somethin’ I wrote not too long ago,” I said, feeling the warmth of the stage lights on my face. “If y’all liked it — or if you’re just in the mood to be sad for a bit — it’s out on Spotify, Apple Music, SoundCloud, or whatever platform folks are using these days,” I added with a grin. “I promise, I’ve got some happier stuff too. Probably should’ve started the night off with one of those, huh?”

A few chuckles broke out from the crowd, but one laugh stood out — low and warm, rolling through the room like a wave that hit me square in the chest. It wasn’t like the others. It had weight, something that settled in my stomach and made it twist in a way I wasn’t used to. Almost instinctively, I looked toward the sound, and there he was — the stranger in the corner. His cowboy hat was still tipped low, hiding just enough of his face to make him even more intriguing, but it was the way his eyes locked on mine that made me freeze.

His grin was lazy, like he had all the time in the world, and there was something about the ease of it that made my heart skip a beat. In the soft glow of the bar, it felt like the entire place faded into the background. For a split second, there was nothing but me and him, his gaze holding mine with an intensity I hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just that he was watching me; it was like he saw me, past the stage, past the song, and right into that vulnerable place I tried so hard to guard.

And then, just like that, I became a complete mess. Heat rushed to my face, my skin prickling under the spotlight, and I felt my grip on my guitar falter. “Uh, yeah… so, anyway... that’s me,” I stammered, my voice coming out shaky, the words tumbling over each other as I tried to make a coherent sentence. I could feel the blush creeping up my neck, no matter how hard I willed it to stop, and I quickly looked away, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

But it was too late. The boys behind me noticed — of course they did. I could practically feel Gus grinning at my awkwardness, and Clyde was trying to suppress a chuckle. Orville tapped out a light rhythm on the edge of his drum, clearly enjoying my flustered state. I fumbled with the strap of my guitar, my hands suddenly too shaky to be of any use, my mind still stuck on the way that stranger had looked at me.

I’d performed hundreds of times, faced crowds far bigger than this one, but something about that single moment — that one look from him — had knocked me off balance. My pulse was still racing, and the heat in my cheeks refused to fade. He was just a man, I reminded myself, a guy sitting in the corner of a bar. But it didn’t feel that simple. It felt like he’d peeled back a layer of me in that one glance, leaving me bare under his eyes.

And as I fumbled my way off the stage, trying to get my act together, one thought kept running through my mind: Who the hell is this guy, and why is he making me feel like this?

I cleared my throat and leaned back into the mic with a grin, letting go of the last song’s weight. “Alright, y’all,” I started, flashing a playful smile, “that last one was for all the folks who like to sit and think about their exes at 2 AM — you know who you are,” I added, getting a few chuckles from the crowd.

“But this next one? It’s a little different. We’re gonna turn things up a notch. It’s got a bit of rock in it, so feel free to sing, cry, scream, yell—whatever your heart needs. And if you wanna dance, well, don’t hold back. Just don’t blame me if you’re out of breath by the end!”

The crowd laughed, and I winked. “This one’s called Indifferent, but don’t let the name fool you—it’s anything but.”

I strummed the first few chords, letting the energy shift in the room, and the boys picked up right behind me, Orville giving the drums a little more punch, Clyde leaning into the keys with a rock edge, and Gus keeping the rhythm solid with his bass. I was about to really get into the groove when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him.

The stranger — cowboy hat and all — stood up from his seat, shaking his curls free as he made his way toward a group of people who had started to sway with the beat. And then he started dancing. And I mean really dancing, not just swaying but full-on, carefree moves, like he didn’t give a damn who was watching.

I couldn’t help it — a laugh bubbled up from my chest, and I almost missed a chord as I watched him. He was good, I had to give him that, but there was something about the way he moved that told me he was trying to get my attention. The way he’d glance over every so often, like he wanted to see if I was watching — and yeah, I was watching.

The more he danced, the more I giggled, barely keeping my voice steady as I kept singing. His cowboy hat bobbed up and down as he spun around, clapping along with the beat, and I could tell he was putting on a show, just for me. My eyes met his again, and he shot me a grin, all cocky and playful, making my heart skip a beat.

I shook my head, trying to focus on the song, but the sight of him — carefree, handsome, and definitely showing off — made it hard to keep my cool. My voice caught just a little as I sang the next line, and I could feel my face heating up again, but this time, I was more amused than flustered.

Oh, he’s trying to impress me, I thought with a smirk. And I couldn’t lie, it was kinda working.

I leaned into the mic, my voice steady as I sang the next line, feeling the shift in energy from the crowd.

"I see your truck and I don't give a—"

Before I could even finish, the crowd roared in unison, screaming out the word I didn’t have to sing. “FUCK!” Their voices echoed off the walls, a mix of laughter and rebellion, and I grinned wide.

But the loudest voice? That came from him.

“FUCK!” he yelled, right along with the crowd, his grin even wider now as he danced like no one was watching — except everyone was. His cowboy hat tipped back as he threw his arms up, and I swear, he looked like he was having the time of his life.

I couldn’t help it — I laughed, nearly missing the next line as I watched him throw himself into the moment. My cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so hard, but I kept going, feeding off the energy around me.

"And it don't make my heart skip a beat," I sang, almost giggling through the words, but his eyes were on me again, catching mine as he clapped along with the beat. His dancing had turned into full-on jumping now, and I could see a few others joining in, all feeding off his wild, carefree energy. He was having a blast, and even though I was up on stage, I felt like I was right there with him, swept up in the fun.

I saw him glance at me again, this time with a playful wink, like he knew exactly what he was doing. My heart did that weird little flip again, and I almost tripped over the next verse, the heat creeping up my face once more.

He’s definitely showing off now, I thought, trying to keep my focus on the music. But I couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped as I strummed through the chorus. His dance moves might’ve been reckless, but they were working. The crowd was loving him, and so, apparently, was I.

I sang the next line, my voice steady but my heart racing a little faster as his grin widened, his eyes locked on mine. I wasn’t sure what got into me, maybe it was the way he looked so carefree, so unbothered by the world around him, or maybe it was just the thrill of the moment — but before I could stop myself, I tilted my head toward the stage, beckoning him with a playful nod.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised, but that grin of his never wavered. The crowd cheered him on as he took a few exaggerated, swaggering steps toward the stage, his cowboy hat tipped back and curls bouncing with every step. I laughed, my own confidence rising, and held out my hand as he made his way up.

He took it, and in an instant, we were standing side by side, the crowd going wild as we started to sway together in time with the music. His hand found its way to the small of my back, and I could feel the warmth of it even through my shirt.

The moment felt... electric.

We kept swaying, his towering frame almost comical next to mine, but somehow it worked. His eyes never left mine, and for a split second, it felt like we were the only two people in the room. The music kept going, but everything else seemed to blur into the background. I could see the playful glint in his eyes, the way he seemed to be daring me to look away — but I didn’t.

He leaned down just a bit, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke, his voice low and teasing. “Not bad for a country girl,” he said with a wink.

I giggled, blushing like a schoolgirl as I tried to keep my cool. “Not bad for a guy who’s clearly not from around here,” I shot back, but my voice wavered just a little, betraying how much his presence was throwing me off.

We kept swaying, our bodies moving in perfect rhythm, the lights catching the gleam in his eyes as we held each other's gaze. He towered over me, but I didn’t feel small — not with him, not in this moment. It felt like the rest of the world had faded away, and all that was left was the two of us, swaying together under the soft glow of the stage lights.

I took a deep breath, trying to refocus as the music carried me back into the song, but it wasn’t easy. His presence behind me was impossible to ignore, like he was right there, even though we weren’t touching anymore. My skin tingled with awareness, and I could feel the heat rising to my neck, warming me from the inside out. We were both tipsy, the drinks and the night making everything feel a little looser, a little more charged. But the way he was standing so close—his warmth practically wrapping around me—made it harder to concentrate.

"I'm indifferent, I'm just livin' When your mama calls, I'm reminded you exist And I wish that she didn't 'Cause all my 'give-a-damns', they've already been given..."

My voice stayed steady, but I could feel my heart thudding faster with every word. The crowd was clapping along, some of them singing the lyrics back to me, but all I could think about was him. I knew he was still behind me, standing tall, his presence so strong I could almost feel it on my skin.

As I sang, my breath caught just a little when I felt him shift closer, the slightest brush of his arm near my shoulder. It was nothing, really, just a subtle movement, but it sent a rush of heat up the back of my neck, making my pulse race. My voice wavered for just a second, and I bit my lip, hoping no one noticed how distracted I was.

But I knew he did. I could feel his gaze on me, even though I couldn’t see him.

I played a few more songs, each one building on the last, the energy in the room rising with every note. The crowd was alive now, swaying, clapping, and singing along. I felt a rush of adrenaline pumping through me, the nerves from earlier completely gone, replaced by this wild confidence I hadn’t felt in a long time. The music was in my veins, lifting me up, and for the first time all night, I felt completely at ease on stage.

But even with the thrill of the crowd, my thoughts kept drifting back to him. I could feel his presence in the room, like a constant hum just below the surface, and every time I caught a glimpse of his curls or that easy grin from across the bar, my pulse quickened.

As the final chord of my last song rang out, I stepped away from the mic, feeling a surge of applause wash over me. I grinned, tipping my hat to the crowd, but my eyes were searching for him. And then, there he was, standing near the bar, his gaze locked on mine. The cheers of the crowd faded into the background, everything else becoming a blur as I zeroed in on him.

Before I could even believe it, my feet started moving. It was like my body had a mind of its own, dragging me toward him before my brain could even catch up. Each step felt like I was crossing some invisible line, the adrenaline still coursing through me, making me feel bold, invincible.

I wasn’t thinking about anything else but the way his eyes held mine, steady and sure, as I made my way across the room. It was like gravity was pulling me toward him, and I wasn’t about to fight it. Before I knew it, I was standing right in front of him, close enough to catch the faint scent of cologne and the hint of whiskey on his breath.

My heart pounded in my chest, and I could feel the heat rising to my face again, but I wasn’t about to turn back. Not now. He gave me that same lazy grin, tipping his hat just slightly as his eyes twinkled with amusement, like he knew exactly what I was feeling.

I opened my mouth to say something — anything — but the words got stuck somewhere between my head and my heart. All I knew was that I wasn’t leaving this bar without knowing who the hell this guy was.

He looked down at me, that lazy grin spreading wider as he tipped his hat back just a bit, giving me a full view of those mischievous eyes. “Well, if I knew your singing was that good, I would’ve pretended to break my heart a long time ago,” he said, his voice low and teasing, with just a hint of an accent that wasn’t from around here.

I blinked, caught completely off guard, and then burst into a laugh I hadn’t expected. “You’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that to get a song out of me,” I shot back, still feeling the heat in my cheeks but trying to keep my cool.

He chuckled, leaning in just a little, close enough that I could feel the warmth coming off him. “Lucky for you, I’m not lookin’ to break any hearts tonight — just thought I’d make an impression.”

My heart skipped a beat as our eyes met again, and before I could help it, I smiled. “I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job of that,” I muttered, trying not to trip over my own words.

He straightened up, giving me a playful wink. “Well, I aim to please, darlin’.”

I raised an eyebrow, feeling bolder than I had all night, and shot him a smirk. “You look like you love me,” I teased, the words slipping out with more confidence than I thought I had. The line from that song was on the tip of my tongue, and it felt just right for the moment.

His grin widened, and for a split second, he looked like I’d caught him off guard. But then he leaned in just a little, his voice low and smooth. “Well, maybe I do,” he said, the teasing tone still there but with just enough seriousness to make my heart skip.

I swallowed hard, my pulse racing as I met his gaze, my smirk fading into something softer. “Careful,” I replied, my voice quieter now, “you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

He chuckled, that lazy grin still in place. “Maybe I like the sound of that.”

I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes at him with a playful smirk. “I saw you lookin’ me up and down from across the room,” I teased, raising an eyebrow. “You weren’t exactly being subtle.”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling as he leaned a little closer, clearly enjoying the banter. “Subtle’s never been my strong suit,” he shot back, his voice low and smooth. “But hey, can you blame me? You were up there making it pretty hard not to look.”

I bit my lip, fighting back a laugh as I shook my head. “You got a lot of nerve saying that out loud, you know.”

He shrugged, the grin never leaving his face. “Just calling it like I see it. You’re the one who beckoned me up here, remember?”

I rolled my eyes, trying to keep my composure, but I could feel the heat in my cheeks again. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m not subtle either.”

He tilted his head, giving me that same cocky grin. “No complaints here, darlin’.”

I laughed, shaking my head at his audacity. “Alright, mystery man, you’ve been charming me for the last few minutes, but you haven’t even told me your name yet.”

He leaned back slightly, tipping his hat with a playful glint in his eyes. “Name’s Daniel,” he said, his accent wrapping around the words just right. “And you, miss, have definitely made this night a lot more interesting.”

“Well, Daniel,” I replied, giving him a once-over just like he had done to me earlier, “I think the feeling’s mutual.”

I raised an eyebrow, still grinning as I asked, “So, where’s that accent of yours from? I know it ain’t local.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, before answering, “Perth. Australia.”

I blinked, genuinely surprised. “Australia, huh? Never been there before.” I paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. “Heard it’s nice, though. Beaches and all that.”

Daniel nodded, his grin widening a bit. “Yeah, we’ve got the beaches. But it’s more than just that. You should visit sometime, I’d make a pretty good tour guide.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Oh, I bet you would,” I said, trying to imagine what it would be like to visit a place so far from Texas. “Sounds like a whole world away from here.”

“It is,” he admitted, his eyes locking on mine again. “But I reckon you’d fit in just fine.”

I tilted my head, feeling a smirk pull at the corner of my lips. “Oh, you think so? I’m not exactly the ‘surf and sand’ kind of girl. I’m more boots and dirt roads.”

Daniel chuckled, his gaze still holding mine, like he was seeing straight through the sass and into something deeper. “I dunno, I think you could rock the Aussie lifestyle. Maybe even swap those boots for some thongs,” he teased, leaning in just enough to close the space between us a little more.

I blinked, the word catching me off guard, and then burst into laughter. “What the fuck are thongs?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “You Aussies have some weird ideas about footwear.”

Daniel paused for a second, then laughed, realizing his mistake. “Oh, right... over here, thongs are something else entirely,” he said, his grin turning a little mischievous. “In Australia, they’re just flip-flops. But I like where your mind went.”

I felt my face flush, a mix of the whiskey and the sudden innuendo hitting me all at once. “Well, maybe you should clarify next time,” I shot back, trying to sound confident despite the warmth creeping up my neck. “I was starting to think you had some very bold ideas for this first conversation.”

He smirked, leaning in just a little closer. “Trust me, if I wanted to make a bold suggestion, I wouldn’t be talking about footwear.” His voice dropped low, teasing, as he let the words hang between us.

My heart skipped a beat, and I fought the urge to stammer. “Well, good to know,” I managed to reply, my voice quieter now, my gaze locked on his. “But for the record, boots are staying. Thongs or no thongs.”

He chuckled, the laughter low and warm, and I could feel the space between us shrink even more. “Noted,” he said, his eyes twinkling with that same playful spark. “But if you ever change your mind, I’ll be here to help you pick the right pair.”

I smirked, shaking my head, but before I could respond, he tilted his head, still grinning like he had a whole world of charm left to unleash.

“Well, if I can make it out here to a bar in Texas, maybe one day you could try Australia. I’d personally make sure it’s worth your while.”

I raised an eyebrow, amused by his confidence. “Big promises, Daniel from Perth. You must think pretty highly of your tour guide skills.”

He shrugged, a playful glint still in his eyes. “Just sayin’, you might find there’s more to life than boots and honky-tonks. Besides,” he added, his voice lowering slightly, “I’d make sure you’d never forget it.”

My heart skipped a beat, his words sending a rush of warmth through me. I could feel the heat creeping up my neck again, but I wasn’t about to back down. “Careful now,” I replied, my voice soft but steady, “I’m not so easily impressed.”

Daniel grinned, tipping his hat slightly as he leaned back. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to work a little harder then, won’t I?”

I grinned at him, crossing my arms as I leaned against the bar. “You’ve got a lot of confidence, Daniel from Perth. But I’ve been around enough smooth talkers to know when someone’s bluffing.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning in just enough to keep the playful tension in the air. “Bluffing? I don’t bluff. Just telling it like it is.” He motioned to the bartender. “Let me prove it to you. First round’s on me.”

I laughed, shaking my head but not protesting as the bartender slid two drinks our way. “Fine, I’ll bite,” I said, taking the glass. “But I’ll have you know, Texans can hold their liquor, and I’m not easy to out-drink.”

Daniel’s grin only widened. “Oh, I’ve got my work cut out for me, then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

We clinked our glasses together, and before I knew it, the drinks were flowing just as easily as the conversation. Time seemed to blur, the crowd around us fading into the background as we swapped stories and traded teasing remarks. My guitar, once my only focus of the night, now sat forgotten against a pole near the bar, its case propped up and covered with old stickers and layers of chipped paint from the years of wear. But I didn’t care.

“Okay, I have to ask,” I said, my words slightly slurred from the whiskey but still full of curiosity. “How does a guy from Australia end up here, of all places? Texas isn’t exactly next door.”

He took a long sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine. “Racing,” he replied simply, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “I travel a lot for it. Came for the Austin Grand Prix. Thought I’d stop by a local bar, get a feel for the place. Lucky me, huh?”

I felt the warmth from the drinks spreading through me, loosening me up even more. “Racing, huh? So, what, you’re like a big-time driver?” I teased, nudging him with my elbow.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Something like that. But tonight, I’m just a guy trying to keep up with a Texas girl who’s got a pretty good whiskey tolerance.”

I grinned, feeling the heat in my cheeks and not just from the alcohol. “Well, you’re doing alright so far. But don’t think a few drinks and a smile are gonna get you off the hook that easy.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Daniel said, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down my spine. His eyes held mine for a moment longer than I expected, and I could feel my heart race a little faster.

We laughed together, leaning in closer, drinks in hand, the weight of the night slipping away. The bar around us blurred into the background, as if it didn’t matter anymore — just the two of us, the warmth of his touch, the easy rhythm of our conversation, as natural as the music I’d been playing hours ago. Our hands brushed more often, his arm finding its way around my shoulder, his fingers trailing down my back in moments that felt casual but were charged with something more.

Before I knew it, we were touching more than talking — my hand resting on his arm, his thumb grazing the small of my back. The buzz of the alcohol had me feeling light, and every time his fingertips lingered a little longer, a blush crept up my neck. I could feel the heat of his breath as he leaned closer to whisper something that had us both giggling again.

The next thing I knew, we were stumbling out of the bar, calling an Uber, the cool night air doing nothing to shake the warmth between us. The ride was a blur of drunken laughter, our legs pressing against each other as his arm wrapped snugly around my waist. The city lights flew by in a haze, but all I could focus on was the way his touch made my heart race. His grip on me tightened, pulling me closer, and I was too drunk and too tipsy to even pretend not to blush.

Then, suddenly, we were back at his hotel room. The door clicked shut behind us, and we both broke into a fit of giggles, stumbling inside like we were sneaking in after curfew. His arm never left my waist, and I couldn’t stop the butterflies in my stomach as he pulled me against him, the warmth of his body sending a shiver down my spine.

“Shhh,” I whispered between giggles, trying to stifle the sound, but it was impossible when he looked at me with that boyish grin, like he was having the time of his life.

“Quiet was never my strong suit,” he whispered back, his lips brushing against my ear as he spoke, sending another wave of heat through me. I blushed even harder, barely able to keep my composure as he pressed his forehead against mine, his hand resting on my hip like he never wanted to let go.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, every inch of me aware of his body so close, his touch gentle but firm, like he was holding back just enough. His breath was warm against my skin, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along my side, and the more he touched me, the more I felt my resolve slipping.

I let out a soft, nervous laugh, trying to shake off the tension building between us, but it only made him grin wider. “You’re really bad at this whole ‘quiet’ thing,” I teased, my voice barely above a whisper as my hand slid up to rest against his chest. I could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat under my palm, and the closeness of it all made my own pulse race.

He chuckled softly, his hand tightening just slightly on my hip. “Yeah, well, it’s hard to stay quiet when I’m this close to you,” he murmured, his voice low and full of something deeper than just the alcohol. His eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, everything else fell away. It was just us, standing there, barely holding it together in the haze of the night.

Before I could think about it, I found myself leaning in, my breath catching as his lips brushed against mine, soft and teasing. It wasn’t a full kiss — just the faintest touch — but it sent a jolt through me that made my knees weak. I blushed again, harder this time, but I didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

Instead, he smiled against my lips, his hand sliding up from my hip to gently cup my face, his thumb brushing across my cheek. “You’re blushing again,” he whispered, and I could hear the teasing note in his voice.

“Shut up,” I mumbled, but there was no hiding the heat in my cheeks or the way I was leaning into him, my body betraying how much I wanted to be close.

We started kissing, and the night blurred together, in a mess of liquor, sticky kisses, and well what do you know, my guitar lay upright against a chair, watching the entire thing.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

I didn’t know where the fuck I was.

I blinked, staring up at a ceiling that definitely wasn’t mine, with sheets that smelled way too expensive for my budget. My head was pounding like I’d been hit by a freight train, and as I tried to roll over, something — no, someone — stopped me.

That’s when I felt it.

An arm. A very muscular arm. Draped over me like we were starring in a rom-com, except I definitely didn’t remember signing up for this role.

I squinted around the room, trying to piece together the disaster that was my life. My shirt was flung haphazardly across a chair, my boots were tipped over near the door, and... was that his cowboy hat sitting on the dresser? Oh god.

Oh god, no.

And then it all came rushing back — the whiskey, the dancing, the flirting, the thongs conversation. And then, as if on cue, the faint sound of an alarm started buzzing on his phone, because apparently this guy sets alarms like a responsible adult after a night of drunken debauchery.

“Well, shit,” I muttered under my breath.

I lay there, trying to pretend I was still asleep, or dead, or invisible—any of which would be preferable to dealing with the fact that I had absolutely no idea what to do next. Daniel’s arm was still heavy around my waist, his slow, steady breathing telling me he hadn’t woken up yet.

Okay, Y/N, just stay calm. Maybe he won’t even remember… Or maybe you can just ninja your way out of this without waking him up.

I carefully, carefully shifted my leg, inching toward freedom, but the moment I tried to move, Daniel stirred. His arm tightened around me slightly, and I froze, heart pounding in my chest like it was trying to break free and escape the situation without me.

Please don’t wake up. Please just keep dreaming about kangaroos or whatever it is Australians dream about...

But then I felt him shift again. This time, he let out a low, sleepy groan. Oh god. He was waking up. I could feel the warmth of his breath against the back of my neck, and my entire body went stiff, like maybe if I played dead, he’d just go back to sleep.

But nope.

I heard him take a deep breath, and then his groggy voice cut through the awkward silence. “Morning, darlin’.”

Shit.

His voice was raspy, deep, and far too casual for someone who had a front-row seat to my current state of oh-my-god-what-have-I-done. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the ground to just swallow me whole, but apparently, the universe didn’t grant those kinds of wishes.

I cleared my throat, still trying to stay as still as possible, like maybe if I didn’t move or respond, this entire moment would cease to exist. “Uh… morning,” I finally muttered, my voice betraying me with a nervous crack.

I could feel him shift behind me, and then — to my absolute horror — he pulled me in closer, his arm still firmly wrapped around my waist. Great. Now I’m spooning a guy I barely know, and I don’t even have a shirt on. What a stellar life choice, Y/N.

“So… how’re you feelin’?” he asked, his voice low and way too smooth for a guy who probably didn’t have a hangover.

How am I feeling? Like I’ve just woken up in a rom-com, except the comedy is my life falling apart, I thought, but instead, I just blurted, “Fine. Totally fine.”

My face was heating up again. I was like a human tomato at this point. I could feel him smiling behind me, like he was enjoying the fact that I was internally combusting.

“You don’t sound fine,” he teased, his voice dipping into that playful tone that I was beginning to realize was very dangerous for me.

I finally turned my head just enough to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye. He had that messy bedhead look going on — the kind that shouldn’t be attractive but somehow was, and that damn lazy grin hadn’t left his face.

“Listen,” I said, trying to inject some semblance of control into my voice, “we’re just gonna pretend like none of this happened, okay?”

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, sending a shiver down my spine. “You mean the part where you dragged me back to my room, or the part where you kept giggling every time I tried to be quiet?”

My eyes widened. “I did not drag you back here!”

“Yeah, I think the Uber driver might disagree with that,” he replied, his grin widening.

I groaned, pulling the blanket over my head. “I cannot believe this is happening.”

“You and me both, darlin’,” he said, chuckling again as he gave my waist a playful squeeze. “But I gotta say, I’m not exactly complaining’.”

I let out a nervous laugh from under the blanket, but inside, I was mortified. I wasn’t the type to have one-night stands—like, ever. The last time I had one was three years ago, before Johnny and I started dating. And even then, I’d sworn it off because of how awkward and weird the whole thing felt afterward.

And the last time I’d had sex? Six months ago. Six. I wasn’t even sure how I managed last night, let alone with someone as confident and charming as Daniel. I didn’t do this. I wasn’t that girl who woke up in a stranger’s bed with her shirt somewhere across the room and no memory of how she got there.

I peeked out from under the blanket, feeling my face burning hotter by the second. “I just… I don’t do this. Like, ever.”

Daniel propped himself up on one elbow, still grinning like this was the most entertaining morning he’d had in a while. “Really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Could’ve fooled me. You seemed like a pro last night.”

My eyes widened in horror. “Oh my god, don’t say that,” I groaned, burying my face back into the pillow. “This is so embarrassing.”

He laughed, his voice softening just a little. “Hey, no need to be embarrassed. We were both tipsy, had a good time, and now we’re just... waking up. Happens to the best of us.”

I peeked out from the pillow again, trying to gauge if he was just messing with me or being sincere. But the easygoing look on his face hadn’t changed. He didn’t seem fazed at all, while I was over here spiraling.

I let out a slow breath, trying to calm the chaotic thoughts running through my head. Okay, maybe I could play it cool too—pretend like I wasn’t freaking out. But as I shifted under the blanket, trying to figure out how to extract myself from this mess, I felt a sudden, horrifying realization.

No bra.

I stiffened, my eyes darting around the room, desperately trying to remember where the hell it went. My shirt was across the room, but no sign of the bra. Oh god.

I glanced at Daniel, who was watching me with that amused grin still plastered on his face. He noticed the moment I realized it—of course he did. His grin widened, and before I could even attempt to form a coherent excuse, he raised an eyebrow and deadpanned, “Looking for something, darlin’? Because I’m not sure it’s gonna walk back over here on its own.”

My face turned beet red. “I—uh—this is just…” I stammered, covering myself with the blanket more securely, like that would magically undo everything.

He let out a chuckle, clearly enjoying every second of my mortification. “Don’t worry, your shirt’s over there, and I think your bra… well, it might’ve decided to take an extended vacation,” he teased, pointing toward the floor, where it lay crumpled in the corner like some sort of defeated symbol of my night.

I buried my face in my hands, laughing despite myself. “This is so not how I thought my night would end,” I mumbled through my fingers.

Daniel leaned in, still grinning like the cat who got the cream. “If it helps, I think you handled yourself pretty damn well for someone who doesn’t ‘do this,’” he teased, his voice full of playful charm.

I groaned, unable to stop the embarrassed laughter bubbling out of me. “Oh my god, stop,” I muttered, half laughing, half dying inside. But there was something about his laid-back attitude, the way he wasn’t making this feel weird or awkward, that made me feel just a little better.

At least one of us was good at handling this kind of thing.

I couldn’t stop laughing now, even though every cell in my body wanted to melt into the mattress and disappear. But Daniel wasn’t letting up, his teasing coming in waves.

“You know,” he said with a grin, “I’ve heard of people losing their dignity after a night like this, but you managed to misplace your bra too. That’s impressive.”

I rolled my eyes, still hiding my face in my hands. “Oh, ha ha, very funny. Maybe I’ll just stay under this blanket forever.”

He chuckled again, sitting up slightly and stretching, looking way too comfortable considering the situation. “Can’t say I blame you. This bed is pretty damn nice. But I’m starting to think you’re just stalling because you don’t want to leave me.”

I shot him a glare, trying to smother the blush on my cheeks. “I’m not stalling. I’m just… regrouping.”

“Right,” he nodded sagely. “Regrouping. Take all the time you need, darlin’. I’ll just be over here, admiring your tactical approach to gathering your scattered clothing.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, finally throwing the blanket off and clumsily scrambling out of bed. My hair was a mess, and I was pretty sure I looked like I’d just survived a tornado, but I was determined to reclaim some shred of dignity. As I stumbled over to where my shirt lay crumpled across the chair, Daniel’s voice piped up again.

“Wow,” he said, a little quieter this time, and I turned to see him watching me with an entirely different look—more serious, though still with that glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I gotta say, you’re even more beautiful in the morning.”

I paused, my hand halfway to my shirt, and felt my heart do a little flip. “Really?” I asked, trying not to sound too flustered as I glanced at him.

He nodded, that easy smile still on his face but softer now. “Yeah. Really.”

I stared at him for a second, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks again but in a different way this time. There was something about the way he said it, so casual and genuine, that made me stop caring so much about the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Well,” I said, finally grabbing my shirt and pulling it over my head, “you’re not too bad yourself… for someone who’s spent the night making terrible jokes at my expense.”

Daniel laughed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “I can’t help it. You make it way too easy.”

I shook my head, still smiling, as I gathered the rest of my things. “Yeah, yeah. Keep talking. I’ll be sure to remember all of this next time I decide to ‘misplace’ my bra.”

Daniel grinned, watching as I gathered up the last of my things, still laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Well, if you ever need help finding it again,” he said smoothly, leaning back on his elbows and looking up at me with that lazy smile, “you might wanna give me a way to contact you.”

I paused, looking over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, you think you’re slick, huh?”

He shrugged, giving me an innocent look that was anything but. “Just thinking ahead. In case you lose any more important items in the future… like your phone, your hat—hell, your sense of direction, since you clearly needed help last night.”

I rolled my eyes, laughing. “You really think I’m gonna fall for that?”

He tilted his head, flashing a charming grin. “Darlin’, you already fell for it.”

I let out an exasperated sigh, but there was no denying the grin on my face as I grabbed his phone from the nightstand. “Fine, I’ll put my number in your phone. But if I get any messages about lost bras, I’m blocking you,�� I teased, typing my number into his contacts and tossing the phone back to him.

He caught it effortlessly, grinning as he glanced down at the screen. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, winking. “Unless you’re the one sending me a distress call next time.”

I shook my head, smirking as I turned toward the door. “You wish.”

“Already do,” he called out behind me, his voice playful and teasing, but with just enough sincerity to make my heart skip a beat as I left the room.

As soon as I stepped out of the room and into the hallway, I let out a long breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. Relief washed over me, but so did the heat rising up my neck and into my cheeks. Holy hell, I actually survived that.

I stood there for a moment, my heart still racing from the whirlwind of the morning. Daniel’s playful smirk, his damn smooth lines—it was all still buzzing in my head, and the fact that I’d somehow managed to walk away with my dignity (mostly) intact felt like a miracle.

But then I caught sight of myself in the mirror at the end of the hallway. Oh no.

I was a mess. My hair looked like it had been through a windstorm, and my shirt from last night was wrinkled beyond repair. The smudged mascara under my eyes was giving me a whole new level of “walk of shame,” and I couldn’t help but cringe at my reflection.

This is what I left the room looking like? Oh, great.

I quickly ran my fingers through my hair, trying to smooth out the wild tangles and make myself look at least halfway decent. I tugged at the hem of my shirt, trying to straighten it out, but no matter what I did, it still screamed “last night’s mistakes.” I wiped away the smudged mascara with the edge of my sleeve, doing my best to clean up the damage.

My cheeks were still flushed from the sheer embarrassment of it all, and no amount of quick fixes was going to change the fact that I had just walked out of a guy’s hotel room looking like a hot mess. I bit my lip, shaking my head at myself in the mirror, my heart still pounding in my chest.

“Well, this is a look,” I muttered to myself, giving my reflection one last, exasperated glance before squaring my shoulders and heading for the elevator. Just get out of here, Y/N. Fast.

I smoothed my hair down one last time, took a deep breath, and headed toward the elevator, praying no one else in the hallway had witnessed my tragic attempt at post-hookup self-repair. The faster I got out of this hotel, the better. I was already pressing the elevator button repeatedly like I could summon it faster through sheer desperation.

Come on, come on…

Finally, the doors slid open, and I practically leaped inside. But the universe had other plans for me, because standing right there, already in the elevator, were Carrie and Johnny.

My heart stopped. I almost crapped my panties.

Carrie, my ex-best friend. Johnny, my ex-boyfriend. Of course they were here. Of all the elevators in this damn hotel. My stomach dropped as the realization hit me like a freight train, and suddenly I was right back in the middle of the heartbreak they’d both caused, except this time I looked like I’d just rolled out of a frat party.

I stared at them, my mind racing, wondering if I could somehow reverse time and avoid stepping into this death trap. But it was too late. I was standing there, and they were looking at me. Johnny’s eyes flicked up and down, taking in my rumpled clothes and messy hair. Carrie’s smile faltered, and her eyes widened, like she was realizing exactly what kind of morning I was having.

Fantastic. Just fantastic.

“Y/N?” Carrie’s voice was soft but laced with that familiar fake concern. “Wow, it’s been a while.”

Johnny just stood there, staring, that stupid, unreadable look on his face. He didn’t say anything, but the awkward silence hung in the air like a thick cloud.

I forced a tight smile, trying not to visibly cringe. “Yeah, well... things have been... busy.”

The elevator doors closed with a quiet thud, sealing me in with them. It was, without a doubt, the longest elevator ride of my life. I could feel Johnny’s eyes on me, that same calculating gaze that used to make me second-guess everything I said. And Carrie? She had that look on her face—the one that said she was definitely going to gossip about this later.

I stared straight ahead, willing the elevator to move faster, trying to breathe through the tension. Every second felt like an eternity, the silence only broken by the soft hum of the elevator as it slowly, agonizingly descended.

My mind raced. Of all the mornings to run into them, this had to be the one where I was dressed in last night’s wrinkled shirt, and my hair looked like it had gone to war with a curling iron. The fact that I’d just come from Daniel’s hotel room made it worse. Much worse.

I could feel the heat creeping up my neck again, but this time, it wasn’t from embarrassment over Daniel. It was from pure mortification.

Finally—finally—the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to the lobby. I didn’t waste a second. “Well, this has been… fun,” I said, voice tight, and bolted out of the elevator like my life depended on it.

Behind me, I could feel their eyes still on me, and I could practically hear Carrie’s voice in my head already: Did you see Y/N this morning?

Kill me now.

As soon as I stepped out of the elevator and into the hotel lobby, the reality of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks. I stopped dead in my tracks, my heart dropping into my stomach. Oh no. No, no, no.

This wasn’t just any hotel.

This was Carrie’s hotel. Her family’s pride and joy. The one I had spent countless summer nights in when we were best friends, long before everything fell apart. Out of all the hotels in Austin, Daniel had to be staying at the one owned by Carrie’s family.

I groaned internally, my mind reeling. Of course, this was how my morning would go. The universe just loved to test me, apparently. I could already imagine Carrie’s smug little face, probably telling her family all about how I’d been seen leaving some guy’s room at her family’s hotel, looking like a mess. And Johnny—ugh, Johnny—had been right there to see it all, too. The two of them were probably plotting how to make this even more humiliating for me.

I felt my cheeks burn again, but this time it wasn’t from embarrassment. It was from sheer frustration. Out of all the places Daniel could have stayed, this had to be the one. What were the odds?

I shook my head, trying to compose myself, but the realization only made me want to crawl under a rock even more. Not only did I have the most awkward elevator ride in history with my cheating ex and ex-best friend, but now I was in their territory. This was their turf, and I just walked straight into it with no idea.

This day just keeps getting better and better, I thought bitterly, glancing around to make sure neither of them had followed me out of the elevator.

I glanced back at the lobby, memories flooding back from when Carrie and I used to run around this very place, pretending we were in some grand adventure. Funny how things had changed. So much for avoiding drama.

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yourusername

liked by user1, user2, and 10,289 others

yourusername: t-3 days until my sophomore album "The Cowgirls, Guns, & Horses" comes out, can't wait for everyone to hear it #tcgh

user1: i'm wayyy too excited for #tcgh i just know ts is too good

user2: everyone say amen for y/n for dropping out of uni to bless us with amazing music

user3: yeah it's literally crazy too , like she was going to be an engineer and literally quit her last year...😦😦

user2: it's lowkey sad but AT LEAST WE HAVE MUSICCC YASSS

user4: guys...did we see her on twt last night w a certain someone....

user5: wait no??!?! hello please fill me in on the tea 📖

user4: basically some op saw her in a bar with a shit ton our tourists, turns out one of them was non other than F1 DRIVER DANIEL RICCIARDO

user5: THERES NO WAY???

user6: wait who's that... i'm so out of the loop for pop culture guys... 😭😭🙏🏽

user7: he's this super famous formula one driver (drives fast cars in weird shaped circles) from australia and he LOVES the country

user8: yeah... he wears a cowboy hat so much its kind of goofy

user9: yeah and allegedly, SOMEONE SAW THEM GO SOMEWHERE IN A CAR TOGETHER 😃💃🏻

user10: DAMNNNN @/yourusername.... was the d fire 🔥🚒🧯

user11: @/user10 LMFAO GTFOOO

user12: wait so i know this album is gonna be lowkey sad but like what if she pops up w some suprise songs about daniel's cowboy...

user13: i'm DEAD what if she actually reads the comments

user12: i would simply pass tf away!!

danielricciardo

liked by user1, user2, and 109,110 others

danielricciardo: Save a horse, ride a cowboy #austingp

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I slid into the backseat of my Uber, letting out a long, frustrated sigh as I slumped against the door. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, but I waved off any small talk with a quick, “Rough morning.”

As we pulled away from the hotel, I scoffed, shaking my head at myself. Did I seriously just spend money to Uber to and from a booty call? The thought made me cringe. Out of all the impulsive decisions I’d made in my life, this one was quickly climbing the ranks. I mean, come on—Ubering to a random hotel was bad enough, but having to ride back in shame after? That was a whole new level of poor life choices.

By the time the Uber pulled up to my house, I was already mentally preparing to face the walk of shame into my own home. I quietly slipped inside, trying to be as stealthy as possible, when suddenly—

“Boo!”

I jumped a mile high, my heart nearly leaping out of my chest as my younger sister, Maddie, popped out of nowhere, grinning like a cat who caught a canary.

“Jesus, Maddie!” I whisper-yelled, clutching my chest. “What is wrong with you?”

Maddie raised an eyebrow, eyes immediately trailing up and down my disheveled outfit. “Uh, is that the same thing you wore yesterday?” she asked, crossing her arms with a knowing smirk. “Did you... seriously just come back from—”

I slapped my hand over her mouth before she could finish the sentence, my eyes wide. “Shh! Keep it down!” I hissed. “We are not having this conversation out here.”

Her eyes twinkled mischievously, but she nodded under my hand, so I let her go. I grabbed her wrist and dragged her down the hall, sneaking into my room like we were plotting a heist. Once inside, I shut the door behind us and turned to face her, arms crossed.

Maddie sat on the edge of my bed, looking way too pleased with herself. “Spill,” she said, not even bothering with a polite lead-in.

I groaned, rubbing my temples. “Fine. But you cannot tell anyone.”

She mimed zipping her lips and leaned in, ready for the juicy details.

“So…” I began, pacing the room. “Last night was a complete disaster. I ended up—well, you know—at some guy’s hotel room.”

Maddie’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? You? Miss ‘I Don’t Do Hookups’?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I muttered, flopping down beside her on the bed. “I don’t even know how it happened. We were drinking, flirting… one thing led to another, and next thing I know, I wake up in his bed.”

Maddie let out a low whistle. “Damn. And?”

“And…” I sighed, running a hand through my tangled hair. “It gets worse. Guess who I ran into on the elevator this morning?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh no, who?”

“Carrie. And Johnny,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands.

Maddie’s mouth dropped open in shock. “No way. You ran into both of them? At the hotel?”

I nodded miserably. “Yup. Turns out the hotel I was in? Carrie’s family’s hotel. Of course.”

She gasped dramatically, covering her mouth. “Oh my god, Y/N, that’s… that’s awful but kind of hilarious.”

I shot her a glare, though a small smile tugged at my lips. “Yeah, hilarious for you maybe. For me? Literal nightmare.”

Maddie giggled, clearly enjoying the chaos of my morning. “So, did they say anything?”

“Not really. Just awkward stares and Carrie’s fake concern. The whole thing was a disaster. I swear, I am never doing this again,” I said, shaking my head.

She grinned, nudging me with her elbow. “Never say never. But hey, at least you’ve got a hell of a story now.”

I groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “Trust me, I could’ve done without this particular story.”

I stared at the ceiling, still trying to process the absolute train wreck of a morning I’d just experienced, when Maddie’s voice cut through my thoughts.

“So, who’s this mystery guy you hooked up with?” she asked, nudging me again with a smirk.

I bit my lip, hesitating. Should I even say it? It felt surreal—like it wasn’t even real life—but what the hell, I was already in deep. “You’re not gonna believe this,” I muttered, sitting up and bracing myself. “His name’s Daniel. Daniel Ricciardo.”

Maddie’s jaw dropped so fast I thought it might hit the floor. “WHAT?!” she practically screamed, her eyes going wide with excitement. “THE Daniel Ricciardo? You slept with Daniel Ricciardo? As in F1 driver Daniel Ricciardo?”

I blinked, confused at her over-the-top reaction. “Uh, yeah? I mean, he said he’s a driver or something, but... I don’t really follow racing, so I didn’t think much of it.”

Maddie grabbed my shoulders, shaking me like I was the one losing my mind. “Y/N, are you serious? How did you not know who that was? He’s super famous! Like, ridiculously famous!”

I blinked, completely taken aback. “Wait, what? Famous famous?”

Maddie rolled her eyes, like I was the most clueless person on the planet. “Yes, famous famous! He’s one of the most popular Formula 1 drivers in the world! You know, the sport where they race the fastest cars? And, uh, hello, the Austin Grand Prix is in like five days! How do you not know this?”

My mouth dropped open as I tried to wrap my brain around what she was saying. “The Austin Grand Prix? You mean that thing that brings in all those tourists every year?”

“Yes! Exactly!” Maddie threw her hands up in the air, looking like she couldn’t believe my ignorance. “F1 is huge, Y/N. There are races all over the world, and Daniel Ricciardo is, like, one of the biggest personalities in the sport. People love him. He’s been racing for years, and he’s known for being super charismatic and... oh my god, you really didn’t know?”

I shook my head, completely floored. “I mean, he did say something about racing, but I didn’t realize it was that kind of racing. I just thought he meant, like, NASCAR or something.”

Maddie smacked her forehead. “Oh my god, you’re killing me. F1 is way bigger than NASCAR! It’s like the most elite motorsport in the world. And Daniel’s been racing for some of the top teams. How did you not realize you were with an actual celebrity?”

I stared at her, my mind reeling. “So, you’re telling me I just… slept with a world-famous driver and didn’t even realize it?”

Maddie nodded emphatically, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Yup! And honestly, I’m a little jealous. I mean, Daniel Ricciardo, Y/N! He’s a big deal! Girls all over the world would kill to be in your position.”

I groaned, flopping back onto the bed, my hands covering my face. “Oh my god, I cannot believe this. I slept with a celebrity, and I didn’t even know it. What is my life?”

Maddie giggled, clearly having way too much fun with this. She flopped down next to me on the bed, her grin as wide as Texas. “Girl, don’t even stress. You’re a celebrity now too! You and Daniel Ricciardo? That’s some next-level, power couple stuff right there.”

I groaned louder, pressing my palms against my face. “Maddie, stop. I’m not a celebrity. I’m a girl who just had a really, really embarrassing one-night stand.”

She nudged me with her elbow, smirking. “Nah, you’re thinkin’ too small, sis. Just picture it! You’re up on stage with your guitar, singin’ your heart out, and Daniel’s out there in the crowd, front and center, lookin’ all fine and proud of his lil’ cowgirl.”

I rolled over onto my side, staring at her in disbelief. “Maddie, please. You’re daydreamin’ way too hard right now.”

But she wasn’t even listening, lost in her own fantasy. “Y’all could be, like, the ultimate couple. Country singer and an F1 driver? Hell, people would eat that up! He’d be all, ‘This here’s my gal, Y/N,’ and you’d be sittin’ there in the paddock, rockin’ those fancy hats like a boss. Shoot, you two would be in all the magazines!”

I shot her a look. “Maddie, we’re not even dating. It was one night, and I barely knew who he was until five minutes ago.”

She waved her hand, brushing off my concerns like dust off a pair of boots. “Psh, technicalities. I’m just sayin’, y’all could make waves. You’d be the talk of Texas and everywhere else too. Like a regular old-fashioned Bonnie and Clyde, but with less crime and more racin’.”

I laughed despite myself. “Yeah, sure. A cowgirl and a race car driver. That’ll be the day.”

Maddie wiggled her eyebrows. “Hey, you never know! Y’all could be splittin’ your time between the racetrack and the rodeo. And if anyone can pull off being a celebrity couple, it’s my big sis.”

I sat up, shaking my head but unable to keep the smile off my face. “You’re ridiculous.”

She grinned wide, leaning back on her elbows. “I know, but tell me I’m wrong.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to push away the ridiculous idea. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, Maddie’s wild daydreams weren’t entirely out of reach.

Just as Maddie was about to launch into another wild daydream about me and Daniel conquering the world, there was a sharp knock on my door.

“Y/N? Maddie? What are y’all doin’ in there?” my mom’s voice called out from the hallway.

My eyes widened in horror. “Oh, crap,” I whispered, looking down at my crumpled shirt and yesterday’s jeans. No way could Mom see me like this. Not after last night.

Maddie, ever the quick thinker, jumped up, eyes wide. “You gotta change! Quick, or she’ll know!”

I scrambled off the bed, frantically grabbing the first pair of sweatpants I could find and yanking off my wrinkled jeans. “Uh, we’re just—hold on, Mom! Give us a sec!” I yelled back, pulling on the sweats and trying to find a shirt that didn’t scream ‘walk of shame.’

Mom knocked again, louder this time, sounding more impatient. “What’s takin’ so long? Y’all up to no good in there?”

Maddie shot me a panicked look, then, in true Maddie fashion, she came up with the most absurd lie possible. “Mom, we’re—uh—just checking if Y/N has a wart down there!”

My head snapped up so fast I nearly fell over. “WHAT?”

Maddie’s eyes were wide with mischief as she mouthed, Just go with it!

Mom was silent for a second, and then I heard a heavy sigh. “A wart? Y’all expect me to believe that?”

Maddie waved her arms around frantically, trying to sell the lie. “Yeah! You know, like, one of those really weird ones! We didn’t wanna make a fuss about it, so we’re handling it ourselves.”

I threw on a hoodie, pulling it over my head as fast as I could, all while glaring at Maddie. “Are you kidding me?” I whispered through gritted teeth, but she just gave me a thumbs-up.

Mom’s patience was clearly wearing thin. “Well, can’t this wait until later? I need y’all downstairs now.”

Maddie’s eyes darted around, looking for an escape. “Uh, well, it’s kind of urgent, Mom! You don’t just leave a wart alone, right? It could get... worse! Way worse!”

I buried my face in my hands, trying not to burst out laughing at how ridiculous this had become. But Maddie wasn’t letting up, and my mom, bless her, was clearly not buying it.

“Alright, enough. I don’t care if there’s a whole forest of warts down there! Get your butts downstairs in two minutes or I’m coming in!” Mom’s voice was firm now, and I could hear her foot tapping impatiently outside the door.

Maddie shot me a guilty look as I finally finished pulling myself together. “Okay, okay, we’re coming!” I yelled back, exasperated but unable to stop giggling at how absurd this situation had become.

As soon as we heard Mom walk away from the door, I turned to Maddie, shaking my head. “A wart? Really? That’s your best lie?”

Maddie grinned, completely unbothered. “Hey, I had to think fast! Besides, you know Mom was gonna barge in here if we didn’t come up with something good.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help but laugh. “I swear, if I ever have to explain to her that I don’t have warts, you’re taking the blame.”

“Deal,” Maddie said with a grin, grabbing my arm and dragging me toward the door. “Now let’s go before she drags us down there herself.”

Maddie and I hurried downstairs, trying our best to look normal — like we hadn’t just staged a ridiculous wart-related lie to keep Mom from barging into my room. As soon as we hit the bottom step, Mom was standing there with her arms crossed, eyeing us with that mom look that said she knew something was up but was choosing to let it slide for now.

She raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Y’all got those warts handled? Need me to call a doctor or somethin’?”

I groaned, rolling my eyes as Maddie snickered beside me. “We’re fine, Mom,” I muttered, trying not to blush all over again. “No doctor necessary.”

Mom chuckled and shook her head. “Alright, then. I need you two to run to the mart for me.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a grocery list, handing it over. “Just a few things I need for tonight. Don’t dilly-dally.”

I took the list and scanned it, my mind still racing from the chaos of the morning. Eggs, milk, sugar—normal stuff. But then I spotted cilantro circled three times with a little note that said, “Don’t forget this time!!!”

I sighed, folding the list up and sticking it in my pocket. “Got it, Mom. Anything else? Want us to pick up some wart cream while we’re at it?” I teased, shooting Maddie a glance.

Maddie snorted, and Mom swatted me lightly on the arm. “Just get what’s on the list, smart mouth.”

We headed out the door and into the driveway, where Maddie tossed me the keys to my truck. “Your turn to drive,” she said, hopping into the passenger seat with a grin. “I’m still recovering from your fashion disaster this morning.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, climbing into the driver’s seat. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance,” she said, smirking as I started the engine. The truck roared to life, and we pulled out of the driveway, heading toward the mart.

As we cruised down the road, the Texas sun beating down on us, I finally started to relax. The insanity of the morning was starting to fade, and it felt good to just drive, even if it was for groceries.

“Cilantro, huh?” Maddie said, glancing at the list as we pulled into the parking lot of the mart. “You better not forget that, or Mom’s gonna throw a fit.”

I parked the truck and unbuckled my seatbelt. “Yeah, I know. We’re on a cilantro mission now.”

We hopped out of the truck, laughing about the morning's chaos as we headed inside. At least now, it was just me, Maddie, and a simple grocery list to tackle.

Maddie and I wandered through the grocery store aisles, chatting about nothing in particular as we grabbed the items on Mom’s list. Everything was going smoothly until I remembered the cilantro.

“Maddie, I can’t forget the cilantro. Mom will kill me if I come back without it.” I scanned the store like I was hunting for buried treasure, and then—out of the corner of my eye—I spotted it. The last bunch of cilantro.

“There!” I practically shouted, pointing across the produce section. Without thinking, I made a mad dash for it, leaving Maddie behind as I zeroed in on my target. Nothing was going to stop me from getting this cilantro—not after what happened last time.

But just as I reached for it, my hand collided with someone else’s.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” a familiar voice said, as our hands both grabbed for the same bunch. “In a rush, are we?”

I looked up and found myself staring directly into Daniel’s mischievous eyes. My heart skipped a beat—of all people.

“You?” I blurted, both annoyed and surprised.

Daniel grinned, raising an eyebrow as his hand still held onto the cilantro. “What, you didn’t think you’d see me again?”

I blinked, trying to recover from the sudden collision, both physically and mentally. “I—uh—no, I just didn’t expect to be fighting you over a bunch of cilantro,” I said, still clutching the herb in one hand as he held the other end.

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, if you’d been a little slower, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

I scoffed, narrowing my eyes at him. “Slower? I was practically flying over here. I saw it first.”

“Oh, really?” He tilted his head, that playful smirk of his back in full force. “I’m pretty sure I had my hand on it before you did.”

“Dream on, Ricciardo,” I shot back, trying to yank the cilantro from his grip. “It’s mine.”

He tightened his hold, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Tell you what—we’ll share it.”

“Share?” I raised an eyebrow. “What, you want to split a bunch of cilantro? What are we, in preschool?”

Daniel laughed, pulling it toward him slightly. “I mean, it’s either that or you admit defeat.”

“Admit defeat?” I shot him a glare. “I don’t lose at grocery shopping.”

“Is that so?” His grin widened as he leaned in closer, his face just a little too close for comfort. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re losing.”

My cheeks flushed, and I yanked the cilantro again, this time breaking the bunch in half. “There. Now we’re both losers.”

He burst out laughing, holding up his half of the cilantro. “Fair enough. You really don’t like losing, do you?”

I crossed my arms, trying to hide the fact that I was blushing. “Not when I’m up against people who think they can out-shop me.”

Daniel leaned against the cart, still grinning like he was having the time of his life. “Alright, you win this round, but I’m telling you—next time, I’m taking the whole bunch.”

I shook my head, trying not to laugh. “Good luck with that.”

Just then, Maddie appeared behind me, her eyes going wide when she realized who I was standing next to. “Uh, Y/N? What’s going on here?”

I turned to Maddie, holding up my half of the cilantro. “Just winning a fight, that’s all.”

Daniel winked at Maddie before looking back at me. “More like a draw, if we’re being honest.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Ricciardo.”

Maddie raised her eyebrows, her grin spreading. “Oh, this is definitely going in my scrapbook.”

Daniel chuckled, still holding his half of the cilantro like it was a prize. Just as I was about to turn away, he slipped something into my hand, so smooth I almost didn’t realize he’d done it.

I blinked, glancing down at the small folded piece of paper. “What’s this?” I asked, unfolding it carefully, my curiosity piqued.

Before I could even figure it out, Maddie was already craning her neck to see. Her eyes widened in excitement the second she caught a glimpse. “Oh my god, Y/N, do you even know what these are?!”

I looked at her, completely confused. “What do you mean?”

She pointed excitedly at the paper in my hands. “Those are paddock passes! For the Austin GP! You’ve got three-day passes to the entire race weekend! Do you even understand how hard these are to get?”

I stared down at the passes, my jaw practically hitting the floor. “Wait, what?”

Daniel smirked, casually leaning against his cart, clearly enjoying my reaction. “Yeah, figured you might want to see what all this F1 fuss is about, and I happened to have an extra pass. So, you know, if you’re not too busy fighting over cilantro.”

I looked up at him, completely floored. “You... got me paddock passes? For three days?”

He shrugged, looking way too casual about the whole thing. “What can I say? I’m glad I grabbed an extra one just in case.” His eyes flickered with that familiar playful glint. “And now, I’m even gladder.”

Maddie, still buzzing with excitement, suddenly stepped forward, grinning ear to ear. “Oh, where are my manners?” She extended her hand. “I’m Maddie, by the way. You know, the better sister.”

Daniel burst into laughter, shaking her hand. “Well, if you’re anything like your sister, I think I’m in for trouble.”

Maddie winked at him. “Trouble’s our middle name. But really, she’s the one you’ve gotta watch out for.”

I shot Maddie a glare, trying to keep my cool even though my heart was still racing. “Maddie, stop.”

Daniel grinned, turning his attention back to me. “I dunno, I kind of like trouble. Keeps things interesting.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up my neck. “You just like making everything a competition.”

He tilted his head, that infuriatingly charming smirk still on his face. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like seeing how far I can push you.”

Maddie laughed, nudging me with her elbow. “Oh, he’s good, Y/N. Better watch out, or you’re gonna find yourself in the middle of a Grand Prix.”

Daniel grinned, leaning in just a little. “Well, with those passes, you might just end up front and center.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head at how ridiculous this had all become. “You seriously just carry extra paddock passes around?”

“Only when I think they might come in handy,” he said, eyes glinting. “And I had a feeling you’d appreciate them more than anyone else here.”

I raised an eyebrow, still not entirely sure how this was my life. “You’re something else, you know that?”

He smiled, holding up his half of the cilantro. “Takes one to know one.”

I stared at the paddock passes in my hand, still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that Daniel Ricciardo—actual Formula 1 driver—had just handed me access to the most exclusive part of the Austin GP like it was no big deal. Meanwhile, Maddie looked like she was about to combust from excitement.

“I mean, front and center at a Grand Prix?” Maddie piped up, clearly having the time of her life with this. “Y/N, do you even understand how cool that is? You’re basically about to be part of the elite crowd. And you didn’t even know who he was two days ago.”

I shot her a look, trying not to blush as I turned back to Daniel. “I feel like I should be saying thanks, but... are you sure? This feels a little...”

“Too good to be true?” Daniel finished with a smirk, crossing his arms. “I get that a lot. But trust me, I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. Plus, I didn’t want to go through the weekend wondering if you’d ever stop fighting over cilantro.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re really gonna hang onto that, aren’t you?”

“Only as long as it keeps you on your toes.” He grinned, his gaze holding mine a second longer than necessary. “Besides, now you’ve got no excuse not to come.”

Maddie, never one to miss an opportunity, jumped in with a grin. “Oh, she’ll be there. I’ll make sure of it. You’re looking at the world’s most stubborn person right here, but once she commits, she’s all in.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “Is that so?”

I rolled my eyes, trying to suppress the smile tugging at my lips. “I wouldn’t listen to her. She’s just trying to recruit me into her fantasy F1 life.”

Maddie snorted. “Uh, you slept with Daniel Ricciardo, and now you’ve got paddock passes. I think that fantasy is turning into reality, sis.”

I groaned, rubbing my face in embarrassment. “Maddie, please.”

Daniel chuckled, glancing between the two of us. “You two are something else. This is probably the most fun I’ve had at a grocery store in... ever.”

I crossed my arms, half smiling despite myself. “Well, I guess we know who to thank for that. You’re really making a habit of surprising me, aren’t you?”

He leaned in just slightly, his grin widening. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Just wait ‘til you see what surprises I’ve got lined up for the weekend.”

Maddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Ooh, mysterious. I like it.”

I shot her a look but couldn’t help laughing. “Alright, fine. You win. I’ll come to the race.”

Daniel winked, clearly satisfied. “Knew you would. See you in the paddock, then.” He tipped his imaginary hat and turned to walk away, but not before flashing one last grin. “Don’t forget to bring your competitive spirit. You’re gonna need it.”

I watched him go, my heart still racing as Maddie practically squealed beside me. “Oh my god, Y/N! This is insane!”

I shook my head, laughing. “Yeah, it is. I can’t believe I’m actually going to an F1 race.”

Maddie grinned, nudging me again. “Not just any race. You’re going with Daniel freaking Ricciardo. Girl, this is like something out of a movie.”

I rolled my eyes, but a small part of me couldn’t deny how surreal—and thrilling—it all felt.

After successfully scouring the back of the store and miraculously finding one last bunch of cilantro hidden behind some parsley, Maddie and I made our way to the checkout. I could barely keep my head straight, still reeling from my unexpected run-in with Daniel, while Maddie was practically bouncing with excitement, shooting me side-glances the entire time we loaded up the cart.

Once we were through the checkout and back in the truck, Maddie wasted no time. As soon as I turned the ignition, she turned toward me, eyes wide with anticipation. "Okay, enough stalling. You have to give me details about the one-night stand. I mean, come on. It's Daniel Ricciardo! Spill it!"

I groaned, gripping the steering wheel and backing out of the parking spot. “Maddie, please.”

She crossed her arms, giving me her best "I’m-not-letting-this-go" look. “Oh, no, no. You’re not getting out of this one. I need the full rundown. Like, what happened? How did it happen? How is he? Is he a good—”

“Maddie!” I cut her off, feeling the heat rise to my face. “I am not telling you that.”

She smirked, not even remotely phased by my protests. “Oh, come on. Don’t act like you weren’t just as shocked to wake up next to him. I mean, how does someone like you,” she gestured to me dramatically, “end up in bed with someone like him?”

I rolled my eyes, laughing despite myself. “Trust me, I was just as surprised as you are. It wasn’t even planned! We were both tipsy, flirting at the bar... and, well, you know how those things go.”

Maddie practically squealed. “So, was it... like, really good?”

I groaned again, my face probably a bright shade of red by now. “Maddie, I’m not talking about that. Just know that... it was fine, okay? We were both drunk, and it happened. End of story.”

She pouted but kept pushing. “Ugh, fine. But was he sweet? Was he funny in the morning? Or did he just roll over and pretend like nothing happened?”

I snorted, shaking my head as I turned onto the road. “No, actually, he was... really chill about it. We joked around a bit, and he didn’t make it awkward. I mean, we even fought over cilantro in the grocery store, and he’s still as annoyingly charming as ever.”

Maddie let out a dreamy sigh. “Of course, he’s charming. Ugh, I bet that smile of his could get you to do anything. No wonder you ended up in his hotel room.”

I shot her a look. “Can you not make me sound like a complete pushover?”

She giggled, holding her hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying! You gotta admit, he’s got some serious game.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Yeah, he’s definitely got something. But honestly, I don’t even know what to make of it all. One minute, I’m waking up in his bed, and the next, I’ve got paddock passes for a whole race weekend.”

Maddie leaned back in her seat, eyes wide with curiosity. “Okay, okay, but I have to ask the important question.” She paused for dramatic effect, smirking like she was about to drop the most scandalous question of all time.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “What now?”

She grinned, wiggling her eyebrows. “Is it... big?”

I nearly choked on my own laughter, my face instantly heating up. “Maddie!” I exclaimed, giving her a light shove. “Oh my god, you can’t just ask that!”

She burst out laughing, completely unfazed. “Come on! You hooked up with a famous race car driver! You know I had to ask!”

I covered my face, shaking my head. “This is not happening right now.”

Maddie nudged me again, still giggling. “I’m just sayin’, you can’t drop all these details about Daniel freakin’ Ricciardo and expect me to not be curious! It’s, like, basic sister requirements.”

I sighed, laughing despite the embarrassment. “I’m not telling you that. Besides, some things are meant to be kept private!”

She threw her hands up in surrender, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Fine, fine. But I’m just gonna assume the answer’s yes based on how flustered you are right now.”

I rolled my eyes, grabbing the grocery bags. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

She beamed at me, completely proud of herself. “It’s part of my charm. Now let’s go inside before Mom gets suspicious.”

We stepped out of the truck, and as we made our way toward the house, Maddie shot me one last teasing glance. “I still can’t believe this. You’re living the dream, sis. Now we just have to get you through the race without tripping over yourself.”

I laughed, shaking my head as we walked inside. “Easier said than done, trust me.”

Maddie winked. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there to keep you grounded. And, you know, ask more questions about... size later.”

I groaned. “Maddie, I swear, if you bring that up again—”

She cut me off with a giggle. “Relax, I’ll save it for after the race. Maybe Daniel will answer it for me.”

I gave her a mock-serious glare as we stepped into the kitchen. “If you ask him anything remotely like that, I’ll personally disown you as my sister.”

Maddie just grinned, completely unfazed by my threat. “Oh, come on! You know you’re curious too. I bet Daniel’s the type to joke right back—he seems like he’s got that smooth banter down.”

I rolled my eyes, setting the grocery bags down on the counter. “Yeah, well, I’d rather not find out in front of you.”

She grabbed a bunch of cilantro, holding it up like it was a victory flag. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave at the race... but no promises if the opportunity presents itself.”

I groaned again, shaking my head. “You will kill me one day, you know?”

Maddie smirked as she placed the cilantro in the fridge, turning to me with a wink. “Hey, if you’re gonna be dating an F1 driver, you better get used to me asking all the embarrassing questions. It’s a sister’s job to keep things interesting.”

I felt my face flush at the mention of “dating” Daniel, quickly brushing it off. “Who said anything about dating? This was just a one-time thing.”

Maddie raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. “Uh-huh, sure. You just happened to have a ‘one-time thing’ with Daniel Ricciardo, and now you’ve got three-day paddock passes? Girl, please.”

I crossed my arms, trying to sound firm. “We’re not dating.”

She gave me a knowing smile. “Maybe not yet, but trust me, once you’re up close and personal at that race, things might change. I mean, the man gave you paddock passes, Y/N. He’s clearly not done with you.”

I rolled my eyes again, but I couldn’t deny the flutter in my chest at her words. “Whatever, Maddie. Let’s just focus on surviving this weekend without you embarrassing me in front of him.”

Maddie grinned, stepping closer and nudging me with her elbow. “I make no promises. But I will say this—you better have fun. It’s not every day you get to hang out with a superstar. Just... remember to breathe when you see him again.”

I laughed, despite the butterflies in my stomach. “Yeah, yeah. Now help me finish putting these groceries away before Mom comes in and asks what’s taking so long.”

Maddie threw me a playful wink as she grabbed the rest of the groceries. “You got it. But I’m definitely asking for more details after the race.”

I groaned, but there was no hiding my smile. As much as Maddie drove me crazy, I couldn’t deny that having her along for this wild ride was exactly what I needed.

Maddie and I stepped into the kitchen, laughing and joking about who could embarrass me more at the race when we both suddenly stopped dead in our tracks.

Sitting at the kitchen table, sipping tea like it was the most casual thing in the world, were Carrie and her mother, Savannah.

I froze, my heart sinking to my stomach. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

My mom glanced up, clearly trying to keep the peace with a polite smile, but there was no missing the tension in the air. “Oh, hey girls,” she said, in a tone that was way too casual for the situation. “We’re just having a little afternoon tea.”

Savannah gave us a small wave, her southern charm still as present as ever. “Hi, Y/N. Maddie. It’s been a while.”

Carrie glanced up at me, and for a second, I saw the flicker of recognition in her eyes. I could tell she was remembering the hotel elevator, just like I was. The awkward tension between us stretched out as thin as it could go.

In my head, a thousand thoughts ran wild. Why are they here? I knew the answer, though. My mom and Savannah had been cordial for years, mostly because they had to be. Both of them were rodeo managers for the same rodeo company, which meant they had to stay civil for the sake of work. The whole town knew their friendship was... well, strained at best. But here they were, playing nice over afternoon tea like it was some kind of forced social obligation.

Maddie, always the one to break awkward silences, cleared her throat. “Uh... hey, Mrs. Summers. Carrie.”

Carrie’s mom, Savannah, smiled politely, her perfect rodeo-queen hair barely moving as she lifted her teacup. “It’s lovely to see you two. Your mother and I were just catching up on the rodeo business.”

Of course you were, I thought bitterly. The rodeo world was so small, and no matter how much I wanted to avoid it—or Carrie—I couldn’t escape it.

My mom, sensing the tension, glanced between us. “Savannah and I were talking about the upcoming event. Looks like it’s going to be a busy season.”

Maddie shifted uncomfortably beside me. “Yeah, busy. Fun.” Her usual energy was suddenly subdued, which I knew was her way of trying to keep things from getting too awkward. Not that it was working.

Carrie, ever the queen of awkward stares, finally spoke, her tone as polite as ever. “It’s... good to see you, Y/N.” She hesitated, glancing at her mother before continuing. “How have you been?”

I forced a smile, trying not to let the awkwardness show on my face. “Great. Just, you know, busy.” Really busy fighting you in elevators and trying to forget you even exist.

Carrie nodded, sipping her tea, and the silence between us stretched even further. I could feel the weight of Savannah’s eyes on me, like she was silently assessing everything—our strained friendship, my disheveled appearance from running errands, everything.

Maddie, never one to let tension linger, piped up again. “Well, we just got back from the mart. You know, had to get that cilantro Mom keeps losing her mind over.”

Savannah smiled tightly. “Ah, yes. Cilantro can be tricky.”

I almost laughed at the absurdity of the moment, but I managed to hold it in, keeping the strained smile on my face. I just wanted this impromptu tea party from hell to be over with.

The silence in the kitchen stretched on, thick and awkward, like we were all waiting for something to break it but hoping it wouldn’t be us. I could feel Maddie’s discomfort beside me, her usual spark dimmed in the presence of Carrie and her mom. My mind raced with a mix of irritation and embarrassment—of all the days for them to be here, this had to be it.

Carrie set her teacup down gently, the soft clink of porcelain against porcelain filling the room like a final punctuation to the unbearable silence. She gave me a tight-lipped smile, that same fake pleasantness I’d grown used to over the years. “Well, it sounds like you’ve been keeping busy.”

Busy avoiding you, I thought, but instead I just nodded. “Yeah, something like that.” I forced a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.

Savannah, ever the poised and perfect woman she was, glanced at my mom and then back at us, her hands wrapped neatly around her teacup. “It’s important to stay productive. Especially with everything going on in the rodeo season. You girls must be a big help around here.”

I bit back the urge to laugh. My mom might be cordial with Savannah for the sake of their professional lives as rodeo managers, but the subtext was loud and clear. They barely tolerated each other, both knowing that competition was part of their work, and now that tension had trickled down to Carrie and me—and Maddie by default.

Maddie, bless her, tried to keep things light. “Oh, we’re great at helping out... with, uh, grocery shopping.” She flashed a smile, holding up the cilantro like it was some grand prize. “Mom’s got us on strict cilantro duty these days.”

Mom shot Maddie a look, clearly not in the mood for her humor right now. “Thank you, Maddie.”

Savannah raised an eyebrow at Maddie’s comment, but kept her voice smooth. “Cilantro can make or break a meal, I suppose.”

Carrie glanced at me again, her eyes flicking up and down, probably still processing our awkward encounter in the hotel elevator. “You know,” she said, her voice too casual, “I think I saw you at the Hilton the other day, Y/N. Were you there for something special?”

My stomach dropped. Of course she’d bring it up.

“Yeah, I... had some errands downtown,” I said, trying to keep my tone even. No way was I going to let her know about Daniel, not with her mother sitting right there.

Maddie, though, being Maddie, had no such reservations about subtlety. “Oh, you know, just casually bumping into Formula 1 drivers. No big deal.”

Carrie’s eyes widened slightly, and I saw her mom’s eyebrows lift in surprise.

“Formula 1 drivers?” Savannah asked, her tone suddenly more interested than it had been for the entire tea party.

I shot Maddie a seriously? look, but she just grinned like she’d been waiting to drop this bomb the entire time. “Yeah, we ran into Daniel Ricciardo. Real nice guy.”

Carrie’s jaw tightened just slightly, and I could tell she was piecing it all together. She probably knew exactly what had happened in that elevator. “Wow, Daniel Ricciardo,” she said, her voice cool. “That’s... interesting.”

Savannah, ever the picture of elegance, nodded approvingly. “Well, that’s quite a meeting. Formula 1 is certainly prestigious. You must have made quite the impression.”

I resisted the urge to laugh. Yeah, I made an impression, alright. But instead, I shrugged, trying to play it off. “It was... unexpected.”

Carrie’s eyes flickered with something—maybe curiosity, maybe envy—but her lips pressed together in a tight line. “Unexpected, huh?” she said, her voice a little too casual. “I’m sure it was.”

I could tell she wasn’t buying my attempt to downplay the situation. She knew. She’d probably already started piecing together the story from the elevator and was likely imagining a whole different version of events—one where she could twist it into something more dramatic.

Savannah, on the other hand, smiled that perfectly polished smile she always had, but I could see a glint of interest in her eyes. “Well, you’re certainly moving in impressive circles these days, Y/N. Formula 1 drivers... that’s a step up from the usual rodeo crowd, don’t you think?”

I bit back a smirk. “I guess you could say that.”

Carrie’s jaw tightened a little more, and I could see the wheels turning in her head. She had that look on her face—the one that said she was already planning how to bring this up the next time she was with her friends. She’d never admit it, but the idea of me bumping into someone like Daniel Ricciardo clearly irked her.

She straightened up in her seat, brushing a lock of perfectly styled hair behind her ear. “Well, it must’ve been nice to meet someone so... prestigious,” she said, her tone dripping with false politeness. “I’m sure it was a brief encounter.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to keep my cool. “Yeah, brief.” I decided it was better not to mention the three-day paddock passes in my back pocket. The less ammunition Carrie had, the better.

Savannah, still smiling, added, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you saw him again at some point. Those kinds of connections have a way of resurfacing.”

I nodded, doing my best to seem nonchalant, but I couldn’t help glancing at Carrie, who was staring at me with just a little too much interest.

Carrie leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing just a bit. “So, what did you two talk about? I mean, you don’t exactly strike me as the F1 type.”

I could feel Maddie practically vibrating with excitement beside me, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable Carrie was. “Oh, we talked about racing. Rodeo. Life,” I said, keeping my response vague. I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing more.

Carrie raised her eyebrow, sensing I wasn’t going to give her more details, but she couldn’t resist pushing a little further. “Rodeo, huh? That’s cute. I bet he found all of that... fascinating.”

Before I could respond, Maddie jumped in, her voice sweet but sharp. “Actually, he seemed really interested. You know, not everyone can handle a fast-paced life like Y/N’s. Some people are more into... exciting things.”

I shot Maddie a look, barely suppressing my grin as she winked at me.

Carrie’s smile faltered for just a second before she regained her composure. “Well, good for you, Y/N,” she said, her tone cold enough to send a chill through the room. “I’m sure you’ll fit right in with the race car crowd.”

Carrie’s words hung in the air like a challenge, her eyes flicking over me, searching for any sign of discomfort. But I wasn’t about to let her get the upper hand—not today.

I smiled, my voice steady. “I’m sure I will. After all, fast-paced lives aren’t for everyone.” I kept my tone light, but there was no missing the underlying message.

Carrie’s smile tightened, her fingers twitching slightly as she adjusted the strap of her designer bag. “Well, best of luck keeping up. Those kinds of people tend to leave others in the dust if they can’t handle the speed.”

Maddie, ever the bold one, didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, Y/N can handle anything. Don’t you worry about that.”

Carrie’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she forced another smile. “Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

I could practically hear Maddie holding back a giggle beside me. Carrie’s frustration was almost palpable, and I knew we were getting to her. She was always one to hold her cards close, but right now, the fact that I’d spent time with someone like Daniel Ricciardo—a man from a world far beyond Carrie’s reach—had clearly rattled her.

Savannah, ever the picture of grace, stepped in before things could escalate any further. “Alright, girls. We really must be going.” She placed a hand on Carrie’s shoulder, guiding her toward the door, but not before giving me one last glance. “You’ll have to tell us more about your Formula 1 adventures next time, Y/N.”

I nodded, keeping my expression neutral. “We’ll see how the weekend goes.”

Carrie shot me one last look as they turned to leave, her voice almost too casual. “Enjoy the race. Let’s hope it’s as exciting as you’re expecting.”

I held her gaze, giving her the smallest of smirks. “Oh, I’m sure it will be.”

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Maddie let out the loudest laugh, finally letting go of all the tension that had been bubbling up during that excruciatingly polite exchange.

“Did you see her face?” Maddie said, practically bouncing with glee. “She’s absolutely livid. I can’t believe you kept your cool like that!”

I exhaled, leaning against the counter. “Barely. She almost had me when she started pushing about Daniel.”

Maddie waved her hand dismissively. “Nah, you handled that like a champ. I mean, did you see how she tried to act all nonchalant? She’s probably seething inside.”

I grinned, shaking my head. “Well, let’s hope she stews on it for a while. Maybe she’ll back off.”

Maddie laughed, grabbing a soda from the fridge. “Or maybe she’ll just get more competitive. Either way, you’re the one with the paddock passes and a date with Daniel Ricciardo.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s not a date.”

She gave me a mischievous look. “We’ll see about that.”

As Maddie and I were still laughing about the showdown with Carrie, my mom suddenly cleared her throat from the kitchen doorway. “Oh,” she said, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms, “so that’s where you were. I was wondering why you came back home looking like you’d been wrestling a tornado. Turns out you were just... banging some famous Formula 1 driver, huh?”

I froze, mid-laugh, and Maddie immediately burst into giggles, almost choking on her soda.

“MOM!” I spluttered, my face burning red. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Oh, honey,” my mom interrupted, waving a hand. “I don’t need the details. I’m just surprised you didn’t even bother to sneak in quietly after all that ‘looking for warts business’” She put heavy air quotes around her later statement, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

I rubbed my temples, feeling the embarrassment crawl up my neck. “It wasn’t... like that.”

Maddie, still giggling, jumped in. “Oh, it was exactly like that. Just wait until you hear about the cilantro.”

Mom raised an eyebrow, her smirk not fading. “Cilantro, huh? Sounds like that’s code for something else entirely.”

I groaned. “Mom! I am not having this conversation with you right now.”

She laughed, coming over and placing a hand on my shoulder. “I’m just messing with you, sweetie. But next time, try to sneak in a little less obviously. And maybe let your poor mother know if you plan on... running into celebrities in the future.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Maddie quickly jumped in, still laughing. “Oh, don’t worry, Mom. If she ever brings Daniel Ricciardo home, you’ll be the first to know.”

My mom winked at me. “You better believe it. Just make sure to feed the poor boy—don’t want him leaving hungry after all that... grocery shopping.” She gave me a teasing smile, clearly enjoying every second of my discomfort.

I buried my face in my hands. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Maddie leaned over, patting me on the back with a grin. “Welcome to the family, sis. Nothing stays secret here.”

After the chaos with Carrie, my mom’s teasing, and Maddie’s relentless jokes about Daniel, I finally retreated to my room, grateful for some peace and quiet. I had a big task ahead of me, one that had been on my mind for weeks—finalizing my album. The release date was just around the corner, and there were still a few loose ends to tie up.

I sat at my desk, flipping through the notebook that held all my song lyrics. Most of the album was finished, a mix of country ballads, heartbreak anthems, and some upbeat tracks about the wild, unpredictable life of a cowgirl. But something was missing. As I strummed my guitar absentmindedly, my thoughts kept drifting back to the events of the last couple of days—the bar, the unexpected encounter with Daniel, the flirting, the way he made me feel more alive than I’d felt in a long time.

Without even thinking, I started jotting down lyrics. The melody came first, soft and steady, like a heartbeat. The words followed, spilling out onto the page as I replayed that night in my mind. The tequila, the banter, the way he leaned in close with that lazy smile, and how I’d felt—nervous, excited, like I was diving into something new and unexpected.

Before I knew it, I had a full song written about that night. The lyrics were a little cheeky, playful, and flirty, with just enough emotional undertones to make it feel real. It wasn’t like the other songs on my album, but somehow, it fit. It felt right. It felt like something I needed to include.

I sat back, looking at the lyrics on the page, and let out a breath. “Okay,” I whispered to myself, “this might actually work.”

But there was one hurdle left—convincing my manager.

I picked up my phone and called them. It didn’t take long for the line to click, and my manager’s voice came through, warm but business-like as always. “Y/N! We’re almost there. Everything’s looking good for the album release. What’s up?”

I took a deep breath. “Hey, I’ve been thinking... I wrote a new song today. It’s about something that just happened recently, and I feel like it needs to be on the album.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and I could hear them flipping through notes. “A new song? Y/N, we’re cutting it pretty close to the release date. Is it finished?”

“Yeah, it’s finished. I can send you a rough cut tonight,” I said, my heart pounding a little faster now. “I know it’s last minute, but this song... it’s important. It’s different from the other tracks, but it feels like the missing piece. I don’t want it on the physical CDs or anything—we can just add it to the online release.”

Another pause, and I held my breath, waiting.

Finally, my manager spoke, their tone thoughtful. “Send it over. I’ll take a listen. If it’s as good as you’re saying, we can make it work for the digital release. But no promises until I hear it.”

A wave of relief washed over me. “Thanks, I’ll send it over in an hour.”

I hung up the phone and got to work, recording a rough version of the song. It wasn’t polished, but the emotion was there, raw and real, just like that night with Daniel. When I listened back, I smiled, feeling a sense of satisfaction settle over me. This song wasn’t planned, but it felt like it was meant to be there, like it had been waiting for the right moment to come out.

Once the recording was done, I sent it off to my manager and leaned back in my chair, guitar still resting in my lap. The day had started out so wild, but now, here I was, about to add a brand-new track to my album because of an unexpected encounter at a bar with a Formula 1 driver.

It was crazy, sure—but it was my kind of crazy. The kind that made life interesting, that made music worth creating.

As soon as I hit send on the rough cut of the song to my manager, my phone buzzed in my hand. I glanced down and, to my surprise, saw Daniel’s name lighting up my screen. My heart skipped a beat—I wasn’t expecting to hear from him so soon, if at all. I swiped the notification open, and his message popped up.

Daniel: 👀 So… did I win the cilantro war or what?

I snorted, shaking my head. Of course he’d bring that up.

Me: you wish... i think we agreed it was a draw, remember?

A few moments passed, and another message popped up.

Daniel: Sure, sure. I’ll let you keep telling yourself that. But really, I let you have it. Gentleman and all. 😏

I rolled my eyes, biting back a smile as I typed back.

Me: oh, you let me win, huh? that’s the story you’re going with??!

Daniel: Obviously. Wouldn’t want to start a feud over herbs. You Texans can be dangerous when you don’t get your cilantro.

I chuckled to myself, feeling the tension from earlier slip away as we fell into easy banter.

Me: you’re totally right. we don’t mess around with cilantro here. it’s practically sacred!! 😭

Daniel: I’m starting to see that. 😅 So, how’s your day been, besides our grocery aisle showdown?

I hesitated for a second, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Should I tell him about the song? About Carrie and the whole awkward tea party? I decided to keep it light for now.

Me: oh, you know... just the usual—running errands, finalizing some stuff for my album release. nothing too exciting, what about you?

His response came quickly.

Daniel: Not as exciting as your day, I’m sure. Just some press stuff and getting ready for the race. Though I guess that means I’m busy dodging questions about why I’m spending so much time in the grocery store lately. 😏

I laughed, imagining him charming his way through whatever interviews he had lined up, somehow making even his grocery shopping sound interesting.

Me: yeah, i’m sure the twitter is DYING to know all about your cilantro preferences.

Daniel: Oh, absolutely. “Ricciardo spotted in aisle five—what does this mean for the upcoming race?” 😆

Me: groundbreaking stuff😣😣. we’re really pushing the boundaries here.

His next text came through quickly, and I could almost hear the teasing in his voice.

Daniel: Speaking of groundbreaking... any chance this album’s got a song about a certain Aussie driver in it? 😏

I froze for a second, staring at his message. He had no idea how close he was to the truth.

Me: actually… funny you mention that. i may or may not have written something inspired by a recent bar encounter. 😉

There was a brief pause before his reply, and I imagined him raising an eyebrow on the other end.

Daniel: Oh? Inspired by, huh? Now you’ve got my attention. Do I get to hear this masterpiece before the rest of the world does?

I grinned, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. I wasn’t sure how he’d react, but something told me he’d find it amusing.

Me: maybe... but only if you promise not to make fun of me. i just wrote it today, so it’s still fresh. it's my newborn baby 💗💗💗

Daniel: Promise. I’m intrigued now. What’s it called?

I paused, biting my lip before typing.

Me: i haven’t decided on a title yet, but let’s just say it has a lot to do with flirting, tequila, and someone wearing a cowboy hat...😏

His response came quickly, and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

Daniel: Well, that narrows it down. Sounds like a banger already. 😎 When do I get to hear it?

I hesitated, unsure if I was really ready to let him listen to something so personal so soon. But then again, the whole point of the song was how unexpected and spontaneous things had been with him.

Me: soon...maybe if you behave yourself at the race. 😏

Daniel: Behave? Me? I’ll do my best, but no promises. 😉

I rolled my eyes, grinning at the screen. He had a way of keeping things light, but there was still something underneath all the teasing that felt... real.

Me: alright alright cowboy, well, you’ll have to wait just like everyone else then. patience is a virtue, right?!

Daniel: Patience is overrated, but for you, I guess I can try. 😎

I laughed, shaking my head. This was getting too fun.

Me: good. now go prepare for your race before you get too distracted.

Daniel: Oh, trust me, I’m already distracted. You’re making it hard to focus on track times, you know that?

I felt a blush creep up my neck at his words, though I tried to brush it off with my usual sarcasm.

Me: well, o wouldn’t want to be responsible for messing up your race. just remember to keep it on track. 😏

His response came with a playful challenge.

Daniel: Challenge accepted. Just don’t be surprised when I win—and not just on the track. 😉

I let out a laugh, shaking my head in disbelief.

Me: we’ll see about that, Ricciardo.

Daniel: Count on it.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

author's note: comment to be added to the taglist! i'll probably update in 1-2 weeks after i get a few more chapters out in my op81 lay all your love on me fic...stay tuned xx <3

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qveerthe0ry · 8 months ago

Text

Conquer the Heart

Summary: Joel comes out - written for @romanarose Pride Event Week 1: Coming Out Word Count: 3,981 Pairing: Joel Miller x M! Reader Rating: Mature (but my blog is 18+ mdni) Warnings: vague descriptions of sex, fluff, kissing, conversations about sexuality, really that's it this is pretty much just sweet and fluffy with a tiny hint of spice Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar who could have guessed? Love y'all <3 A/N: I just wanted to make Joel queer idk. Title from an Orville Peck song because of course

You don’t know what possessed you to pay the $5 cover to check that place out. The Round-Up Saloon, perched on a street corner in downtown Austin. The outside was unassuming enough, but the neon lights and mechanical bull and rotating dance floor inside made it look like something straight out of Urban Cowboy.

There were all kinds of crowds. College kids and business casuals and actual cowboys. And it’s Austin, so all the sexualities were represented in one way or another as you took note of the couples at tables and on the dance floor. You couldn’t really care about any of them, though, as soon as you laid eyes on him.

You were drawn to him and his broad shoulders and tight Wrangler blue jeans.

He was with a big group of women and men, all drinking and laughing and taking turns line-dancing with each other on the dance floor.

And to think you only stumbled into the honky tonk cowboy bar out of curiosity… It certainly wasn’t your scene.

But you’d watched Joel dance with a few women with respectful hand placement, and then he danced with a man, and hope had bubbled up inside of you to the sound of Alan Jackson.

He was a little sweaty when you worked up the courage to talk to him, and his cologne masked all the alcohol and cigarettes in the air.

You plastered on a flirty smile and asked him if he could teach you some of his moves. When he looked taken aback and flustered, you backtracked.

“I’m sorry, I saw you dancing with that guy— I didn’t mean to assume.”

“Tommy? That’s my brother,” he’d explained, a little flushed in the face.

“Oh! Shit, sorry, ignore me.”

But he’d caught your arm as you turned to hibernate for approximately 5-10 business days.

“I don’t see no harm in teachin’ you.”

And so he did. And it was fun, and his hands on you were so warm you swear they branded his mark all over your skin.

A few songs, all background noise to the ‘he’s just straight, don’t do this’ mantra in your head, and he was leading you off the dance floor for another beer.

A friendly beer. Surely that’s all it was.

But he was so friendly. He gave you pointers on how to dance, and then asked if you’re from around here, and then he was waving off his group of friends when they all announced their departure.

He asked you about your job, and you asked about his, and then the way his hands felt rough on the skin of your arm made more sense.

Maybe you were crazy, or the two beers you had were really getting to your head, but there was something so unspeakably electric between you. You felt it when he’d lean in closer to hear you, the way he touched your arm with the back of his bottle-filled fist, the way his hoppy breath ghosted across your cheek to reach your ear.

And then he said he should probably get home, and asked if he should walk you to your car, and maybe he wasn’t straight, you thought, as he briefly placed his hand on your back to guide you through the packed bar.

And you really, really shouldn’t have. But you asked for his number, and he put it in your shitty flip phone, and then you kissed him.

Right on the mouth. A quick peck that was so short you could’ve nearly pretended it was an accident.

He looked so stunned, and guilt boiled up in your stomach.

But he’d grabbed your wrist gently, and looked you in the eyes.

“I’m uh… I don’t… I haven’t ever done that.”

“That was your first kiss?”

It was a joke, and thank god he laughed. His smile looked so fucking good under the shitty, flickering street lamps.

“Call me, okay?”

And then he was gone. You thought about him the whole drive home, while you got undressed and ready for bed, as you fell asleep. You felt his touch in your dreams, and when you woke in the morning you could hardly believe he was real.

But his phone number was burning a hole in your cell phone. You stared at it on and off all Saturday long. What would you even say? Why did he even want you to call him, if he’d never even kissed a guy before? Did he just want a new drinking buddy?

The dread built up all day long, until it was late, and a sense of now or never goaded you into calling his number.

He answered, and you told him who you were, and he’d sounded so surprised to hear from you. He didn’t think you’d want to see him again, after he embarrassed himself, and his admission made you balk.

You told him you were the one who felt embarrassed. He laughed at that. Said he’s a lot smoother with ladies, but you made him feel nervous. He said he wanted to meet up again.

And so you did.

Just a shitty diner for an early dinner on Sunday, unassuming enough. The chemistry you felt at the bar hadn’t faded. If anything, it was so much more apparent now. The way he blushed when you flirted seemed less like the bad kind of gay panic. His foot kept nudging yours under the table.

He walked you to your car again, and then he kissed you, much less chaste than the night at the bar, with one big, rough hand on your neck and the other on your hip.

“That was pretty good for only your second kiss,” you’d said.

He shrugged, a sheepish smile gracing his heated face.

“Should stick around and find out about the third.”

And if you hadn’t already been wrapped around his finger, he certainly secured the spot for you then.

He wasn’t new to dating, but he was new to this, and it showed. He got pretty easily flustered around you. On your second date, he brought up his daughter for the first time like he’d forgotten he hadn’t mentioned her before. A casual thing, talking about her getting ready to graduate high school.

“Does Sarah know… who you’re on a date with?”

Joel shook his head.

“Not yet. No one does… Not even sure how to explain it to myself, if I’m honest.”

You were patient with him. It’s gotta be culture shock, living nearly 40 years of your life completely straight and having some random guy at a bar change that for you overnight.

You took things slow. You talked a lot over the phone, after Sarah went to sleep. He told you about his dating history, Sarah’s mom and only a few unserious flings after. You tried not to psychoanalyze him, but it makes a little bit of sense. Getting some girl pregnant at 19, marrying her, getting ditched with a toddler and a curt ‘good luck’ and then raising her on your own?

No wonder he never questioned his sexuality. There was genuinely no time to.

At first, you thought you may just be a stepping stone. A news flash for him, an experiment, something fun for a season. It didn’t bother you. It’s happened before. But as your nightly talks got longer, and as you took each other out more and more often, it became clear that it wasn’t like that.

You watched with fascination and adoration as Joel figured things out. It was so endearing when he asked if he should hold the door open for you, or if you should take turns. Likewise, when he held your hand in public for the first time, the way he asked your permission made your heart grow way too big for your rib cage.

Things weren’t perfect, of course, but nothing ever is. You didn’t get to see him as much as you ideally would. You were both busy during the work week, and he often had father duties on the weekends. Most of your dates were quick dinner bites when Sarah had a school thing, or an odd Saturday here or there when Sarah had a sleepover.

But that was quite enough for you. You weren’t even looking for something when you’d met him. You didn’t feel the need to move quickly when you hadn’t planned on going anywhere in the first place.

And he was sweet, and quite self-aware.

“Wish we could spend more time together,” he’d tell you over the phone, “I know this ain’t the way things normally go.”

But you liked him. So much. So it didn’t bother you.

And, as the weeks passed by, he opened up more. He started asking you more pointed questions, like how you came out to those closest to, and what it was like. He asked if you were seeing other people— it’s okay if you are, was just wonderin’— and then he asked you if you wanted to be together when you made it clear you weren’t.

“Like… as boyfriend and boyfriend?”

He chuckled, the deep gravel a familiar tone swimming through your landline with a nervous twinge to it.

“Yeah, as boyfriend and boyfriend.”

And he treated you right, and you got along with him so well, and he was so put together and responsible and respectful.

“I’d really like to be your boyfriend.”

And his breath had hitched so loud it was caught by the receiver, but you could hear the smile in his voice when he told you that he’d really like that, too.

A few days after that, he told you Sarah would be gone all weekend, on a team trip for some hiking and kayaking and bonding.

“Could I stay at yours? I hate to invite myself, it’s just— Tommy’s got no boundaries. Wouldn’t want him bargin’ in, y’know, before I get to tell him.”

You didn’t mind one bit, aside from the mountain of laundry you had to fold in preparation for his arrival.

It was the first time you’d been truly alone with him. Your dates were always public, at least somewhat. And he’d kissed you, a ton, but that’s as far as it had ever gone.

You definitely wanted him. You’d wanted him since the very second you laid eyes on him at that cheesy honky tonk bar. But it was funny how nervous you were, even though your experience with men put Joel’s to shame.

It was a lot like high school, in the way you danced around each other at first. A movie on your couch, with his arm draped along the back of it. Readjusting to ‘get comfy,’ inching, until the warmth of his body was pressed against yours and his arm dropped from the back of the couch to your shoulders.

His heartbeat was deafening, hard and fast, when you’d tucked your head against his chest. You moved your hand to his knee in the world’s most intense match of The Nervous Game and feared for his cardiovascular health.

He said your name, and like it was the magic word, every single facade crumbled around you in an instant.

His kisses made your head spin, and the way his thick thighs felt under your own was addictive, and it was over before either of you realized it had started. Two sets of soiled pants and underwear thrown into your washing machine, along with the last of the pretenses. And then you’d dragged him to your bed.

The sex wasn’t even your favorite part. The best was the morning after, and how you were plastered to his back as you woke up slow and easy. The way he held your arm to his stomach, even in his sleep. And the way you only got out of bed for food or bathroom breaks, a whole day with him, alone, uninterrupted.

Just as you started to worry that this was a one-time thing, at least for a while, Joel huffed beside you and nuzzled his head into your shoulder.

“I wanna come out. At least to Tommy ‘n Sarah. S’not right, keeping you a secret like this when you’ve been makin’ me so happy. I know you’d make them happy too.”

You stroked his hair, and asked if he was sure, and though his pretty brown eyes looked wide and scared, his jaw was set with a determined nod.

So you devised a plan. Or— Joel devised it, and asked for your input, and it all made you a bit giddy.

He had you over for dinner. Just as a friend, at first. He’d ordered pizza and stocked beer and told Tommy and Sarah he was having a friend over.

You wondered if Tommy would recognize you from the bar, but if he did, he didn’t show it. He just talked your ear off about Texas sports and old cars.

Sarah was… well, you understood why Joel could never seem to smile wide enough when he talked about her. She was so smart, and kind-hearted, and funny. You had a hard time keeping up, but the way Joel and Tommy were around her, you think she probably has that effect on most people.

It was a nice night, fun and easy conversation, good pizza, and a very competitive game of Boggle in which Sarah dominated.

And it was only a little bit difficult to spend the evening as just Joel’s friend, solely because of how easily you fit into his life. You wanted to scream it from the rooftops, that Joel wanted you to be a piece in his puzzle.

Sarah, so politely, excused herself to go to bed as it got later. The three of you left shuffled around, gathering game pieces and paper plates and empty cans, until you all eventually met back in the kitchen. Joel gave you a look, and you gave him a comforting smile right back, and it was like the room’s air was replaced with water as he spoke up.

“Tommy?”

“Mmhmm?”

The younger brother whipped around to face you both, sliding the leftovers into the fridge with a slice in his mouth.

“I uh… I wanted to let you know that I’m— that we’re, uh… Together?”

You watched as his dark eyes glazed over for a second, brow scrunched up in confusion. And then his gaze flickered from you to him, and back to you, and his eyes grew as big as saucers.

“No kiddin’?”

Joel laughed.

“Serious. He’s my… He’s my boyfriend.”

Tommy swallowed his mouthful of pizza, wiped his mustache, and smiled. A genuine smile, sweet and warm, reaching his eyes.

“Hermano, good for you. That’s— I’m happy for you.”

He opened his arms and tugged Joel into a hug, and Joel grumbled something about Tommy getting pizza grease on his clothes, but he was smiling wide and relieved over Tommy’s shoulder.

But then Joel’s face got serious again as Tommy pulled away with a manly slap to his shoulder.

“Sarah doesn’t know yet. I wanted to make sure everyone got along first, y’know?”

And then Tommy was looking at you and rolling his eyes and chuckling.

“Think we all get along just fine. You should tell her soon.”

And Joel knew Tommy was right, but it didn’t stop him from looking so anxious when Tommy left with another round of goodbye hugs.

“What are you most worried about?”

You asked him because you knew there were many things to fret over, in his situation.

“Just that… She’s had this idea of me this whole time, y’know? What if she sees me different, and then things change between us?”

And god, that made your throat feel thick, and Joel’s eyes got a little misty, so you pulled him tight against you and let him sag into your hold.

“I know the feeling,” you told him, “but I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

“No?”

You huffed a laugh and tangled your fingers in the curls at the back of his neck.

“You mean everything to her. I can tell just by how she looks at you. Never seen a teenager like their dad that much.”

And he laughed too, a little wet against your shoulder.

“Will you be there with me when I tell her? I don’t— I don’t think I can do it alone.”

Your lips found his bristly cheek and planted a kiss there, and you mumbled of course into the salty skin.

So you went home, with plans to come back the next day. This wasn’t easy for you, either, dating a guy with a kid for the first time. You knew she liked you, at least, but that was a face value assessment. Would she mind you taking up more of her dad’s time? Would she mind you in their space every so often? Would she mind if you came around to her soccer games or science fairs or graduation, as her dad’s boyfriend, in front of all the other kids with nuclear families? Would she resent you for shaking up what they had?

You didn’t get much sleep, thinking about it. You wondered if you should bring her some kind of gift, flowers or a trinket or something, but then you’d be trying too hard, right?

As you got ready the next morning, you thought about all the ways it could go wrong, but none of them really seemed realistic. Sarah was sweet, and intelligent, and surely if she did have reservations, they’d be able to talk them through civilly.

Right?

You couldn’t even listen to music on your way to their house. It was a silent fifteen minute drive with your nerves boiling over and spilling out, thinking of how awkward things could get.

But all of that kind of fell to the wayside when Sarah answered the door and said “I haven’t seen you in forever” with a cheeky grin and those bright eyes she definitely got from Joel.

It felt cozy when you sat down at their kitchen table while they sipped their coffee and orange juice and Sarah told you both all about the English project she was working on. It put you at ease to ask her questions about things you have in common, and for all of you to mesh so well into a normal conversation.

But as it lulled, you noticed Joel getting restless, and you noticed Sarah noticing his uneasiness.

“Dad, you’re acting weird in front of our company.”

And while she was alway kind and respectful, she was still a teenager with a dorky dad.

“Well… I wanted to talk to you about somethin’.”

She looked at him with her head tilted and her eyebrow raised.

“Now?”

She nodded her head toward you as she asked, and you couldn’t blame her for being confused as to why he had to have a heart-to-heart with his ‘friend’ visiting.

“Yeah um… You know how you’re always tellin’ me I should get a life and start datin’?”

Sarah laughed and looked at you.

“Yeah, could you be his wingman? It’s getting sad.”

And you laughed, and Joel laughed, but it was a little forced, and Sarah’s smart, so you could read the confusion on her face.

“What’s this about, dad?”

Joel took a big, deep breath and took Sarah’s hand on the table. You watched her squeeze his fingers as her face twisted up in worry.

“He’s my— we’re dating. He’s my… boyfriend.”

The worry dissipated, and her eyes got wide and her lips pursed before her jaw slowly dropped with surprise.

“You guys are together?”

She looked over to you, then, and all you could do was give her a soft smile and nod.

“I know you might have some questions—”

“How long? When did you guys meet?”

She looked back to Joel to answer, but you could see he was still reeling, with sweat saturating the curls at his temples.

“Just a couple months ago, he taught me how to dance to the Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”

She made a noise, like a scoff, and it made you wince.

“Months!? Dad, why didn’t you tell me?”

You watched Joel’s eyes cloud with— fear? You’d never seen him look so scared.

“I’m sorry, babygirl. I just— I guess I didn’t know how. At first.”

His voice trembled, and you watched Sarah’s lip quiver before she shot out of her chair and lunged toward her dad, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“I love you,” she’d mumbled, like she knew it was what he needed to hear, because his shoulders slumped and his arms wrapped around her back.

You thought maybe you should look away. It felt real personal. But Joel had asked you to be here, and it was about you, too, as much as that fact made you want to burrow underground.

“You could have told me sooner. I love boy talk.”

Her voice was muffled and heavy with tears, but Joel chuckled all the same through his own misty gaze.

“I didn’t know you liked boys.”

She pulled away but didn’t go far, letting her hands squeeze his biceps as she looked to him for an answer.

“Me neither,” he shrugged, “I like this boy, though. A lot.”

And he got this goofy smile on his face, even though it was a little wet, and he looked at you, and you felt so awkward but so head over heels.

“Okay, well, you still should have told me. I would’ve been on the porch cleaning Uncle Tommy’s shotgun when he pulled up.”

Joel groaned and covered his face but you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up out of you.

“What are your intentions with my father?”

And though her tone was joking, her eyes grew soft as she waited for an answer.

“I guess I just wanna make him happy. Because he makes me happy. If that’s alright with you?”

She sat back down and rested her chin in her hand, with her lips pursed again as she thought.

“Sarah, you can have time to think—”

“Deal.”

She extended her hand out to you from across the table, and you took it eagerly to shake on it. But after an appropriate amount of handshake time, she didn’t let your hand go.

“You have to come over for movie nights now.”

“I can do that.”

“And I have to make sure your taste in movies doesn’t suck before I let you pick one.”

“That’s fair.”

“ALSO—“

“Sarah,” Joel interrupted, “this isn’t how deals work. You can’t add stuff while he’s still shaking your hand.”

“As I was saying,” Sarah rolled her eyes, squeezing your hand tighter, “you have to treat him right. He acts all tough but he’s just a softy.”

“Oh Christ,” Joel huffed.

“No, she has a point,” you told him with a smirk, “I promise I will, Sarah.”

Her eyes narrowed at you, but then she grinned, and finally let go of your hand.

So yeah, you really really like Joel Miller. You’re never happier than you are when you spend the evening at his house, snuggled up on one side of him while Sarah’s snuggled up to the other, watching some movie Sarah’s usually the one to pick.

Or when you meet him and Tommy at Sarah’s soccer game, and he greets you with a smile and lifts the bill of your Miller Contracting hat you’ve stolen to peck your lips.

Or when you’re in your own kitchen, making his coffee, and you feel sleepy arms wrap around your waist and a sleep warm kiss at the nape of your neck.

Really, as long as you’re with Joel, you’re the happiest you’ve ever been. And if those three little words slip out one day soon, well, there isn’t a single thing that makes you think Joel would be surprised by them.

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