“Alli!” Thatcher’s voice cracks slightly.
“What? I’m just saying.” She turns to me. “If you’re going to corrupt my innocent little Meatball here, you better be worth the HR violations. I’m Alli, by the way. Best friend, neighbor down the hall, and wholesome emotional support.”
“Pierce,” I manage, very aware that I’m half-naked in a kitchen with my assistant’s best friend, who seems to find the whole situation hilarious.
“Oh, I know exactly who you are. Meatball talks about you constantly. ‘Pierce did this, Pierce said that, Pierce has really nice lips.’” She pauses, glancing between us. “Speaking of lips, nice job on the hickeys. Very thorough work. Both of you.”
I raise my hand to my neck. Do I have them too?
Thatcher makes a sound like a dying animal. “Can we please not?—”
“What? I’m proud of you! Finally making a move instead of just drawing about it.” Alli turns back to me. “You shouldknow, he’s been pining for months. Absolutely pathetic. I was starting to think I’d have to lock you two out on the roof garden upstairs.”
“We actually tried that,” I say before I can stop myself.
“Pierce!” Thatcher hisses.
“Do you really have a roof garden here?” I ask.
Thatcher shakes his head. “It’s a six-foot square with three dead potted plants.”
“But it has the best views of the river,” Alli adds before pointing at both of us. “So this is…a thing then?”
The question hangs in the air, loaded with all the implications I’m not ready to unpack. Thatcher’s looking at me with something that might be hope, and I realize whatever I say next is going to matter.
“It’s…complicated,” I say finally.
“Everything good is complicated,” Alli replies with a shrug. “Simple is boring. Right, Meatball?”
Thatcher nods, but I can’t read his expression. “Right.”
“Good. Now, I’m going to go feed my animals and pretend I never saw Pierce Dellcourt’s very impressive chest in my best friend’s kitchen.” She heads for the door, then pauses. “But, Meatball? Next time, text me. I’ll bring three coffees. See you later, boo.”
She grabs one of the takeout coffee cups and leaves one behind. The door closes behind her with a soft click, leaving us in deafening silence.
“So,” Thatcher says eventually. “That happened.”
“Your best friend is…”
“Terrifying? Yeah, she grows on you.” He looks up at me through his lashes. “She’s not wrong about the drawings, by the way.”
“Anatomically optimistic?”
His blush deepens. “I may have taken some creative liberties.”
I pull him closer, unable to resist when he looks at me like that. “I’d like to see them sometime.”
“Maybe,” he says, standing on his toes to kiss me softly. “If you’re very good.”
“Define good.”
Thatcher’s eyes darken as he steps closer, his hands sliding up my chest. “Good would be your dick inside me for breakfast, but I’ll take a blowjob.”
The coffee cups are forgotten as I lift him up, his legs wrapping around my waist automatically. He laughs against my neck, the sound breathless and full of promise as I carry him toward the bedroom.
Reality can wait a few more minutes, can’t it? Just long enough to memorize how Thatcher feels in my arms, how perfectly we fit together in this quiet morning space.
But even as we lose ourselves in each other, part of me knows we’re just delaying the inevitable. The world beyond his apartment walls won’t wait forever, but for now, I let myself have this moment. Reality can wait just a little longer.
