🔥STEAMINESS ALERT—mild mentions ;) 🔥

♫ Seems like most people I know hold everything in
Just because they don't wanna be judged
They'd rather be left untouched ♪
{Jojo—B.I.D.}

Fate.

Was it fate that Chester always came to her in moments where she didn't realize she'd needed him? Or was it a string of random coincidences that meant nothing at all?

He'd showed up for the first time right when she'd been debating between Ryan and Michael. When she'd been hesitant to choose, unsure who was the better option for her. As if she'd put out a signal stating she needed a break, a minute to think; Chester got that signal and swept in to save her. His arrival paused that debate and added a new element, a new spice that she couldn't seem to get enough of—him. He took her mind off things, despite adding more to her already overloaded plate. He comforted her in ways the other two couldn't—because the other two didn't quite know the extent of her problem.

"It makes you uncomfortable, huh?" Chester's voice broke through her myriad of thoughts, drawing her back to the present, the park, the light chatter surrounding them, the overhead chirps. "What we did, what I've said... me. All of this."

The group of kids playing soccer had left place to a band of young adults practicing yoga; Coralie had been so zoned out she hadn't even noticed.

"What makes you say that?" She wriggled about in her spot, wishing she'd brought a bigger blanket so she could lie down, catch her breath, gather her emotions.

Chester lay on the grass, with nothing beneath him, uncaring of stains or ants. Uncaring—that wasn't the right word to describe him, she thought. No, he was indifferent to the issues that plagued most people, but not uncaring. He sported a gloomy look and seemed stuck in his notes, moody and brooding; but he was far from it. When he smiled, he lit up a room, and when he recited his poetry, he tore hearts and souls out and watched them splay at his feet. And his ultimate talent was expressing his poems without speaking—which he was doing that very second, while looking at Coralie.

He quirked an eyebrow as she stared at him. "What?" He patted her arm; with no invasive meaning, no sexual intentions, and yet his touch raised the hairs on Coralie's arms. "Are you going to deny it? Because I can tell—you're all curled up and quiet, and I feel your tension by being next to you. Compared to last night—"

She perked up and pulled her gaze away from him, focusing on the yoga practice. "I don't want to talk about last night."

Chester sat up, too, and brought his knees to his chest. "Was it that bad? Should I have said something when I left? And hey," he scoffed, "it's not like I could have texted you to thank you for the fun—I'm blocked, remember?"

Coralie placed her journal back into her bag and left said bag in her lap—like a barrier against Chester's hands, in case he were to get any ideas. "It wasn't bad—that's the problem." She sucked her lips in and peered into the folds of her bag, wishing to hide in them. "It was phenomenal, and it helped me not think; but now, I'm overthinking, my mind won't shut off, okay? I was jotting it all down, getting it all out—then you show up. It broke my flow, and I've gone back to freaking out because I can't make up my goddamn mind—"

Chester tugged the bag out of her lap, then yanked her closer to him. She sneered at him, but didn't fight him as he set her onto his legs and cuddled her, rocking her, shushing her.

"You don't have to make up your mind, not yet," he whispered, his voice like the first bite of food after hours of stomach-growling hunger. Replenishing, reviving, invigorating.

"I do." Without meaning to, she nestled into him, sniffling his jogger's scent—antiperspirant, sweat, smoke, salt—and let herself shrink. "The pressure from them, it's catching up to me."

"Well, they can pressure you all they want, but if they can't be patient, that's on them." His hands were warm as they pressed against her shoulders, her spine, pulling her deeper into his embrace.

"Oh? And what about you?" She escaped his clutches, but remained seated atop him, her thigh dangerously close to where the baggiest bit of his pants was—where she knew his dick was waiting, anticipating her every move. "You won't pressure me?"

Chester frowned at her. "I told you I wouldn't. Not because I'm better than them—you and I both know I'm not. But I've known you for a while, Cora. I've seen you in all sorts of situations, and know that you, under pressure? Not a good thing. Your impulses will fuck you up, and I'm a nice guy, but I still want to win your heart. So if that means biting my tongue and being the bigger person, compared to those other two bozos, then I will."

She cringed at his usage of bozos to define Michael and Ryan, but understood his meaning well enough.

He wants to stay in the running, but doesn't want to compete hard like they do.

"Look," he took her legs and set them on either side of his, straddling him, "I'm sorry for last night. Ambushing you in your dressing room like that; it was wrong. But I didn't want them to see me, and I wanted to provide you with comfort. And I think," he tilted her chin up as she tried to tip it downward, "I think I succeeded, yeah? You're acting shy and upset with me, but you did have a good time, right?"

Eyes connected with his, she melted. Not outwardly—if actually she melted into him now, she'd feel the things she was so desperate to avoid—but inwardly, hypnotized by the truth in his gaze. He truly had meant to soothe her, the night before; the violence and destruction of property had been out of their hands.

She offered him a tiny smirk. "Aside from breaking shit, yeah, I did."

She arched her spine and stretched—and realized all too late that the motion had triggered Chester, who gawked at her shifting figure with lust replacing the sweetness in his gaze. His mouth opened for a second, his tongue in view, as if about to lick his lips as he watched her breasts. But he snapped his lips shut and resumed admiring her face, instead.

"And then I got shit-faced with my boss, and had a professional meeting with Mellie in her dressing room—"

"—woah, you met with Mellie Murray?" Chester's hands squeezed around her waist as his eyebrows drew upwards.

"Yeah." Coralie puffed out her chest, this time ignoring Chester's wandering eyes. "It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and I should be stoked about it, but here I am writing pages about the men in my life and how they keep harassing me."

"And you were drunk when you hung out with her?" Chester chewed on his lip, an air of mischief and bad manners coming about him. "Did anything sexy happen?"

She smacked his shoulder and snickered. "Chester! Are you asking if I slept with Mellie? Come on!"

He laughed, and grabbed her wrist before she fully retracted her hand from his shoulder. He lifted her palm to his lips, and placed a few kisses on her skin. "Are you going to act like you're not into women again? Because I can call up Lila in a heartbeat—"

This time she nudged him so hard he fell backwards, and she on top of him. They were laughing, but something changed between them; the friendly banter shifted towards perilous flirtation, and both knew it as their gazes narrowed on one another.

She was about to heave herself up and off him, but he took hold of her wrists, setting her hands onto the grass, leaving her face dangling over his. His breath of peppermint and smoke washed over her cheeks, and she inadvertently sucked it all in, letting it fill her lungs.

"Listen." He rubbed up and down her arms, not quite holding her, but bracing to should she try to get up again. "I know my coming back into your life complicated things. And if it really is a burden, I'll leave. I'll move on and you won't hear from me again."

She flinched; the idea of him never speaking to her again turned sour in her belly, and she shook her head. "I want you in my life... somehow. But I haven't figured out your role yet." It was true—she did love him, but was it friendly, brotherly, or soul-mate status? That love, whatever it was, perturbed her some days, but soothed her on others.

"So you don't want me to disappear?" His lower lip looked ready to puff and pout, and on instinct, she passed a finger over it, as if to flatten it, to caress it.

"No. You... you get it. Because you get me." She sighed and straightened up, but didn't make a move to get off him. Her legs had settled, and the junction between her thighs was far enough from his lower half to avoid any friction that might lead to something else—though at this point, she wouldn't say no to that. She was already atop him, already sensing moisture in her underwear. It was too late. "Like you said, you've seen me in many situations; they haven't. I don't know if that means you have an advantage, or if you're my comfort, or what... but no, I don't want you to go. I can be honest with you in ways I can't with them, not yet. So I need you, I guess. And I hate it, because what if I don't choose you, hm? What if I'm leading you astray? What kind of shitty person does that make me?"

Chester sat up so abruptly, his nose collided with hers. He seized her upper arms and held her close to him, keeping the tips of their noses touching. "It makes you a woman who's seeking her heart's desire. If the other two hate you for that, that's their issue. I know all's fair in love and war. If I lose, I'll cherish the time we spent together."

Too tired to deny the pull towards him, she deflated. "Why are you so fucking good with words?"

He grinned at her and tucked her hair behind her ears. "I told you last night—no strings attached until you decide. I was wrong to decline you in the elevator, and wrong to say we couldn't be friends. We can. And friends... they can fuck, sometimes, yeah? Especially if it helps them both unwind."

She let out a heavy exhale, no longer battling his proximity, choosing to cave, to indulge in it. He didn't tick her off like Ryan, didn't confuse her like Michael; no, he made her wet and eager and excited. "I suppose you're right."

"In that case..." He brought his lips to her ear. "How about we leave this place and go to my apartment for a bubble bath and some takeout, yeah?"

She recoiled, eyes widening. "I don't have a change of clothes—"

He shoved his hand to her mouth. "Don't worry about the details. Just worry about running the bath while I order us something delicious. And get that gorgeous body of yours into the water and wait for me, yeah?"

One flash of Chester and her in the water, sloshing around, tongues dancing, bubbles tickling, was enough to convince her. She envisioned their slippery skin, slippery fingers, his slippery penis sliding into her—and she all but moaned in anticipation.

"Fine." She hopped to her feet and offered her hand to help him up. "But I want wine, too; can we swing that?"

He assured her he had a nice selection of booze at his place, and they took off, hand in hand.

After a difficult Lyft ride—they had a hard time not touching each other and beginning the process before they even got out—they fumbled into his apartment. Pants flying off, buttons coming undone, underwear hitting the floor in record time.

Drawing the bath proved to be complicated; Chester kept sneaking his tongue into Coralie's mouth as she adjusted the temperature and tried to pour in the bubble-making liquid. Once in the bath, they didn't stop to lounge and enjoy the lavish bubbles—they got straight to it, enjoying their nakedness and the sleek sensation of soap on their bodies. How many times he made love to her, she wasn't sure; but each time ended with a massive release and a promise to herself that she needed to turn off her vagina's magic, and soon—before it had no magic left.

♥♥♥