Chapter 1 - The First Slip
I’d been at the reunion for maybe ten minutes before I noticed him.
He was at the far end of the lawn, talking to Sarah. Tall, with proportions that made it obvious he spent serious time at the gym. I registered it before I meant to.
He didn’t match the rest of the scene. Too solid. Too deliberate in the way he held himself.
My eyes lingered a second longer than they should have, tracking the line of his shoulders, the way his shirt sat across his chest. Then I told myself to look away… and finally did.
“Is that Sarah’s new friend?” a relative asked.
“I think so,” another responded.
A pause, then a low laugh. “Good for her.”
I glanced down at my phone, not wanting to look back right away. I had the sense that if I did, I’d keep watching.
But before long, I looked back.
His skin was deep brown, warm against the green of the lawn. The light settled across his shoulders and chest, catching along the curves and edges, defining more than it hid.
I held there a second too long.
His arms moved as he spoke, the sleeves tightening with the motion, then easing again. The shirt didn’t disguise anything. If anything, it followed him too closely, mapping the shape underneath.
“Jesus,” someone else murmured, not especially quietly. “She didn’t warn us.”
In the moments after spotting him, I struggled to look away and stay focussed elsewhere. I tried to anchor myself in the familiar rhythms of the afternoon and the low hum of conversation. Instead, my attention kept slipping back.
Then Jeff’s voice from earlier surfaced. My sister’s bringing a friend. First time anyone’s meeting him.
Of course.
He laughed at something Sarah said, head tipping back slightly, his neck thickening as the muscles flexed, his jaw going sharp at the angle. I knew I shouldn’t be staring, but I seemed unable to stop myself.
It wasn’t just his size.
It was the way he stood there like he belonged. Conversation moved around him without resistance, voices rising and falling, the rhythm of it settling easily with him at the center.
He didn’t reach for the moment. It came to him.
I told myself to look away. That would have been normal. To scan for familiar faces. To drift toward Jeff’s parents.
Instead, my attention kept circling back. Again and again. Each time, it took a little more effort to pull it loose.
Across the lawn, he said something that made a few people laugh. Not loud. Not forced. Just enough that it carried. He barely moved when he spoke, just a slight shift through his shoulders, like everything else followed from there.
Jeff nudged my arm, saying something about where we’d be sleeping for the weekend. I nodded, answered a bit too slowly, then realized I wasn’t entirely sure what I’d just agreed to. He didn’t seem to notice.
That’s when he turned slightly. The stunning man I couldn’t look away from had shifted just enough that I had a clear line of sight. No one blocked him now, just him, fully in view. The crowd must have shifted a step or two without me catching it. I didn’t look away.
Then he looked over. His eyes landed on mine and stayed there.
My breath caught, just enough that I noticed it, something tightening low in my chest as I held it a second longer than I meant to. He didn’t look away. He held my gaze, calm and steady, long enough that it stopped feeling accidental.
I knew I should stop it. I told myself to look away, to break it before it turned into anything more than a passing moment. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. His gaze stayed steady, unhurried, like he had nowhere else to be and no reason to rush me out of it.
Heat crept up along my neck, a quiet awareness settling in that I was still there. I dropped my eyes first. It felt abrupt, almost clumsy, and didn’t quite know how to recover. I glanced down at my hands, adjusted my watch, gave myself something to do while I avoided looking back. By the time I did, he’d already turned slightly, back to Sarah, as if nothing at all had passed between us.
But the way he’d held my gaze hadn’t gone anywhere. It lingered under my skin, steady and hard to ignore, and with it came a slow, unwelcome awareness of what I’d just let happen.
Jeff and I had been together almost two years. Lately he’d been talking more seriously about moving in, about the next step, about building something that made sense. I’d been telling myself the same thing, that he was good for me, that we worked.
I stayed with that thought, pressing into it, like if I held it firmly enough it might settle everything else back into place.
~~~~~
Jeff had said we should get some drinks, and I went along with it, more for the excuse than anything else. I needed a minute to clear my head, somewhere I wasn’t still standing out in the open, replaying the way I’d been staring at him.
It was easier to think of him that way. Not as someone with a name who might make me feel like that again. Just as… a distraction. A very good-looking, very inconvenient one.
The bar sat under a white marquee, a long counter with a bartender taking orders while tubs of ice with rows of bottles lined the tables behind him. A couple of uncles hovered nearby, deep into a baseball argument. I ordered a beer and a cider. When the bartender handed them over, I focussed on the cold neck of the bottle in my hand and the condensation slick against my fingers.
I was just finishing up when someone stepped in beside me. Close enough that I noticed it before I turned.
“Double fisting it, huh? You must be thirsty.”
I turned.
He stood closer than necessary, one arm resting along the edge of the bar. “Hope I’m not crowding you,” he added, lightly amused.
Up close, Sarah’s friend was… a lot. Out of the sun, his skin looked an even darker brown. He stood a head taller than me, enough that I had to tip my chin to meet his eyes.
The shirt only made it worse. Patterned in purple and soft pink, the sleeves stretched tight over his thick biceps, the fabric pulled smooth across a chest that left no room for doubt. Two buttons were undone, a heavy silver chain dipping into the open V and catching the light against his skin.
My gaze slipped to his chest, then his arm. His forearm rested there, thick and corded, veins standing out under the skin. His muscles shifted as he leaned, subtle but unmistakable.
I was staring again. I cleared my throat, a little too quickly. “Uh… hi.”
“I got what I came for,” lifting the drinks slightly and starting to step past him.
He smiled, like he’d already clocked the whole situation and was letting me catch up. He shifted at the same time I did. Just enough to stay in my way.
“I was starting to think you bolted the second you realized I noticed you.”
I could feel the heat climbing my cheeks.
“I didn’t—” I started, then let it drop. There was no denying I’d been busted.
He glanced at the bottles in my hand, then back to my face. “Relax,” he said easily. “I’m not offended. I just figured I should say hi before you vanished again.”
“You’re Garrett, right? Jeff’s guy?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
He held out his hand. “Amare. I came with Sarah.”
I took it automatically. “Garrett,” I said, too fast, ignoring that he already knew my name. Then I continued, trying to cover up my awkwardness. “Cool name,” I repeated it softly. “Ama-ray.”
The corner of his mouth tilted, like he’d clocked the nerves and found me interesting. His grip was solid. What I noticed wasn’t his strength so much as the size of his hand, closing around mine, fingers thick and warm. I let go too quickly.
He leaned one hip against the bar. “So,” he said, “what was it that caught your attention?”
The question was direct and deliberate. He knew exactly what he was doing.
For a second I just stood there, feeling it land, every option running through my head. None of them working.
“I was actually wondering how you—” I started, then cut myself off, hearing how that sounded. “I mean… what do you do to get arms like that.”
His eyebrow lifted, pleased but measured. “Arms, huh?”
He took a slow drink, lifting the bottle just enough that his bicep swelled under the sleeve, fabric tightening as the muscle flexed and held. More veins surfaced along his arm before easing back as he lowered it.
The reaction hit fast — a soft sound, more breath than voice.
His eyes flicked to mine. He caught it. I knew he did.
A faint, knowing smile curved his mouth. “What else caught your eye?”
I swallowed. I should have used that moment to step away, to say something polite and normal and go find Jeff. Instead, I found myself still standing there, still looking at him, fully aware I wasn’t doing what I should.
“Your shoulders,” I said, and then, apparently, I wasn’t done embarrassing myself. “The way your shirt fits.”
This trainwreck of a conversation had my face heating again.
He glanced down at himself, then back up. “Yeah? I wasn’t sure about this one. Thought it might be a bit much for a family thing.”
“It’s not too much,” I said, too quickly.
His smile deepened. “I was asking if it was too much for them.”
Heat shot straight through me.
He shifted closer, just enough that I felt the hard edge of his torso and thigh along my side, close enough to register the warmth of him. His sleeve edged into my peripheral vision, and a second later his scent reached me, clean and warm, skin underneath it carrying a quiet heat that made my stomach tighten.
“I’m glad you like the shirt,” he said.
I hesitated, glancing around me, then looking up to meet his gaze. “Sure. Uh… you’re welcome.” I winced at how not cool I sounded.
His mouth curved slightly. “I figured it would get noticed,” he said. He nodded vaguely toward the lawn, then let his gaze settle back on mine. “I didn’t know by who.”
A sharp pulse of arousal hit low and fast. My body reacting before I had any chance to get ahead of it.
He let the moment hang, just long enough that I became aware of how shallow my breathing had gone. Then his eyes dropped briefly to my hands. He settled in a fraction closer, his lat pressing lightly into my side, solid and warm, the heat from it bleeding into me and I had to fight the instinct to shift toward it instead of away.
“You get quiet when you’re thinking,” he said, almost casually.
I looked up at him, then realized I’d been looking at his mouth.
“Sorry,” I said. It came out too quick, a nervous reaction.
He smiled a little, like he was enjoying himself. “About what?”
I shook my head once. “Nothing. I just—”
He shifted his stance, one foot sliding back slightly, and leaned in just enough to hear me better. The open V of his shirt widened with it, the silver chain dragging lower, slipping into the deep groove between his pecs before settling there, caught against the rise of muscle.
I caught it before I meant to. The way it sat there, framed by the separation, the muscle tightening and easing with each breath. There was detail there I wasn’t used to seeing up close — striations shifting under his skin, the kind of definition that didn’t happen by accident.
My attention was focussed there too long.
His eyes followed mine down, then back up.
“Ah,” he said quietly.
My chest tightened.
“I wasn’t—”
He didn’t interrupt. He just watched me for a second, like he was deciding how much to enjoy this.
“You get distracted easily, don’t you?” he asked.
That was worse.
I swallowed. “You’re doing it on purpose.”
For a second, I thought he might say something else. Or do anything at all to keep me feeling flustered.
Instead, it felt like he decided he’d gotten exactly what he wanted.
He just smiled and tapped his bottle lightly against mine.
“See you around, Garrett.”
And Amare walked away.
I watched him go — his broad back, shoulders rolling as he moved, his body effortlessly pulling my attention.
I stood there with two drinks in my hands, aware now of everything I’d been trying not to feel.
~~~~~
I walked back across the lawn toward the lodge, trying to steady myself. Amare kept replaying in my head, fragments of our encounter looping in random order.
Jeff turned when he saw me. “Took you a while.”
I handed him his cider. “The bar was busy.”
He slipped an arm around my shoulders. Normally, I would have leaned into it without thinking. This time, I felt it land, something about it catching just enough that I noticed. I became aware of it in a different way, the weight of his arm, the familiarity of it, and, uncomfortably, how visible it suddenly felt. I resisted the urge to shift away and felt a sharp stab of guilt for even wanting to. Jeff hadn’t done anything wrong. He was just showing affection the way he always did. That was what made the guilt hit harder.
“You okay?” Jeff asked. “You seem a little… distracted.”
“I’m fine,” I said, too quickly.
Even as the word left my mouth, my attention pulled away again. Not deliberately. Just drawn, like something in me had already decided where to look.
Amare stood a short distance off, near the line of trees. His weight settled to one side, drink in hand. He wasn’t doing anything. Just watching. When he caught my eye, a slow smile surfaced.
My stomach tightened. I looked away. Then I looked back.
Jeff followed my gaze. He didn’t scoff right away. He watched for a second, long enough that I noticed it, before shaking his head.
“God,” he muttered. “I don’t get guys like that. Could his shirt be any tighter?” He took a sip of his drink, then added, dry and dismissive, “Who’s he trying to impress?”
He gave a short, incredulous laugh, but his eyes stayed on Amare just long enough.
Ten minutes earlier, I’d been at the bar doing exactly that. He’d pulled my attention without trying, just leaning in close, his shirt falling open, the shift of it, the scent of him still lingering. I’d stayed with it a second too long. Long enough that I felt it in the way my pants had gone tight, sudden and unmistakable, before I forced myself to look away. The memory came back just as quickly, my jaw tightening as I dragged my focus back to Jeff.
Jeff didn’t react the same way.
He wasn’t unimpressed. His eyes stayed on Amare a fraction too long, his jaw tightening before he covered it with a scoff and a sip of his drink. The dismissal came a beat late, like he was trying to get out in front of it.
It was subtle, but I caught it. The way his attention lingered just a second longer than it should have. The way the scoff came after, not before. I’d seen that look before—the quick once-over, and the split second after when it didn’t land the way he wanted. The dismissal came right on its heels.
I could remember seeing that in him before.
Before I could decide whether to respond, we were pulled into helping inside the marquee. Jeff’s mother was gesturing toward a stack of speakers left in the middle of what would later be the dance floor — three large units, one on top of the other.
Jeff stepped forward immediately. He squared himself to the stack, bent, and wrapped his arms around the sides. He gave it a pull.
Nothing.
He adjusted his footing and tried again, harder this time, breath tightening as he strained. The speakers shifted a fraction of an inch, just enough to scrape against the floor before settling back into place.
“Oh — don’t hurt yourself, sweety. Let’s get you some help,” his mother said lightly, waving a hand as if to take the pressure off. “They’re heavier than they look.”
She glanced around the tent, then spotted Amare nearby.
“Amare?” she called. “Could you give us a hand for a second?”
Jeff reached for the top speaker again, more deliberately this time, like he’d decided to handle it himself, but Amare was already stepping in.
“I’ve got it,” he said, calm and easy, and Jeff found himself edged out of the way as Amare took the space, his hands settling on either side of the stack before Jeff could follow through.
Amare lifted.
There was no pause, no testing of the weight. His biceps swelled as the muscles engaged, sleeves pulling tight as the weight came up. The fabric across his back stretched smooth, shoulder muscles rising and settling beneath it as he lifted the stack in one controlled motion.
A quiet sound moved through the tent. Jeff’s mother blinked, then smiled, surprised despite herself.
Amare carried the speakers where she indicated, steady and unhurried, easing the weight down so they sat exactly where they were meant to go.
“Oh,” she said. “Well. That was impressive. Thank you.”
Jeff appeared at my side, voice low. “What the fuck was that?”
I didn’t answer right away. I wasn’t sure how.
“He didn’t need to do all that,” Jeff went on, a little too quickly. “I was already moving it.”
Before I could respond, Amare turned and walked back toward us, a faint hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, his pace easy, unhurried.
“Hope that was okay,” he said, looking at Jeff. “It looked like you could use a hand.”
Jeff stared at him for a second, jaw tightening. He shot me a look, sharp and searching, then shook his head once.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered.
He turned and walked out of the marquee, his pace stiff, like he needed the space, not looking back.
The moment hung there, exposed, people drifting away in small clusters as the pull of dinner drew them back toward the lodge. By the time I looked up again, the group under the marquee had thinned, then cleared, leaving Amare and me alone.
His gaze stayed on me, steady and assessing, like he was taking in the hesitation, the way I wouldn’t quite look at him.
“I guess,” he said quietly, “that didn’t sit well with him.”
My throat tightened. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Do what?” His tone was curious.
“You stepped in. In front of everyone. His mom.” I exhaled, frustrated with myself for sounding so defensive. “You could’ve just let him handle it.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Are you trying to say he could have?”
I hesitated.
Amare waited.
“No,” I admitted.
The smile deepened, slow and satisfied.
I shook my head once. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”
“You’re just figuring that out?”
There was no apology in it. Just agreement of what he’d done.
He stepped closer. Close enough that I could feel the heat of him through my shirt, his chest and thigh pressing in, solid and steady, closing the space between us.
“I noticed,” he went on, quieter now, “that you didn’t look away.”
Heat rushed straight into my face.
“That’s not—”
“You never looked away,” he said, calm, not accusing. “Not once.”
I swallowed, with nothing to say.
His arm slid around my waist, unhurried, not pulling, just resting there, easy and confident, leaving me an obvious out I didn’t take.
“You enjoyed it,” he added softly.
The word hung between us, and I couldn’t deny it. I didn’t step away.
He drew me in, settling me against his side, his chest firm against my shoulder, his arm heavy at my back, his breath warm near my ear.
My hand came up before I thought about it, fingers closing around his upper arm. He was warm and dense, the muscle not yielding under my grip.
“Jesus,” I said under my breath. “Your arm is—”
He glanced down at my hand, then back at me, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You like that?”
And then, slowly, deliberately, he curled his arm.
His muscles swelled under my fingers, hardening, forcing them apart. His bicep filled my hand, firm and unyielding, the flex pulling a soft gasp from me.
He held it longer than necessary, watching me, then let it ease. But not all the way.
A knowing grin pulled at the corner of his mouth as his hand shifted at my waist, drawing me a fraction closer, our hips brushing as he stayed there, not moving.
It wasn’t an accident. He had placed me there, waiting to see if I’d retreat, if I’d pretend not to understand what he was doing. I went still, and in that stillness I knew I’d answered him.
Amare held me there, his hand firm at my waist. I felt the pull of him deeper than I expected, something he’d drawn out of me before I had a chance to shut it down. I was already hard for him.
I couldn’t have spoken if I’d tried.
He leaned in, his breath brushing my ear, then shifted again, steady and certain, sliding his leg between mine. The move stole what little air I had left, making everything suddenly, unmistakably real.
My body had answered him before I could stop it.
“There it is,” he said quietly, as he pulled me in against his thigh, holding me there.
He let the silence stretch, not needing to say anything else.
I felt how exposed I was. How easily he’d taken hold of my attention and kept it there.
“Get through dinner,” he said softly. A pause, deliberate. “Then we’ll finish this.”
He pulled me against him once more — a final reminder — before he eased back, his hand lingering at my waist a heartbeat longer before dropping away. The loss of contact left me wanting him back there.
Then he turned and walked away like nothing had happened.
I didn’t follow. I just stood there, still caught in the moment, staring after him.
The worst part wasn’t that he’d crossed a line.
It was that I hadn’t wanted to stop him.
~~~~~
The dining room had been set up with a series of round tables, each one already filling as people filtered in and found their seats. Conversation came easily, voices overlapping, laughter carrying across the room as wine was poured and dishes began to move.
By the time I sat down, Mike and Jeff were already deep into something, leaning toward each other across the table, talking like they’d picked up a thread from earlier in the day.
“…and that’s why it never actually—”
Mike stopped mid-sentence.
His attention shifted without subtlety, his eyes tracking Amare as he settled in, the rest of his thought left hanging.
Sarah and Amare had just reached the table. I watched as they took their seats, Amare pulling his chair in beside Jeff.
His mouth tightened slightly as he leaned forward, the angle of his body turning just enough to close himself off from the seat beside him. He didn’t look at Amare. His focus stayed forward now, like the conversation had already moved on, even though it hadn’t.
I stepped in with introductions, trying to keep it light. Mike nodded along, but his attention kept drifting back.
The conversation tried to pick up again, but the mood was a little off.
Amare reached for his glass. His arm extended across the table, forearm tightening as his sleeve pulled slightly against his bicep, the shape of it sitting heavy and defined beneath the fabric.
I couldn’t stop myself from watching it. Neither could Mike.
“Jesus,” he said, leaning back slightly, a grin breaking across his face. “You’re even bigger up close.”
Jeff’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth.
“Thanks,” he grinned. “I guess you notice more up close.”
Mike let out a short laugh, still looking at him. “So, like… do you workout all day?”
“Not all day,” Amare said, still grinning. “Gym’s just part of it.” He glanced down briefly, then back up. “It’s how you eat, sleep, everything. It’s not for everyone, but I love it.”
The table quieted just enough to listen. Mike nodded, leaning in now.
I was still watching the way Amare sat there beside Jeff, his frame filling the chair, shoulders set wide, the roundness pushing against the fabric of his shirt. His arms rested on the table, biceps holding their shape even at rest, forearms full near the elbow and tapering down to the wrist, veins visible beneath the skin. Even sitting still, his muscles looked hard and defined.
Their arms rested close on the table. The difference registered this time. Beside Amare, Jeff looked smaller than I’d ever really noticed.
One of the dates then shifted closer, asking what he ate, how often he trained.
I barely registered the question. The attention stayed on Amare, and he wore it easily.
Jeff shifted in his seat, like he needed more room. He’d had enough.
“Sounds exhausting,” he said finally, still not looking at Amare. “All that work just to get jacked.”
Amare turned toward him, calm, almost curious. “That’s not the goal.”
Jeff let out a short breath, something between a laugh and a scoff. “Come on.” He hesitated, then added, a little too quickly, “You don’t get arms like that by accident.”
His eyes flicked up then, catching for a second before dropping again.
“I mean…” he went on, tone tightening, “People see you coming. You walk into a room and it’s—” He cut himself off, jaw setting.
A couple of people glanced between them. Mike’s smile faltered.
Amare didn’t move. “Yeah, people notice,” he said evenly.
Jeff nodded once. “Yeah. Exactly.” He leaned back slightly. “That’s what I’m saying. It’s all just… surface stuff. All that focus on muscles. Like it makes you special.”
Something in the way Amare looked at him then made my stomach tighten.
The table went still.
Jeff straightened in his chair. “Muscles don’t mean much in the real world.”
Amare held his gaze, just long enough to make it deliberate. “Earlier,” he said, “it seemed pretty important to you.”
Jeff’s eyes flashed. “I could have moved those speakers.”
The words came out too fast. Sharper than he intended. The table quieted again, this time less politely.
Amare raised an eyebrow. “That’s why your mom asked me instead of you?”
Mike let out a low whistle before he could stop himself. Jeff’s face flushed, colour creeping up his neck.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Jeff said quickly. “She just assumed. People always assume with guys like you.”
“Guys like me,” Amare repeated, smiling.
“Yeah,” Jeff said, heat rising now. “The whole alpha thing. Big muscles, big presence. It’s bullshit. Half of it’s just clothes that make you look bigger than you are.”
Amare glanced down at himself, amused. “You think so?”
“I work out too,” Jeff said. “I’m not some couch potato.”
“What do you do?” Amare asked.
“Cardio mostly,” Jeff said, defensive.
Amare nodded slowly. “Cardio’s good for endurance.”
Jeff’s eyes narrowed. “But weights too. I bench, like, one-twenty-five. That’s big weight.”
“Sure,” Amare said. “Just not at this table.”
I felt it then — the moment Jeff crossed the line. The way his posture shifted forward, the way his voice rose despite himself.
“Muscles are just for show,” Jeff said. “For bluffing people. Being strong isn’t about walking around trying to intimidate everyone.”
Someone shifted uncomfortably. Another cousin cleared his throat.
Mike glanced between them, eyes wide. “Man,” he muttered, “this just got real.”
Amare leaned back in his chair, relaxed, watching Jeff wind himself up. “Sounds like you’ve got me all figured out.”
“Yeah,” Jeff said. “I do.”
“And you’re pretty sure about that,” Amare said.
Jeff hesitated. Just a fraction. Then nodded. “Hundred percent!”
The silence was broken by an awkward chuckle. Someone not sure if this was still a joke.
Mike shifted in his chair, eyes flicking between Jeff and Amare. He was smiling, but it had that edged curiosity now, the kind that comes out when a room senses a dare forming and nobody wants to name it first.
“So,” he said, stretching the word out like he was testing the weight of it, “if that’s the case…”
He looked at Jeff, then back at Amare.
“Why don’t you guys arm wrestle?”
Everybody looked at Jeff.
His confidence faltered, mouth opening like he had an answer ready, then stalled. His eyes darted toward me, then away, then back again, like he was doing the math in real time and realizing there wasn’t a version of this where he came out untouched.
Because if he backed out, everyone would see it.
And if he didn’t…
I watched him try to make his expression hold.
He’d talked himself somewhere he couldn’t step back from.
~~~~~
Amare’s PoV
I met Jeff’s eyes and smiled.
“Sure,” I said. “I’m game.”
They cleared a small square table near the edge of the room. Chairs scraped back. A loose half-circle formed as curiosity pulled people closer, the way it always does when something unscripted starts to take shape.
I made my way over.
Jeff followed a step behind, his drink still in his hand. He set it down a little too hard, wiped his palm on his jeans, then hesitated. He took his seat without looking at me.
I rested my forearm on the table and waited.
Jeff looked up, swallowed, then placed his elbow down across from mine. His arm was wiry rather than solid. He rolled his shoulder once, like he was loosening up, then set his grip.
When our hands met, I felt the contrast.
His fingers closed fast. Mine settled more slowly. I felt the faint tremor in his hand before anything had even started.
“So,” he said, trying for casual, his voice a touch too loud. “How much do you bench, anyway?”
Garrett had stepped closer now, hovering just off to the side. I caught his eye briefly, then looked back at Jeff.
“Four-fifty. For three.”
Someone let out a low, disbelieving laugh. Another cousin raised his eyebrows and glanced at Jeff.
Jeff blinked. His grip tightened, then shifted. His elbow slid a fraction as he tried to pull his hand back.
I held him in place just firmly enough for him to feel it.
Jeff’s jaw set. His breath came out sharper.
“Garrett,” I said, my eyes still on Jeff. “Count us down.”
Garrett hesitated, then nodded. He placed his hand lightly over ours.
“Three.”
“Two.”
Jeff leaned in, already tight, already braced.
“One.”
Jeff hit it hard right off the start, throwing his weight into it like momentum alone might be enough, his shoulder dipping as his breath came faster. The table creaked faintly under the sudden force.
My arm didn’t move.
I held him at neutral, forearm vertical, steady, letting him feel it as he strained against me. His muscles jumped under the effort, cords standing out along his forearm, but the position stayed locked. The seconds stretched just long enough for it to register, for the room to quiet around us as his breathing grew louder.
“You can use both hands if you want,” I said, calm, a hint of a grin in my voice.
His eyes flicked up, insulted. “Yeah right.”
“Suit yourself.”
He pushed harder. Nothing changed. Then, his free hand hovered for a second before he brought it down, gripping his own wrist, and a ripple moved through the crowd, a couple of people chuckling under their breath.
Only then did I let my arm give.
Just enough for that flicker of confidence to come back as he started driving me down, inch by inch, both hands locked now, pulling with everything he had. I let it happen, controlled, measured, watching the shift in his face as disbelief gave way to something closer to excitement.
Jeff’s eyes lit up. He let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “Yeah,” he said, breathless. “Yeah—”
I let it carry until the back of my hand hovered an inch above the tabletop.
Then I stopped him.
Everything lined up—forearm, shoulder, chest—locked in place. He pushed harder, putting his weight into it, but nothing moved.
“Did you really think you were going to win this?” I asked quietly.
“Shut up,” he muttered, teeth clenched, still pushing down.
My hand didn’t move.
Then I pushed back.
Not all at once. I made him feel it as the ground he thought he’d taken started slipping away beneath him. He fought it immediately, every muscle straining as he tried to hold onto the position he’d just convinced himself was his.
It was never going to be enough.
I brought him back toward center, inch by inch, steady, controlled. His forearm trembled harder the farther we went. His eyes dropped to our hands, the realization setting in as the outcome became obvious.
When we crossed neutral, his breath hitched.
I didn’t stop there.
I pushed him down halfway and held him again, letting the strain build. His wrist wobbled, muscle jumping under the pressure, control slipping.
“That burn you’re feeling,” I said, “must really hurt.”
“Whatever,” he snapped, but the word cracked as it left him.
I finished it then.
Slow, steady pressure until the back of his hand met the table with a solid thud.
Jeff tried to yank his hand away immediately.
I held his knuckles against the wood, perfectly still, my eyes on his. One second. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Then I let him go.
“That was fun,” I said easily, rolling my shoulders. “Let me know if you ever want a rematch.”
Jeff pulled his hand back like it stung, rubbing his palm against his thigh, laughing too fast, eyes darting anywhere but at me.
“Okay,” he said. “Yeah. Alright.”
He was already standing. “I’m getting another drink.”
He pushed through the small crowd and disappeared toward the bar, shoulders tight, head down.
I didn’t watch him go. I lifted my gaze and caught Garrett’s eyes as they came back to mine.
He had tracked Jeff’s retreat just long enough to understand exactly what had just happened, before his attention came back to me. Now, our eyes held.
~~~~~
Garrett’s POV
The mood didn’t change when Jeff left the dining room.
A couple of his cousins clapped Amare on the back as they drifted past, one of them muttering something about Jeff being an idiot for challenging him. Amare acknowledged it easily, barely engaging. He wasn’t basking in it.
He was looking at me.
I stood there, just a few feet away, thinking I should really go find Jeff. Only, my attention stayed on Amare.
He stood and tilted his head toward the doors. “Walk with me.”
I hesitated. I wanted to follow, but for a second my thoughts went back to Jeff.
Then I nodded and moved in beside him.
We slipped outside into the cooler night air. People had already started to spread out across the lawn, forming loose circles, greeting relatives more freely now that the formalities of dinner were over.
We walked side by side, close enough that I was aware of him with every step. My arm brushed his once, accidentally, and I felt it all the way up my spine. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and spoke first.
“That was…” I shook my head, searching. “Impressive.”
He glanced at me. “You mean the part where I crushed your boyfriend’s ego?”
A chuckle slipped out before I could stop it. I turned away, dragging a hand over my mouth, aware of how disloyal it sounded.
He’d meant it as a jab. And it landed. “I mean… yeah,” I said. “But also…I guess he kind of had it coming.”
He watched me for a beat, then nodded once. “Yeah,” he said.
I hesitated. “You didn’t hold back.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying I should have?”
“It looked…” I said finally. “Merciless.”
A corner of his mouth lifted.
“That’s what I was going for,” he said. “I wanted him to feel it.”
“You made it look easy.”
“It was,” he replied, without hesitation. “Jeff shot his mouth off over dinner. He wanted to be seen. He wanted to push.”
I stayed quiet, listening.
“He just couldn’t back it up,” Amare continued. “Not with me.”
He paused, then added, “Once Jeff crossed that line, there was no version of tonight where he walked away with his dignity intact.”
The certainty in his voice landed hard, sending a sharp pulse between my legs.
We stepped off the path and through an opening in the hedges into the small meadow beyond. The sounds from the lawn dimmed behind us, reduced to scattered laughter and music in the night air.
He stopped first.
Moonlight caught along the open line of his shirt, tracing the broad span of his chest and the solid slope of his shoulders. The fabric pulled slightly where it stretched across him. Up close, I could see the definition in his arms, the quiet density of him.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I just… that was a lot.”
“For him,” he said. “Or for you?”
I let out a breath. “For him,” I said first. That was the easy answer. Then, because it was true, “And yeah. For me too.”
He watched me for a moment, quiet.
“Tough how?”
I hesitated, then shook my head slightly, trying to put it into words.
“He knew,” I said. “He knew he was outmatched.”
Amare didn’t interrupt.
“He just couldn’t back out,” I went on. “Not in front of everyone. Not after the way he’d been talking.”
I exhaled slowly.
“And you saw it,” I added, looking at him.
That part felt important.
“You knew exactly where that was going.”
Amare held my gaze, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. I didn’t look away.
“And you let it happen anyway,” he said.
There was no accusation in it. He just saw it for what it was — what I’d done… and why. The words settled between us. I felt it in how I was responding to him, how my pants were feeling tighter. It made my breath catch as I realized how easily any feelings of guilt were being swept aside.
I glanced down for a second, then back up.
“I could’ve stepped in,” I said. “I should have… pulled him out of it before it got there. Given him a way out.”
Amare tilted his head slightly. “But you didn’t.”
Quieter this time.
My throat tightened.
“I thought about it,” I said, though even as the words left my mouth, I knew they weren’t the part that mattered.
My gaze dropped briefly before I forced myself to meet his again.
“I didn’t want to,” I said quietly.
The admission landed heavier than anything else—not because it surprised him, but because it didn’t.
He already knew.
I’d stood there and watched it happen — Jeff pushing, Amare setting him up — and never once tried to warn him he was in over his head. Not because I couldn’t — but because I didn’t want it to stop. Not because I couldn’t — but because I didn’t want it to stop.
I’d wanted to see how it would end.
The thought sat there, exposed now, with nowhere to go.
And underneath it, something else followed — quieter, but harder to ignore.
The way he’d handled it. The certainty.
I felt it again, low and steady, tightening as I looked at him and understood exactly what he’d done.
The space between us felt different now. Closer. I was aware of him in a way that felt different now, harder to ignore, even though he hadn’t touched me yet.
Amare reached for my wrist slowly, giving me time to pull away if I wanted to.
I didn’t.
His fingers closed around me, guiding my hand to his stomach. I felt the warmth of him, the firm tension under my palm, and my fingers pressed in without thinking. He didn’t stop there. He shifted my hand lower, unhurried, letting me follow the movement rather than forcing it.
I felt it before I fully processed it.
He was hard.
My breath caught, the reality of it hitting all at once, sharper than anything that had come before.
“Garrett,” he said softly. “That’s because of you.”
For a second, something in me tried to catch up — to pull me back to the table, to Jeff, to what this would look like in the morning — but the thought didn’t hold.
He stepped in closer, his hand sliding from my wrist to my hip, turning me just enough that I was standing directly in front of him. My hand never left him.
Now there was no space left between us.
Moonlight caught the lines of his face, sharpening the steady focus in his eyes, the set of his jaw, the quiet certainty in the way he held me there. The way he’d moved me into place settled something between us without needing to say it out loud.
“You’re not very good at resisting what you want,” he murmured.
The music still drifted faintly across the field, the party carrying on somewhere behind us, but it felt distant now.
Out here, with his hand still on my hip and mine wrapped around him, there wasn’t any space left to pretend this was anything else.
~~~~~
As I looked up at him, he was stunning. I was done just looking.
My hand lifted and grabbed at his chest, fingers pressing into his dense muscles. I needed to feel him, to ground myself in something solid while my other hand stayed wrapped around him. His pec filled my palm—firm, unyielding, warm beneath the fabric—and he didn’t move. He just let me hold him there.
I felt his cock throb.
My hand slid lower, brushing the ridged line of his stomach. But it was the weight in my other hand that held my focus — thick, alive, insistent. He shifted forward slightly, enough to feel the length of him throbbing in my hand.
His thumb came up to my cheek, warm and deliberate, guiding my gaze back to his.
“You’ve been imagining this since the bar.”
I swallowed. I could still see it clearly — the way he’d stood there, the way I’d looked.
“Yeah.”
“I have too.”
My knees softened just a fraction, caught off guard by the shock of wanting something this openly and having it handed back to me.
He noticed. “I want your mouth on me.”
I didn’t move right away. My body was already leaning toward him, chest tight, pulse loud in my ears, but my mind lagged behind, trying to steady itself. This is the moment. The point where it stops being imagined and becomes something I can’t undo.
I stayed there another second, feeling his weight in my hand, his chest under my fingers, his eyes still locked on mine.
His hands came to rest on my shoulders. The weight of them steadied me. Then, I let out a slow breath and lowered myself, deliberate, feeling the choice as I made it.
The grass brushed my shins as I knelt, cool against my skin, while the moon outlined him above me. From here, the size of him hit differently. His thighs thick and dense beneath his pants, the muscle flaring wide toward the outer quad before tightening as it dropped toward the knee, the shape of it obvious even through the fabric.
He rested one hand along the side of my head. “Look at me.”
He unzipped his jeans slowly, unhurried, letting the sound carry in the quiet meadow. Then he freed himself.
My breath broke.
He was big. Bigger than I’d imagined, even after feeling him through his pant. Thick in a way that made my jaw tense. The moonlight traced the heavy curve of him, veins standing out along the shaft, the flushed head just visible beneath its hood. My throat tightened at the sight.
He guided my head closer, letting the weight of him settle across my face. The warmth was immediate. From this close, he filled my vision, thick and flushed, his head brushing my cheek as he sighed.
I drew in a slow breath. He smelled raw and masculine in a way that had me leaking. I moaned softly, wanting more.
My tongue slid out, tracing along his length before dipping lower, lapping at the soft weight of his balls. He shifted above me, his cock brushing my cheek as he moved, heat and slickness left behind.
His thumb brushed my cheekbone. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Just like that.”
Colour crept up my neck, slow and impossible to hide. I didn’t blush easily, but the way he stood there watching me made it clear he saw exactly what he was doing to me. I knew, even then, that nothing about this was going to feel familiar.
I wrapped my fingers around the base of him, testing the weight. He twitched in my hand, thick and alive. I stroked him once, full length, my thumb gliding over the slick head. His breath slipped out, rough and unsteady.
“Fuck,” he murmured. “You feel so good already.”
I leaned in, my lips brushing the head first, learning the shape of him, the heat and salt there against my mouth. My lips parted and took him in, I could feel the difference. His width stretched my lips, my jaw adjusting as I eased him deeper, the weight of him settling heavy on my tongue.
A low sound rolled out of him, deep and satisfied, his fingers sliding into my hair.
“That’s it,” he said, voice calm, assured. “Take your time.”
With slow strokes, I lapped at the underside of his shaft. Each inch forward shifted the weight in my mouth, the way he rested against my tongue, the way I adapted to his size.
The grass swayed around us with each breath he took.
“Garrett…” His voice thickened, his grip tightening in my hair. “Fuck, this feels so right,” he moaned quietly.
Hearing my name like that sent a jolt straight through me.
His hips rolled forward, just enough to ask for more. The motion filled my mouth deeper, stretching my lips around him. My pulse fluttered hard in response.
My eyes were already watering, a quiet hitch in my throat giving me away before I’d even taken him fully.
“You’re doing so good,” he whispered. “I’ve been wanting this… wanting you… all night.”
I shuddered, my mouth full of him.
He rested both hands on my head now, his breath growing heavier.
On my knees, I watched the moonlight move across his chest and abs as he breathed, the muscle tightening and releasing with each breath, heavier than before.
His fingers spread in my hair. I stayed there, steady and deliberate, keeping the rhythm I’d found. Steady enough to feel how closely he was riding the sensation, wanting to go along with him.
A low sound slipped out of Amare, rougher than the last. His head tipped back slightly, throat exposed, jaw tightening as he held himself still. One of his thighs flexed under my hand, hard as stone.
That’s when I felt the quiet certainty that I knew exactly what I was doing to him.
“Garrett…” He tried to say my name again, but it came out broken, unfinished.
His hips hovered closer, abs tight and coiled, the restraint deliberate, like he was savoring the edge he’d been circling since the moment I’d knelt down.
I kept going, unhurried, trusting the skill in my mouth and hands, letting the pressure build until his control finally gave way to instinct.
His hips jerked, and a raw sound tore out of him.
“Oh—fuck—Garrett…”
I pulled back slowly, sealing my mouth around him just enough to make him feel the drag, the warmth, the tension. He was so close I could feel it. In the way his thighs tightened. In the way his abs flexed each time I swallowed around him. In the way he grasped my head.
I kept him right there, hovering on that edge, his chest rising fast, the shirt falling open in the evening breeze.
I eased back to his swollen head, my lips tightening there as my tongue slid along the underside, slow and sure. The reaction was immediate. He sucked in a breath that sounded half like a warning, half like surrender.
Without warning, my grip tightened on his hips as my hips lurched forward, driven by a spontaneous orgasm. I stayed on him through it, breathing hard, forcing myself to keep the rhythm even as I was spilling into my pants.
His hands tightened in my hair, a low sound slipping out of him as he felt exactly what had just happened.
“Garrett, oh fuck…” His breath hitched. “I’m gonna—”
He grabbed the back of my head with both hands and rolled his hips forward, pushing himself deep. The thick length of him hit the back of my throat, my eyes watering again. I braced my hands on his hips, trying to follow the rhythm he set.
“Oh yeah. So perfect!”
He held me there for a moment, hips tight, stretching my mouth more than I thought I could take. My throat clenched around him as I gagged softly, breath catching hot against his skin.
I looked up at him. His chest was right there above me, thick and tense, his face drawn tight with lust, one hand sliding down to the back of my head, like he thought I might pull away.
I leaned in, taking him as deep as I could, my nose pressing into his pubes. He groaned, loud and guttural, rolled his hips back, then thrust again, harder this time.
“Garrett—Jesus—Garrett—”
HIs orgasm hit hard. A deep shudder ran through his torso as he thrust once more, burying himself in my mouth while the first pulse spilled across my tongue. Thick. Hot. Heavy. I swallowed on instinct, breath trapped in my chest as he kept coming.
Another pulse followed, then another, his cock twitching against my tongue as it filled my mouth again and again. His hands stayed in my hair, but the grip softened as each wave rolled through him.
“Fuck… fuck…” His voice shook. “I’m not—fuck—I’m not done—”
I swallowed everything he gave me, my throat working around him until, after another long breath and one last lingering pulse, his hips eased back and his hands finally loosened.
He sagged just slightly, still standing over me, his cock heavy, still dripping, hanging in a loose arc between us. I stayed on my knees, breathing hard, staring up at him as he slowly came back to himself.
The night settled again. The music thumped faintly in the distance, and our breaths tangled in the dark.
When he looked down at me, his chest was still rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths, sweat catching the moonlight across his skin. His expression made my stomach flip.
He reached down and cupped the back of my head, holding me there for a moment.
“Jesus,” he said quietly. “That was… awesome.”
Heat rushed up my neck as I pushed myself to my feet, my legs loose and unsteady. He caught my waist, steadying me with one strong hand before pulling me close enough that I could feel his warmth again.
“I didn’t expect that,” he went on, still a little breathless. “Didn’t expect you to take all of me like that. First time. Most guys don’t.”
I swallowed, my pulse still thudding.
His mouth curved, just slightly. “Best blow job I’ve ever had,” he added, like it was a simple fact. “No question.”
The words caught me off guard, bringing a rush of pride I wasn’t ready for.
I laughed weakly. “I’ve never… done anything like this. Not at a party. Not outside. Not with—” I trailed off, then shook my head. “I don’t usually do this. I don’t… let myself get carried away in the moment.”
His thumb brushed my jaw.
Then the guilt crept in. I exhaled hard. “I really shouldn’t have— I mean—” I gestured vaguely back toward the marquee. “Sarah. Jeff. This whole thing.”
He watched my face for a beat, reading it easily.
“You’re spiraling,” he said calmly.
I blinked. “I—”
He cut me off gently. “Hey. It’s not as bad as you think.”
I frowned. “What does that mean?”
He smiled then, easy and unbothered. “Sarah’s not my girlfriend.”
I wasn’t expecting that.
“What?”
“We’re friends,” he said. “She asked me to come as her plus one so she wouldn’t have to deal with this circus alone.” His eyes stayed on mine. “There’s nothing going on between us.”
My eyes widened.
“Oh.”
He tilted his head, studying me. “You really thought I’d be standing there like that if I was taken?”
I flushed. “I didn’t know what to think.”
His grin widened, playful now. “Besides,” he added, voice dropping just enough to make my spine tingle, “after what you just did to me, I’m guessing you’ve been needing the real thing for a while.”
I choked on a laugh. “That obvious?”
“Yeah,” he said, unapologetic. “And I’m glad you didn’t hold back.”
He pulled me into him briefly, chest to chest, one arm firm around my back. When he stepped away, he tugged his pants back up, buttoning them without hurry. The night felt different — heavier, warmer, charged.
“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the lights. “Before they actually do send a search party.”
We walked back through the grass together, the music growing louder with each step. My legs still felt loose, my body humming with a heat I didn’t want to lose.
And when we stepped back under the marquee lights, I knew one thing for certain. I wasn’t the same person who’d walked out into that meadow.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
