The jacket smelled like him. She’d worn it to bed the night after the diner, pressing her face into the collar until she fell asleep. Now it hung loose on her shoulders, the hem brushing her thighs, nothing underneath but the cool morning air against her nipples. She’d chosen the tightest shorts she owned—the ones that rode up when she walked, the ones that made her ass look like it was trying to escape. And underneath, the thong she’d ordered three days ago, the one with his name bedazzled across the waistband in silver rhinestones.

Her mom pulled up to the curb and killed the engine. Through the windshield, Tina could see Tyler standing on the front porch of a house that had seen better days—peeling paint, a broken porch step held together with duct tape, a rusted chain-link fence that sagged in the middle. The neighborhood was quiet in that uneasy way, the kind of quiet that meant you locked your car doors at stoplights.

“You sure about this?” her mom asked, not unkindly.

Tina turned and grinned. “Mom. I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

Her mom shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “Be safe. I love you.”

“Love you too.” Tina grabbed her sleepover bag—a small duffel with her toothbrush and a change of clothes she wasn’t sure she’d need—and pushed open the door.

The cracked concrete bit through the soles of her sneakers as she stood there, her mom's taillights disappearing around the corner. The house in front of her wasn't much—peeling paint, a broken porch step held together with silver duct tape, a screen door that hung crooked on its hinges. But Tyler stood in the doorway, and the whole thing transformed into something sacred.

He was wearing a gray hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his hands shoved into his pockets like he didn't know what to do with them. The scar through his eyebrow caught the weak light from inside. He looked nervous. He looked perfect.

She dropped her duffel on the cracked walkway and ran.

Her body hit his with a soft thud, her arms locking around his neck, her legs wrapping around his waist as he caught her instinctively. His hands found her thighs, holding her up, and she buried her face in the curve of his neck. He smelled like cheap body wash and the faint must of his house. It was the best thing she'd ever smelled.

"H-hi," he stuttered into her hair.

Tina pulled back just enough to look at him. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide, like he still couldn't quite believe she was real. She kissed him—soft, quick, a promise. His grip on her thighs tightened.

"Hi," she whispered back.

He set her down gently, his hands lingering on her waist. The jacket she was wearing—his jacket—rode up, and she felt the cool evening air kiss the strip of bare skin above her shorts. His eyes dipped down, caught on the exposed skin, and snapped back up. The flush in his cheeks deepened.

"M-my mom's not home," he said, then winced like he hadn't meant to say that out loud.

Tina grinned. "Good."

She grabbed his hand, threading her fingers through his, and let him lead her inside. The living room was exactly what she expected: worn leather couch that had seen better decades, a coffee table buried under textbooks and a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels that had sweated a ring onto a calculus homework. The air was thick with the smell of stale beer and laundry detergent. It was chaotic and lived-in and so utterly him that her chest ached.

He led her down a narrow hallway, past a bathroom with the door half-open, and stopped at the last room. He pushed the door open and stepped aside to let her in.

It was small. A twin bed pushed against the wall, the comforter a plain navy blue. A wooden desk with a chipped corner, a stack of textbooks serving as a monitor stand for an old desktop computer. A single dresser, the top drawer slightly open, a strip of white fabric hanging out. The closet door was missing, replaced by a curtain that didn't quite cover the clothes inside.

Tina stepped in, her heart thudding low and heavy in her chest. She heard the click of the lock behind her, and the sound sent a shiver down her spine that pooled somewhere deep in her stomach.

She turned. Tyler was standing with his back to the door, his hands still shoved in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched. Like he was bracing for her to change her mind.

She wasn't going to change her mind.

"Tyler," she said, her voice softer than she intended.

He looked up. Met her eyes.

She reached down, grabbed the hem of his jacket, and pulled it over her head in a single slow motion. The cool air hit her skin. The crop top she'd worn underneath was thin, white, practically translucent. Her nipples were hard, pressing against the fabric like they were announcing themselves. She dropped the jacket on the floor.

His breath audibly hitched.

She turned around, giving him her back, and bent over.

Her hands found the edge of the twin bed, fingers curling into the coarse fabric of the comforter. She arched her back just slightly, pushing her hips out. The shorts she was wearing were so tight they looked painted on, and they'd ridden up with the movement, revealing the waistband of her thong.

His name. Tyler. In silver rhinestones, bedazzled across the band, catching the dim light from the desk lamp. She'd ordered it three days ago, paid for express shipping, and when it arrived she'd held it in her hands like a talisman.

She heard him make a sound. Something between a stutter and a gasp. "T-Tina..."

She stayed where she was. Letting him look. The silence stretched, thick and electric. She could feel his gaze on her like a physical weight, hot and searching.

"D'you like it?" she asked, her voice rough.

He didn't answer. She heard him take a step forward. Then another. His footsteps were soft on the thin carpet. She felt the air shift as he got closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body.

His fingers brushed the small of her back.

The touch was featherlight, almost questioning, like he was asking permission. She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding and pressed back into him slightly. An answer.

His hand flattened against her skin, warm and calloused. His thumb traced the edge of her shorts, the line where fabric met flesh. She shivered.

"You... you g-got my n-name," he said, his voice cracking.

"Yeah." She turned her head, trying to see him over her shoulder. "I told you. I'm yours."

He made a sound low in his throat, and his hand slid up her back, fingers splaying between her shoulder blades. He was touching her like she was something precious, something breakable. It made her feel like she was going to shatter.

She pushed herself back up slowly, the movement dragging her spine under his palm. When she turned to face him, his hand was still suspended in the air, like he didn't know where to put it now.

She grabbed it, placed it on her hip.

"It's okay," she said. "You can touch me."

His eyes searched hers. "I... I don't w-want to m-mess this up."

"You won't." She stepped closer, her chest brushing against his. The fabric of his hoodie scraped against her nipples, and she bit her lip. "You couldn't."

His other hand came up, hesitant, landing on her other hip. His fingers curled into the waistband of her shorts, pressing against the rhinestones. His thumb traced a single letter—the L in his name.

"This is r-real?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Tina reached up, cupped his jaw in her hand. His skin was warm, rough with stubble. She tilted his face down until their foreheads touched.

"This is real," she said. "I'm real. And I'm not going anywhere."

He let out a shaky breath. His hands tightened on her hips, pulling her flush against him. She felt the hard line of his body, the muscle hidden beneath the baggy clothes, the way he trembled slightly as he held her.

She kissed him again. Slower this time. Her lips parted against his, and his stuttered inhale was the only invitation she needed. She deepened the kiss, her tongue tracing his lower lip. He made a sound like a question, and she answered him with her body, pressing closer, her hands sliding into his hair.

He tasted like mint and uncertainty and wanting. She wanted to drown in it.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathing hard, he looked at her like she'd hung the moon.

"I like it," he said, and then clarified, "the... the th-thong. I like it."

Tina laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He ducked his head, embarrassed, but he was smiling. "I... I d-didn't know you c-could get th-those with n-names on them."

"I special ordered it." She pressed a kiss to his jaw. "Cost me forty bucks and three days of anxious waiting."

He blinked. "F-forty bucks?"

"Worth every penny." She kissed the corner of his mouth. "Now everyone who sees it knows who I belong to."

The smile faded from his face, replaced by something raw and hungry. His hand slid from her hip down to the curve of her ass, fingers pressing into the denim. She gasped against his mouth.

"T-Tina," he said, his voice low, barely controlled. "You c-can't... you c-can't just s-say things like th-that."

"Why not?" She bit his lower lip, tugged gently. "It's true."

He kissed her again, harder this time. His hand squeezed her ass, and she moaned into his mouth, her fingers tightening in his hair. He backed her up until her calves hit the edge of the bed. She sat down heavily, looking up at him.

He stood over her, his chest heaving. His eyes roamed over her—the crop top, the shorts, the thong waistband still visible above the ripped denim. He looked wrecked. He looked like he was dreaming and terrified of waking up.

Tina reached for the hem of his hoodie. "Can I?"

He nodded, mute.

She grabbed the fabric and pulled it up. He raised his arms, letting her strip it off him. It landed on the floor next to his jacket. Underneath, he was wearing a plain white t-shirt, stretched tight across his chest. She could see the outline of his muscles, the hard planes of his torso. Her mouth went dry.

She reached for the hem of that too.

He caught her wrists. Gently. "I... I j-just..." He swallowed. "I'm n-not..."

"You're perfect," she said. "You're perfect, Tyler."

He released her wrists. She pulled the shirt over his head.

The room went quiet.

He was gorgeous. She'd seen him shirtless at the pool, but that had been in bright sunlight, surrounded by people. This was different. This was just her, in his room, with the door locked and the world shut out. His abs were tight, his chest broad, his shoulders wide. The scar through his eyebrow was echoed by a faint line across his ribs, a pale white seam against his skin.

She reached out, her fingers tracing the line of his collarbone. He shivered.

"You're so beautiful," she whispered.

He let out a sound—half laugh, half disbelief. "I'm n-not..."

"Shut up." She stood up, pressing her body against his, skin to skin. "Let me worship you."

His arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight. His face buried in her hair. She felt his heart racing against her chest, a wild, desperate rhythm.

"St-stay," he whispered into her hair. "Please. Don't... d-don't go."

She pulled back, looked him in the eyes. "I'm not going anywhere. I told you." She kissed him softly. "I'm yours."

He held her like he was afraid she'd dissolve.

They stood there, in the middle of his small, cluttered room, wrapped up in each other. The lamp cast a dim yellow circle on the desk. Outside, a dog barked somewhere down the street. Inside, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing, the warmth of their skin, the steady thrum of something that felt a lot like love.

Tina pulled back just far enough to look at him. His eyes were bright, his lips slightly swollen from her kisses. He looked happy. Really, truly happy.

She smiled. "So, what now?"

He thought about it, his brow furrowing. Then, slowly, a small, shy smile spread across his face.

"C-can I... can I s-see it again?"

Tina laughed, the sound bright and free. She turned around, bent over, and wiggled her hips. "You can see it whenever you want."

His hand found her back, then slid down, his fingers tracing the rhinestones that spelled his name. She heard him let out a shaky breath.

"Mine," he whispered, almost to himself.

She smiled, her eyes closing. "Yeah. Yours."

The yawn caught her off guard, a wide, uncontrollable thing that stretched her jaw and made her eyes water. She tried to cover it with her hand, but it was too late—Tyler had seen.

"T-tired?" he asked, his voice soft.

She nodded, suddenly aware of the weight in her eyelids. "A little. Long day." She smiled, but it was genuine. "Good long day."

He hesitated, his hands still resting on her hips where they'd settled. "We c-could... I m-mean, if you w-want... we could t-take a nap." His cheeks flushed. "I h-have a b-bed. It's n-not big, but..."

Her heart did a flip. "A nap?"

"Y-yeah." He wouldn't meet her eyes. "I c-can sleep on the f-floor. You t-take the bed."

"No." The word came out sharper than she meant, and she softened it with a smile. "No way. You're sleeping in your own bed. And I'm sleeping in it with you."

His eyes went wide. "T-T-Tina—"

"I trust you," she said simply. And she did. That was the wild part. She trusted him completely, with her body, with her sleep, with the vulnerability of closing her eyes in his space. "Unless you don't want me to?"

"N-no! I m-mean, yes, I w-want—" He stopped, took a breath. His stutter was worse when he was flustered. "I w-want you t-to s-stay."

She squeezed his hand. "Good. Then it's settled."

He looked at the bed, then back at her. "I... I sh-should get s-something for you t-to sleep in. A t-shirt, or..."

"Actually." She bit her lip, a flicker of her usual confidence returning. "Is it okay if I sleep in my usual sleepwear?"

He blinked. "Your... u-usual?"

"Yeah." She let go of his hand and reached for the hem of her crop top. "It's what I always wear to bed."

He didn't say no. He didn't say anything. He just stared, his breath catching in his throat as she pulled the fabric up, over her head, and let it fall to the floor.

The air hit her skin, cool and electric. Her breasts bounced free, full and heavy, her nipples already tight from the cold—or from him watching. She didn't look away. She held his gaze, letting him see her, letting him drink her in.

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No sound came out.

She turned slightly, reaching for the button of her shorts. The denim was tight, and she had to wiggle to get them over her hips, the motion deliberate, almost a dance. They slid down her thighs, her calves, pooling at her feet. She stepped out of them, kicking them aside.

Now she was only in the thong. The one with his name bedazzled across the waistband, catching the dim lamplight. "T-Y-L-E-R" glittered above the curve of her ass.

She heard him make a sound—a strangled, desperate sound, like he was trying to breathe and speak and swallow all at once.

"T-Tina." His voice cracked. "Y-you c-can't... I m-mean, you're..."

"I'm what?" She turned to face him fully, her hands resting on her hips. The thong was barely there, a scrap of fabric that covered almost nothing, the rhinestones spelling his name like a brand.

"You're s-so..." He swallowed hard. "B-beautiful."

The word hit her square in the chest, softer and sharper than any compliment she'd ever received. She felt her cheeks heat, a rare blush creeping up her neck. "Thank you."

He was still wearing his jeans and his t-shirt, standing there like he'd forgotten how to move. She reached for his hand. "Your turn. But you can keep your shirt on if you want."

He nodded, mute, and fumbled with his button. His hands were shaking. She watched him push his jeans down, revealing a pair of plain boxers and long, muscular legs. He stepped out of them, kicked them aside, and stood there in his t-shirt and boxers, looking at her like she was something holy.

"C-come here," she whispered, and he did.

She pulled back the covers on the twin bed, the sheets worn but clean, smelling like him—laundry detergent and something warm underneath. She slid in first, the cool cotton against her bare skin making her shiver. Then she held up the covers, an invitation.

He climbed in beside her, his body stiff, careful not to touch her. The bed was narrow, barely wide enough for two people, and she could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension in his frame.

"Relax," she said softly. "I'm not going to bite." She paused. "Unless you ask nicely."

He let out a shaky laugh, and some of the tension bled out of his shoulders.

She shifted, turning her back to him, and pulled his arm around her waist. His hand landed on her stomach, his palm warm and rough against her soft skin. His thumb rested between her breasts, the pressure light, tentative.

"Is this okay?" he whispered, his breath warm against her hair.

"Yes." She let out a slow breath, her eyes closing. "This is more than okay."

His hand was big—she could feel the width of it spanning her ribcage, his pinky finger brushing the waistband of her thong, the rhinestones cool against his skin. Her heart was hammering, but it wasn't from nerves. It was from the sheer, overwhelming rightness of being here, in his arms, in his bed, wearing nothing but his name on her skin.

"I w-won't mess this up," he said, his voice barely audible. "I p-promise. I w-won't mess us up."

She turned her head, just enough to see his face in the dim light. His eyes were earnest, scared, hopeful. She reached up and touched his cheek. "You couldn't if you tried."

He kissed her forehead, a soft, reverent press of his lips against her skin. Then he settled, his arm tightening around her, pulling her closer.

She was tired. Really tired. The kind of bone-deep exhaustion that came from a day of emotions, of hope and fear and happiness all tangled together. She let herself sink into the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the solid weight of his arm around her.

His thumb traced a slow, idle path across her stomach, not sexual, just... present. A reminder that he was there, that she was safe, that this was real.

Her eyes grew heavy. The lamplight blurred at the edges. She heard his heartbeat, slow and steady, beneath her ear.

"Tyler?" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

"Yeah?"

"I think I'm falling asleep."

She felt him smile against her hair. "That's k-kind of the p-point of a nap."

She laughed, a soft, sleepy sound. "I know. I just... I wanted you to know. In case I don't say it later."

His arm tightened. "I know."

She let her eyes close fully. The world narrowed to this: his warmth, his scent, the sound of his breathing. The thong was a gentle pressure against her skin, the rhinestones cool and familiar. She felt safe. She felt wanted. She felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

"Goodnight, Tyler," she whispered.

"G-goodnight, Tina."

And then there was nothing but the dark, the warmth, and the steady beat of his heart against her back.