Archive of Our Own

It was just a throwaway line.

Julie was surprised the editor kept it in at all. It's a cliché and not exactly vital to the piece, which was really about square pegs and round holes.

It was her story. The story of what it was like for her to come of age in Dillon, Texas.

The story of a teenage girl who hated football, largely indifferent to the sport itself but resentful of the way it dominated her fishbowl life, how it monopolized the town's culture like an invasive weed, even as it was the lifeblood of her family, the very thing that put food on their table.

That's what the story was about. Teen angst and alienation and the age old dream of escape, and then the grim realities of college and city life, of barely getting by, of waking up next to her high school sweetheart turned husband and realising with heartbreaking dismay that, if their marriage was a success, she would never get to fall in love again.

The first draft had all that in it, anyway. Julie removed everything about her marriage from the version she submitted. She couldn't do that to Matt. She wouldn’t.

She also removed everything about her bitter disappointment with entering the field of journalism just as the industry collapsed in on itself and the landscape became crowded with video platforms and clickbait and slideshows and an outrage-fueled news cycle that moved at the speed of light. 

She wrote the story in between listicles and celebrity gossip clickbait, in her 300 square foot studio apartment, while applying for every server job she could find, because she wasn't sure how she was going to afford groceries next month.

Tim was only mentioned in the story to add a bit of colour, to illustrate that football was so inescapable in her youth that sometimes it ended up homeless and sleeping on their couch. She didn't even call him by name; he was simply referred to as “the painfully handsome fullback who slept on our couch for a week.”

Julie never considered for even a moment that he'd actually see it. She'd barely thought about him at all, and had only written it into the story because it was true: Tim Riggins was painfully handsome, and he had once slept on her family's couch for a week. Those were the facts.

A small magazine that featured new American non-fiction published it. Her parents were thrilled. She received kind, congratulatory messages from Tyra and her Chicago friends, and even one of her college professors. 

The magazine paid her a modest amount, eventually, after several decreasingly polite emails from Julie, and that was that.

Until one rainy afternoon when she's wasting time on Facebook, and a new message appears.

Painfully handsome, huh?

Tim Riggins.

Julie blanches. She immediately closes the app and tosses her phone across the couch as if it had burned her.

She stares at the reflection of her apartment's ceiling in the blank black face of her silent phone.

She hasn't seen or talked to Tim Riggins in years. 

They'd never been friends, really. Friendly acquaintances, she supposes. They were mutuals on Facebook, certainly, but he didn't use it much as far as she could tell, and they'd never interacted. Tim was just a guy from her hometown, an ex of her old high school friend.

And yet, she'd thought of him when she wrote the story in the first place. Reflecting on their hometown, he'd reappeared in her imagination alongside the shortgrass prairie with its spiky yucca and miles of cattle fence, the blue and yellow State Champions sign out by the first exit off the I-20, the stadium lights against the bruise-purple sky on Friday nights, and the creak of the steel pumpjacks still hauling crude up out of the ground.

Tim was just part of that place to her, every bit as much as the earth and the sky and the streets and the buildings.

The screen of her phone stays black.

The message is a blessing in disguise, for it keeps her off Facebook altogether for three whole days. During that time, she thinks about how embarrassing it is that Tim read the story and knew she was talking about him approximately five hundred times.

Eventually, she's forced to reopen Messenger when she gets a notification from her Aunt Shelley. When she does, she finds Tim's message still sitting there on read. Below it is a message he'd sent the day after his first, unread.

Just bugging you. :) Hope you're doing good Jules.

In an act of pure, sulky cowardice, she doesn't reply, and within days his message is bumped down and out of sight by her conversations with other people.

Julie tries not to think of it again — it's so silly, after all, and she's got nothing to be embarrassed about — and she mostly succeeds.

Except every now and then, when her ego is feeling particularly fragile, she'll think about Tim reading her story, and her whole body will cringe, and she'll curse the editor for keeping the line in there at all.

But that's all. Just a cringe and some practice at toughening up her skin as a writer.

Until the arts festival in Marfa.

It's an assignment for a travel website she's done a few pieces for in the past. Just short, fluffy things: Milwaukee's Ten Best Vegan Meals, Five Hip Chicago Galleries You've Never Heard Of, the kinds of stories that exist exclusively because they actually generate clicks.

People always want to know where it's cool to go, and Julie's happy enough to be the one to direct them.

She flies into Midland on a Wednesday morning, picks up her rental car, and hits the highway, heading west. She's been on the road for a little over an hour when she sees the sign for the first exit to Dillon.

She passes the huge blue and yellow State Champions sign and keeps going.

There's a tightness in her chest that stays there until she sees the town shrinking in the rearview mirror.

Marfa is, as the editor promised, a weird place.

She recreates Beyoncé's iconic Instagram shot in front of the fake Prada store. It takes several tries with the timer on her camera, but eventually she gets a good snap. She waffles over posting it to Instagram, then decides it's too corny, and just texts it to Tyra and her mom and one of her friends back in Chicago.

The festival is good. The installations and performances are strange and interesting, unsettling and beautiful, and Julie wonders what Matt would think of it all.

She doesn't know. She doesn't get to know, anymore.

Instead she absorbs the sights and sounds and tastes — including the best pozole she's ever had in her life — of this quirky art town in the stark desert all by herself.

Two nights in a row, she sits on the bed in her rented Airstream and writes a couple thousand rough words of her impressions, then goes outside and stands shivering in the dark, blinking up at the millions of stars overhead.

On Friday, she grabs a last breakfast in town, then drives back to Midland.

The return trip is made longer and more boring by its lack of anticipation. Now there's nothing left for her to do but fly back to Chicago the following day. 

There's nothing waiting in Chicago except her empty studio apartment and probably some rotting produce in her fridge.

It's lonely. She's lonely.

By the time she's approaching Dillon, she has to pee.

She'll just stop to go to the bathroom and grab something caffeinated to get her through the last leg of the drive, she tells herself as she flips her turn signal and makes her way to the exit.

But once she's peed and stretched her legs and has an iced coffee in hand, she finds herself leaning back against the side of her rental and looking at the flat Dillon skyline.

Her flight doesn't leave until midday tomorrow. She's got time for a little trip down memory lane.

She gets back into the car and heads into town.

It's been nearly ten years since she's been in Dillon.

She and Matt used to come down to visit his grandma and his mom at Thanksgiving and Christmas, until his grandma got tired of waiting for Matt to move back to Texas and instead they moved her up to Chicago. Matt's mom went back to Oklahoma, and after that, there wasn't a reason to visit Dillon anymore.

Curious and more nostalgic than she'd ever admit, Julie drives past the high school and the stadium, then back out onto the main drag through town.

There are at least a half dozen restaurants she's never seen before, and she's stunned to find that Fran's Hamburgers is closed and that the building now houses a physiotherapy clinic, though Applebee's and the Alamo Freeze are still going strong.

There's even a Whataburger in town now.

She drives into her old neighbourhood, but when she discovers that her family's old house has been repainted a nondescript shade of suburban greige, she wishes she hadn't. It's a silly thing to get upset about, but she does, and she drives away.

Next she goes to HEB and buys herself a salad and a drink and a bag of chips for the road. Miraculously, she doesn't run into anyone she recognizes. 

Taking her lunch with her, she goes to a park and sits on a shaded patch of grass to eat, watching couples and families and groups of kids walk and play and picnic like her. All alone behind her sunglasses, she feels like the outsider she is, observing strangers as though they're colonies of bacteria in a petri dish.

Some things, it seems, have not changed at all.

She finishes her food and listens to a podcast as the afternoon wears on. The check-in time for her hotel in Midland is approaching, but she finds herself lingering, unable to detach and depart, unsure what she's sticking around for.

But who cares? Why does she have to justify it? Dillon is her old hometown and she's a grown woman. Grown and married and divorced and self-sufficient (more or less.) She can sit in this park people-watching and thinking about all the people who aren't here anymore for as long as she pleases.

Feeling like the benevolent queen of her own realm, she decides to let herself do exactly what she wants.

When she grows tired of sitting on the ground listening to The Pitchfork Review, she packs up and carries on, driving back across town. 

She considers splurging on a room at the new Marriott downtown, but she doesn't. Instead she gets a room at a well-maintained mid-century motel — complete with a bright neon sign and a courtyard pool — on the western edge of town. 

It's budget-friendly enough to be sensible considering she's not showing up for her reservation in Midland, but she really chooses it so she can satisfy a long-standing curiosity and see inside one of the rooms. It was the motel where adults were rumoured to carry on affairs when she was a teen, as well as the place kids tried to get rooms every year after prom.

She stows her things away in her room and dispatches a scorpion she discovers lurking in the bathroom — but not before texting a photo to her dad — and then she sits beside the pool in a bikini top and cut-offs. She watches the huge, blazing sun sink down into the west, the whole sky turning every brilliant shade of pink and purple and orange as the day burns away and night comes on.

Her room comes with cable, and she briefly considers treating herself to a pizza from her old favourite pizzeria and eating it in bed. But she can eat pizza and watch HBO anywhere. 

No, tonight is for digging around in the metaphorical basement that is her old hometown to see what she can find.

Also, she wants a drink, and she never did get the chance to go to the divey and semi-notorious Smitty's Bar before she moved away. 

She freshens up, changing into a pair of jeans and the last clean t-shirt in her bag, and then gets into her rental and drives the short distance to the bar.

Smitty's is indeed a dive, but it's more on the relaxed side than the sketchy one, as far as dives go, dark and decorated inside with strings of Christmas lights and longhorn skulls, old cracked red vinyl booths along the walls and a couple of pool tables at the back, a bright jukebox and an old cigarette vending machine that still works. The place is hopping with an older crowd of Friday night drinkers, people too busy with their friends to notice someone out of place.

It's perfect.

Julie finds a seat at the long bar and orders a paloma. The bartender — a gruff, older guy — is brusque but not impolite, and doesn't try to make conversation with her beyond the basics.

She sips her drink and listens to the conversations around her — complaints about bosses and exes and speeding tickets; loud, joyful greetings whenever people enter the bar — as well as the sound of cues hitting billiard balls and outlaw country playing on the sound system.

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys, 'cause they'll never stay home and they're always alone, even with someone they love.

The place is so noisy, and she's so certain she's nearly invisible, that she almost misses it. She almost doesn't hear the sound of her own name spoken by a voice she hasn’t heard in years.

“Julie Taylor.”

She turns around to find Tim Riggins standing behind her, a couple of feet away, hands on his hips and a grin on his face.

Her heart kind of trips over itself and she can't catch her breath for a moment, because holy shit.

If she thought Tim was painfully handsome when they were in high school, he's downright excruciating now.

His hair's shorter than she remembers, last time she saw him, but still unfashionably long and a little unkempt. He's got facial hair that's a bit on the scruffy side, but he pulls it off, of course, just as he does his plain grey t-shirt and dark jeans.

And his eyes. His warm hazel eyes are exactly the same, framed now by light laugh lines, and they're looking right at her. Beaming at her, in fact. She swallows.

“Tim Riggins,” she says, hoping the words don't sound as strangled as they feel.

His grin widens and he shakes his head.

“Jules. Seriously. Here in Dillon.”

He's looking at her like she's the most delightful surprise he's ever had. She can feel her face heating.

“Yup,” she says, desperately trying to seem unflustered. “I'm on the road for a story.”

Tim looks genuinely impressed, and she relaxes a little.

“Wow,” he says. “Big city journalist in little old Dillon.”

Julie laughs a bit and rolls her eyes.

“It's not that glamorous, I promise,” she says. 

Tim doesn't reply, just keeps looking at her, still smiling, something almost fond in his expression, and she doesn't know what to do with that, so she gestures at the empty stool beside her. He shakes his head.

“It's all right, you don't gotta put up with me, I just couldn't not say hi, is all,” he says, genuine as can be.

“Please,” Julie says, waving her hand again. “Have a drink with me. I mean it. I've done nothing except talk to myself and write for the last three days. I could use the company.”

He smiles again and swings a leg over the stool beside her, barely settling in before the bartender finds him.

“Riggins. The usual?”

“Yes sir, and another for the lady, here, on my tab,” Tim says.

Julie grimaces. 

“No, you don't have to —” 

But the bartender has already turned away.

“Jules, let me buy you a drink. Just one and then I'll leave you alone.”

Julie's face flushes hotly.

“You're not bugging me, I just —”

Tim grins at her, and she laughs quietly and shakes her head.

“Okay. I'd love to have a drink with you, Tim. Thanks.”

A moment later, the bartender returns with their drinks: a beer for Tim and another paloma for Julie.

“Cheers,” Tim says, tapping the neck of his beer bottle against the rim of her glass. “So, what kinda story has you out this way? You live in Chicago, right?”

“Yep. I'm out here on a quest to find an answer to the extremely pressing question of whether Marfa is still cool.”

Tim leans both elbows on the bar and runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, what's the deal with Marfa?” he asks, brow knit. “'Cause I been there, and there's nothin' but some weird art and a lot of people from LA takin' pictures with their phones.”

Julie laughs. 

“Wow. Yeah, that about covers it. You could write this thing for me, in fact.”

“Food's good, though.”

“The food is indeed very good.”

“Bet you can't get tacos that good up in Chicago.”

Julie wobbles her head, caught flat-footed between loyalty to her home state and loyalty to her current city of residence.

“Well, I mean... You can get pretty good tacos anywhere, these days,” she says before taking a sip of her drink.

“I'll have to take your word for it.”

“Still 'Texas forever' for you?”

“Of course,” he says, as though Julie had just asked if the sky’s still blue.

“Of course,” she echoes, watching his profile. It takes all of Julie's self-restraint not to simply stare at him, moon-faced, he's so captivating. She takes a sip of her drink and tries very hard to not make this weird. “So what are you up to these days?”

“Well, I've got my own yard care company,” he says, cracking his knuckles and looking a bit self-conscious. “Cutting grass and contract work for landscape architects, that kinda thing. Options were kinda limited, since college was a no go and I'm an ex-con.”

“That's great, Tim, good for you,” she says, sounding much more like her mom than she intended.

He shrugs, his cheeks turning an extremely intriguing shade of dark pink.

“All that big-man-on-campus, state champ bull is good for keeping the boosters loyal customers, at least.”

Julie chuckles, and Tim gives another shrug.

“There’s that, and I spend a lot of time with my nieces and nephews. Billy's got four now.”

“I know. Tyra's a very proud aunt.”

Tim smiles at that, though it's a little sad.

Tyra and Tim had had an on-again, off-again, long distance thing for a couple of years while Tyra was in college in Austin. It had been off — permanently — for at least a decade, though she and Tyra don't talk often enough anymore for dating to be much of a topic of conversation.

Julie takes another sip of her drink, trying to find some safer territory to steer the conversation to, when Tim speaks.

“Heard about you and Saracen. Sorry.”

Now it's Julie's turn to feel uncomfortable, but she's surprised to find she really doesn't. It's just a fact. She married her high school sweetheart and then they got divorced. Nothing to be ashamed of, and she knows somehow that Tim doesn't judge, so she just shrugs.

“It happens.”

“It does,” he agrees with an understanding nod that makes her feel that there is no blunder, no embarrassing episode of her life that would make him judge her. “Figured if anybody had a chance to make it for the long haul, it was you two.”

“Yeah, well, somebody's gotta make up the 50% of marriages that end in divorce, right?”

Tim guffaws and angles the neck of his beer towards her again.

“To the fifty percent,” he says, and taps her glass.

Julie laughs.

They drain their drinks and the bartender comes by to take their empties. Julie supposes Tim will take his leave and return to whatever it is he had planned for his Friday night at Smitty's, but instead, he orders himself another and looks at her, his expression an open invitation to continue.

It's a surprise, how happy she is to find he wants to stay right where he is and keep talking.

Smiling, Julie nods, and the bartender brings them another round. 

“You know, I almost didn't recognize you at first,” Tim says, his eyes tracking intently over her face.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he says. He reaches out and tugs very gently on the end of a long strand of brown hair trailing down her shoulder. “Thought you were a blonde, like your mom.”

Julie can only stare at him for a moment as a shiver dives down her spine. 

“My mom is a strawberry blonde, first of all,” she says as she collects herself. “I take after my dad. My hair was pretty light when I was little, but my parents just let me colour it when I was a teenager.”

“Huh,” he says, still looking at her like all of this is truly fascinating to him. “I dunno, blond kinda suited you.”

Julie blinks.

“Is this… Are you negging me?”

“'Negging'?” He shakes his head. “What's that?”

The way he just asks catches her off guard. He asks the question so easily, his curiosity genuine, completely unbothered by his own ignorance. She realises it's been a long time since she's talked to someone who didn't make a point of knowing everything about everything.

The men she's dated lately seem to make a point of that, anyway.

“Negging is that thing guys do where they'll try to get a woman's attention by giving her a backhanded compliment or just insulting her. Some guys,” she adds magnanimously.

“Huh,” he says, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, well, a lotta guys who like women don't actually like women at all.”

“That's true,” Julie says slowly, taken aback by him making a low-key feminist observation. “I got tired of lightening it, is all. My hair, I mean. Too much maintenance.”

“You're not down at the salon every week? What kind of Texan are you?”

Julie snorts. 

“Not a very good one, obviously.”

Tim smiles and just looks at her for a beat, then takes a long swig of his beer.

“I've got another question for you,” he says.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. What did you mean, anyway?”

Julie blinks, confused.

“What did I mean by what?”

“'Painfully handsome.' What's painful about it?”

It feels like her throat is tightening, narrowing down to something through which she can barely draw a breath. She swallows dryly and tries to come up with something witty, something cutting, perhaps. Something to deflate the humiliation of him having this information. This power over her.

It's so uncomfortable to feel like she's 16 again. A foolish girl. And to think, like most things that have hurt her in her life, she did it to herself.

Tim just watches her in silence, curious, but not mocking. Not at all. Her embarrassment ebbs, and she shifts her weight on the bar stool.

What does it matter? He already knows.

“It means that it hurt, sometimes, to look at you. Like trying to look directly at the sun.”

Tim takes that in, his brow creasing.

“Huh.”

The silence between them is sharp and sudden, in spite of the other drinkers laughing and talking, in spite of the chords of music and Bruce Springsteen's voice filling the bar.

You sit around gettin' older; there's a joke here somewhere and it's on me.

The conversation wilts, and Julie feels a pang of regret. Maybe that was a little too much honesty.

But then Tim takes another sip of his beer and clears his throat.

“Funny. I always kinda figured you weren't into me.”

Julie eyes him, skeptical. Surely there's no way Tim Riggins really believes there was even one straight girl in town who wasn't at least a little bit into him.

She shrugs her shoulders.

“That time you stayed with us and I got drunk and got you in trouble with my dad… I mean. I kinda tried to kiss you. I was drunk, sure, but you didn't kiss me back. I always figured you weren't interested.”

Tim winces and lets out a slow sigh, like he doesn't want to answer her immediately. Julie waits. Eventually, he responds.

“I was not interested in that specific moment,” he says slowly. Thoughtfully, like it really matters to him that she understands. “You were drunk and sad, and your folks were already putting up with me couch-surfing at your place.”

Julie absorbs that, watching him, then nudges his boot with the toe of her sandal.

“But… ?” she says, wheedling, unable to help herself.

Tim guffaws, and Julie watches, delighted, as his cheeks redden again.

“If you wanna know whether I ever wished you hadn't been drunk and hung up on Saracen, and that your dad hadn't been about to walk in… Sure.”

Julie grins, unable to help herself. Tim gives her a look.

“C'mon,” he says. “Like you don't know you're hot.”

She laughs and shrugs her shoulders.

“Actually I had no idea I'd caught the notice of the Tim Riggins,” she says.

Tim snorts and takes another long swig of beer. Once he swallows it, he looks at her.

“I mean, I have eyes.”

“Could have fooled me. I honestly had no idea.”

“That I have eyes?” he says dryly. 

“No, that you noticed me,” Julie replies, laughing.

“Yeah, well, I had to play it cool. You were scary.”

“I was scary? Are you sure you don't mean my dad was scary?”

“Nope. I mean, yeah, your dad would definitely have kicked my ass, but I mean you. You were as intimidating as all hell.”

Julie really doesn't know what to say to that. Until Tim stayed with her family and they became acquaintances of a kind, she wasn't all that sure that he even knew who she was.

“Still are, actually,” Tim continues, after another swig. 

Julie exhales a shaky laugh, her cheeks warm.

“Gee, maybe that's why I haven't been on a date in months.”

“No way.”

“Yes way. Unfortunately.”

“What, them Chicago boys got packing peanuts for balls, or something?”

Julie splutters.

“I really couldn't tell you,” she says, laughing. “Like I said: no dates. I haven't had the opportunity to see any balls lately.”

Tim shakes his head.

“That makes no damn sense, just so you know. You should be fightin' 'em off with a stick.”

His open appreciation does wonders for her ego. She preens a little, taking another sip of her drink, and decides to pick up what he's throwing down. 

“What about you? Seeing anybody?”

To her amusement, Tim grimaces.

“Dillon's grown a little since you been gone, but not that much, you know?”

“Ah. The dating apps are a bit same old, same old?”

“It's bad,” he says, making a pained expression. “It's real bad.”

“Poor thing,” Julie says, before taking a final sip of her drink. “Guess you should have paced yourself, there.”

Tim snorts.

“I'll say.”

Julie glances at the dusty old light-up clock — MILLER HIGH LIFE: if you've got the time, we've got the beer — up behind the bar.

It's after midnight. 

She's having fun and she's pretty sure he is, too. Trouble is she doesn't have the staying power she once did, and she drove several hours that morning. She's tired and should probably head back to the motel and try to get some sleep.

She doesn't want to, though.

She wants to stay right here at this bar with Tim, reminiscing about old times they'd barely shared.

On the stereo, Tom Petty strums and sings.

But baby you got a heart so big, it could crush this town, and I can't hold out forever, even walls fall down.

The bartender comes by again and they order another round. Julie tries to get this one, but Tim waves her off and the bartender — to her chagrin — defers to Tim, the regular. Tim smiles as he does it, like there's nothing he'd rather do than spend his pay on her drinks.

Julie supposes she shouldn't be surprised. She's known for a long time that Tim's something of a gentleman, underneath it all.

“So aside from the guys being dumbasses, what's Chicago like?”

“It's all right,” she says. “Cold winters, but the summers are nice. It's expensive. The food's good.”

Tim furrows his brow.

“You're not really selling it, to be honest, Jules.”

She laughs.

“Listen, Chicago is… Well. Chicago was where Matt wanted to go, and I wanted to be where Matt was. And now we're not together anymore and Chicago is just… Where I live, I guess.”

Tim doesn't reply. He just looks at her for a long, silent moment, then nods and takes a swig of his beer. Somehow, Julie knows that he understands.

He clears his throat.

“You ever think about starting over somewhere else?”

Julie leans one elbow on the bar and rubs at the condensation running down her glass with her thumb.

Somewhere across the bar, a peal of high laughter rings out, audible only briefly over the sound of Bob Seger and his guitar.

Workin' on mysteries without any clues, workin' on our night moves.

“Sometimes,” she says quietly. “A while ago I was at this farmers' market, one we used to go to almost every weekend, and I saw him there. With a woman. They didn't see me; I just watched them for a minute and then they were gone, and it just felt like… I don't know. Like I was invisible. Like that place wasn't really mine, after all.”

There's a lump in her throat, suddenly, and she drowns it quickly with a long swig of her drink, annoyed at the stupid surge of emotion that brought it on. Her cheeks feel hot and she stares fixedly down at the worn wood of the old bar, just so she doesn't have to look up to see anything resembling pity on Tim's face.

“Sucks, sometimes,” he says quietly, leaning on the bar with his elbows and turning his face toward her so that their conversation suddenly feels closer, more intimate, like the rest of the noisy bar isn't even there. “Being stuck in the same place as all your worst mistakes.”

Julie watches his profile as he stares down at the beer bottle in his hands. He must feel her gaze, because his eyes flick up to meet hers.

“Not that you and Matty were a mistake,” he says gently.

“No, I get it,” Julie says, shaking her head. “Being reminded of things that hurt when you're just trying to get groceries really sucks.”

Tim nods, then smiles at her.

“What about Philly? You could go live with your folks.”

Julie laughs.

“Oh, believe me, I went and hid out in their guest room for a couple of weeks when Matt and I separated.”

“Bet they loved that,” he says, completely sincere, his fondness for her parents practically beaming from him.

“Maybe,” she replies. “I'm not sure they loved being subjected to me listening to Adele on repeat the entire time.”

“Your Spotify Wrapped was pretty nuts, huh?”

“It was a little too revealing to be shared publicly, yes,” Julie says, laughing. “Though maybe Adele made for a welcome change from Gracie walking around the house watching TikTok at full volume, I don't know.”

“Stop,” Tim says, his expression pained. “I cannot handle Gracie being old enough to be on TikTok.”

“I regret to inform you that my baby sister will be 16 in August.”

Tim shakes his head, grimacing.

“That math can't be right,” he says. “How's your dad like coaching up there?”

“He likes it. Being with the same program for more than just a few years at a time has been really good, I think. Last time I talked to him he said he thinks he'll probably stay put until he retires.”

“No way,” Tim says. “Thought his big dream was to coach college ball.”

It was her dad's dream, once. Used to be. Julie's not sure it is anymore.

“I think his time at TMU kinda took the shine off that dream for him,” she says.

Tim nods, thoughtful, and smiles a sad half-smile.

“Old dreams are funny,” Tim says. “How they stick around, even when you know they're long past any chance of coming true.”

Something about his words, and his soft expression, makes Julie's heart feels like it's breaking.

“Time to cut myself off,” Tim says wryly. “Nobody likes a sad drunk.”

“That's not true. I like you.”

Tim's face splits open into a genuinely happy grin, and her heart does something else, like it's stitching itself back together.

Suddenly, she wants to kiss him.

Time to cut myself off.

She looks away from his face, glancing over at the clock behind the bar again before taking a long, steadying sip from her paloma. A drop of cold condensation drips off the bottom of her glass and lands on the denim covering her thigh like a boozy little raindrop.

“It's getting late,” she says. “I have a plane to catch in Midland tomorrow.”

When she hazards a glance at Tim, his happy expression has dimmed, but he doesn't try to talk her into staying longer. He nods.

“I should really get an Uber,” she continues, pulling out her phone, but she stops at the puzzled look on Tim's face.

“Pay a stranger to drive you?” He gives his head a shake. “Where are you staying?”

“The Palms, out on the highway?”

Tim shakes his head again and tosses back the dregs of his beer before standing up.

“I'll walk you.”

“Walk me? In Dillon?”

Tim snorts.

“I know. But neither of us needs a DWI tonight. C'mon. Let me walk you.”

So Julie nods and shoulders her bag, and follows him as he leads her to the exit. A few drinkers shout farewells to Tim, but he doesn't answer beyond raising a hand over his head in a lazy wave. He opens the door for her, and they go out into the cool, dark night.

They walk along the main drag through Dillon, heading west. 

It's a trip down memory lane, literally and figuratively, though Julie finds herself a little disoriented by how many businesses have closed or changed hands, by how many buildings have been replaced by parking lots, and how many simply sit empty, FOR LEASE signs in the dusty windows right beside the sun-bleached, blue and yellow PANTHER PRIDE signs.

Some things change. Some things don't. Julie is still learning the complex arithmetic that determines which things will last and which things won't. 

At her side, Tim clears his throat.

“I'd give you a ride except there's a couple deputies who love to pull me over. I don't drive drunk, but they keep tryin' anyway.”

Julie frowns as she glances over at him. He says it like it's just an unfortunate fact of life, like bad weather.

“That's messed up, you know. They shouldn't do that.”

Tim shrugs.

“Yeah, well. Small town, ex-con. How it goes, I guess.”

Julie examines his profile, the resignation she finds there.

“I guess,” she says quietly.

“Hope you don't mind that I kinda hijacked your night, there,” he says, his tone a little rueful.

“Are you kidding? You made my night, actually. Things were looking very dull until you came along.”

“If you say so,” Tim says.

“I mean it,” she insists, glancing over at him. “I hadn't planned on seeing anybody, but I'm really glad you came over to say hi.”

I missed you.  

She nearly says it; she barely stops herself. It makes no sense. They'd only ever been acquaintances, so what was there to miss? Yet that's exactly how she feels at this moment: like she missed him. Like he's the only truly familiar thing she's found in this place that used to be her home.

They keep walking past blinking red traffic lights, only the occasional car passing by, as the restaurants and stores thin out until the two of them are walking long blocks of sprawling, empty parking lots interrupted by only the occasional cement company or tractor and trailer dealership.

It's almost desolate, in a way she rarely experiences in the city.

As they head out on the shoulder of the service road that leads to her motel, she nudges his elbow with hers.

“Thanks for walking me,” she says. “Last thing I need is for the wrong trucker to drive by so I end up featured on some weirdo's true crime podcast.”

Tim snorts.

“That's dark,” he says.

“It's also a little melodramatic. Women are usually murdered by someone they know.”

There's an awkward pause and then Tim scoffs.

“Well, damn, Jules. Hard to know where to go from there.”

“Sorry,” she says on the tail of an awkward laugh. “Huh, maybe I do know why I'm having trouble getting a second date back home.”

Tim guffaws.

“Nah, I'm pretty sure those guys are just stupid.”

“Very generous of you to say so,” Julie says, still laughing. 

They walk along the side of the road in silence for a minute. The silence ought to feel awkward, but somehow it doesn't. It's comfortable, just like it was the handful of times Tim drove her to school or they studied together.

Back then she didn't think a comfortable silence was anything special. Now she knows different.

“Whew,” Tim breathes, stopping in his tracks beside her.

Julie looks over to find Tim's head tipped way back so that he's looking up at the dark sky.

The dark sky, she sees, as she cranes her own neck, that is spangled with a million bright stars.

“Wow,” she says softly. “I forgot how big the stars are out here.”

She feels rather than sees Tim give her a sideways look.

“Kinda hard to imagine,” he says.

“What is?”

“Not being able to see the stars.”

“You can still see them in the city. You just can't see as much of them. It's just not like this.”

They stand there on the gravel shoulder of the road and stare up at the stars in silence until Julie's neck starts to ache, and the chill of the arid night begins seeping through her light clothes.

In the distance, a train whistles.

When she shivers, Tim nudges her elbow with his.

“C'mon,” he says. “Let's get you home.”

Home.

Julie bites her lip to keep herself from asking him where on earth he thinks that might be.

The motel's bright neon sign is a beacon in the dark, and they follow it until they reach the door to her room and stop, standing in the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights.

“Well,” says Tim, hands on his hips, rocking back a bit on his heels.

“Well,” she replies.

Tim huffs a short laugh and shakes his head.

“It's real nice to see you,” he says. “Come on back again sooner next time, yeah?”

Maybe it's the drinks or the nostalgia or the loneliness, or maybe it's simply that she’s pretty damn certain they were flirting with one another all night, but for a dizzy moment, Julie seriously considers inviting him into her room.

The words die in her throat. That would be stupid. She's not a dumb college kid anymore; she knows better. She's been divorced, damn it — she had to find herself a lawyer and pay them and everything.

She's a grown woman. Too grown to be hitting on Tim Riggins just because she's a little drunk and a lot lonely.

“It was nice to see you, too,” she says. “If you're ever in Chicago, send me a message on Facebook, okay?”

Tim just stands there looking at her for a moment, and then he smiles.

“You bet. Night, Jules. Take care.”

Tim turns and walks away.

She watches him go, fully enjoying the view, letting herself be a little sad.

It really was so good to see him. A pleasant detour on an otherwise boring and lonely little trip.

But as she stands there under the buzz of the fluorescent lights, Tim stops short.

He looks up at the sky, and from where she stands, Julie can hear him sigh.

After a long, silent moment, he turns around and looks at her, still standing where he left her. He walks back to her, his long strides eating up the span of pavement between them. He stops in front of her, standing close, his hands on his hips.

“Listen,” he says. “I know we've both had a few, and believe it or not, I'll take no for an answer. But I'd be a dumbass if I didn't at least shoot my shot.”

The satisfaction that surges through her is heady, and she savours it for a moment as they stare at each other. She pops an eyebrow.

“Shoot your shot, huh?”

He winces.

“Too corny?”

“Maybe a little.”

He nods, furrowing his brow as if deep in thought.

“All right. How 'bout this? I wanna take you into that room of yours and figure out how many different ways I can make you come.”

Julie's amusement gets cut off by the rush of heat that jolts her body. She gulps and tries to look unbothered.

“You’re pretty confident.”

Tim huffs a low laugh that makes her spine tingle.

“About that part, yeah. Not so confident you'll say yes, to be honest.”

Julie wants to say yes. Hell, she knows she's going to. But the tension between them is delicious — electric — and she doesn't want to cut it off. 

She looks at his parted mouth, his lush bottom lip, then up to his warm eyes, looking at her like she is the only thing in this world worth paying attention to. 

It's an intoxicating thing to bask in.

Knowing exactly what she's doing, she tilts her head and bats her eyes.

“So convince me,” she says softly.

He exhales and breaks out into a huge grin that she barely gets to enjoy before he's cupping her face in both hands and kissing her.

Julie's hands go to his hips to steady herself as she rocks back on her feet.

Up close, she can feel the heat pouring off of him, can smell the grassy, sweaty, boyish scent of him.

Up close, he's overwhelming.

His thumbs sweep across the arcs of her cheekbones as he kisses her curiously, thoroughly, like she's a puzzle he's trying to solve.

When his hands slide down her shoulders and around her back to hug her close, and his tongue sweeps her lower lip, she downright swoons in his arms.

A car door slams and an engine starts with a noisy rumble across the parking lot; they both startle, breaking the kiss.

“You got your key card?” Tim asks, leaning his forehead against hers.

“Yeah,” she says, digging the plastic card out of her bag and turning around to slide it into the slot.

Tim steps up behind her, his whole body pressed to hers, his arms around her as he sweeps her hair aside and kisses her neck. She pushes her hips back into his, and he gives a hard exhale that sends a shower of goosebumps down her back. She fumbles with the card a moment and then gets it right just as he takes the edge of her earlobe very gently between his teeth and pulls.

Julie sucks in a breath and the light on the door lock turns green.

They stumble into the cool, dark room.

Tim closes the door behind him and slides the deadbolt into place. Julie barely has time to turn on the bedside lamp and drop her bag before he's kissing her again, hugging her so tightly he lifts her right off the floor. He bends his knees and grabs her ass to lift her, and she wraps her legs tight around his narrow hips as he walks them both toward the bed, kissing her so deeply she can barely draw a breath.

He eases her down onto the bed, still kissing her, following her, covering her whole body with his warm weight as he settles between her spread thighs.

Julie slides her hands up his sides and under his loose t-shirt, palming his hot skin and the muscles underneath. 

They make out, rolling across the bed, and it's messy and awkward, all bumped noses and sharp elbows, but when Tim laughs breathlessly against her neck, the awkwardness disappears like smoke on the breeze. He slows down, then, kissing her like he's trying to find the answer to a stubborn question, like there's nothing he'd rather do than figure out exactly how they fit together.

They start to find a rhythm, and Julie quickly picks up on the way he groans deep in his throat when she captures his bottom lip between her teeth and bites.

Tim rolls his hips into hers, their jeans already chafing, already damp from sweat, and then he slides a hand up her ribs to palm her breast through her shirt.

A startling dart of sensation leaps and dives down her body to land as a twinge between her legs. She moans.

“Mm,” Tim hums against her lips. He breaks their kiss long enough to sit up a bit and pull her shirt up and over her head, leaving her in a purple bralette and her jeans.

The break is just long enough for the buzzing of her lips and the pounding of her heart to fade and for reality to look her in the eye.

This is a stupid thing to do, probably. 

No one even knows she's in Dillon except him. 

But this is Tim. He lived right in her own house when she was sixteen and she never felt unsafe for a moment. The opposite, in fact. 

He put himself in harm's way to shield her, once upon a time. Looked out for her when another guy was going to hurt her. Protected her and kept her foolhardy confidence even though it landed him back out on the street.

Tim is leaning on his elbow, about to lean down and kiss her again, when his eyes track over her face. His brow knits.

“You're thinkin' so hard I can hear it,” Tim says, not a bit of reproach in his tone. He smiles down at her. “Second thoughts?”

“No,” she replies, her voice little more than a quiet rasp. “No, I just…”

She trails off. She doesn't even know how to describe how she feels, never mind what she wants to tell him.

The look he gives her is soft. He shakes his head.

“Jules, we don't gotta… We don't, if you don't want to. It's fine, seriously.”

“No, no, I want to, I really, really do, I'm just being — I just —” she's at a loss, flailing, wanting desperately to seem cool and detached and sexy , but instead she feels stripped bare, like all of her flaws are on display, just like they've been all evening.

It’s uncomfortable as hell to feel so bare.

But Tim doesn't turn away.

Instead, he cups the sides of her face in his warm palms and kisses her once, slowly, and so gently it almost hurts, like fingertips brushing across a fresh burn.

“Jules, it's just me.” He kisses her again. “We can do whatever you want.”

Just like that, she realises that whatever they do, it's okay. It doesn't have to be anything more than exactly what it is. Whatever happens right now, it's between them.

He'll keep her secrets. He has before.

Something in her chest unknots.

Reaching down and grasping the hem of his t-shirt, she tugs until he gets her drift and sits up to yank it off over his head.

She allows herself a moment to just stare at his bare chest.

Unreal. Absolutely unreal.

Tim grins down at her, and she feels her cheeks heat.

Annoying. 

It's annoying that he knows exactly how hot he is.

Yet he doesn't gloat. Somehow, he isn't even cocky. Even as she's lying back, fuming at how obvious her admiration is, he's too busy kissing his way down her bare belly and undoing her jeans with quick fingers to bother gloating.

He undoes her sandals and tosses them aside before tugging her jeans down over her hips.

“What's this?”

He skates his palm over the royal blue ink that decorates most of one thigh.

“It's a tattoo, Tim.”

He laughs softly and reaches one hand underneath her to give her butt a gentle pinch.

“Funny,” he says, his voice dry, as he leans close to examine the art. “Bluebonnets. Were you homesick or somethin'?”

“Something like that, yeah,” she replies, looking at his downturned head as he makes a thorough examination of her tattoo.

She'd gotten it a few years ago in Chicago after finding an artist on Instagram whose floral linework tattoos caught her attention. A few direct messages and several hundred dollars later, and she had a bouquet of vibrant bluebonnets tied with a yellow ribbon healing under a plastic bandage on her thigh.

“Bluebonnets?” Matt had asked her. “You don't even like Texas.”

The way he'd said it, his tone more annoyed than confused, had infuriated her, and had led to one of their last fights before they finally decided to separate for good.

Julie lets her head fall back to the mattress and squeezes her eyes shut.

Matt is the absolute last thing she wants to be thinking about right now.

Thankfully, Tim sends all thoughts of her failed marriage scattering away when he kisses the painted skin of her thigh.

“Sexy,” he says quietly, almost to himself, before kissing her thigh again. “Like stupid hot, you have no idea. Got any more?”

Julie opens her eyes and lifts her head to find Tim staring up her body at her, his pupils huge, his face flushed.

“A couple,” she says. “Wanna find 'em?”

He smiles up at her, his eyes bright and narrow, full of promise.

“Hell yeah,” he says, before kissing her bouquet of bluebonnets again. He kisses his way down her thigh and over the knob of her knee, then down her calf, pushing her leg up and bending her knee, holding her foot in his hands and exhaling softly when he finds the fading heart tattooed on her ankle.

“Cute, cute,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss her there.

Julie's face is so warm she can feel her pulse in her cheeks.

His undivided attention is almost overwhelming; she's unsure what to do with herself except lie back and let him explore, which he seems thrilled to be doing.

He finds the arrow on the inside of her wrist and kisses her there. 

“That all of 'em?”

“For now,” she says, suddenly regretting not having more tattoos for him to discover.

Still kneeling between her legs, Tim turns his head to the side and kisses the inside of her knee, then runs his hands up her calves.

He kisses his way up her thigh again, his wide palms skating up her thighs to spread out over her belly.

“Get comfortable,” he says. 

Just the feel of his warm palm on her skin sends a hard pulse of pleasure down her spine.

Julie lets her head flop back heavily onto the mattress, her skin prickling with anticipation as Tim situates himself between her knees.

Blinking up at the ceiling, she tries not to think about how long it's been since anybody's so much as offered to do this, or about how long it's been since she got a wax.

She winces.

Don't think.

Before she can get too deep into a conversation with herself, Tim buries his face between her legs, mouthing her underwear, and he groans.

“Damn, Jules. You smell good.”

It feels like her whole body is on fire, as though she's about to shoot steam out of her ears.

He hooks his fingers under the bands of her underwear and tugs them down over her hips and legs, tossing them off somewhere behind him.

Kissing the tender skin of her inner thigh, he presses her knees open wider with his shoulders. His hands come up to grip the outsides of her thighs as he ducks his head, nudging her clit with his nose as he licks her open.

The curse that falls out of her mouth is lost as her breath strangles in her throat.

“Mm,” Tim hums as he licks her again, glancing her clit. He presses his palm downwards, firmly, like he's petting her, bringing his thumb down to roll against the base of her clit, never letting up licking at her entrance.

Julie can't speak, can barely catch her breath. She doesn't even register that her hands are clenched in fists at her sides until Tim brings his free hand up and takes hers, opening her tight fingers with his thumb and bringing her palm into contact with the side of his head.

Still feeling tentative and stunned, she manages to card shaking fingers through his hair, scraping his scalp.

He makes another soft humming sound as he circles her clit with the tip of his tongue.

Julie yelps, stung by how sudden and intense the pleasure is.

“You're so pretty here, so damn pretty,” Tim says, his breath on her skin sending a shiver up and down her spine. He circles her clit with the pad of his thumb.

Julie's sure her face must be bright, tomato red, and she's glad he's busy where he is and can't see that she's blushing, absolutely beaming at the ceiling because nobody has ever told her she's got a pretty pussy before and it turns out she fucking loves that.

Tim stops complimenting her to lick her entrance again, his thumb still circling her clit.

Julie's not going to last long like this.

“So pretty, Jules,” he says again, his voice low and strained. He brings his free hand down between them and touches his fingertips to her entrance. She's so wet, his middle finger slides right in, and he groans.

“Wanna fuck you real bad, Jules. You want that?”

“Yeah,” she says, the word squeaking out of her as he bends down to lick her clit. She squirms, but she doesn't get far, as Tim's hands grip her hips, holding her in place.

“Mm,” he hums again, his lips buzzing against her sensitive flesh. “Wanna make you come, first. You gonna come, Jules?”

The way he's talking, his voice low, and the way his every touch makes her feel like her very skin is catching fire — yeah, she's going to come.

She nods frantically, unable to speak, and grips his hair tighter between her fingers.

Something about that seems to spur him on, his mouth relentless on her, sucking her clit between his lips as he slides his middle finger inside her and curls his finger back towards him, stroking up.

The motion hits something inside her she's not sure anybody or anything has ever touched.

The sound that comes out of her then is half moan and half grunt, and she bites her lip to keep the sounds in.

“Naw, Jules, don't do that. Wanna hear you. C'mon.”

His fingers are relentless and when he bends his head down to lick her clit again, she can't bear the pressure even a second longer. It bursts, pleasure crashing like a wave breaking against rocks, and she keens out loud, the intensity almost too much to take as he keeps stroking inside her.

Suddenly it really is too much, and when she grasps his wrist, he stops and splays his hand across her thigh.

“Need a minute?”

Julie lifts her head to find him watching her, his expression rapt, his cheeks still flushed.

If he's cocky, he's got every reason to be.

Julie nods, and Tim's hand strokes her thigh. 

They stay that way for several minutes, Julie trying to calm her runaway heart while Tim's head rests on her thigh, his hand occasionally stroking her skin.

Eventually, Tim sits up on his knees and, taking her hands, tugs her up to sit on the edge of the mattress. Lightheaded but trying to pull herself together, Julie hauls her bralette off over her head and tosses it to the floor. Before she can reach for him or do much of anything at all, he's gently pushing her back down onto the mattress and lying alongside her, propped up on one elbow.

His hand skates gently up and down her belly a couple of times before coming up to cup her breast.

He leans down and kisses her, his lips soft and plush, his mouth tasting faintly of her. Her cheeks are still hot, and she wonders briefly if a person can faint from losing all their blood to their face.

She doesn't have long to wonder or to feel self-conscious, because a moment later he breaks the contact of their lips to kiss his way down her chest.

He licks one nipple, then the other, then returns to the first to suck it between his lips.

His big, warm hand spreads out over her belly, his fingers flexing against her skin.

“You good?” he asks, bringing his hand up to cup one breast and idly thumb her nipple. He lifts his head to look down into her face.

He slides his palm down her body to stroke the hair between her legs.

She inhales sharply.

Tim watches her face, and again, his scrutiny makes her self-conscious, but she fights the urge to close her eyes or turn her head, and she lets him look his fill as he glides his fingertips through the wet between her legs.

He loves this. It's plain in his frank gaze, how much he's enjoying getting her off.

His fingertips circle her clit in gentle loops, back and forth, and he occasionally bows his head to suck on her nipples and press kisses to her skin, grazing her with his teeth.

Julie reaches a hand down between them, brushing the erection that pushes against the fly of his jeans. 

Tim grunts quietly and lets go of her nipple. She presses her palm against his hardness.

“Easy,” he says, lifting his head to look down into her face. “I'm not done yet.”

Julie laughs softly and gives way, moving her hands up to the back of his neck before burying her fingers in his hair and tugging gently.

“Mm,” he murmurs against her skin, the sound rumbling in his chest, never letting up circling her clit with quick fingers.

This orgasm comes on slower than the last, building up steadily, until she's lifting her hips up into the pressure of his hand, straining towards him, her whole body tense.

“C'mon, Jules,” he murmurs against the skin of her neck between kisses she knows are going to leave at least a hickey or two. “Wanna watch you come again.”

The sound of his voice, the steady rhythm of his thumb strumming her clit, the soft rasp of his tongue as he licks her nipple again — all of it crests inside her like a huge, steady wave, and she comes, arching up against him and gasping for breath.

“Watching you come is so fucking hot,” he says quietly against her skin, still kissing her, still stroking her hypersensitive skin.

Julie tugs gently on his hair until he catches her drift and lifts his head so she can see his face. His eyes gleam, and he smiles at her, looking incredibly satisfied, like he's the one who's just enjoyed two orgasms.

“You got condoms?” he asks, his words muffled as he drops his head and kisses his way across the wing of her collarbone.

“No, but I've got an IUD, it's fine.”

Tim presses his face to her sternum and groans quietly.

“You sure?”

Julie tilts her head to squint down at him.

“Should I not be?”

Tim kisses the tender skin between her breasts. He looks up and meets her eyes.

“I ain't had sex since the last time I got tested, if that's what you mean.”

Julie cards her fingers through his hair.

“So responsible,” she says softly. “That's sexy.”

Tim chuckles and shifts himself up to kiss her lips. As he pulls back, he brushes his lips back and forth against hers.

“I pay my mortgage, too,” he says. “File my taxes. I've got an accountant and everything.”

“Ooh,” Julie sighs, smiling. “Stop, please, I can only take so much.”

Tim laughs softly and kisses her again, his hand covering her breast for a moment before he strokes her nipple with his thumb. The barely banked fire between them flickers back up.

“Mm, can't wait to fuck you,” he says, dragging his hands down her body as he sits up and onto his knees. He parts her knees and brushes his fingers against her pussy.

Julie moans.

The pad of his thumb finds her clit and he circles it lightly, dipping down to slide around in the wetness pooled at her opening.

“Damn, you're so wet,” he mutters. 

Julie stares up at his bare chest, his skin golden in the lamp light, at his full, kiss-reddened lips, at the way his hair hangs in his face.

Not that she wants to feed his ego, but this is the hottest sex she's ever had, and they haven't even actually had sex yet.

Tim takes his cock in his free hand, and Julie watches as he squeezes himself and huffs out a short breath before nudging against her pussy. His cock looks big, even in his big hand, and her heart pounds in anticipation.

He rubs against her for several long moments, apparently determined to tease them both.

Julie groans.

“Tim. Are you trying to make me beg?”

His eyes flick up to meet hers, and he shakes his head, his cheeks darkening. She watches, captivated, as he swallows.

“Uh, actually… You could tell me what to do. If you want.”

Oh.

It's Julie's turn to swallow.

Well, okay then.

“Fuck me,” she says, propping herself up on her elbows. “You said you wanted to see how many ways you could make me come, so let's see what you've got.”

She’s sure she must be blushing all up and down her whole body. She's never bossed anybody around in bed before, but Tim doesn't seem to notice. 

His nostrils flare and he nods.

“Yes, ma'am,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.

A tingle shoots up her spine, and she feels powerful, suddenly, and sexy in a way she hasn't felt in a very long time.

If she ever has. Maybe she hasn't ever felt exactly like this with anybody before. 

Tim doesn't let her go off into her own thoughts for long. Gripping her hip with one hand, he notches his dick into her and pushes inside. The way his cock fills her up feels almost unbelievably good as he bottoms out. He makes a sound somewhere between a gasp and a cough, his breath catching, as his hands come down on the mattress on either side of her to hold his weight up.

“Goddamn, Jules,” he groans as he draws his hips back and thrusts into her. He does it with enough strength to jostle her up the bed, but he catches her, sliding one hand under her head to cradle her skull as he quickly finds a hard, teeth-rattling rhythm. 

Moaning, Julie lifts her hands over her head and pushes her palms back against the headboard to brace herself.

“Tell me,” Tim grinds out, “tell me — if you — tell me, Jules —”

“It feels so good, Tim, you feel so good, you’re making me feel so, so good.”

His eyes close and he shudders hard.

Julie swallows, her throat dry and tight.

“You're good,” she says softly. “You're so good, Tim.”

He lets go of her head to brace both hands on the mattress on either side of her, his eyes still squeezed shut.

She can see her words getting to him, can see it in the set of his jaw, the way his body seems to tremble even as he sits back on his haunches. He hauls her hips with him, his hands holding her firm and angling her up to him so that he can fuck her with smooth, deep thrusts. The angle has his dick dragging against the back of her clit with every pass, and suddenly she can't talk to him at all, can only gasp for breath.

Tim's eyes open, and whatever he sees in her expression, he likes, because he doesn't take his eyes off her face as he grinds into her.

It’s intense, he’s intense, and it’s all she can do to hold onto the bed and to him.

Tim hooks his arms under her knees, and manages to get one hand between her legs, where he presses the pad of his thumb lightly to her clit so that it gets nudged with every firm thrust of his hips.

She’s careening into another orgasm, absolutely barreling towards it, dead certain steam must actually be shooting out of her ears this time.

“Tim, Tim, I’m gonna —”

“Hell yeah you are, sweetheart, gonna make sure of it.”

He grins down at her, and the intensity lessens, leaving a sweet, novel kind of joy behind as they race each other to the finish line.

“C’mon, Jules, can feel how bad you wanna come. I wanna come, too, wanna fill you up -”

“Tim —”

His voice, his words, it’s too much — something inside her snaps like a stretched rubber band, and she trips over the edge, her whole body shuddering and shaking in his strong hands, and she’s coming harder than the last two times combined.

It goes on and on, sending aftershocks all up and down her body, every nerve exploding like fireworks. 

She blinks and finds him watching her, mouth hanging open, as he fucks her through her orgasm, and she runs a hand up his sweaty torso and around his neck to grab a hold of the long hair at his nape. She scrapes her fingernails against his scalp and tugs.

“Come on, Tim,” she says, her voice hoarse. “Come inside me.”

He makes a sound like he just got punched in the chest, and his thrusts stutter out, and she feels it when his cock pulses inside her and he comes.

Tim collapses forward, landing on his elbows on either side of her head, holding his weight half off of her.

Julie releases the headboard and brings her other hand to his neck. She tugs a little and he gives way, landing on her with a soft “oof.”

Tim lays his head down on her chest, his arms up at her sides, and he goes still.

Combing her fingers through his hair, Julie waits for her heart to stop racing, and soaks in the rush of having just had three extremely draining orgasms.

The effect it has on her is much better than the drinks she had at the bar: her head feels perfectly empty, and her body feels wrung out.

Tim inhales and exhales hugely, his chest expanding against her legs where she's still cradling his torso.

“Thought I'd last a little longer than that,” he says ruefully. “Sorry.”

Julie lifts her head to look at him in astonishment, but he's not looking up at her.

“Are you kidding? Do you hear me complaining?”

He huffs a short laugh and rubs his face into her bare skin.

“Gimme a minute or two, I'll get a second wind.”

Julie laughs softly.

“I'm not kiddin',” Tim says against her chest.

But as they lie there, skin to skin, Julie feels absolutely fucked out. Surely he must be tired, too; it's late now and he must have worked all week. She cards her fingers idly through his hair.

“Feels nice,” he says, his voice a sleepy slur.

Julie can feel it, the moment he falls asleep, when his body goes slack and heavy and his breathing deepens.

She fully intends to wake him up, but somehow, she doesn't. Instead, she closes her eyes and falls fast asleep.

Her sleep is deep and sound, and she doesn't dream.

Hours later, she wakes in the near-dark, the room only faintly illuminated by the fluorescent lights outside.

She's comfortable, perfectly cozy beneath the blankets.

Tim is sound asleep beside her, flat on his back, snoring softly. He must have awoken at some point and turned the lights off and covered her up.

She watches him for a minute as her eyes adjust to the dim, then curls up to his side, sliding an arm across his bare chest.

He wakes slowly, his arms coming up around her, hands tightening on her skin.

Without speaking, he kisses her gently. It's idle, at first, neither of them fully awake as minutes pass and he kisses her with slow, thorough, drugging kisses that leave her feeling buzzed.

He pulls her toward him as he eases up onto his elbow, his free hand finding her breast and brushing calloused knuckles across the peak of her nipple.

When she breaks their kiss to hiss out a strained breath, he looks down into her eyes.

“You wanna?”

She doesn't even answer, just kisses him again as he slides his hand down between their bodies, his mouth curving under hers when he finds her wet again.

His touch isn't rough at all, but she's a bit tender, and the sound that comes out of her is a choked-off gasp. He breaks the kiss.

“You sore?”

“A little,” she admits.

“I'll be gentle,” he whispers, kissing her cheek, and then her lips. 

His humour can be dry, but there's no trace of it now. He means what he says, and his words touch some part of her, deep inside, that's been aching with loneliness for years.

Julie nods, unable to speak.

He kisses her again, deeply, cupping her jaw in one hand before coasting it down her neck and chest to land on her bare breast. She shivers, her nipples hardening, and he smiles against her mouth.

He licks at her bottom lip and thumbs her nipple, then slides his hand down between them again to slide his middle finger through the wetness gathered there.

When his fingertip finds her clit, she bites off a moan and strains toward him. He cups her pussy and circles her clit, every bit as gentle as he said he'd be.

He rolls her over, away from him, until her back is to his front, and then he wraps his arms around her, one underneath her neck and the other free to roam up and down her body.

His chin hooks over her shoulder, and when he pulls her hips back to him, his erection is hard against her.

Julie rolls her hips back into his.

“Mm,” he rumbles, his warm palm tightening on her breast. He kisses her neck and runs his hand down her belly to stroke her clit again.

Her nerves spark and her pussy throbs, like she's close to coming already. The sound that comes from her is pathetic. Her cheeks burn.

“I got you,” Tim murmurs beside her ear.

He removes his hand from between her legs and she feels when he nudges his cock against her opening. She arches her back, trying to give him more room.

When he slides inside her, they both groan out loud. She thought it might hurt but it doesn't, the stretch pure bliss instead.

He wastes no time, fucking her with slow, deep thrusts that make it hard to draw a breath. She reaches up behind her and tangles her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

He exhales harshly and slides his hand back down between her legs to stroke her clit.

They find a perfect pace together, Tim rolling into her with steady thrusts that make her nerves sing, Julie rocking with him, her back arched.

Tim still has one arm under her neck, and Julie only has to reach a bit to bring his hand to her mouth and suck his forefinger and middle finger inside.

He hisses out a tense breath and a curse right next to her ear. 

His fingers bracketing her clit and the drag of his cock inside her are too much, and before she can stave it off and make the pleasure last, she comes with a strangled yelp she's never heard out of herself. All she can do is ride it out and moan so loud she's sure to wake the neighbours.

Tim doesn't try to quiet her. Instead he keeps fucking her, groaning deep in his chest.

Little aftershocks flutter through her as she tries desperately to catch her breath, as she grips his hair between her fingers and pulls.

“Fuck,” he pants against her ear. “Fuck, Jules, fuck —”

His body jolts and then he's gripping her hard and trembling against her, clinging to her as she gasps at the feeling of him coming inside her.

The only sound in the room is the hum of the air conditioner and the sound of both of them trying to catch their breath.

Tim kisses the side of her face and her neck, then reaches down to grab the sheets and pull them back up over their bodies. He tucks her against his chest, tangling his feet with hers.

Neither of them says a word. Wrapped up in each other, they drift back to sleep.

The next time Julie wakes, it’s to the sight of long beams of sunlight sneaking in around the edges of the curtains, and to Tim sitting on the edge of the bed, the sun gilding his profile.

Julie lets herself just look at him for several long moments, watching as he yawns and rubs his face.

“Taking off?”

Tim turns his head to look at her, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it,” he says with a shake of his head. “Unless you want me to hit the road.”

For a moment, Julie almost plays it cool. She could shrug, send him on his way, take a shower, pack up her things, and consign the last twelve hours to her memories.

But she doesn’t.

“I don’t,” she says, instead. “But if you’ve got somewhere to be…”

“I don’t,” he replies, smiling wider. “Buy you breakfast?”

“You don't have to.”

He furrows his brow at her and huffs a short laugh, like she just told him a joke.

“What, like it's a chore? C'mon.”

Taking her hand, he tugs her up and out of bed, and fewer than ten minutes later, he’s fingering her through another sweet, slow-rolling orgasm in the shower, the hot water pounding down on her tingling skin.

As they head out the door a short while later, Julie pops the do not disturb hanger on the handle and tries not to think about checking out and leaving in time to catch her flight out of Midland that afternoon. 

They walk back to Smitty’s in the bright morning sunshine, their conversation interrupted by the frequent roar of semis passing by up on the freeway. It's still a nice walk, somehow, in spite of the lackluster surroundings; the weather is mild enough to be pleasant, and halfway there, Tim takes her hand in his and holds it. When he idly swings their arms back and forth between them, Julie feels like she's seventeen years old again.

In a good way. None of the doubts and confusion. Just the wide open feeling of a beginning, of a story not yet told.

Julie’s relieved to find her rental car still sitting where she left it, in the parking lot.

Tim's truck is there, too, though it's a different one than she remembers him driving back in high school. It's newer, but it's not one of the monstrously huge new trucks she's seen on the road, either.

There's a simple green logo of a lawnmower on the side doors. 

“'Tim's Trims'?”

Tim grins as he reaches out and opens the passenger side door for her.

“You bet,” he says. “Gotta keep it short and memorable.”

Julie climbs in.

“I'll keep that in mind next time I'm naming a business.”

Tim closes the door then goes around and hops into the driver's seat.

“Business advice is free, but just for you. Don't go giving all my best stuff away.”

Julie laughs as Tim starts the engine and pulls out of the lot. He rests his arm across the back of the seat, his fingers tangling gently in the ends of her windblown hair.

He drives them to a service station nearby, on the outskirts of town, the kind of place where truckers stop to get hot showers and do laundry. Attached to the station is a Tex-Mex restaurant.

Seeing her expression, Tim smiles.

“I know. But just trust me.”

She does. Of course she does.

They get a table by one of the large, sunny windows, and the friendly waitress keeps the coffee coming as Julie enjoys the best huevos rancheros she's had in years.

Julie glances up at Tim from behind her coffee cup, watching him as he eats. It strikes her that this is the first fun and not at all awkward morning after that she's had since she was married to Matt, back when things were still good.

It's strange and surprising, and it feels so good she finds herself wondering when the other shoe is going to drop.

But maybe it isn't. Maybe there's no shoe. Maybe it's just good.

Mostly she tries not to overthink it, and to just enjoy the food and coffee, and the way the morning sunshine lands on Tim's handsome face, and how his whole expression lights up when he tells her about being an uncle, and his dog, Spud.

When he pulls out his phone to show her pictures, he winces.

“Ah, shit. It's dead. Gotta get home and charge it. And let that damn dog out, if he hasn't already pissed on the kitchen floor.”

Ah, there it is. The shoe.

Tim has things to do. He has a life here, a family and a business, and apparently a dog who probably spent last night wondering where the hell his owner was.

Julie has things to do, too. Like check out of the motel and get herself to Midland and return her rental before she misses her flight to Dallas, so she can go home and finish the piece she was here to write in the first place.

Reality is a thousand miles away, but it's calling her back just the same.

Tim pays for their breakfast over her weak protests, and then he drives her back to pick up her rental.

They stand in the parking lot as the early spring sun climbs the sky and strengthens, a promise of the hot weeks ahead.

Tim stands across from her, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“Better let you go,” he says, sounding reluctant.

Julie wonders if this is an act he puts on when he meets women at the bar. If he's simply figured out how to be the world's best one night stand.

Tim looks away from her, out at the cars and trucks passing on the street, his mouth a flat line, his expression drawn.

No, it's not an act. That's not him. Never has been, and she has no reason to think it would be him now.

“Yeah,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest and scuffing her shoe against the pavement. “I've got a flight to catch.”

He nods, looking down at the ground between them.

“Gotta get back to the office?”

Julie shrugs.

“Not really,” she says. “I don't have an office. I can work anywhere with Wi-Fi.”

“Anywhere, huh?”

It's an invitation. It's written all over his face, his eyes hopeful in spite of the circumstances. Julie's heart aches, suddenly, and she swallows the lump that rises in her throat.

He must be so damn tired of being left behind.

“I'm glad you came over to say hi,” Julie says, after a long pause.

Tim looks down at the ground again. He clears his throat and looks at her.

“Hey, listen,” he says. “I meant what I said last night. Don't be a stranger. I know Chicago's a long way, but still. Come back sometime, okay?”

Julie swallows hard.

It's difficult to understand how he's been left as many times as he has, when he makes it this damn hard to go.

“Okay,” she says, nodding. “Bye, Tim.”

“Bye, Jules,” he says. He takes a step forward and pulls her into a hug, tucking her head under his chin.

She presses her face to his chest and exhales.

“No regrets, right?”

Julie smiles, laughing a wobbly laugh.

“No regrets,” she replies.

They let go, and she gets into her car, and leaves him standing there beside his truck, all alone in the bright morning sun.

She drives away.

On her flight back to Chicago, she sleeps.

Her dreams are warm like sunshine on bare skin, and they smell like fresh cut grass and the sweet, sharp scent of the air before a thunderstorm.

They feel like home.

It's raining in Chicago when her plane touches down.

Sitting in the backseat of her Uber, on her way home to her empty apartment, she deletes every dating app on her phone.

The rain makes the city streets shine, makes everything look like a bright Impressionist painting.

She really does like it here in the city. It's beautiful and vibrant.

It's just that there are many kinds of beautiful in this world, and many kinds of lives that are good.

Sitting waiting at a red light, she opens Messenger and scrolls down until she finds Tim's message from months ago.

Hope you're doing good Jules.

She stares at the message for several minutes, feeling a bit like she's a kid again, standing alone on the edge of the high diving board for the first time, trying to summon the courage to make the leap.

No regrets, right?

She starts typing.

I'm doing better than I have been in a while, though not as good as I was this morning.

Steeling herself, she adds a heart emoji. The sparkly pink one.

She hits send, then closes her phone and shoves it in her bag and looks out the rain-streaked window.

Barely a minute later, her phone vibrates.

Her stomach swoops. It's probably just Instagram or an email. But she takes her phone out and swipes it open.

Tim has replied.

Sorry to hear that. Maybe you need a vacation… I know a pretty nice place just outside of town. If you're interested.

Julie's heart pounds in her chest.

A half-second later, another message appears.

I have wifi. :)

Julie smiles at her phone, her heart pounding with sudden, breathless joy. She blows out a huge, relieved sigh.

Then, she replies.

-end-