Beth lifts her head up off the couch, lowering the volume on the television at the same time. She’s been curled up on the couch for the last hour, half dozing, half watching the Real Housewives repeat on the screen in front of her.
The house is momentarily quiet but she could swear she heard a knock on the door. She sits up to listen more closely, the fleece blanket across her lap falling to the floor. Her eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline when, after a minute, she hears the doorbell ring.
She can’t remember the last time someone rang the doorbell - after ten o'clock at night, no less - and she curses whoever it is for potentially waking the four sleeping children upstairs.
She pushes herself off the couch with a groan, powering off the TV, leaving herself to stumble across the room towards the front door in mostly darkness.
She swings the door open, prepared to give whoever is on the other side hell but -
It’s Rio.
She hadn’t been expecting him. She’s pretty certain he’s never rang the doorbell, always choosing to knock or come through the back or, in most cases, walk right in without an invitation. But it’s definitely him standing in front of her, the dim glow of the porch light just over his head. His arms are crossed over his chest, head down, and if she didn’t know better she might think he was sleeping. Beth stares, mouth wide open, and waits.
And waits.
But he doesn’t lift his head, doesn’t make a move to speak or come inside or acknowledge her and she’s just - confused. She clears her throat, unsure why she’s so hesitant but something seems… not quite right.
“Um… hi?” She says, and it works because he finally looks up with a smirk. He looks different though, she can’t put her finger on what it is exactly but something is off.
She hasn’t seen him in close to a week - not since the night she’d gone home with him after Annie’s wedding. She’d known she wouldn’t see him - mostly. He’d told her he had Marcus for the week and a lot of work things lined up and even though they had discussed making changes to their relationship she couldn’t expect everything to fall into place all at once.
He’d sent a few brief texts her way in his absence but it hadn’t been enough to sate her and when she’d initiated contact he’d offered vague and short responses. She feared he was having doubts about them, about whatever this was, about the conversation they’d had in her bedroom, but then he’d sent her a simple text one night during the week - ‘thinkin’ about you’ - it had said and it’d been enough to ease her worries. She didn’t want to push him, was okay with baby steps - with taking things slow - she just had to reconcile that her slow and Rio’s slow might be at different levels.
Beth’s eyes flicker behind him and she notices that the driveway is void of his car. Her forehead creases further and she’s just so thrown off kilter. Her gaze moves back to his and he’s staring so intently at her that it momentarily takes her breath away. She feels her cheeks flush and sees the exact moment that he notices but before he can make some kind of lewd comment she asks the first thing that comes to mind:
“Where’s your car?”
He smirks but answers with a shrug. “Demon dropped me off.”
As if that clarified anything.
“What’s going on?” She asks this time and her tone is less confused now - more frustrated. It’s late and her kids are upstairs and he’s just standing there not doing anything or saying anything and it’s starting to piss her off.
He shrugs and then laughs. Not his usual chuckle, not an amused huff but a deep, loud, belly laugh. His face lights up and his hand comes up to cover his mouth at his outburst and he looks almost innocent and child-like - two descriptive words that Beth could never anticipate using in relation to Rio.
Beth’s eyes widen, partially amused but mostly completely fucking lost. She has never seen him like this - thinks that he has to be on drugs.
He leans forward, inches from her face and her gaze roams over him. She catalogs the laugh lines on his forehead, the curve of his lips, the white teeth on display from his wide smile. He reaches his hand out and grips her chin stroking her lower lip with his thumb. His touch is always enough to send her reeling but instead of melting she jerks back and he laughs again.
She swats at his hand, taking a step away from him. The front door pushes backwards and she briefly considers slamming it in his face but she needs to know what the hell is going on.
“Rio - what the - ?” She stumbles overs her words and takes one more look into his glassy eyes when it hits her - he’s drunk. She can smell it now. The mix of mint and Rio and vodka.
She grabs him and pulls him inside and he just laughs again.
“You alone?” He questions and she rolls her eyes because now he cares? She watches him peek around her into the family room, towards the kitchen before finally landing his gaze back on her.
“The kids are sleeping.” She says quietly. Since they’ve started whatever this thing is between them he’s not been here when her kids are home. The time they spend together is always completely free of their real life obligations - one of the reasons she had insisted that if they were going to do this - they needed to start to do it normally. The last few months with him had felt so good - so right - but the fact that it was a relationship completely closed off from everyday life never made it seem real.
And she wanted it to be real.
The mention of her kids seems to temporarily sober him. He looks slightly apologetic but not enough to voice the words. He puts a finger to his lips and silently promises to be quieter. She rolls her eyes and pulls him towards her bedroom, pointedly ignoring the twinkle in his eye as she does.
She pushes him inside and softly shuts the door behind her. She watches as he flings himself onto her neatly made bed and ignores the warmth in her belly as he kicks his shoes off and makes himself comfortable.
“What are you doing here?” She asks, forcing him to look at her. She crosses her arms in front of her and she notices - but ignores - the way his eyes darken as they linger on her chest. She’s bra-less, wearing an over-sized sweater that’s falling off of her shoulder and worn, black, leggings - an outfit she generally keeps safely confined to her nights at home, alone.
Instead of leering at her for any longer he flops backwards onto her bed and answers vaguely. “Was in the area.”
“With Demon?” She asks curiously, narrowing her eyes at him as he stares up at her ceiling.
“I needed a ride. He lives closer to here than my loft so - ”
“You needed a ride because you’re drunk.” She accuses attempting to get him to admit to the fact but he only shrugs, neither confirming nor denying.
“How do you plan on getting home?”
“I’ll get an Uber.” He responds with a wave of his hand as if he doesn’t have the time or patience or ability to answer her mile long list of questions.
“You will not.” She shoots back quickly, because she knows him and she knows for a fact that he would never rely on an Uber drive to bring him anywhere.
He laughs and sits up, patting the bed next to him, encouraging her to sit, but she doesn’t take the bait. He gives her a look she’s never seen from him before - a cross between a sad puppy and a pathetic teenager caught with his pants around his ankles. When she still doesn’t fold under his gaze he groans and falls back onto her bed once again.
“You got water?” He asks and she clocks his movement as his hands rub over his face, his voice dry and raspy and she momentarily feels bad for him and the hangover he’s likely developing.
She huffs and rolls her eyes but makes her way out to the kitchen to get him a bottle of water. She can’t decide if she’s glad he’s here or annoyed. A little bit of both, she presumes, but she knows she’s leaning more towards the former. It’s almost exciting to see him this way - not entirely in his right mind. She’s grinning by the time she’s heading back towards her room, imagining the things she might be able to hold over his head after the night is through.
She walks back into her room and finds him sitting up on the edge of the bed, black socks covering the feet he has placed firmly on the ground. His eyes are closed but he opens them when he feels her presence next to him. She holds the bottle out to him and he grabs it, giving her a grateful look before downing half of it’s contents. Beth watches him as he drinks, eyes lingering on his throat as he swallows. The sight of him drinking water shouldn’t cause such palpable attraction but she finds herself having to ignore the heat that courses through her body. She looks away as he screws on the cap of the bottle and throws it down next to him. Silence stretches out for a moment before she takes a breath and continues her inquiries.
“I can’t believe you’re drunk.“ She blurts out. She still refuses to sit next to him but she does move slightly closer so that her legs are almost brushing his knees.
"I ain’t drunk. I don’t get drunk.” He argues and she can tell he’s attempting to convince himself of the fact. Whatever. She’s the one that has a front row seat to him right now and nothing has ever been more obvious than this.
“I can’t believe you showed up here, drunk.” Beth ignores him and she can hear her voice pushing him, can sense he’s about to flip out but it doesn’t stop her.
“Not drunk.”
“Where were you?” She asks, only half expecting a straight answer.
“Out with the boys.” He answers and while it isn’t much it’s more than she’d expected.
“How much did you drink?”
“Not much.” She watches as he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and starts to scroll through messages or emails or something - anything to ignore the woman standing in front of him. She wonders if he regrets showing up here - wonders if he thought she’d just welcome him with open arms.
She looks at him and as good looking as he is at all times she can see the slight glean of sweat on his forehead, the clench of his jaw, the crease in his forehead. “Are you going to throw up?
He doesn’t look up from his phone but she sees his eyes roll anyway. "I don’t throw up.”
“The same way you don’t drink?” She teases knowingly.
He shakes his head and finally looks up from his phone. His eyes are dark and fiery and she can see that he’s had enough. “Shit, stop naggin’”
She swallows back a retort and forces herself to stay calm. When she does control herself she speaks quietly and slowly as if to accentuate her point as clearly as possible. “You came here.”
“Right. I came here, not my ma’s, so back off.”
Her mouth drops open, he’s gone from laughing drunk to angry drunk in a flash but instead of giving him the fight he’s clearly looking for she tries a different tactic.
She sits down next to him, body turned in his direction, leg bent underneath her. She attempts to meet his gaze but he makes it a point to avoid her. “How was your week?”
He shrugs but doesn’t answer and it hits her that something else is going on here other than the fact that he reeks of booze.
“Tell me what’s going on.” She presses, nudging at his knee with her hand.
“Nothin’.” He says quickly, ignoring her touch. She bites her lip with her teeth, attempting to hold back a smile. He’s giving her children a run for their money right now with his petulance.
“Is Marcus okay?” She asks, attempting to figure out what might be wrong given his reluctance to share.
“He’s fine.” His response is gruff but she continues.
“Everything good with work?”
His eyes finally swing up to meet hers and instead of answering he changes the direction of the conversation all together. “I thought Dean had the kids 'til Monday.”
She tilts her head in question and narrows her eyes. “He did. Or he was supposed to. Something came up for today last minute so he dropped them off last night instead.”
She’s surprised at how genuinely angry he suddenly is. She watches as he shakes his head and curls his hands in a fist as if he’s looking for a fight. “That guy fuckin’ sucks.”
“Where is this coming from?” She wonders out loud.
“I came by yesterday.” He’s calmer now but there’s an edge to his voice and she’s still no clearer on what the problem is.
“You did?” She questions in confusion, briefly going over the day before in her head. She attempts to figure out how she could have missed him. It had been Saturday and she was pretty sure - no she was very sure - that she hadn’t left the house all day. She’d done all of her weekend errands on Friday night when Dean had asked if he could bring the kids home early. He’d been building up his real estate clientele and a few houses had come on the market last minute that he’d hoped to show a high end client. Beth had been fine with it. She’d had no plans and she was happy that things were going well for Dean in his new career.
“Yeah. Came by around four. Saw Dean’s car so I left.”
She nodded because - yeah. There were lots of steps their new relationship would have to take before Dean got clued in on it.
“Came back later though. 'Round 8.” He says and she narrows her eyes because his tone is accusing her of something but she can’t figure out what.
“He was still here.” Rio finishes and now she sees things much clearer.
She sighs as everything clicks into place in her head. She wonders if he’s been drinking because of the jealousy or if the jealousy is rearing it’s ugly head because of the drinking.
“He stayed for dinner.” She explains although she doesn’t appreciate what he seems to be getting at.
“Cute.”
“Rio.” She warns, and it’s enough that she sees his jaw tighten before he decides against saying anything else.
He jumps up off the bed, catching her by surprise. She hears him mumble something about taking a piss, a phrase she has always loathed, before closing himself in her master suite. She sighs but moves towards the bathroom to lean against the closed door. When she hears the toilet flush and the sink start she enters without an invitation. He’s standing in front of the sink, leaning forward with his hands propped on the counter. His head is down, his eyes closed and she can almost see how awful he feels. Can see that a dull ache is forming in his head, that the light is too bright, that the alcohol is hitting in the way it does after you’ve drank a lot and then stopped.
She moves towards him and grabs a washcloth off of the counter, running it under the cold water before turning the knob off. She squeezes the water out and folds the cloth before placing it on the back of his neck. He shivers slightly but doesn’t push her away.
“He just stayed to have dinner with the kids.” She starts, keeping her voice low. “You know we’re trying to stay on friendly terms for them.”
“I fuckin’ hate him.” He says and while she can tell he’s more relaxed then he was a few minutes ago the venom that appears in his voice whenever Dean comes up is evident.
She nods, she gets it, sort of, but -
“I assume that Marcus has a mother? That you have an ex.”
He turns his head to look at her and glares. “That’s different.”
“Maybe.” She says with a shrug although she doesn’t necessarily agree. She chooses not to point out that she couldn’t possibly know if it was different since she knows nothing about the situation. The time for that conversation is soon but not now.
“He’s got no respect for you.” He lifts his head and their eyes meet in the mirror.
“Which is part of the reason I’m not with him anymore.” She presses the cloth harder against his neck and then brings it around to run it across his cheeks and forehead. He closes his eyes and she doesn’t take her gaze off of him. His emotions are all over the place but right now she can see how resigned he is and she’s taking advantage.
She drops the cloth on the counter and pushes at his arm so that he turns to face her. She moves to stand in front of him and he leans his weight against the vanity behind him. She steps as close as she can to him so that their middles meet and instinctively he reaches out to grip her waist. She lifts her hands and runs her fingers through his scalp and over his temples, once than twice. He groans at the contact and pulls her flush against him. Not surprisingly, even in his condition, she feels him harden in his jeans.
“You know Dean driving you to drink and then you showing up here hammered is all sorts of cliche.”
“I ain’t drinkin’ cause of Dean. I spend lots of Sundays watchin’ football with the boys.” He bends his knees so that he’s eye level with her and then continues. “Don’t usually have anyone to answer to when I come home wasted.”
She doesn’t comment on the fact that he’s just made mention of coming home to her, only pushes up on the tips of her toes and wraps her hand around the back of his neck. She meets his lips with her own but doesn’t budge when he attempts to deepen the kiss so he nips at her lip and licks it with his tongue.
His hands slip down the back of her leggings and he squeezes her ass roughly in his palms, fingers digging into her flesh. She whimpers because he always knows exactly where and how to touch her just the way she likes it.
When one hand slips around to the front, pushing her underwear aside to slip a finger inside of her she pulls back but doesn’t push him away.
“My kids are here.” She whispers but she’s not sure who she’s trying to remind.
“And who do we got to blame for that?” He mumbles, giving her a pointed look without stopping what he’s doing. He slips a second finger inside of her and she grips his neck tighter when his thumb grazes her clit.
“I told you I wanted you to spend time with them. Not that I wanted them to find you here one morning nursing a hangover.” Her voice cracks on the last word and she gives in to the fact that he’s intent on getting her off.
He quickens the speed of his hand, pushing his fingers in and then out at a pace almost too much for her to handle. She lowers her head so that her forehead is leaning against his shoulder and then bites his tattoo covered neck when he brings her over the edge.
They’re quiet for a moment, neither moving until she’s come down from the high that only he can provide. He pulls his hand from out of her pants and wipes his fingers on the damp cloth she’d just wiped over his head.
“I’ll sneak out before they wake up in the morning.” He says, breaking the silence. “Unless you want me to go now.”
She shakes her head - that’s the last thing she wants - and pushes him in the direction of the shower. She pulls the door open and turns on the water, making sure the temperature is right before she steps back to face him.
He’s already stripping and she has to force herself to look away from the hard-on he’s sporting.
Her eyes flick up to his and she rolls them at the smirk on his face. He steps forward to bypass her on his way into the shower but she stops him before he can get away.
“You weren’t actually worried about Dean being here right?” She asks because she has to believe that Rio knows she could never go back to him after everything.
His eyes darken as he shakes his head.
“No.” He starts and she bites her lip to stay quiet. “But if he thinks he’s got a shot at gettin’ you back…”
She shakes her head as he trails off and answers quickly. “He doesn’t.”
“We’ll see.” He says simply. She sighs and watches as the glass door of the shower closes behind him before she goes in search of some Advil because, regardless of if he’ll admit it or not - he’s going to need it.