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Taking Ted to a pub hadn’t been in her plan for the evening. In fact, the plan had definitely been to hang out with the entire team, because, well, she didn’t do that very often. A pub crawl, maybe karaoke, or dancing. Something that she could later fondly call a team-building activity, knowing that she hardly remembered it, or that all she remembered were the murky hours following, the terrible hangover of the next day.
But only an hour into their time at the first pub, Ted had gotten a phone call. She watched him duck out of the room to take it outside, his phone lifting toward his ear as he went. She tried to focus on her drink, some blue swirly thing that Keeley pressed into her hand that she insisted she had to try, but every few minutes, she found her eyes going to the door again.
She couldn’t enjoy the boys taking shots, or Dani and Jamie running their own self-made karaoke stand at the back of the room, singing along to the old jukebox. Because…where was Ted?
Maybe it was a remnant of Liverpool, but she didn’t like knowing he was out there alone.
Finally, she polished off the blue drink, running her tongue self-consciously over her teeth, and pushed her chair back, moving toward the door, her black clutch slung over her shoulder on a gold chain, coat left behind.
He wasn’t on the phone anymore, she noticed when she turned to the left as the door swung shut. He was just sitting on the bench, looking out toward the street. At the sound of the door to the pub closing, he looked up at her, giving her a weak smile.
“Deja vu,” he said wryly, his phone on his thigh. He moved it to his pocket, scooting over on the bench to give her room.
“I hope not,” she said, sitting beside him. “Unless you’re having a panic attack and doing a magnificent job of hiding it.” She settled into the bench, finding that when she leaned back, she was a little closer to him than she initially intended.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “No,” he answered. “Just thinkin’.”
“Oh,” she said. “I can let you get back to it -”
“Nah,” he stopped her before she could get up. “No use in stinkin’ thinkin’, that’s what I always say.”
She stayed, let him stare off into space for a long time before she cleared her throat to speak. He looked over at the sound, curious. There was something in his face that was a little melancholic, just enough that she wanted to fix it. She felt that way about Ted a lot - if he looked even marginally upset, her mind searched immediately for the solution.
“You know what I’ve always wanted to do?” she asked.
He seemed pleased to be asked a question. “What’s that?”
“Hustle you at something,” she said, leaning her arm back on the bench, looking over at him. “You hustled Rupert at darts -”
His smile widened. “I remember -”
She chuckled, looking away from him. “Come on,” she said, patting his leg before she got up. “I think I know a place.”
He obediently stood up beside her, glancing back toward the bar. “Should we - should we tell them?”
She shrugged, studying his face. That uncertainty was coming back, the longer she allowed him to overthink. “Why? Scared?”
He lifted his eyebrows at her. “Well, if that’s the name of the game, count me in, Boss. Lead on.”
***
He didn’t know where she was leading him - he’d never been to Birmingham, didn’t recognize the streets, but she walked with purpose, like her destination was firm in her mind. It was cool outside, bordering on cold, but she wasn’t wearing her coat. He fiddled with the zipper on his own jacket, prepared to shrug it off, to hand it over to her.
“Where are you takin’ me, if you don’t mind me askin’?” he asked, catching her gaze when she glanced over at him.
“I came here once, for a hen do,” she said, a little absently. At his confused look, she tried again. “Bachelorette party.”
“Ahh,” he said.
“This mate I had in university, she grew up here,” she said. “We went on this insane pub crawl, half the night, popping in and out of pubs and clubs. And one of them, gosh, everyone else hated it, but I liked it.”
“Oh, now I gotta hear this,” he said, slipping his arm through hers when her long strides took her ahead of him again. “Go on.”
“It wasn’t some fancy club,” she said. “It was…I dunno, a little more like the Crown and Anchor back home, but older. It had cracked vinyl seats, really awful wine -”
“And you liked it?” Ted asked, incredulous. “With a bad wine selection?”
“Their gin was okay,” she admitted.
“Oh, there it is,” he said, laughing, and he could see that she was watching him a little closely, marking his facial expressions. He never knew what to do when he noticed Rebecca worrying about him - he never knew what to do when anyone showed him care beyond what he thought he needed.
“Anyway, they have a big billiards table in the back,” she said, taking a right turn. “It was the most fun I had the entire night.”
“No joy in the dancing or the drinkin’?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “Not that night.”
He didn’t like what he saw in her face, something a little lost, like a memory was pulling her back.
“Sometimes it’s just better to be with a couple of people rather than an entire pack of them, you know?” she asked.
He remembered the overpowering noise in the pub, the relief he felt when the phone rang, even if it was Michelle’s name on the display. “Yeah,” he said. “I think I do know.”
“But I think we can have some fun, can’t we?” she asked. “Just you and me?”
He nodded. “If not us, then who?”
They walked in silence for a few blocks, arm in arm, just long enough for Ted to start to overthink his decision to slip his arm through hers, how she must have deciphered it. But she seemed comfortable enough to walk along with him as they were. There was something about that he enjoyed - knowing that Rebecca chatted with him and laughed with him with the same level of comfort that she had when he wasn’t speaking.
Not a lot of people were like that.
“Here,” she said suddenly, tugging him up toward a propped open wooden door. He glanced up at the sign - a red neon sign that just said The Tavern. He wanted to make a joke about how simple the name was, how other pubs in England had complicated, fancy sounding names, even the ones that he would describe as a dive bar.
But she was the only one of her friends who had a good time here last time she visited. He didn’t want to be another one of those people.
So he just whistled under his breath when she took him inside, catching her eyes when she turned back to him to see his reaction. There was no one else in the place but a man sitting alone at a booth in the back and someone who looked to be snoozing on the bar at the closest seat to the door. There was sediment on the floor - he was reminded of peanut shells at his own favorite sports bar back in Kansas, where he went with his father.
“You should really let me take you to a bar in Kansas,” he said, their arms still linked, pushing the memory far enough away that it had the tint of nostalgia that still felt more sweet than bitter. “You’ll enjoy ‘em.”
Her hesitant expression bloomed into a genuine smile. “Yeah?” she asked. “Is that an invitation, Coach Lasso?”
He nearly shivered at the sound of her voice, the same tone she’d put on when they first met, when she tapped the top of the biscuit box and asked him to tell her where he’d gotten those delicious biscuits.
He wanted to hear it again.
“Perhaps it is,” he said coyly, letting her lead him to the bar, where he watched her lean over it, her feet leaving the floor for only a second to snag a cherry from the other side, popping it into her mouth. She caught his eye when she landed, turning to lean back against it, chewing pensively.
“Did you want one?” she asked innocently.
“What can I getcha?” the bartender asked, appearing from a back room, towel slung over his shoulder.
“Two pints,” Rebecca said over her shoulder, holding Ted’s eye. Her lips were a little stained from the juice of the cherry.
“You got it,” the bartender said, moving away without even asking for the specific beer, content to pull the pint without any additional information.
She pushed off the bar without warning, letting Ted follow her toward the billiards table, lit by a low hanging light, tinted green. He realized, as she bent down to grab the rack, that sometime between the match and now, she’d changed into jeans, her professional clothing given up.
The sneakers on her feet reminded him of Christmas.
“We can play it the American way,” she said, putting on his accent for the word American, pulling a surprised bark of a laugh out of his mouth. He was saved from answering by the bartender, leaving the pints at the edge of the table.
She walked around to take a sip of hers, eyeing him curiously, and he couldn’t help but take a long second to do the same. There was something very free about her in this place, but he couldn’t decide if she was more like herself or not. Was she just trying to recapture the feeling she had when she came here the first time? Or was this real, comfortable Rebecca? She hummed along to the song while she arranged the balls, something by The Cure, he thought absently.
“You really like this place, dontcha?” he asked.
She nodded, taking a deeper sip of her pint. “You know,” she said, setting the pint down. “Sometimes I think no one knows me. And that’s my fault.” When he blinked at her, confused, she ducked her head a little. “But you do, don’t you?”
He nodded like it was muscle memory, and she smiled so wide he wished he could take a picture.
“Come on, let’s play,” she said.
“You said you were gonna hustle me,” he said, passing her a cue. “What happens if I’m good at pool?”
“Then maybe you can teach me,” she said, lining up her break, and he was stunned silent by the sight of her, bending over the edge of the table, the bend of her elbow, her fingers curled around the cue. He watched her smooth pull back and forward, listened to the crack of the balls - one, two of them went into the pockets at the far end.
She leaned back, satisfied, turning to look at him.
“I guess I’ll take the striped ones,” he said, picking up his own cue. “I trust you’ll help me if I start messin’ up?”
She lifted one eyebrow, taking a sip of her pint. “Of course, Ted.”
He took his time walking around the table, trying to find a good shot to take, feeling her eyes on him. He didn’t want to look up - he knew if he caught her gaze, he’d forget where he was, what he was doing, knock something over.
Finally, when he found a shot he liked, he stopped, leaning over the table, lining up the angle.
Her hand on his lower back startled him - he tensed, letting out a breath before he relaxed, her other hand reaching for the cue. She smelled like…vanilla and something spicy, and when she leaned a little closer, farther into his space, he could smell the cherry she’d stolen.
“A little to the left,” she said, right in his ear, and he glanced over at her, and this was exactly the mistake he didn’t want to make, catching her gaze, because when she prompted him to take his shot, he over-corrected and missed completely, her breathless laugh in his ear more than enough reward.
She absolutely smoked him on the first game, and the second, and he gave her a run in the third, but then she sat on the edge of the table and checked her phone while he lined up his shot and he got distracted by the curve of her back, her thighs, her silhouette, the way her hair was falling down her shoulders now that she’d shaken it free.
By the time they finished their third pint, he’d only won one game, and he was starting to fumble shots on purpose just so she’d come back and adjust him - a hand on his hip, her fingers curling over his, a press on his shoulder.
“Last call, lads,” the bartender shouted from the bar just as Ted missed another shot. Rebecca looked around toward the bar as Ted straightened up, turning back to find him so close she nearly took a step back. His hand found her hip to steady her, succeeding instead in keeping her close, in his space.
“I should go…pay the tab,” she said, a little breathlessly.
“I’ve got it,” he said, squeezing her hip before he let go, sliding his card over the bar. When he looked back, she was still standing there, where he’d left her. He wondered if she’d let him take up the same space again, if she’d welcome him back.
When he got back to her, the receipt crumbled in his pocket, she was still there, her eyes on the table. He stepped back into the space he’d occupied before, catching her gaze.
“So…what now?” he asked.
She blinked, and he wondered if she heard it, the same cadence she’d had on Christmas when they were walking back to her car, when she fidgeted with her scarf and her jacket like she was nervous. At the time, he’d dismissed that idea out of hand. She couldn’t be nervous, not around him - he was just Ted.
She looked a little bashful now, like the memory was washing over her too. He wanted to reach out and touch her again, but…the game was over. Was he allowed to do something like that? Or was that going to turn out to be a complete misreading of the evening?
“If this place is closing, so is everywhere else,” she said.
“Hotel it is,” he said, trying to make it sound casual.
She laughed, her posture easing a little, and nodded. “We have no other choice,” she remarked.
“I’m sure I could find you a park or somethin’ if you were really inclined,” he said with a shrug.
She tilted her head at him. “I think I’d prefer the hotel,” she said, following him to the door. She crossed her arms immediately when he opened the door, the rush of cool air blowing over them both. He shrugged off his coat, draping it easily over her shoulders.
She didn’t say anything, but she stared at him like she wanted to - he wished he could pull the words out of her, could coax them free.
“It was Michelle, earlier,” he said instead, holding out his arm for her to take. “On the phone.”
“Oh,” she said softly, waiting for him to continue.
“She wanted to let me know that she was seein’ someone,” he said. “Someone that she thought was…you know, important.” She was still looking at him, trusting that he was leading her down the street, back toward the hotel. “And I thought - I thought I’d be upset, you know? At least…I thought I’d be somethin’.”
“And you…weren’t?” Rebecca asked.
He shrugged. “I know that there’s a pressure, when you get divorced, to be the first one who moves on,” he reasoned, stepping out off a curb to check for traffic before he led her on, his arm in hers turning into his hand in hers. “I thought that knowin’ I…well, that I lost the race would mean somethin’, but it didn’t.”
“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” she asked.
“No, yeah, don’t get me wrong, I’m not upset about it,” he said reassuringly. “I just couldn’t figure out why it didn’t bother me.”
He paused, Rebecca taking another few steps before she stopped with him, their hands extended. She turned back to look at him, pensive.
“I take it you’re saying that because you figured it out?” she asked.
He stared at her for a long moment, at his jacket around her shoulders, her sneakers, her tousled hair. Another gust of wind blew through them, rustling more of her hair into her face, but still, she kept looking.
“Yeah,” he said. “I think I did.” He tugged her a little closer. “I wasn’t worried about someone else’s timeline, or some race to move on first, because - well, when you’re holdin’ a map with your destination marked, why would you worry about it, right? You know, X marks the spot and all that.”
She let him pull her a little closer, close enough that he could see what looked like dawning realization in her face. “Ted -”
He put one hand on her face, his thumb brushing over her lips, marking an X.
“Could’ve kissed you in that pub,” he said thoughtfully. “When you stole that cherry.”
“Yes, you could have,” she said.
“Next time,” he promised, smiling a little when she leaned in first, lifting his chin a little to catch her lips just the way he wanted, like he’d rehearsed it, just so he’d get it right when he finally got the chance. She hummed immediately at the press of his lips, melting into him, his hand releasing hers to slide around her back, holding her close, keeping her there.
She shuddered when he slid his tongue against hers, her hand on his shoulder tightening before she relaxed, her whole body canting toward him when he pulled away, her eyes still closed.
“Readin’ ya loud and clear, little lady,” he murmured, leaning back in, both of her hands around his neck now, threading through his hair, pulling him in, taking more control. She kissed like she handled business - confident, sure, commanding - he smiled against her mouth, tilting his head to break the kiss without moving away so he could kiss her jaw, to a spot underneath her ear that made her breath hitch.
“Oi, get a room!” someone shouted across the street.
They broke apart, Rebecca ducking her head to laugh.
“Hey, is that Coach?”
“Oh fuck me,” Rebecca groaned, stepping close enough that Ted could wrap his arms around her more securely, as if he could hide her from view. He glanced around for the source of the voice, catching sight of Jamie, Dani, and Bumbercatch across the street, Dani waving excitedly while Jamie covered his mouth to laugh.
“Get it, Coach!” Jamie shouted again, draping his arms around Dani’s and Bumbercatch’s shoulders before they continued on down the street.
“Coulda been worse,” he said bracingly, his hand rubbing her back, dropping his lips to her forehead. “Coulda been -”
“What the fuck is goin’ on here?” Keeley’s voice startled Ted so much he jumped, Rebecca flinching with him. Almost immediately, she was laughing, covering her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking with it.
“If I make a run for it, will you follow me?” she asked.
He nodded. “You’ve got the right footwear,” he said.
“I can still see you, Rebecca,” Keeley shouted. “Your hands do not hide much, you beautiful giraffe woman.”
“Hiya, Keels,” Ted called. “Havin’ a good night?”
“Not as good as you, apparently,” Keeley said brightly. “Use protection, I can’t have you two creating a crazy beautiful tall baby or something.”
“Keeley!”
“You got it, Keeley,” Ted said. He glanced down at Rebecca, shorter than him now that she’d curled herself into his body, her forehead resting on his shoulder. “You alright?”
“Can we just teleport to the hotel?” she asked.
He chuckled. “If I had that kinda power, I wouldn’t be a football coach, honey bunch,” he said. “But, then again, if I wasn’t a football coach, I wouldn’ta met you. So maybe I woulda done it anyway, if I knew.”
She smiled up at him, tilting her head back and straightening up so they were the same height again. “Take me to the hotel, Ted.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
***
Without any discussion, Ted followed her to her room instead of suggesting they go to his own. He sidled up behind her while she fumbled with the lock, his hands on her hips gentle but just thrilling enough that she hesitated, leaning back against him.
“If you like that, I can do it some more inside,” he said encouragingly into her ear.
She sighed breathily, pushing the door open, pulling Ted inside after her. He stumbled a little, chuckling under his breath, pulling her back against the door as it closed. He just held her there for a minute, her body pressed to his, both of them breathless with laughter.
“Well, you have me at your mercy, Boss,” he said softly, nudging her chin with his nose so he could kiss her neck. “What now?”
She didn't answer for a long moment, too caught up in the gentle press of his lips, the pressure of his body over hers, the warmth of him after the cool air outside. He waited patiently, peppering kiss after kiss to the bit of her skin he could reach. Every kiss burned a little brighter in her gut, the little flashing lights lingering behind her eyes with every electric touch. She sighed, sagging back against the door.
“Bed,” she said finally. “Bed, now.”
He chuckled, his hands pulling back so he could fit them underneath his jacket she wore, peeling it off and tossing it away. She hummed appreciatively, reaching for his sweater, tugging it over his head before she reached for him again, suddenly desperate to kiss him on the mouth.
He lifted her off the ground, both of his arms around her waist, a haphazard lift that made her laugh, and dropped her on the bed, pausing to pull her shoes off before he climbed up after her, leaving his own shoes behind, in a pile with hers.
She realized, as Ted crawled up her body, settling off to the side beside her, that she’d thought about this, being here, with him, a lot. She couldn’t help but feel like she’d dreamed this, that she’d lived this moment before.
“What if,” she said, sitting up on her elbow, sliding one of her legs between Ted’s so she could lever herself up, “what if my particular map, like the one you were talking about, has multiple Xs?”
He blinked at her, a little hazy, his hands on her back, fiddling with her shirt. “Whaddaya mean?”
“Well,” she said, sitting up, unbuttoning his shirt. “There’s that X, of course,” she said, pressing her finger to his lips. “But then there’s this one,” she pulled her fingers down to his neck, “and this one,” down to his chest. “And then there’s this one,” she said, sitting back so she was between his thighs, running her fingers over the front of his pants, watching the way his mouth dropped open.
“I take the - the metaphor of the X is now bein’ simplified to kisses?” he asked breathlessly. “Because, you know, I could get behind that -”
“Good,” she said, leaning down to press a kiss to his chest, inching farther down until she got to his hips. She tugged lightly on his belt, undoing it enough to unbutton his pants, pressing her lips to the dip in his hip, looking up at him. He had his hand on hers, his eyes closed, his breathing carefully measured.
“You alright?” she asked.
He peeked down at her, squeezing her hand. “Yeah, yeah, it’s just - you know, makin’ sure this ain’t a dream or somethin’.”
She paused, sitting up. “Ted, come here.”
She settled herself on his lap when he was closer, wrapping her legs around his waist, his arms holding her steady. She kissed him carefully on the mouth, trusting that, as usual, he would understand her. She tried to pour all of her own incredulity, her own desire, everything she hadn’t had a chance to say out loud into the kiss.
He held her tighter, his hands leaving her back to pull her shirt off, his hands stalling on the clasp of her bra until she hummed against his mouth, desperate to have her skin on his.
She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, sighing breathily when his hands found her breasts, careful touches that she knew he was cataloging, studying, learning her. She leaned back in his hold, one hand on her back, the other on her breasts, his eyes darting between her face and the bare skin he could finally see, his hair starting to fall forward.
He laughed when she pushed him back onto the bed, settling between his thighs again to tug his pants off, her hands fumbling, clumsy. He watched her closely when she stood up, tugging open the button of her own jeans.
“Wait, wait,” he said, scooting to the edge of the bed, his legs on either side of her, so he could kiss her bare stomach, his hands pulling her jeans down, inch by inch, his breath on her skin. She watched, her breath in her throat, as he kept going, his nose brushing against her hip. She squirmed, impatient, her whole body on fire, aching for more.
“Ted,” she said, catching his gaze when he looked up at her. “God, on the bed,” she said, smirking when he immediately obeyed. “On your back.”
He breathed an incredulous laugh when he realized what she was about to do, his hands steadying her thighs on either side of his head. “Thank God,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her thigh.
She had to hold onto the headboard at the first drag of his tongue, her breath shaky. He just hummed and did it again, exactly the same as the first time, his hands on her thighs pulling her down, more securely on his face, the scratch of his mustache delicious on the delicate skin of her thigh.
He moved so slow, like he was savoring her, devouring her, and she wanted to let him, wanted to brace her hands on the headboard and let him take control, but she couldn’t stop her hips from chasing every stroke of his tongue, his hands on her thighs tightening the more she moved, the more she squirmed.
He groaned, loudly enough that it vibrated through her, and she realized that her body was shaking, that he was soothingly running his hands down her thighs, encouraging her, flicking his tongue over her clit at the end of every long, flat drag of his tongue. She matched his rhythm, leaning forward so her forehead was against the headboard, too focused on everything else to hold herself up.
She reached one hand down to thread through his hair right before she came, holding him in place, right where she wanted him, listening to the desperate noise he made when she pulled, when she finally let herself go. He made an approving sound against her, his hands guiding her through a slow, gentle grind to bring her down. She could feel that his mustache was damp, his chin -
“Come here,” he said breathlessly, tugging her down to kiss her on the mouth, the taste of her on his lips. She was still shaking - she dropped her hand to his chest, over his heart, feeling it thundering like hers. She smiled, trying to catch her breath, her hand on his chest snaking down to wrap her hand around him.
“Mmm,” Ted murmured into her mouth. “Rebecca -”
“Ted,” she said back. “How do you want me?”
“Every way,” he said immediately, sitting up, getting up to his knees. She let him maneuver her so she was on her knees in front of him, his hand pushing her down onto her hands, and then her elbows. She sighed when he teased her with his fingers, a gentle touch that made him groan again.
“Every time you leaned over that table,” he said, the tip of him pressing into her, chasing her breath out of her lungs, “I thought about this.”
She couldn’t breathe - she couldn’t do anything but listen to his voice, the silky texture of his accent that slid through her. He went slow, filling her up, his hand holding her hips still as he went. She could hear his breathing, ragged, behind her.
He stopped when he was fully sheathed in her, his hands loosening a little when she said his name.
He leaned forward, wrapping one hand around her waist and pulling her up, back against his chest, so deep inside her every movement had light flashing behind her eyes. He cradled her there, driving shallowly into her, slow and steady, his mouth at her neck, one of his hands finding her breasts again, rolling a nipple between his fingers, his rhythm faltering when she cried out again, a building pressure in her gut, surrounded by him, drowning in him -
She rolled her hips back against him when he thrust into her again, his answering moan enough encouragement that she did it again, one of his hands at her hips now, pushing and pulling her like he was reading her mind, setting a faster pace. He slid his hand over the sweat on her skin to find her clit, gasping when she clenched around him.
“Jesus Christ, Rebecca,” he said in her ear. “You’re killin’ me here.”
She laughed, a breathless pant of a laugh that made him hold her a little tighter, his fingers brushing over her clit again, gently, just barely, enough that she sagged back against him, her head falling to his shoulder.
“There ya go,” he murmured. “That’s it, baby. I’ve got you.”
“Fuck, Ted -” she gasped, his rhythm stuttering at the sound of her voice, his fingers pressing into her a little harder, just hard enough to send her over the edge, her orgasm so blinding she let him hold her up, let him thrust into her harder, faster, moaning his name through the aftershocks, reaching down for his hand when he finally came, his head falling to her shoulder again as he tried to catch his breath.
He held her there with him for a long moment, both hands around her waist, her muscles starting to ache. But she didn’t want to move, didn’t want to have any part of her skin not touching him.
Finally, he tightened his hold on her and said “hold on tight,” and simply toppled over to the side, taking her with him. She chuckled when he finally loosened his hold, turning around to see him, her hand pushing some of his hair back from his forehead.
“When do we get to do that again?” she asked, grinning when he laughed.
“When are you gonna hustle me at billiards again?” he asked.
“We can go back now, if you want,” she said. “I will buy a table, Ted, right now, where’s my phone?”
He rolled over her, pinning her in place, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “You don’t need a pool table, miss missy,” he said sweetly. “But I would like to take you to dinner tomorrow, after we get home.”
She hummed appreciatively. “Actually, I’m hungry now,” she said, sitting up. “Will you take room service as a poor placeholder for dinner?”
He chuckled, laying his head on her lap. “Honey bunch, you know I’ll take whatever you’re willin’ to give.”
She smiled softly at him. “That’s too sweet for whatever is on the room service menu, Ted,” she said.
He shrugged. “I don’t mind. ‘s long as I got you.”
“You do,” she said, dropping a kiss to his temple. “Promise.”