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“Ned, come on.” Peter had his phone pinched between his shoulder and his head, arms full of books as he tried to find some kind of shelter from the autumn rain that had just started falling. “I’m not gonna just bail on this project because of, uh, my internship.”
“I know you won’t bail,” Ned replied. Peter’s eyes lit up at the sight of a café in front of him. He darted to the door and nudged it open with his hip. “I’m just saying that the Spider-Man thing is really important, so I can do a lot of the groundwork for the project, okay? Besides, you’re not exactly strong in programming.”
“Which is exactly why I need to be involved in the groundwork,” Peter replied, spinning around to shut the door. Everything happened in an instant. One minute the door was closing. The next, he felt something scald his back. His books tumbled to the floor, and he barely caught his phone on the way down. He whirled around, mouth open, ready with an angry retort when he stopped, stunned.
The barista behind him was staring down at the mess of lattes, textbooks and broken ceramics, slowly shaking her head. Her apron was covered in coffee. She was shaking her hands out, casting drops of liquid everywhere. There was even a little bit of foam stuck in her frizzy brown and red curls. She looked at him, her face twisted up in a scowl.
She was beautiful.
“Have you ever tried using those organs in your head to look where you’re going?” she seethed. She frowned at the mess at her feet, gingerly pulling her foot away from the ground. “Ugh, it’s already sticky.”
Peter blinked, snapping his mouth shut once he realized he was gaping at her. He immediately stooped down and started grabbing the shards of ceramic and piling them on the tray in the middle of the mess.
“Sorry,” he said, feeling his ears burn.
“What are you doing?” she asked. He looked up at her, perplexed. Her hazel eyes were narrowed in suspicion.
“Um—cleaning up?” he responded, standing up with the tray in his hands. The coffee had seeped into his jeans, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
She arched a thin eyebrow as she took the tray from him. “Well, thanks,” she muttered. “Want to mop it up too?” He felt his stomach swoop as her mouth pulled into a smirk.
“Sure,” he said. He grinned when her eyes widened in surprise. “I bumped into you, right?”
“I—you can’t mop the floor. I was kidding.”
“I wasn’t,” Peter replied, folding his arms over his chest. She shook her head at him. He cheeks darkened slightly.
“I’ve got this,” she said. “But thanks for not being a total jerk, tiger.”
“Just go back to the coffee shop.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s pathetic, Ned.”
“No,” Flash sniggered, running his thumb over the tumbler of whiskey in front of him, “what’s pathetic is that you didn’t get this girl’s number already.”
“Flash,” Peter groaned, burying his face in his hands.
“Or her name,” he continued, taking a sip of his drink. “That’s really bad, considering they all wore nametags.”
They sat at their usual spot, enjoying happy hour and waiting for a pool table to free up. Ned liked it here because they had decent pool tables. Flash liked it because it irritated his dad that he spent time in a venue that was “beneath his station.” Peter liked it because Flash didn’t know what to do with four-dollar well drinks that tasted like paint thinner, and that was hilarious.
“Honestly, Parker,” he said, shaking his head. “How you’ve ever managed to snag a woman before, I’ll never know.”
“He does alright,” Ned snickered. “After all, he dated Liz for a while in high school. He even had a couple of dates with Betty before she came to her senses and went out with me instead.”
“High school was a long time ago,” Flash said, haughtily.
“Oh sure,” Peter scoffed. “We’re so wise and mature now that we can legally drink.”
“I’m just saying, other than a handful of dates, you’ve been going through a dry spell. Ever since Gwen—”
Peter tried to control his expression. He heard a dull thud under the table and a grunt from Flash.
“Shut up, Flash,” Ned hissed.
Peter gave a reluctant sigh. It was true. He hadn’t really put himself out there since Gwen died, and that was two years ago, now. He had thrown himself into Spider-Man, then into school, then into his weird side-gig he did at Stark’s labs. He couldn’t stand being reminded of her. It took Ned’s gentle needling and May’s kind reminders to get him to at least socialize.
Ned left him to his own devices in their shared apartment, occasionally throwing on a Star Wars movie or some sci-fi B-flick to distract him. May would play cards and talk about anything and everything going on in the world. Their actions were a soothing balm on his wounded soul. He could forget, with them, at least for a little while.
Flash, though, was the one who got him out of his funk. He pulled him out just like he pulled him along in the old days, poking and prodding and not leaving well enough alone until Peter had reached the limits of his tolerance, and then he went even further until Peter was forced out of his shell.
Flash got Peter to have actual fun again.
So Peter knew the bully-turned-friend didn’t mean to put his foot in his mouth. He didn’t mean to be cruel, and really, he wasn’t. Peter could hear Gwen’s name without withering into a weeping shell of himself.
“Hey, those were some fun dates,” he offered, wiggling his eyebrows. The tension that had fallen over the table dissipated, and Ned let out a relieved laugh. Peter grinned and looked down into his glass of Coke, watching the bubbles rise and pop on the surface of the beverage. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone had approached their table.
“Can we help you?” Flash asked. Peter looked up and felt his eyes widen in surprise.
“You? No. Your friend might be able to, though.”
It was her. Coffee girl. The barista. The reason his textbooks had a nasty stain and stuck-together pages. The woman he couldn’t get out of his head for the last two weeks. The first person who he actually, genuinely wanted to get to know like that since Gwen died.
Her hands were tucked into the pockets of her leather jacket. Tight blue jeans clung to her legs from ankle to thigh. Her hair was loose and wild, framing her face with delicate brown and red wisps. Her brown skin seemed to glow in the dim lights of the bar. Peter had forgotten how to speak. They were just talking about her, and then she appeared, wearing the same smirk that made his heart jump the first time.
He could feel Ned beside him, craning his head around Peter to get a good look at the girl, then his face.
“Peter,” he whispered, nudging him. “Peter, this girl wants to talk to you. Is this—”
“Ned, I think a table opened up,” Flash said, standing up. “Come on, Parker, get up so me and Ned can rack. You’ll join us in a minute, right?” Peter dumbly nodded his head and after a confusing jostling of bodies, he was left alone with the barista, leaning against their now abandoned table.
“Hey,” she said, tilting her head a little.
“Hey,” he responded. He needed to talk. He needed to say something. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew how to talk to girls. What was wrong with him?
“Fancy running into you here, Peter Parker,” she said. Her whole body was brimming with confidence.
Peter blinked, startled. “How did you know my name?”
She laughed, smiling outright at him. “Your friends just said it.”
“Oh,” Peter said. “Right.”
“I suppose you could be Parker Peter,” she offered, smirking again.
“Yeah, yeah I guess.” He couldn’t get his tongue unstuck. His palms were sweaty. He smiled nervously at her. “That would be pretty unfortunate, though.” She laughed at his weak joke.
“So…?”
“Huh?” Peter shook himself.
“It’s not often I’m the one approaching a guy in a bar, tiger,” she said, eyebrow arched high.
“Oh—oh right,” Peter stuttered, trying to get his bearings. She stared at him expectantly for a minute.
“Well?” she asked, smirk turning into a smile again.
“Wow, you’re really pretty,” he said. He could have slapped himself. Who said that?
She narrowed her gaze. “So, therefore I have value?”
“What?” Peter stuttered. “No! No, I just—I just couldn’t think of what to say—girls don’t normally—I mean, I usually don’t—”
“Calm down,” she said. The smirk was back again. “I’m just messing with you.”
Peter chuckled, relieved. “Oh—right.”
“Besides, you’re pretty, too.”
Peter could feel the heat licking at his ears. He hoped it was dark enough that she wouldn’t notice his blush. He cleared his throat.
“I uh—I never caught your name, earlier.”
“Michelle Jones,” she replied easily. “My friends call me MJ, though.”
“So—what should I call you?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she replied.
“Okay, Michelle Jones,” Peter said, smiling at her. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Sure. I’ll have what you’re having.”
“Oh—are you sure? It’s not—”
“Hey, I’m a big tough girl. I even tie my own shoes. I can handle it.”
“Well I’d hope so,” Peter snorted. “It’s Coke. Nothing special.” This time, both her eyebrows went up. “I don’t drink,” he offered, shrugging a little. “You sure you want what I’m having?”
Michelle tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Sure do, tiger. Not drinking in a bar seems like something I should try at least once in my life.” Peter chuckled and walked her towards the bar. Ned gave him a thumbs up as they walked by the pool table, and Peter’s enhanced hearing picked up that Flash was telling Ned off for being a nerd.
“Is it weird, not drinking while your friends are?” she asked after he ordered her drink. The bartender shrugged as he poured the soda into the glass, as if to tell them it was their loss.
“It works out. Means I get to drive Flash’s car when the guys get tanked,” he shrugged.
“It’s the little things,” she replied.
“Cheers to that,” he said, clinking his glass against hers.
He managed to get her number after that.
He also got explicit permission to call her MJ.
Peter skidded to a halt outside the coffee shop, panting as he ensured his suit was hidden beneath his clothes. He smoothed his hair and opened the door, peering inside. MJ was sitting at a table in the corner, frowning.
Shit, he thought as he made his way to her. Shit, she’s pissed. Okay. Okay Parker, get it together.
“Hey MJ, sorry I’m late,”
“Again,” she replied. Her face was completely shuttered off.
“I know, I’m so sorry—”
“What was it this time?” she asked, pursing her lips. “Missed your bus? Another Ned-emergency? Did you lose track of time at Stark Tower?”
“MJ—”
“Let me guess. Your aunt called so you had to rush out to Queens for some emergency garbage disposal repair.”
Peter cringed when she threw that excuse back in his face. That was one of the only ones he gave her that was true.
Peter hadn’t really dated anyone as Spider-Man. Not like this. Not in a long-term thing. The only exception was Gwen, and they were friends before they dated, and she already knew about it. Peter and MJ were going on two months now, but between the times he was late and the handful of dates he missed, he was pretty sure she was looking for the door. He couldn’t even blame her. He must have seemed like a total flake.
“No, uh—I just—”
“Save it, Peter,” she sighed, folding her arms over her chest. “Look, it was nice getting to know you and all, and I don’t mind if we’re friends. I can handle friends going off and doing their thing, you know? But I don’t want my boyfriend to do that. I deserve better than that.”
“MJ, I’m sor—”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” she said, eyes flashing. She stood up and grabbed her bag, pulling it over her shoulder. “I’ll see you around.” Peter watched her leave, listening to the tinkling of the bell over the door as it swung open then shut. He sighed and scuffed his toe on the ground.
“Damn it,” he muttered, putting his hands in his pockets. He looked out the window. Snowflakes were starting to fall. It was already dark, and this wasn’t the best part of town.
He frowned and ducked out of the shop and down a nearby alleyway. He pulled off his clothes and tucked them in the gap between the bricks, hiding them. He hoped this time they stayed put. He liked that jacket. Peter quickly pulled his mask over his face and scaled the wall, then swung overhead, mapping the route she normally took in his head as he moved toward her.
Finally, she was in sight. Peter let out a relieved sigh as he watched her walk up the street, hands at her sides and head up and alert. Peter was likely worrying over nothing. Michelle was from this neighborhood. She knew how to act. She carried pepper spray and a rape whistle. She could get herself out of trouble.
Peter’s eyes narrowed as three men stumbled out of the dark towards her.
“Hey pretty lady,” one of them drawled. MJ started walking faster.
“Beat it, creep,” she said, shoving her hand in the pocket that carried her pepper spray.
“Hey,” the second one said, catching up to her and grabbing her arm, “that’s not a nice way to talk to someone who gave you a compliment.”
MJ pulled away hard and pointed her pepper spray at him, squirting it in his face. He grunted and wiped at his face as the third man approached.
Peter saw red.
“Hey,” he shouted. All four looked up. Peter dropped on them, standing between MJ and her assailants.
“You heard her,” he said, gesturing in the opposite direction with his head, “beat it.”
“Oh shit,” the third man stuttered, stumbling away. “You’re Spider-Man—oh no. Sorry sir. Sorry ma’am—”
“Seriously?” the third man scoffed.
“Dude, he took on the Goblin. Let’s go!”
“No way,” the first man said. “There are three of us. He can’t take us.”
Peter rolled his eyes and leaned back. “Get out of here,” he murmured.
“No,” she muttered back. “What if you lose?”
“Don’t worry about me, miss. I’ll do my job better if you’re somewhere safe.”
“Who said I was worried about you?” she stuttered. “I—if you’re hurt, who says they won’t follow me home?”
Peter chuckled and shook his head. “Then go to a friend’s house.”
“I—”
Peter shoved her back when his spider sense sparked to life, creeping up his neck. One of the goons had pulled out a gun and was half-hazardly swinging it around.
“Get out of here!” he shouted as the gun went off. He watched MJ’s eyes widen as the bullet flew towards them. Peter felt it tear through his arm and cried out. MJ hesitated, stepping toward him again, but he held her at bay by holding his hand out.
“GO!”
She didn’t need to be told again. MJ ran down the street in the opposite direction. Peter knew that wasn’t where her apartment was, so he hoped she was heading towards a friend’s place, like Cindy’s. She lived nearby.
Putting her out of his mind, he spun around, ready to fight. The first man stared at him smugly, pointing the gun at his head.
“Nobody’s bullet-proof, bug boy,” he sneered.
“Have you ever seen the Hulk?” Peter quipped, shooting a web out. The man took a step back, distracted, and Peter barreled forward, knocking the gun from his grip.
“Guns are dangerous,” he said, kicking the man’s legs out from under him. He webbed him to the ground before spinning around to face the other two. The unarmed men gaped at him before hightailing it out of there. Peter shook his head and clicked his tongue, shooting out two webs and pulling them back.
“Some friends,” he said as he dragged them towards him. He tied the three of them together, wrapping them in a cocoon of webbing. He looked around and grinned when he spotted a loose piece of cardboard. He grabbed it and pulled a sharpie from his belt, writing a note for the police.
“There we go,” he said, attaching the cardboard sign to the villains, “for when the NYPD finds you.” He winced, examining his arm. The bullet looked like it grazed him. He felt the injury, not noticing any foreign objects in his skin. He’d go to Stark tomorrow to get checked out.
“She was asking for it—”
Peter shot a web at the man’s mouth, then cocked his head to the side. “I’m sorry, I don’t listen to sexist assholes who get off on assaulting people.” He glared at the others. “Did you have anything to add?”
“No sir,” one said as the other shook his head.
“Alright. Catch you later. And I mean that. I will catch you again,” he said shooting out a web. “So don’t do it again. Get some therapy or something. You can’t live your lives thinking this is okay, guys.” He swung away, heading back towards the coffee shop since he didn’t know which way MJ went. He descended into the alleyway and groaned, pressing his head against the brick wall.
His clothes were gone.
“Damn it.”
He moaned in pain as he slid the window to his bedroom open, easing himself inside.
“Ned,” he shouted, “if you’re here, man, I could really use the first aid kit.” He pulled his mask off his face and tossed it on his bed, rubbing his eyes. His arm burned and pulsed, pulling another pained grunt from his throat. He grabbed his arm and squeezed, hoping he could numb the pain temporarily with the pressure of his hand.
“Um—wait. Shit don’t—” Peter raised his head in alarm at Ned’s words, bracing himself and moving towards the door.
“Ned, what’s—OW!”
The door slammed into him, jostling his wound and shoving him back. He stumbled until he fell against his bed, gritting his teeth, his eyes shut tight.
“Ned, what the hell is the matter with you!” he shouted. The rest of his pained rant died in his throat. It wasn’t Ned who slammed into him and knocked him on his wounded ass.
It was MJ.
“Shit,” he said.
“What the fuck, Peter?” she asked, eyes wide. Her hands were trembling as she approached him. “Oh God. Oh my God! Peter, you’re—you’re Spider-Man?”
“Um—”
“And you got shot! You got shot because of me! Wait, were you following me?” Peter stared at her, shaking his head. She shook herself. “Peter, you were shot! We need to get you to a hospital!”
“MJ, what—what are you doing here?”
“Beats me, man,” Ned said, coming in with the giant toolbox that contained all of Peter’s medical supplies. “She showed up without you, which surprised me because I thought you had a date, and she was saying something about a scare and needing to talk to you—”
“Shut up, Ned,” she said, glaring. “I can talk for myself. Geez.”
“Sorry,” Ned replied, shrugging. He set the toolbox on Peter’s chair. “What do you need?” he asked. “Stitches? That looks like a thing that requires stitches, and you know I can’t do stitches.”
“I’ll see Stark tomorrow,” Peter replied, one eye on MJ to gauge her reaction. “So just—”
“Disinfectant and bandages. Alright.” Ned pulled the items out of the box and set them on the bed. He also grabbed a bottle of saline.
“Wait, Stark?” MJ interrupted. “Tony Stark? Iron Man?” Peter nodded. “You mean the internship with Stark is real?”
Peter sighed. “Well, kind of? It’s sort of a mixture of engineering stuff for the Avengers and a cover for Spider-Man.”
MJ shook her head at him, mouth slightly open.
“Ned, can you give us a minute?” Peter asked, a little desperately.
“And let you bleed out on your comforter? Fat chance,” Ned said, shaking his head. Despite his jovial tone, Peter could see the worry in his eyes. He sighed and scooted over, making room for Ned to sit down.
“You just need it wrapped? With something to absorb the blood and help stop the bleeding?” MJ asked, tentatively. Ned glanced over at her as Peter nodded.
“I can do it, Ned,” she said, lifting her chin. “Will you make some tea or something?”
Ned looked between the two of them. Peter shrugged and Ned sighed.
“Sure—if you think you can handle it.”
“I know how to wrap an injury. I have CPR and First Aid training,” MJ said, hands on her hips. Ned walked out of the room, leaving the bedroom door cracked open.
They remained still for a few heartbeats, staring at each other. Peter shifted, and the movement made him jostle his arm, causing him to wince. He pressed his lips together to keep the pained noise he wanted to make inside.
“Shit,” MJ whispered, sitting next to him on his bed. She grabbed a pad from the first aid kit and soaked it with the disinfectant, then looked at him.
“I think you need to take off your shirt,” she said.
“Oh sure,” Peter said, pressing the emblem on his suit to loosen it, “take advantage of my injury. You know, if you wanted me naked, all you had to do was ask.”
“Good. It must not be that bad if you can still be a snarky asshole,” MJ replied, pulling the fabric down his arm. Despite her rough tone, she was gentle as she peeled it away from his skin. He hissed as the fabric tugged away from his wound.
MJ’s face paled and seemed to take on a green tinge.
“There’s a trash can over there if you need to throw up,” Peter offered. MJ glared at him and pressed the pad against his wound to clean it.
“What, you think I can’t handle it?” she asked, dabbing at the injury.
“Well, you have to actually clean it, you know,” Peter said, grabbing the bottle of saline. He poured a generous amount on the wound, sucking air quickly through his teeth.
“This wound is too deep, Peter. You need to get seen.”
“And I will,” Peter responded, “but look. The bleeding has already slowed down.”
MJ examined the wound, wincing. “Not sure how you can tell.”
“It’s not my first rodeo,” Peter offered. He looked at her face. The green tinge was back.
“Seriously, if you’re sick, Ned can do it—”
“I can do it!”
“Okay,” he said, looking at the can. “But I’d prefer it if you vomited in the trash can instead of on my floor. I’d like to sleep here tonight, and I know the smell—”
“I’m not gonna puke!” she said, exasperated, pressing the cloth to his wound. Peter grunted and she immediately gentled her approach.
“Sorry,” she said as she finished cleaning the laceration in his arm. She grabbed a couple of fresh, thick pads of gauze and pressed them against the injury. “Hold that for me, please?”
“Sure,” he said, holding the gauze in place as she opened the new bandages. She wrapped the cloth around his arm, neat and tight. They sat in silence for a while as she finished wrapping the wound. Neither one of them spoke until she finished tying the bandage.
“Thanks,” she said, softly.
Peter looked down at his lap. “It was nothing.”
“It wasn’t,” MJ said, fiercely. Peter looked up, eyes wide. “It wasn’t nothing, Peter. Jesus Christ. You got shot for me. How could that be nothing?”
“I’d do it again,” he said, resolutely. His ears burned a little at the incredulous look on her face. “MJ, I really, really like you, and I haven’t liked anyone that way in a long time. You matter to me, and I’ll do whatever I can to protect you.”
“Peter—”
“I’m not saying that so you’ll keep dating me, or anything,” he said. “Even if you’re not my friend anymore, I’ll still want to keep you safe. I can’t—I can’t help it. If I can do something to avoid losing you, I will.”
MJ stared at him. Peter felt like she was examining his very soul, weighing him for judgment. An eternity passed in the span of a few heartbeats before she spoke again.
“So—guess you’ve had a pretty good reason for missing those dates, huh?”
Peter swallowed and offered her a nervous smile. “I’m kind of on-call twenty-four hours a day.”
She gave him a breathy laugh and looked around. She picked up the mask that was lying on his bed and studied it, holding it in both hands.
“What were you doing here, anyway?”
“I—I told you I didn’t want those creeps to follow me home,” MJ said. Her voice had gone a little higher than usual.
“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure you just dumped me.”
“I never said that—”
“I thought you were going to Cindy’s. Why would you come here?” MJ stared at him, clearly getting flustered. “Not that there’s anything wrong with you coming here, but—”
“I was scared,” she said, quickly. Peter snapped his mouth shut. “I was scared. That guy had a gun, and he shot Spider-Man right in front of me—what the hell is pepper spray going to do to a guy with a gun?” she rushed on. “I don’t know self-defense. I haven’t signed up for Krav Maga or anything. I thought I might die. And then I thought if I had died that I just broke up with you without—without giving you a chance to—I mean, maybe I was reading the signs wrong, you know?”
Peter started at her in surprise. She was so calm earlier. He was completely unaware she felt so scared.
“And I was, wasn’t I? Because you just said it. That you like me a lot. And I like you a lot. And you’re not really a flake, you’re Spider-Man—” she gasped and dropped his mask.
“What?” Peter asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m dating Spider-Man,” she whispered. “Holy shit, I’ve made out with Spider-Man. Do you know how many women want to be in my position?”
“Um—”
“Don’t answer that,” she went on. “Oh my God. Why didn’t you—but of course you wouldn’t tell me. We hadn’t dated that long and… oh my God.”
Peter brought his hands up and caught her face, cupping it gently.
“While this is doing wonders for my ego,” he said, smiling at her, “I’m gonna stop you now before you embarrass yourself.”
She rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”
“Seriously. I know you like to play it cool,” he said, trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably. MJ knocked his hands away and he laughed.
“Watch it, tiger,” she said. She scooted closer to him, and brought her own hands up touch his hair and neck. She pressed her forehead against his and he sighed, watching her eyes dart down to his mouth.
Peter tilted his head and slipped his hand into her hair, brushing his fingers against the soft locks as he pressed his mouth to hers. She made a small noise of content and gripped his neck, pulling him even closer.
“So, I’m just going to remind you that you’re injured.”
Peter groaned and pulled away from MJ, glaring at his roommate.
“Seriously, dude?”
Ned smirked. “Come on. I made tea.” He left them alone again as he headed out towards their living room.
“So, do you still want to date me?” Peter asked.
“Hmm.” MJ hummed in thought, tapping her chin. “Well, I suppose. But now there are conditions.”
“Such as?”
“Well, now you have to take me on a swing through New York.”
“I can do that,” Peter said, smiling warmly at her.
“And you have to introduce me to Tony Stark.”
“I—can’t do that.”
MJ smirked at him.
“Really?”
“Seriously, that guy is weird. And he has no boundaries. Even if I’m able to get you in to meet him, he’ll flirt with you. It doesn’t matter that he’s old enough to be your dad.”
“Oh, so you’re jealous,” MJ drawled, brushing her hands against his shoulders.
“Very much so, yes,” Peter responded, grinning. MJ leaned forward and kissed him, pressing him backwards against the bed.
“What do you have to be jealous of?” she asked, kissing him below his ear. “Come on, you’re Spider-Man. What does that tin can have on you?”
“Okay, it is embarrassing how much you’re turning me on right now,” Peter laughed, dragging his fingers down her back.
“Guys!”
Peter groaned and halfheartedly pushed MJ away until they were both sitting up.
“You could just shut your door,” she offered.
“He’ll worry about me. I got shot, remember?” Peter laughed, standing up. She stood with him.
“I’ll be gentle,” she grinned.
“You’re killing me,” he groaned. “Come on. I bet he made jasmine tea because you’re over. We can kick his butt at Mario Kart.”
MJ frowned, pressing her lips together thoughtfully.
“Alright,” she replied. “But I get Link.”
“Aww, come on. We can both be Link.”
“I get Link, or no deal.”
Peter grinned. “Alright, fine.”
“And you can’t go anywhere in half a suit. You need to change,” she said, sitting back down. He looked between her and the door. She reclined back against his bedspread, letting her eyes drift over his body from head to foot. He swallowed, grinning at her.
They ended up shutting the door, after all.