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Lucy flips the lightswitch on in Angela’s bathroom and presses herself back against the door, hearing it click shut behind her and letting out a strangled sigh over the hum of the party outside.
She turns to her left, her cheek pressing against the wood of the door as she stares at herself in the mirror. She hadn’t intended to get drunk at this Christmas party – as a matter of fact, she wasn’t supposed to get drunk at this Christmas party...she’d planned to keep herself to a two drink maximum so she could leave in under two hours, but here she was, standing in Angela’s bathroom, her face nearly as red as the wool stitching of her intentionally ugly sweater, the antler headband on her head a bit askew, her eyes glassy and wide.
Drunk, and she hasn’t even been here for that long. If she’s being honest, she blames Angela...and Nyla. Maybe Tim. Mostly Tim. She pushes herself off the door and stares in the mirror, blinking slowly and surveying herself, trying to focus her eyes.
She’d been on edge already, standing on the front doorstep and fiddling with the antlers on her headband. Tim’s car was parked in front of the house already – she wasn’t surprised, considering he was chronically early, even to social engagements – and it didn’t matter, but she’d wanted to get there first. She’d been ripped from her own thoughts when Angela had greeted her at the door with candy cane striped jello shots, taking one with her in the foyer before whisking her into the kitchen and pressing a glass of warm apple cider into her hand. Lucy had discovered, upon taking a sip, that the cider was thoroughly spiked. She’d choked into her glass and glared at Tim, who’d laughed at her from across the island, a beer in his hand.
“Feeling okay there, Chen?” He smirked, and Lucy had rolled her eyes and taken a deliberately long, drawn out sip in order to prove...something. Definitely something. “Antlers got you feeling down?”
Lucy frowned, rolling her eyes and opening her mouth to respond when Angela had cut her off, placing another jello shot in her hand and pressing her finger to the underside of the plastic cup, pushing it up towards her mouth. Tim laughed as she tipped it back, and she ignored the annoyance growing in the back of her mind.
Nyla had arrived shortly thereafter, as Angela was refilling Lucy’s cider and Tim was explaining the citation he’d written on his way over for someone with a Christmas display set up on the roof of their car. Angela pushed a third jello shot to Lucy after passing one over to Nyla, calling Wesley into the kitchen to join them instead of milling around the living room with some of their newfound parent friends.
She’d taken the shot without question, ignoring the burn that materialized at the back of her throat as she was reminded that these, too, were incredibly strong. “God, Lopez,” Nyla choked lightly, shaking her head, “are these even legal?”
Angela smirked, shrugging and leaning back into Wesley, her own shot in her hand. “I’d assume so,” she hummed, before downing her own.
Lucy had made her way slowly through the kitchen, humming to herself as she looked over the platters of appetizers, acutely aware of Tim’s presence behind her after a few moments.
“See anything you like,” he asked, his voice low as he reached around her to grab a cube of cheese off of a plate.
Lucy licked her lips and watched his fingers wrap around the small block. She’d stopped, following the cheese and peeking over her shoulder as he popped it into his mouth, her gaze lingering on his lips. “Not sure yet,” she shrugged, unmoving until Tim had let out a stilted laugh and pushed her back into reality.
The alcohol was buzzing around her brain already, and she knew she needed to eat something to combat it... quickly, before she did anything too stupid.
This thing where she kept staring at Tim – at his mouth, at his hands, at his everything – needed to stop, and it needed to stop now. Yes, sure, fine…he was great to look at, but he was Tim, and if she got caught staring at him she was pretty sure she’d never hear the end of it. Whether it be from Angela or from Tim himself, she wasn’t sure.
She had assembled a tiny plate of cheese and fruit before making her way into the living room, away from Tim and his distracting body. She stationed herself on the arm of an empty overstuffed chair, listening to two of Wesley’s lawyer friends, who were deep in conversation about a basketball game they’d apparently both attended, as she surveyed her plate. After a few long moments, once she’d stuffed an inappropriate amount of cheese into her mouth and shut her eyes as the taste of the cheese and the feeling of her buzz melded together, she felt the chair shift and knew, without looking, who occupied it. “Trying to blend into the furniture?”
Lucy sighed, opening one eye and frowning at him as she chewed. She nodded, gesturing to her mouth, and let herself look at him.
Whatever, it was supposed to be a party, after all.
He hadn’t bothered to wear an ugly Christmas sweater (which Angela had insisted upon in her invitation text), instead opting for a dark grey wool, his sleeves rolled up, and a good fitting pair of jeans. He smelled fucking amazing, his cologne mixed with the other warm smells of the party and nestling in her nose, making her want to drool. He was looking at her, his brows raised, a soft, questioning smile on his face as she stared at him without shame. Tim had cleared his throat and Lucy swallowed around the last bite of cheese, shaking her head as she’d torn her eyes away from him, looking back down at her plate. “I just wanted somewhere that Angela wasn’t going to bombard me with alcohol,” she murmured after a long moment.
Tim laughed. “She does that,” he shrugged. “She likes everyone to be happy at a party.”
“And how do you know,” Lucy licked her lips, squeezing a grape to pinch it off of the bunch before looking up at him, challenging him with the quirk of her brow, “I’m a happy drunk, Tim?”
Tim had pressed his lips together, and she watched his fingers twitch against his knee. He crossed his arms. “I can guess,” he shrugged. “I’ve heard how you chatter when you’re sober.”
Lucy hummed, popping the grape into her mouth and shifting so her body was facing his a bit more. “You talk more when you drink,” she dropped her gaze to his mouth again, watching the corners twitch, wanting them to turn upwards. “I bet you’re even funny.”
“I’m always funny,” he’d hummed, and she watched him scoot a little closer to her in the chair. He reached over to the plate in her lap, letting his wrist press against her upper thigh as he scooped a few cheese cubes off of it. “You know that better than anyone.”
Lucy had flexed her thigh against his hand for a moment before uncrossing her legs and settling them down on the ground, chewing slowly as she’d dropped her gaze down to her own knees. “I know no such thing,” she mumbled, and ignored the way she could feel the corners of Tim’s mouth twisting up into a grin. She pushed up off the arm of the chair after finishing the bulk of her cheese, settling the plate in Tim’s lap and raising her brow at him. “If you were funny, wouldn’t I be sticking around?”
She’d made her way back into the kitchen, then, jumping into a conversation with Nyla before Tim could pull her attention again.
It wasn’t long before she’d seen him in the kitchen again – longer than she’d expected, but not long enough – bobbing around the food trays and trying not to look obvious. She’d rolled her eyes discreetly and kept up her conversation with Nyla, asking a few leading questions about Lila to keep the woman talking. She felt Tim’s eyes on her over Nyla’s shoulder and had waited as long as she could before peeking over, narrowing her gaze, and then looking back at Nyla with a plastered smile on her face.
Nyla had looked back at her, surprised as Lucy had reached over and anchored both of her hands on the outsides of Nyla’s shoulders. “What do you say we find a few more of Lopez’s jello shots?” Before Harper could answer, Lucy had steered her out of the kitchen, turning over her shoulder and mouthing a fuck off in Tim’s direction, not bothering to try and see if he looked hurt, or annoyed, or anything before following Nyla into the living room.
Two more jello shots and Angela’s voice booming a little too close to her ear about dragging Wesley underneath the mistletoe, and Lucy had made her way out of the living room, down the hall, and into the bathroom, where she is now staring at her own reflection, chewing on her lower lip.
She doesn’t hear the first knock because of how focused she is, looking at her face, trying to rearrange her features to look somewhat less...annoyed? Overwhelmed? Drunk? She isn’t even sure what, exactly, she is right now. The second knock, though, accompanied by a low, “I know you’re in there, Lucy,” she hears loud and clear.
She fiddles with her antler headband, watching her own fingers as they carefully straighten it before combing through her hair gently. “What’s it to you,” she calls back, tipping her face towards the door, “you’re mad at me, anyway.”
“I’m not mad at you,” his voice a little rougher and she feels her chest tighten at his tone. “Can we talk, please?”
Lucy sighs and pulls open the bathroom door, looking up at Tim with her eyes wide. “I don’t have all that much to say,” she shrugs, but takes a step back and lets him in anyway. “I think we covered it before, don’t you?”
“Lucy,” he mutters, shaking his head. She watches as his hand reaches out for her, his fingers twitching as they reach out towards her, then shrink back to his side. “We were having a discussion... and I don’t think we finished it.”
“We were having a fight,” she hisses, crossing her arms over her chest. She bites on the inside of her cheek and glances over her shoulder at the open space on the countertop, sliding a stack of towels over a bit before hopping up onto the cool stone. She crosses her ankles and raises her brows at him. “What, you’ve never had one of those before with someone you’re,” she presses her lips together, “casually...spending time with?”
“Dating,” Tim corrects, taking another step towards her and planting his hands on either side of her legs on the countertop. She looks down at them, suddenly aware of how close his body is to hers, how much she wants to let herself melt into him. “Yes, I’ve had a fight with someone I’m dating before...but not with you.”
“And that’s different?” She can hear the slight slur in her words, the alcohol fusing around the edges of her syllables, and she hates it. All the fight she’d had in her body a few hours ago is gone, now – dulled down from alcohol, from missing him, from knowing she could have messed all of this up in the blink of an eye. Now, she kind of just wants him to be here, to pretend they hadn’t fought at all. “Fighting with me?”
Tim rolls his eyes, but she can see that there’s a fondness behind it. She taps his kneecap with the toe of her shoe and Tim reaches up, brushing some hair out of her eyes and trailing his fingers down the length of a strand. “Everything is different with you,” he says, low, and she feels her heart beating hard in her chest. “Is that the answer you were looking for?”
Lucy frowns, leaning her face towards his hand and shutting her eyes. She doesn’t really want to look at him, right now. “What do you want, Tim?”
“You feel okay? You looked a little wobbly, heading back here.” His voice is soft and Lucy reaches up, grabbing his hand and settling it on her cheek so she can rest her head on his palm. She pats the back of his hand lightly, then settles her own hand in her lap.
“I’m fine,” she breathes over Tim’s laugh. “I’m confused as to why you followed me in here, though. I thought we were supposed to be discreet today.”
Tim’s thumb slides down her jaw and rests against her chin. “See, this is why we were supposed to finish fighting before you left to get ready for this thing...so we were on the same page when you got here.”
“Tim,” she whines, sliding back on the counter a bit and lifting her head away from his hand. She opens her eyes and shoots him a glare. “If you came in here to argue with me, I don’t want to hear it.”
“I came in here to see why my girlfriend is loading herself up with jello shots like she’s on spring break in Cancun,” he raises his brow, his mouth settled in a frown. “I don’t want to argue with you, Lucy. I didn’t want to argue with you in the first place.”
Lucy sighs, looking up at the ceiling for a long moment, trying to bring things back into focus. “I don’t think they have a lot of jello shots in Cancun, for the record. That feels incredibly American, to me.” She can practically feel Tim rolling his eyes. “I’m just saying, if you want to be factual about it.”
“Got it,” Tim mutters, and Lucy feels herself deflate a little.
“I don’t really know what there is to talk about,” she murmurs, glancing at him and finding him looking at her, confusion etched all over his face. “I’m...I wanted to come here together. Me and you. It’s not like Angela hasn’t guessed, and no one here is... threatening, really. I thought it would be like,” she feels her throat tightening, “a good test run. And you said you didn’t want to, and I respected that.”
“By respected that, do you mean that you snapped at me, packed your bag, and bolted without giving me a chance to explain myself? Because that’s what I remember,” his hand settles itself against her thigh, his fingers fiddling with the hem of her oversized sweater.
Lucy hums. “I gave you a little bit of a chance,” she shrugs, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “I recall asking you why, and when you couldn’t give me a good answer, then I did all that.” Tim nods, and she lets herself reach up and slide one of her hands into his hair, the way she’s wanted to all afternoon. “Why didn’t you want to, then? Explain it now.”
She hears Tim sigh and then feels him tugging her closer to the edge of the countertop, his hands firm against her waist. Lucy wraps her arms around his neck and fiddles with the hair at his nape, watching his face as he tries to pick through his words. “The first time we do something as an us,” he says, carefully. “That isn’t...just the two of us, hiding out, hoping someone won’t stumble in...I want it to be legitimate, you know? When we’ve...told all the appropriate people. We’ve done all the paperwork, we’ve...once we’re on the right side of things. I know that’s probably,” he shrugs, swallowing and pausing for a moment before he starts again, “a little too cautious, maybe. But I think you, and me, and us is something I’m allowed to be careful with, don’t you?”
Lucy chews on her lower lip, nodding lightly. “That’s sweet,” she sighs, frowning, and Tim lets out a laugh, raising his brow. “I just wish you’d gotten to all this before I drank my weight in jello shots.”
“Ah,” Tim nods, giving her a slightly hopeful smile. “So...you get it?” Lucy nods, and Tim nods back. “Next party,” he squeezes her leg, “next anything we’re invited to, I promise...it’ll be you and me.”
She feels her chest lurch, the smile creeping a bit further onto her face. “No one here would say anything,” she breathes after a moment, needing to say it even though all of the fight in her from earlier is lost, now. “You know they’d never do that.”
“I know,” Tim nods, quick. He swallows, leaning his face in close to hers, his forehead pressing to hers gently. “I just don’t want them to even have the option, Lucy. I want this to be ours, you know? Our terms, responsibility, our choice...and the first step to all of that is us making it...official.”
Lucy can’t help the smile that stretches over her face at the word. “Official?” She can hear the tease in her tone, the laugh threatening to bubble up from her throat. “Are you asking me to go steady with you, Bradford?”
“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing, Chen?” He chuckles, his lips ghosting over hers. “Or do I have to pin you, or something?”
“Oh my god,” Lucy laughs, leaning in and closing the gap, kissing him lightly. “You can pin me anytime you want,” she mumbles into his mouth, “and you know it.”
She feels Tim’s laugh rumbling against her chest and wraps her legs around his torso, keeping him close as she kisses him, her tongue pressing into his mouth lazily. God, nothing else feels quite like making out with this man when she’s drunk. Nothing else feels quite like making out with this man, period – but he does everything so deliberately, and her drunk brain appreciates it the most.
His hands skate up her thighs as he presses his tongue against hers, his thumbs grazing slowly over her skin, pressing into it with just the right level of firmness. She whines into his mouth, tipping her head back after a moment and letting him press his lips to her jaw, then down her neck. “Fuck,” she breathes, “see, this is what I wanted this morning.”
“Don’t,” he mutters, his teeth scraping over her pulse, a little warning. “You’ve already been bad here, Luce, don’t make it worse for yourself.”
She pouts out her lower lip, letting out a soft whine. “I’m good,” she breathes, tugging on his hair lightly, “I’ve been very good...I let you in here and,” she moans softly as he sucks at a sensitive spot on her neck, “I listened to you, that was good.”
“Mhm,” he breathes, “earned some points back.”
“I’ll earn them all back later,” she whispers, feeling a louder moan in the back of her throat and swallowing it, not wanting them to get caught. “I promise.”
“Wow,” Tim chuckles, and she pulls him further into her, sliding one of her hands down his chest and beneath his shirt, trailing her fingers gently against his skin before pulling it back out and resting it on his chest. “That’s a hefty promise.”
Lucy squeezes her thighs against his hips, grumbling as she pulls his face back to hers and nips at his lower lip. “Shut up,” she whines. “I’m drunk and I want to take advantage of you.”
“Absolutely no way you’re taking advantage of me wearing reindeer antlers in Lopez’s guest bathroom, but,” he brushes his lips over hers, and she can feel the faint smirk on them, “I guess I can let you try.”
She lets herself make out with him sloppily, fucking up his hair, sucking a hickey into his neck, laughing when he whines softly at her tracing her tongue along the shell of his ear. This is the Tim she thinks she might love, somewhere deep down in the pit of her stomach – the one who makes fun of her antlers and then lets her fuck around and put them on his head, the one who tells her they can’t be seen in public and then lets her suck a mark into his skin, the one who watches her get drunk and then follows her into the bathroom to make sure she’s okay.
She doesn’t hear a knock at the door, but there must be one because Tim pulls his lips from hers and calls out an, “Occupied,” over his shoulder as she presses her face against his shoulder, trying to stifle her laughter. His fingers dip into her hair, tugging lightly as they wait for the person to retreat away from the door, lifting her head and then sliding his fingers down to hold her chin gently between them. He kisses her gently once, then again, nipping at her lower lip lightly. “You feel better,” he whispers, and she knows it’s a question even though it sounds like a statement.
“Much,” she breathes, leaning her forehead to his. “I’d be even better if we could just stay in here, but,” she shrugs, “as it stands...pretty sure you’ve cured me.”
“Wow,” he hums, nodding softly. “I thought I’d have to do a hell of a lot more to be considered a cure.”
Lucy pinches his arm, laughing as he jumps slightly. “Don’t get cocky just yet,” she hums, and she can feel his smirk against her mouth. “You can do that later, when the only thing I’m wearing are these antlers.”
“I’m throwing those things out,” he mutters, “the second you get back to my place. Tossing them into the fire pit.”
Lucy pouts out her lower lip and she hums, shutting her eyes as Tim kisses it gently. He reaches over to the sink with one hand, turning on the tap and running his fingers beneath the cool water. She jumps a bit when she feels Tim’s hand press against her neck, but settles into his touch as his wet fingers cool down her warm skin on one side, then the other. She settles her legs back down against the counter, letting Tim take a step back and crossing her ankles, raising her brow at him. “Do I need to fix myself?” She asks, rolling her eyes as Tim smirks at her.
She hops down off the counter and glances at herself in the mirror, feeling Tim’s hands come up to steady her as she wobbles a bit to the left, the heady haze of the alcohol flooding her veins and the ghost of his mouth on hers keeping her a bit more unsteady than she’d like to be. She fusses with her hair, tugging the antlers off her head and combing her fingers through it, swiping her thumb over her lower lip to even out the remaining color, then reassembling herself a bit before she glances over her shoulder at Tim. “Don’t you think you should go out first?”
He watches her in the mirror, finally tearing his eyes off her reflection to look straight at her with his brow raised. “Probably,” he murmurs, shrugging. “What do you think, ten seconds?”
Lucy rolls her eyes, looking back at her reflection and sliding one of her hands over his, squeezing it lightly. “I think I can figure out how to walk out of a bathroom without getting us caught, Tim.”
Tim hums, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the curve of her neck. “So smart, babe,” he murmurs against her skin, and she feels herself wanting to lean back into him, wanting to pull his arms around her.
“Go,” she whispers, “before I forget what I’m supposed to be doing and try to walk out there with your arms wrapped around me.”
Tim laughs, low and deep, a rumbling she can feel against her back just as much as she can hear in her ears. “See you out there,” he murmurs, giving her one final squeeze before he retreats, closing the door gently behind him.
She waits an appropriate amount of time, making her way down to the other end of the hall towards Jack’s nursery before turning around and heading back towards the party. She spots Tim, leaning against the far side of the cutout between the kitchen and the dining room, and heads that way to grab some water, only stopping when she hears Angela’s voice, loud and full of laughter, behind her. She can’t quite process what the woman is saying until she stops, her eyes falling on Tim, who’s looking at her.
“Mistletoe,” she hears, and then the words rearrange themselves in her head – a loud, boisterous, “ Looks like the two of you wound up under the mistletoe,” from over her left shoulder. Lucy glances up and sure enough, she’s standing directly under a sprig of mistletoe, Tim a few feet away from her. “You don’t have to,” Angela sounds menacing, in a way that makes Lucy want to laugh, “we can all just call you both wimps for now and try again next year.”
“Shut up,” Tim grumbles, his eyes on Lucy, his brow raised.
Lucy bites her lower lip, glancing over her shoulder at Angela with semi-pleading eyes. She turns back and looks at Tim, then up at the mistletoe, shrugging her shoulders.
There’s kind of nothing she wants more than for Tim to grab her and kiss her, right here, in Angela’s dining room, even though she knows it goes entirely against everything they’d just talked about and agreed upon. “I don’t think,” she starts, and then she feels Tim’s hand on her back. “What are you doing,” she settles her hand on Tim’s shoulder, finding his face close to hers. “What are you doing?” She gives Tim her most serious look, trying to avoid staring at his mouth. “You said–,” she starts, and he shakes his head, just once.
“I know what I said,” he murmurs. His eyes are glued to her mouth, so she lets her own gaze flick down to his lips, which he’s pressing his tongue over lightly. “I don’t care.”
“Tim,” she swallows, wanting to argue with him without actually having to argue. He’d had valid reasons, she understood that. “It’s fine,” she shakes her head, glancing up at him, dropping her voice, “we can do it next year.”
“I know what I want,” he breathes, leaning his face even closer to her, his lips ghosting her own, “and it’s to kiss you under this mistletoe, right now.”
Tim doesn’t give her the option to say anything else, to fight him any harder. Instead, he presses his lips to hers and pulls her up against him, easing her into a sweet, slow kiss. She can hear Angela catcalling them and wraps her arms around Tim’s neck, pulling him as close as she can, relishing in the heat radiating off his skin. The kiss is short, slow, sweet, but it’s perfect...and when she pulls back, she feels Tim dip his face into her hair. “Well,” Lucy breathes, and she can hear Tim laugh. He stands back up to full height and raises his brows at her. “Quite the mixed message you’re sending there, Tim.”
“Consider that my pin,” he shrugs, smirking at her as he drops one of his arms from her waist, pulling her into him with the other, “at least, temporarily.”
Lucy rolls her eyes, pressing herself away from him with a hand flat to his chest and making her way into the kitchen, hoping she can hide her burning cheeks from Angela...and that she might be able to catch Tim underneath that mistletoe once more before the night is through.