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Regular clothes, random place.
Done and done.
Normally she’d be basking in her victory. Proving Nicole wrong is, like, a huge deal. Considered impossible.
And yet she hasn’t thought about anything but Joey for the past few hours.
Amber leans back in his passenger seat, gazing at his hand on the wheel. Seeing him in regular clothes was a mistake, actually; how is she meant to act normal now? White dress shirt and an old leather jacket is a lethal combination for her and he should know that. He probably does know that. That’s probably why he wore that. Oh, God, he wants to drive her crazy, right?
Which means he likes her.
Her heart flutters when he turns his head to look at her. She can’t admonish him on keeping his eyes on the road when she wants, more than anything, his eyes on her. Joey looks like he’s about to speak but can’t go without his gaze traveling up and down her figure, which, in turn, leaves him a bit breathless. They’ve both done this a lot tonight: taken in the sheer sight of each other, marveled that they’re actually, really doing this, and then blushed unsubtly. He can’t blame her and so she doesn’t blame him.
A quick glance outside of the car windows reminds her she’d been giving him directions to her home, and that, naturally, he had driven her home. And so she was home. And so she had to get out of the car. Which, presumably, he had meant to tell her, and didn’t. Couldn’t. Whatever. Maybe because he doesn’t want her out of the car. Maybe. Whatever.
“I’m gonna walk you,” he finally manages to say. Amber nods. Realistically she knows if she gets him any closer to her front door she’s going to want herself pushed against it. For a lifetime of being told not to give it up on the first date she is desperate to give it the fuck up. Even if this isn’t the first date, technically. But she would’ve given it up whether he asked her out or just asked her into the nearest storage closet. This is a decent progression of events. Who is she kidding? This is the best progression of events feasibly possible.
Joey puts his hand on the small of her back. The dress is backless; she can feel, directly, his touch on her skin. The urge hits her, once more, to kiss him.
They’ve kissed, sure, small pecks as casual affection. And when she stopped giggling, even she could notice the way it had made him turn away and smile into his hand. She wants that again. She wants to kiss him again.
She wants him to kiss her. Actually. Properly.
They get to Amber’s doorstep and they turn to each other and his hand doesn’t move. He’s so close to her. A few steps back and they’d be up against the wall. Imagine that. Being up against the wall with him. “You’re beautiful,” she hears him whisper. Amber smiles.
“Thank you,” she replies, just as quietly. “For everything, I mean, for tonight.”
“Yeah? I didn’t totally fuck it up, right?” He laughs dryly. “Y’know, Ruby said you wouldn’t like me.”
“Without the…?”
“Without the stupid coat.”
Amber giggles. “Nicole said I wouldn’t, either.”
“Jesus Christ.”
She steps closer to him, one hand adjusting the collar of his white button down, the other getting a proper feel for the leather of his jacket.
“It’s a good thing I have a crush on you, then, and not the coat,” Amber says.
She likes being this close to him. She can see him go red, and there’s no real way for him to hide that, or turn away, or save his dignity at all. She thinks he already knew that— no, she’s certain he already knew that. But hearing it from her lips (the very same he’d been staring at all night) is so different.
“Are you gonna kiss me goodnight?” She asks next, which is a stupid question, because Joey’s looking at her like he’s never wanted to do anything more in the world.
“Can I kiss you goodnight?”
Amber nods. And then—
Oh, God.
The way that Joey kisses her is magic.
He takes her face in his larger, rough hands, his thumb caressing her cheek. Sometimes his hands will dip lower, toward her waist. She keeps her hands in his hair. She loves his hair. She keeps combing through it with her fingers, feeling the subtle curls.
(The thought very stupidly crosses her mind that I hope they’re hereditary, which she can’t possibly be thinking about right now, and yet she’s had the same thought about his eyes and nose and smile and— shut up, shut up, shut up.)
Their lips push against each other softly, gently, then all at once, passionately. His hands are on her waist, her hands are in his hair. All she can think about is him. How good he is, how good he feels, how good it feels to finally have him like this. Their tongues push against each other, wet and desperate. That’s what they are. Desperate. God, she can feel the way Joey hungers for her. She feels it undeniably in his touch, in his gaze, and more than anything in the open-mouthed kisses he gives her. Amber can feel the heat pool between her thighs— fuck, she’s never been kissed like this, she’s never felt this… this desire, for anyone, not like this. She wants him, needs him, has him, finally. Each time they pull away for air their noses bump, they breathe shakily into each others' mouths, and then their lips meet again, hungrily. His teeth scrape her bottom lip, and she pulls away.
Amber laughs reflexively. Joey rattles off an apology that Amber doesn’t hear. The only thing she can think of right now is how much she doesn’t want this night to end. She’s also thinking about how much she wants to be pushed against this door.
“Oh, God,” is the next thing out of his mouth, and no kidding. Joey’s gaze sweeps over her, his hands grasping at her hips. “Fuck, Amber, I gotta go before I do somethin’ stupid.”
He presses another quick kiss to her lips, regardless. Her head is swimming. “I want you to,” she whispers, almost unintelligible. “I really want you to.”
“I know, baby,” Joey responds, so low and gentle and warm, it almost makes her cry. “I want you. You have no idea. But I wanna treat you right, angel, I wanna do this right…”
Another kiss, quick, restrained. In turn, she resists the urge to grab his collar, unlock her front door and pull him through. They take soft, synchronized breaths, noses brushing against each other.
Joey takes her face gently in his hands. “You gonna let me take you out again, baby?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“I’ll call you in the mornin’,” he affirms, and then just admires her for a second. Eventually he pulls away, after a final kiss on the forehead. “Night, Amber.”
Truly she wants to believe she can mutter “Goodnight, Joey,” right back to him, but realistically, she knows she won’t move a muscle until his car is halfway down the street. Only then does she take a deep breath in, deep breath out, deep breath in, deep breath out, deep breath in, and then, finally, the most ridiculous, overjoyed squeal her neighborhood has likely ever heard.