Haley kicked her heels off the moment she climbed into the back of Jordan's Jeep, wedging herself between Danny and Marcus with zero regrets. Her blazer was somewhere—maybe the library, maybe the cafe, maybe floating through the ether like her will to live after this week of mock trials and endless briefs.
"We're doing this," she announced to no one in particular, holding up her phone. Seventeen missed calls from Romeo. She silenced it and tossed it into her bag.
"You're going to get yourself into trouble," Priya said from the passenger seat, already mixing something in a travel mug that smelled aggressively like tequila.
"I'm already in trouble. That's why I need this." Haley took the cup, drank deeply, and tried not to wince. "Besides, he's in Chicago. What's he going to do, teleport?"
The five of them—Jordan, Danny, Marcus, Priya, and Haley—had been through two years of law school together. They'd seen each other cry in bathrooms, stress-eat entire pizzas during finals, and argue case law until someone threw a highlighter. This road trip was overdue. Three hours up the coast, a cheap motel, and absolutely no thinking about torts or contracts or anything that required brain cells.
Her phone buzzed again. She flipped it face-down.
By the time they hit the highway, the tequila was working its magic. Haley was laughing harder than she had in weeks, her head resting on Marcus's shoulder while Danny argued with Jordan about which exit to take. Priya was DJing from the front seat, and everything felt warm and loose and wonderful.
Her phone lit up four more times. She didn't look.
Romeo stared at his phone on the hotel desk in Chicago, jaw tight. Call after call, going to voicemail. He could see her location shared on the app—moving north on Interstate 95, somewhere past Jacksonville.
He pulled up her Instagram. Story, posted twenty minutes ago: Haley in a Jeep full of people, drink in hand, captioned "escaped from the asylum." Behind her, he could see Marcus's face. And Danny. And Jordan. Three men. His fiancée, tipsy, pressed between guys he'd told her he didn't like, ignoring his calls.
He booked the next flight out. Red-eye, landing at 2 AM. He could make it to their apartment by 3.
His jaw didn't unclench for the entire flight.
Haley stumbled through the front door at 1:47 AM, guided by Priya's Uber. The road trip had been exactly what she needed—laughter, ocean air, cheap beer, and zero responsibilities. She was delightfully buzzed, her hair smelled like salt and bonfire smoke, and she'd forgotten her jacket somewhere along with her sense of restraint.
The apartment was dark. Romeo wasn't supposed to be home until Friday. Three days away.
She stripped in the hallway because everything felt too tight and too warm, leaving a trail—shoes, dress, bra—leading to the bedroom like some kind of drunk breadcrumb path. She fell onto the bed face-first in just her underwear, one arm hanging off the edge, mouth slightly open, completely unconscious within thirty seconds.
She didn't hear the front door open at 3:14 AM.
She didn't hear the suitcase set down in the entryway.
She didn't hear the sharp intake of breath when Romeo followed the trail of clothing from hallway to bedroom and found her sprawled across their bed, bare from the waist up, hips tilted, one leg bent, looking like a painting he wanted to ruin.
Romeo stood in the doorway for a long moment. His anger had cooled during the flight into something quieter, more deliberate. He set his bag down, loosened his tie, and walked to the edge of the bed.
"Haley." His voice was low. No response. "Haley, wake up."
She mumbled something into the pillow—sounded like "objection, your honor"—and shifted, exposing more of her back. He exhaled slowly through his nose.
He pulled off his jacket. Then his shirt. Then he knelt on the bed beside her.
She stirred slightly when his hand pressed against her lower back, warm and firm. "Mm..." Her eyes fluttered but didn't open.
"You ignored me," he said quietly, his palm sliding down to the curve of her hip. "Seventeen calls, Haley."
"Was... busy," she mumbled, still more asleep than awake.
"I can see that." His hand traced the edge of her underwear, fingers dipping just beneath the fabric at her hip. "Drinking. Road tripping. With boys I told you I don't trust."
Her body responded before her mind caught up—arching slightly into his touch, a soft sound escaping her throat. Even half-asleep, her body knew his hands.
"Romeo?" Her voice was thick, confused.
"Shh." He leaned down, lips brushing her shoulder blade. "You want to act like you don't have to answer to anyone? Fine. But you're going to learn what happens when you don't pick up."
He pulled her underwear down slowly, over the swell of her hips, past her thighs, tossing it aside. She was fully exposed now, warm and pliant beneath him, still swimming in the haze of alcohol and sleep.
His mouth moved down her spine—slow, deliberate, each kiss pressed firmly into her skin like punctuation. Between her shoulder blades. The small of her back. The curve just above her ass. She whimpered, fingers gripping the sheets.
"Seventeen calls," he repeated against her skin, his breath hot. "Each one is going to cost you something."
He spread her thighs gently but firmly, positioning himself between her legs. She gasped when she felt his breath there, intimate and unmistakable.
"Romeo, I—"
"You're going to lay there and take this." His voice was calm, controlled. "And tomorrow you're going to explain to me why my fiancée was half-naked in a Jeep with three men who can't keep their eyes off her."
His tongue found her then—slow, thorough, tracing along her entrance before moving upward to the sensitive bud at her apex. Haley's hips jerked, a strangled moan catching in her throat. He held her firmly in place with one hand on her lower back while his mouth worked her with practiced precision.
He alternated between broad, flat strokes and pointed, deliberate circles, reading her body like he'd memorized every response. When her thighs began to tremble, he pulled back. When her breathing steadied, he resumed. Each time she neared the edge, he stopped.
"Romeo, please—" She was fully awake now, face flushed, pressing her forehead into the pillow.
"Please what?" Another slow lick. "Please pick up your phone? You should have thought of that."
He dove back in, deeper this time, his tongue sliding inside her while his thumb worked the tight bundle of nerves above. She cried out, back arching beautifully, and he didn't stop. He felt her clench around his tongue, felt the orgasm building like a wave, and this time he didn't pull away.
Haley shattered with a sound that was half-sob, half-moan, her entire body shaking through the release. He worked her through it, slowing gradually, until she was trembling and panting and utterly wrecked beneath him.
He pressed one final kiss to her inner thigh and straightened up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Haley rolled onto her back, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes. "I'm never picking up my phone again if that's the punishment."
Romeo's mouth twitched. He leaned down, hovering just above her lips. "Next time, I won't let you sleep through it."
She pulled him down by the back of his neck and kissed him, tasting herself on his tongue. "Next time," she whispered against his mouth, "I'll leave my ringer on."