Chapter 9 – Almost Perfect

Beth

My phone buzzes on the bathroom counter.

Tommy: Be there in 15.

I exhale slowly, giving myself one last once-over in the mirror.

The dress hugs me like it was sewn straight onto my skin—deep royal blue with a satin sheen that catches the light every time I move. Spaghetti straps, sculpted bodice, and a dramatic flounce hem that makes my legs look longer than they are. I’d bought it months ago, thinking maybe one day I’d have somewhere to wear it. “One day” finally showed up.

My heels are strappy, black, and glittering. A little too tall for comfort, but tonight’s not about comfort. It’s about confidence. Celebration. Maybe even letting someone in.

My hair falls in soft waves past my shoulders, and I’ve gone full glam with the makeup—just smoky enough to feel bold without looking like I’m trying too hard. Rachel would be proud.

There’s a knock at the door, crisp and punctual.

I open the door and Tommy is standing there, looking unfairly handsome in a navy button-down with the sleeves casually rolled, a fresh shave, and the kind of cologne that wraps around you like a promise.

But it’s the flowers that get me.

In a vase.

“Wow,” he says, taking me in. His eyes flick down the length of my dress, then back up to meet mine. “You are… stunning.”

“Thank you,” I say, blinking like an idiot as I take the vase from him. “And… this is so thoughtful. You brought your own vase?”

“Well, I didn’t want to hand you a fistful of stems like some caveman,” he says with a grin. “And I didn’t want you scrambling for one before our date. Time management and aesthetics—two things I respect.”

I place the vase gently on the entry table, feeling the weight of the moment—not heavy, just… intentional.

He reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together like it’s second nature. Leads me down to the car, opens the passenger door like a gentleman, and even leans in to buckle my seatbelt. It should feel over-the-top. It doesn’t. It feels… cared for.

⸻

The rooftop restaurant is stunning—candles flickering in lanterns, the city skyline glittering like it dressed up for us. A violinist plays something slow and romantic in the background, and the servers wear all black with discreet earpieces like they’re protecting state secrets.

Tommy orders a bottle of wine after confirming I’m okay to drink. I say yes, though I probably shouldn’t. My head still feels a little fuzzy.

Halfway through the meal, I pause to rub my temples.

“Headache?” he asks, catching the motion.

“Just a little.” I offer a sheepish smile. “I went out with Rachel last night to celebrate finishing the campaign. We may have overdone it. Woke up with a hangover that still hasn’t fully left.”

There’s a beat—a micro-hesitation I almost miss.

“I don’t like that,” he says.

I blink. “What?”

His tone is light, the corners of his mouth tipping up in a teasing smile.

“I mean, I don’t like that I missed it. I would’ve loved to dance with you all night. But…” He reaches into his coat pocket. “Hopefully this makes up for it.”

He slides a tiny gift bag across the table.

Inside: a fridge magnet. A cartoon woman buried under a mountain of papers and coffee cups, wild-eyed and frazzled. It says: “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. This is my circus.”

I laugh. Loudly.

“I saw it in the airport gift shop,” he says, “and immediately thought of you. In a good way.”

I look up at him, heart softening in a way that feels almost dangerous.

God. He’s good.

———

By the time Tommy pulls into my building’s parking garage, my stomach is a warm swirl of wine, butterflies, and anticipation. The night air is cooler now, brushing my skin as we walk to the elevator. I’m still thinking about the magnet sitting in my purse, about how easily he makes everything feel… effortless.

Inside my apartment, I grab the vase of flowers from the entry table and bring them it to the kitchen. I set them on the counter and turn to him with a smile.

“Let me just take these heels off and I’ll get us a drink—”

“Don’t bother,” he says softly.

Before I can ask, his hands slide to my hips, and in one smooth motion he lifts me off the floor. A little gasp escapes me as my arms fly up to his shoulders. He carries me down the short hallway like I weigh nothing, his scent surrounding me—clean soap and dark spice.

He nudges my bedroom door open with his foot and steps inside, placing me gently on the bed like I’m something precious. His gaze roams down the length of me, dark and hungry, before he leans in and kisses me.

Not tentative. Not testing. Urgent.

His mouth claims mine, warm and insistent, tongue teasing the seam of my lips until I open for him. I taste wine, mint, and something distinctly him. His hand slides up the side of my neck, thumb stroking my jaw as he deepens the kiss, and my head tips back involuntarily.

When he finally pulls away, his breathing is heavier. He looks at me like he’s memorizing me, then reaches for the buttons of his shirt. One by one they come undone, revealing a chest I’ve only imagined—firm, tan, defined. He shrugs the shirt off and tosses it aside, then comes back to me, kissing me again—slower now, but no less intense.

His hands slide to my waist, urging me upright. “Stand up for me,” he murmurs against my lips.

I obey, trembling a little as my heels hit the floor.

He moves behind me, palms gliding over my hips before catching the small tab at the top of my zipper. His mouth grazes the back of my shoulder as he slowly drags the zipper down. The sound is loud in the quiet room, a slow rasp of metal against fabric.

The dress loosens, sliding down my body until it pools around my ankles. I step out of it and kick off my heels. Cool air kisses my skin, and goosebumps rise along my arms. I’m standing in nothing but my black lace thong and the strapless bra I picked for this dress.

Tommy’s hands trail up my sides, fingers splaying under my ribs. He presses a kiss to the back of my neck. “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, voice rougher than I’ve ever heard it.

I turn to face him, heart hammering. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me again, walking me backward until the backs of my knees hit the bed. I sit, then recline, and he follows me down.

His mouth finds my collarbone, my shoulder, the swell of my breast. His fingers slip under the band of my bra, unhooking it with a deft flick. It slides away, leaving me bare under his gaze. He lowers his head and takes my nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, tongue swirling. I arch into him with a small moan.

His hand slides lower, tracing the waistband of my thong, then easing beneath it. Fingers find me slick, already aching. He strokes me in slow circles, his thumb pressing just enough to make my hips jerk.

“Tommy…” I whisper, not sure if it’s a plea or a warning.

He kisses me hard, swallowing my sound. “I’ve wanted you like this since the first date,” he says against my mouth. “Tell me you want this too.”

“Yes,” I breathe. “God, yes.”

He pulls my thong down and off in one smooth motion, then shoves his pants and briefs down his hips. His cock springs free—thick, hard, flushed. He strokes himself once, watching me, then positions himself at my entrance.

The first push steals my breath. Slow. Deliberate. Stretching me inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. We both groan at the same time.

He stills, forehead resting against mine. “You feel so good,” he whispers. “So tight.”

I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him deeper. “Move,” I murmur.

He moves.

Long, slow thrusts at first, drawing almost all the way out before sliding back in, the drag of him against my walls making me gasp. Then faster. Harder. Each stroke deeper than the last, hitting a spot that makes my toes curl.

I claw at his back, nails digging into muscle. He bites gently at my lip, then sucks it into his mouth. His hand slides between us, thumb circling my clit with firm, perfect pressure. I cry out, hips lifting to meet every thrust.

The room smells like sex and skin and something heady and new.

He shifts his angle slightly, and the next stroke makes me shudder. “Right there,” I gasp.

“Yeah?” His voice is tight. “Like this?”

“Yes—Tommy—oh my god—”

It builds fast, coiling low in my belly until it bursts, a sharp, shaking climax that has me clutching his shoulders and crying out his name. My body clenches around him, and he groans, pace stuttering as he drives into me a few more times before spilling himself with a low, broken sound.

He collapses onto me for a heartbeat, then rolls to the side, pulling me with him so I’m draped across his chest. His hand strokes my hair, slow and lazy.

“That,” he murmurs, still catching his breath, “was worth missing last night for.”

I smile against his skin, dazed and warm.

God. He’s good.

———

I wake up warm, tangled in my sheets, with the faint ache of satisfaction still pulsing between my thighs.

For a moment, I’m smiling. Last night was… god. Perfect.

Then I shift, reaching across the bed—empty.

A folded note rests on the nightstand next to my phone, which I swore I left in my purse last night. I blink, sit up, and tug the sheet around me before grabbing the note.

Didn’t want to wake you. Had to run—because you know, Sundays.

Brunch will be delivered at 10:30.

If I don’t hear from you by 10, I’m calling to make sure you’re awake to receive it.

Sleep well, gorgeous.

–T

I stare at the note for a second, then at the phone he so helpfully placed by my bed.

Well. That’s… incredibly sweet.

And slightly too thoughtful. Like, how does someone get this good at anticipating what I’ll need the morning after?

I can hardly believe someone this perfect exists and I found him!

I glance at the time—8:45 a.m. Still plenty of time to luxuriate before brunch. I grab my phone, connect to the speaker in the bathroom, and start a long bath with the scent of eucalyptus and bergamot swirling into the air. My favorite true crime YouTuber is midway through a new episode, the familiar voice filling the room like a podcast lullaby.

I slide into the water and let my muscles melt.

I’m only half listening. My mind drifts—back to dinner, the city skyline glittering behind Tommy’s head. His smile. The magnet in my purse. The way he unzipped my dress like he’d been thinking about it for days.

I close my eyes, biting my lip.

One hand trails beneath the water, slow and lazy.

I don’t mean to. But it’s all still so fresh—the way his hands felt on my skin, how deeply he—

Except, it’s not Tommy I’m imagining anymore.

It’s the doctor. The clean, clinical scent of him. The gravel in his voice when he said, “Miss Monroe.” The firm grip on my knee. The heat behind his gaze even though he shouldn’t have looked at me like that.

Suddenly, it’s his fingers I’m imagining—those broad, precise hands spreading me open. That cool composure cracking as he groans my name into my neck. That mouth on my—

“Oh, fuck,” I moan, breath catching as the orgasm rips through me like a shot of white lightning.

My back arches against the porcelain. Water sloshes.

“Dr. Cole,” I gasp before I can stop it.

And then I freeze.

What.

The.

Hell.

I stare up at the ceiling, heart hammering in my chest, the YouTube video still murmuring details about blood spatter analysis like it didn’t just happen.

I blink. Then blink again.

What the actual hell, Beth.

You just had the perfect date. The perfect night. With a perfectly gorgeous man who brought flowers in a vase and breakfast for the morning after.

And somehow you still came thinking about your gynecologist.

“I need therapy,” I mutter, sinking lower in the tub.

After a few stunned breaths, I groan and reach for my phone. Time check: 9:53 a.m.

Shit. I should probably text him.

Beth:

Awake, alive, and… very appreciative of your thoughtfulness 😘

You didn’t have to send breakfast—but I will gladly accept it after last night.

His reply comes within seconds.

Tommy:

I knew I drained every ounce of energy from you…

Had to replenish what I took 😈

My cheeks warm, and not from the bath. He really is smooth. Thoughtful, sexy, attentive.

I shake off the lingering shame of whatever that moment was and call Rachel.

She answers on the third ring, mid‑chew.

“Good morning, lover girl,” she says around a mouthful of what I assume is cereal. “Please tell me he laid pipe.”

“Rachel.”

“No—tell me! My Saturday night was spent with a lukewarm slice of pizza and a rewatch of Shrek 2, so I am living through you right now.”

I laugh despite myself. “Okay, yes. He came home with me. And yes… it was good.”

“How good?”

“Like… top shelf. Patient. Strong. Filthy in all the right ways.”

“Ugh, I knew it. I could smell the big dick energy through the phone. Was he a gentleman after?”

“He left me a note. And sent brunch.”

“SHUT. UP.”

“Nope. He said if I didn’t text him by 10, he’d call to make sure I was awake to receive it.”

Rachel lets out a strangled sound. “That’s either boyfriend-level cute or… slightly serial killer energy. But I’m gonna assume cute. Because brunch.”

“Exactly.”

The door buzzer rings. “Speak of the devil,” I say. “Brunch just arrived.”

Rachel gasps. “Oh my god. So wait… now that you’ve had a taste of his gourmet dick and his takeout game… would you say he’s the full package?”

I grin, grabbing the box and thanking the delivery guy. “He’s definitely giving strong contender vibes.”

“Mmmhm. Okay but real question.”

“Go on.”

“Do you think he’d be into a poly relationship?”

I nearly choke on my mimosa. “What?!”

Rachel just laughs. “Relax, I meant with me—in a separate household. God, you think I want to share your brunch daddy?”

I groan. “Oh my god.”

“No but seriously, does he have a brother? A cousin? An emotionally stable, emotionally available male friend who knows how to fuck and also uses coasters?”

“If I knew one, I’d have married him already.”

“Ugh, selfish,” she says, mock pouting. “You always get the hot ones first.”

“This is the first hot one I’ve had in years.”

“Exactly. You were due. And now I am.”

I shake my head and start unpacking the brunch boxes—quiche, fresh fruit, croissants, and two tiny jars of jam that I immediately claim as mine.

Rachel hums through the phone. “You sound smug. You’re smiling, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Goddamn it. Now I need to go d******d Hinge again.”