A/N: hi hunny bunnies! This is sort of a filler chap but it's also fun hehe (there is barely any plot in this story as I'm sure you have all been able to tell but especially not in this chapter LMAO)

also...

nsfw warning ;)

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Ricks' POV
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"I'm sorry, usually- this doesn't happen," I express, my apology laced with a mix of frustration and embarrassment. Stephanie busies herself putting on her coat, the ambient light from a nearby lamp casting sharp shadows over her face.

Attempting to explain, I lean forward with a slight cringe. "I've just- had a rough week." I breathe, rubbing the back of my burning neck. I feel the tension in my jaw, as I desperately search for the right words to salvage my dignity.

However, Stephanie cuts through my attempt at explanation with a dismissive scoff. "Rick, I didn't come over to hear about your week. I come for sex, and clearly, that's not happening," she retorts, her tone making me close my eyes, humiliation coursing through me.

"You don't want to stay?" I blurt out, ignoring the sting of her words. At this point, I figure I've already embarrassed myself enough tonight, so may as well. Nervously, I lift my gaze from where I sit on the couch, my hands clasped tightly between my spread knees.

Stephanie sighs by the door, her gaze shifting towards me with a tilt of her head. "We haven't spoken in almost a year and then you suddenly want to hook up, can't, and now you want me to stay?" she asks dryly, her brows raised incredulously as she reaches for the door handle.

I clench my jaw, regret at my momentary lapse in judgment flashing through me.

"Goodbye, Rick. For real this time," Stephanie says with finality, before opening my front door and exiting swiftly, leaving me alone in the cavernous expanse of my apartment.

I sigh heavily and hang my head, my hands instinctively rising to cradle it. My fingers thread through my irritating curls in a desperate attempt to alleviate the mounting pressure inside my skull.

What is wrong with me?

Last night, at the bar with Cass, I was rendered nearly insensible with lust. I was so insanely turned on I thought I was going to lose my mind. Hell, the sight of Cass simply moving in her seat had ignited a primal fire within me, leaving me as hard as a goddamn brick.

And she hasn't left my mind from the moment I walked out of the bar last night until five minutes before I called Stephanie, an hour ago. She's an old regular hookup of my darker days right after Lori and I split. I made us dinner, and after... It wouldn't exactly happen for me.

Which is vastly uncharted territory for me. Getting it up has never been an issue for me.

I'm sure it's just because of the stress of this week. The stress of dealing with this new case Glenn finally debriefed me on, the lingering tension from Carl and I's fight, and the relentless pressure stemming from everything with Adams.

That has to be it.

Stress.

The only logical explanation.

My phone buzzes insistently, interrupting my thoughts. Slowly, I disentangle my hands from my hair, my gaze settling on my Blackberry vibrating on the concrete coffee table. The blue screen illuminates with five notifications, all from Glenn.

With a resigned sigh, I lean forward, my fingers reaching out to grasp my phone and read the messages.

𝙶𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚗: 𝚜𝚞𝚙 𝚋𝚘𝚜𝚜, 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝙲𝚊𝚜𝚜'𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙿𝙸

𝙶𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚗: 𝙸 𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚌 𝚞𝚛 𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝙿𝙳𝙵 𝚘𝚗 𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝙶𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚗: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚠𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝙿𝙸. 𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚢𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚢, 𝚁𝚒𝚌𝚔. 𝙰𝙲𝚃𝚄𝙰𝙻 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚢.

𝙶𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚗: 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝, 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚌 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚖 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜. 𝙸 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚐𝚘 :(

A fond smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I read the texts from my associate. He's more than just a colleague at this point. He's become a friend, unintentionally injecting humor into even the most mundane days of work, and proving time and again to be the best work partner I could have asked for.

After Shane... things went dark for me for a while.

But Glenn was the first person to get to me, his genuine kindness and infectious personality slowly chipping away at the walls I had put up around myself.

We were assigned together randomly and it took me a while to warm up to him.

But now I know I can trust him, unlike how I thought I could trust Shane, he's the best counterpart I've had at work. Honestly, sometimes he's too good for me- too hardworking and puts up with my shit constantly. I can be abrasive but no matter what, he's always there.

I'm well aware he deserves better and hell, I'm trying.

𝙼𝚎: 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎. 𝙽𝚘𝚠 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚍𝚊𝚢. 𝙸𝚏 𝙸 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍.

I don't have to wait very long before my phone vibrates again.

𝙶𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚗: 𝚒𝚏 𝚞 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝 (ㆆᴗㆆ)

A soft snort escapes me once again, the hint of a smile pulling at my lips as I casually toss the Blackberry back onto the coffee table. Rising from the comfort of the couch, I pick up the two wine glasses Steph and I barely touched and carry them with me across my apartment's open floorplan towards the kitchen.

As I place the glasses in the sink, I wonder once again why I struggled so much earlier. While I've been too busy for the past few months for hookups, it was never a problem for me. After seeing Cass last night, I was just so desperate to have some sort of outlet, only for my body to reject the idea.

I lean against the cool marble countertop, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling upon my shoulders like an unwelcome burden.

Get your shit together, Grimes.

The familiar chime of an email notification from my laptop, still resting on the island, draws my attention upward. Must be Adams' file that Glenn sent over.

Pushing aside distracting thoughts, I round the expansive island and settle onto a barstool, consciously avoiding memories of the barstool I had perched Cass on just the night before. Clearing my throat, I reach for my dark grey MacBook, fingers deftly navigating the familiar keys as I input Carl's name for the password, unlocking it.

Before I can delve into the awaiting email, a blur of sleek black fur darts past me, accompanied by a small chirp that pulls me from my task. A grin unfurls across my face as my cat walks across the counter, stretching theatrically before sauntering over and positioning herself squarely in front of my laptop.

She's already purring, her green eyes trained on mine curiously. "Hi Louise," I murmur affectionately, scratching behind her ears momentarily before gently patting her on her back, just as she likes it.

Louise meows, still purring as she flops right on my keyboard, rolling on the keys.

Sighing, I tilt my head at her. She's just as much of a pain in my ass as the woman who gave her to me. And then named her after herself.

"You're in the way," I whisper with a hint of fond exasperation, though my gentle reprimand falls on deaf ears as Louise continues to purr contentedly, completely unperturbed by me. Smiling to myself, I attempt to click out of my email so she doesn't send a message of complete gibberish to a client. Again.

The second I try, Louise lets out a croaky meow of protest before quickly getting up, rejecting any more pets as she stalks away. I watch her go, brows raised.

This cat, I swear.

I turn back to my laptop and with a click, I open the newest email from Glenn, my curiosity piqued by the promise of new information about Cass. Quickly, I navigate to the attached file, curiosity gnawing at me as I lean forward, eager to learn more about the enigmatic woman who has consumed my mind.

As I scroll through the surprisingly short document, a sense of comfort flits through me. Maybe if I learn more about her, these confusing feelings can go away.

According to the file, she was the valedictorian at her Washington high school, annoyingly on-brand for that smart-ass. She continued to Columbia, where she got her undergraduate degree in Psychology.

A photograph accompanies the text, showing me the moment her research group presented their findings.

I find myself drawn to the photo of her as a senior in college, her smile radiant and eyes sparkling with pride. She's obviously younger here, with slightly rounder cheeks as she grins at the camera in front of their scientific board with way too much information for me to process.

Yet, as my gaze lingers on the image, a twinge of something unfamiliar tugs at my chest at the slightly older man in the research group, his gaze fixed intently on her. There's something in his brown eyes, an intensity that sends a wave of unease through me.

A furrow forms between my brows as I stare at the photo. Who is he?

Brushing off the odd feeling, I continue poring over the report, reading about her completing her Ph.D. at Washington State, before finally going to Harvard Law and getting her J.D. Which is the only way for someone to be hired at Greene and Hawthorne.

As I lean back having simply read the extent of her education, I can't help but feel thoroughly impressed by her. How much work and ambition she must have to go through all those years of schooling.

However, my admiration is tinged with concern as I come across a photo of her at her graduation from Harvard. Despite the fact that she should be ecstatic, her smile appears strained, lacking the genuine warmth the other photos had. Standing beside her is the same man from the undergraduate research picture, his presence casting a shadow over her.

My heart pounds as I scroll back up to scrutinize the photos once more, my eyes drawn to the unmistakable features of the man—dark brown eyes and brown hair—consistent across the images.

It's him.

A sinking feeling settles in the pit of my stomach as I focus on her final graduation photo again. The faded pallor of her skin and the forced smile fail to conceal the underlying sense of melancholy makes my heart sink. Especially when I notice the grip the man has on her waist.

Putting aside the odd feeling gripping my chest, I keep scrolling, delving into her background. She worked for a couple of firms after her first graduation before branching out to work independently.

As I delve deeper, however, the level of detail gradually dwindles, leaving me with a sparse outline of her career path and a handful of notable deals she closed.

Confusion creases my brow as I attempt to understand the lack of achievements in the past few years with the ambitious, driven individual I thought she was.

Then my jaw fully drops when I read:

"𝟮𝟬𝟭𝟬-𝟮𝟬𝟭𝟯: 𝙪𝙣𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙣.

𝟮𝟬𝟭𝟰: 𝙝𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙮 𝙂𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙃𝙖𝙬𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙣𝙚"

... Unknown?

How can someone have no known information for three years?

I have half a mind to call up the weird private investigator to see if he made a mistake, but seeing the small numbers in the corner of my screen telling me it's now 11:35 on a Saturday night, I know there's no point. That creepy fucker isn't going to get back to me.

With a sense of trepidation, I scroll to the final page of the report, which inexplicably contains a wealth of detailed information about Cass's recent activities at Greene and Hawthorne. It's more detail over the past two weeks than in the past three years.

It's like she fell off the face of the earth and suddenly became a person again.

Confusion swirls through me, exacerbating the grip this woman has over my very being.

I had hoped I would find out all the shitty things she did and then I could remind myself she's just a woman who happens to be attractive and in close proximity to me. And then, I can remind myself that anything I feel is just a fleeting infatuation.

But the only negative things I could find were hospital records detailing frequent visits due to her own clumsiness, a handful of parking tickets from the notoriously horrible streets of San Francisco, and performance evaluations from her early days in law firms citing 'odd behavior' and 'frequent lateness'.

She was almost late to the partner meeting yesterday, but I wouldn't say she acts odd. Though her absentmindedly putting her pen in her lips nearly made me have a goddamn heart attack.

Somehow, it didn't affect anyone else- just me.

I was clawing at the frayed edges of my remaining composure as the end of her ballpoint pen was held delicately between her teeth, her lips wrapping the circumference and her tongue resting against the very tip. God. Searing desire shoots through me at the mental image, setting my nerves ablaze.

Closing my eyes, I draw in a slow, steadying breath, willing myself to regain control. The sensation of the remnants of Cass's saliva brushing against my fingers as I picked the pen up lingers like a ghost.

With a frustrated exhale, I glance down at the undeniable evidence of my arousal in my jeans, my body betraying me once again. It's as if my cock has developed a mind of its own, choosing to stir to life only when thoughts of Cass invade my consciousness.

I just had a woman right in front of me ready to have sex and my body retaliated, indifferent to her. But the mere memory of Cass with a fucking pen between her lips leaves me hard as goddamn steel, a maddening contradiction that defies all logic.

A quiet groan escapes my lips as my eyes dart back to the computer screen, at the last photo. It's a portrait of Cass in her office, perched on her desk with crossed legs, taken for the firm's newsletter her first week when they announced our new senior partner.

Unlike the solemn graduation photo, Cass's complexion is flushed with life once again. Her smile, though professional, radiates an undeniable warmth that makes my heart clench.

My gaze lingers on Cass, drinking in every detail of her figure- the way her cream skirt clings to her hips, her black top falling perfectly around the delicate curve of her breasts.

A wave of desire washes over me, my breath catching in my throat as I envision the way she gracefully moves through the office in those outfits of hers. Each step in those skirts accentuates the curve of her ass, a sight that I've stolen countless glances at through the glass doors of my office.

God, the urge to bury myself inside her, to feel her warmth enveloping me, is almost unbearable. My erection throbs painfully, aching to be unleashed upon that infuriatingly alluring, quick-witted, and undeniably gorgeous woman.

But that's not going to happen. Just a fantasy I need to bury deep within the recesses of my mind.

With a thick swallow, I reluctantly click out of the email and shut my laptop with a touch more force than intended, as if trying to physically shake off the overwhelming rush of desire that threatens to consume me.

Deciding to go to bed and ignore the relentless urges thrashing impatiently within me, I push myself from the barstool and navigate through the spacious expanse of my main floor to the sanctuary of my master bedroom, in the furthest corner of my apartment.

As I slip out of my clothes and into a pair of comfortable grey sweats and a snug black t-shirt, my mind refuses to grant me respite. With each movement and mundane task of changing, my thoughts inevitably drift back to her. To Cass.

Passing by the stack of fresh laundry I should really put away, I find myself wondering about the layout of Cass's place. If hers is just like mine, just flipped. It's an unimportant thought, but one that lingers nonetheless, fueled by an insatiable curiosity about the woman who has unwittingly captivated my thoughts.

Could that mean her bedroom might be right behind my furthest wall?  The mere possibility sets my imagination ablaze, conjuring vivid images of her in the privacy of her own space.

Settling onto my bed, my back against my sturdy but soft grey headboard, I cannot shake the relentless onslaught of thoughts surrounding her. It's as if she has infiltrated every corner of my mind, refusing to be ignored or forgotten.

I find myself fixating on the bare wall that could border hers, a blank canvas that serves as a stark reminder of the mere distance that separates us. My mind races with the tantalizing prospect of what lies beyond that wall- her bedroom.

It's a maddening cycle of desire and frustration, a relentless tug-of-war between fantasy and reality. And as I lay here, consumed by thoughts of her, I realize that I might not be able to sleep tonight. Her presence continues to haunt me in the quiet solitude of my bedroom.

A pang of longing courses through me as I envision her in her bedroom. I can't help but wonder what she wears to bed- if she wears anything at all.

A groan involuntarily rumbles up my throat at the idea of Cass sprawled out in her bed, completely naked. The mere thought sends a surge of heat coursing through my veins.

I ache to see her that raw, that unguarded, that eager for me. To see her completely as herself, without that cool, professional facade. I crave to have the luxury to explore every inch of her, to drink in the sight of her expanse of skin, to trace each curve, to savor the taste of her.

The desire to uncover the side of her that no one else sees consumes me, driving me to the brink. To see her lose it as I slowly and methodically taste every inch of her until she screams my name in ecstasy as she surrenders to the pleasure I give her.

Searing arousal floods through me and down my spine, a wave of renewed desire thrumming within me, making my remaining tendrils of self-control finally fade into nothing.

With a primal urgency that overrides any remaining logical thinking, I give in to the relentless pull of my desire for her. My sweatpants are hastily undone and pushed to the side as my hand instinctively finds its way to my aching length, desperate for release.

The second my hand wraps around my length, a low sigh of relief falls from my lips, already feeling a glimmer of alleviation. Precum is already providing enough lube as I finally stroke myself, unable to hold it back anymore.

My head lolls back against my felt headboard, a symphony of pleasure cascading through my senses like a tidal wave. The image of Cassandra Adams, her every curve and contour burned into my mind, floats behind my closed lids.

I envision her gaze, the way she looks up at me from under her lashes, those mesmerizing circles of green boring into my very being.

And then there's that intoxicating scent of hers, that blend of citrus and temptation that lingers in the air whenever she's near. It's a scent so uniquely hers and insanely addicting.

I'm so obsessed with it that I actually found myself reaching to buy a blood-orange candle the other day, its scent a feeble attempt to capture the essence of her presence.

As I surrender to the relentless rhythm of my hand, I wonder if I licked down the skin of her neck if she would taste citrusy too.

Low, desperate groans croak up my throat as I fuck my hand, my mind consumed by thoughts of her. On those lips as they wrapped around her pen and the lip of her cocktail glass.

Clenching my jaw at the surge of pleasure seeping through my flexing abdomen, I muffle back a moan at the idea of those lips around me. Not just on my achingly hard cock, but on my mouth as I kiss her so fervently she forgets about any other man on the face of this goddamned planet.

God, she's so much more than a lust-filled want- I need her.

I need her in this bed with me, tangled in my sheets, crying out as I fuck her into oblivion. I need her tight warmth, her soft body, her mouth, her hair, her eyes- her everything.

The depraved lust consuming me borders on addiction as my hips involuntarily thrust into my moving hand, my chest heaving. Just remembering how it felt in that dream, to claim her as mine, to pull her flush against me, to make her feel that much fucking pleasure, nearly sends me over the edge.

I'm consumed by an insatiable hunger, a relentless craving that demands to be sated. And as I teeter on the precipice of release, I realize that nothing will satiate this burning desire but her.

God, I want to feel her nails digging into my back, her breath hot against my skin as she pants, cries, and moans for me. I want to see that professional facade slip and see the real Cass. To see her fully lose it, succumbing to the overwhelming ecstasy of the orgasm I give her, her entire body trembling with pleasure.

But more than anything, I want to find out that she wants me just as desperately. That beneath the veneer of animosity is attraction, burning just as fiercely as my own. Maybe like me, she's pretending to hate me, masking her true feelings behind a facade of indifference. Because it's far easier to feign disdain than to confront the terrifying truth of how much you fucking want them.

The sudden surge of desire to surrender myself entirely to her in every way sends a flicker of panic through me, overshadowed by the intoxicating satisfaction at the thought. My skin is ablaze, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation as my hand moves feverishly over my sensitive skin, bringing me ever closer to the long-awaited release I've been aching for the past three days.

But just before I can finish, I'm jolted from my thoughts by an insanely loud banging echoing from the other part of my apartment. My eyes fly open, instinctively releasing myself, my inanely fast heartbeat echoing through my ears as I stare in the direction of the sound.

What is...

"RICK!"

The shout pierces through the thick silence, sending confusion coursing through me. The sound of even louder banging on my door prompts an exasperated sigh to escape my lips as I resign myself to the inevitable disruption. With a sense of reluctant resignation, I hastily pull up my sweats and carefully adjust myself, ensuring that my painfully hard erection isn't visible.

Navigating through the dimly lit expanse of my apartment, I make my way to the front door, each step heavy with the irritation of dissatisfaction. Glancing at the digital clock on my oven as I pass by, I confirm that it's well past midnight, further fueling my annoyance as I reach my door.

Just as the deafening banging resumes, I pull open my front door, making a mass of black curls fly forward, stumbling forward before she catches herself with a giggle.

"Woah!" Sophie breathes as she steadies herself, teetering on her insanely high heels and if her slurredvoice wasn't enough of a clue, the smell of alcohol is reeking off her.

"Rickkkk!!!" I hear Michonne drunkenly sing, making me look past my stumbling friend to see her wife grinning at me from behind her, her eyes slightly squinted from the undoubtedly copious amount of alcohol in her system.

Realization dawns on me as I look between the two heavily inebriated women. "Looking for a place to crash?" I ask knowingly, slight amusement darting through me.

It's not the first time they've come here after a night of clubbing. Given their townhouse's uptown address, it's easier and safer for them to crash in my guest room than to brave the streets.

After they almost got robbed one night, I gave them both an explicit order for them to come here first, no matter what. Even if it's the middle night.

And it's not like they're a nuisance, I barely go upstairs where the guest room is anyway. And Michonne has a wonderful guilty habit of cooking amazing food in the mornings as a thank you.

Usually, I don't mind at all, glad that they're safe over anything else.

Usually, I'm not moments away from coming thanks to the overwhelming desire brought on by thoughts of our coworker.

"How'd you know?" Sophie grins, going to lean against my doorframe smoothly, only to miss and stumble again before being caught by her wife. The two of them erupt into a fit of giggles, their laughter echoing in the hallway.

Smiling despite myself, I shake my head in amusement, stepping back to allow them entry. "Alright, come on in, troublemakers," I mutter fondly, watching as they struggle to navigate their way over the threshold, grateful that they somehow managed to make it to my doorstep alive.

"Cass is coming too," Michonne mumbles almost incoherently as they shuffle past me, her words catching me off guard and causing my heart to leap into my throat.

"What—"

"I-I'm fine," her voice abruptly interrupts from behind me in our shared hallway. I realize that I didn't notice her before because she seemed to have been ... hiding behind the tree pot? Pushing past the oddness, I furrow my brows, studying the extremely drunk third woman with genuine concern.

"Are you?" I ask, my brows raised as I watch her sway in front of her door, struggling as she tries to unzip her purse.

My concern for her well-being luckily drowns out the lingering desire that keeps reminding me of how stunning she looks right now, her body accentuated by a tight black dress. Thankfully, unlike last night, it's not as revealing, ending just after her knees with only one strap cutting diagonally across her chest.

"Mmhmm," Cass hums stubbornly, stumbling backward as she continues to look through her purse, her brows furrowed in concentration.

"Casssss, come with usssss," Sophie insists from behind me, her voice slurring slightly, clearly also watching the incredibly smart woman struggle to look in a bag for her key.

Cass shakes her head, stubbornly refusing to look over as she lets out a whimper of frustration, covering her face. "I can't find it," she laments with defeat, and I can't help the slight smile that pulls across my face at her struggle.

Only minutes ago, I had been fantasizing about watching her composure slip in a very different way, but there's something weirdly endearing seeing her like this.

Realizing there's no way I'm leaving her alone in this state, I sigh. "Just come over here, Adams," I say with a hint of exasperation, making her head snap in my direction, her eyes finally meeting mine.

Unlike her usual sharp and intelligent eyes boring into me, now they're faded and slightly glazed over. It's slightly unsettling, seeing her like this.

"No. I-I'm good," Cass asserts stubbornly, attempting to maintain her dignity before stumbling slightly, losing her balance.

I sigh again, my exasperation only growing.

But before I can say anything, Michonne storms out from behind me and grabs Cass by her arm, practically dragging the woman with her, back into my apartment. I step to the side to let them in, my jaw clenching as Cass's scent wafts over me while Michonne forces her inside.

Clearing my throat, I shut my front door behind the three drunk women, suddenly being reminded of taking care of Carl when he was sick. I seemed to have gained three children to take care of for the night.

The trio stumble past the powder room and into the expansive main space that comprises most of the penthouse— the open floor living room, dining room, and kitchen.

Michonne releases her grip on Cass now that she's safely inside, holding onto a barstool as she takes off her undoubtedly painful heels.

"Guessing you were celebrating a special birthday?" I ask, my brows raised with amusement as I go to wash my hands at the island sink. I know I'll have to help them upstairs, and I don't want to touch them with the hand I was just using to take care of myself.

"You onnnly turn 29 on-ce!" Sophie hiccups with glee, flopping back on my couch and kicking off her heels until they clatter to the ground.

I dry my hands, glancing over worryingly at Cass as she stands off to the side, her arms wrapped around herself as she looks around the room curiously. Her eyelids are heavy, but that's the only part of her that seems affected by the alcohol, her posture straight as a board as she stands near motionless.

"Darling I'm tired, c'mon," Michonne sighs, holding her hand out, helping pull her wife off the couch until they're both stumbling again and giggling again.

They lean against each other as they struggle toward the staircase that takes them to the small second level. I watch carefully, and as I see Soph leaning back concerningly far, I immediately know I need to help them. Cursing under my breath, I turn back to see Cass staring at my kitchen counter, where those two empty wine glasses from earlier sit.

"I need to help these two, but I'll be right back, okay? Make yourself comfortable. I think our places are laid out the same so you should know where the bathroom is if you need it," I tell Cass, catching her gaze as she looks at me, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol as she nods, her blinking heavy.

For some reason, I didn't expect her to be such a quiet drunk.

I spare her one last look, concerned if she's alright, before quickly intervening to prevent New York's top neurosurgeon from cracking her head open.

_______

When I come downstairs fifteen minutes later after setting up the giggling wives with plenty of water and ensuring they're settled in their usual bed, Cass is nowhere to be seen.

Standing in the middle of the stairs, panic lodges itself in my throat, at the startling absence. I'm immediately terrified that she's taken it upon herself to try to go back to her apartment or worse, out somewhere else.

I am well aware she hates me and undoubtedly wants to avoid being anywhere near me, but despite our strained relationship, I'll never forgive myself if she gets hurt trying to avoid me.

I may be a bit of an asshole to her at work, but I thought she understood that I don't genuinely wish her any harm. The memory of her stepping toward me, seeking protection from that creep the other night, still lingers in my mind.

My mind racing with endless thoughts of what to do, my feet fly over the rest of the stairs, instinctively moving towards the front door, ready to search for her when I'm abruptly stopped.

I skid to a stunned stop, my heart rate still increasing as my ears prick at the sound of laughter.

Pausing, my heart still hammering against the vein in my neck with worry, I turn my head towards the source of the sound. The source which I quickly realize with confusion- is coming from my room.

I stare at my open doorway, and hear it again, a delightful lilted laugh that makes my heart clench realizing it's Cass's laugh. A sweet, bubbly laugh- a sound that seems so out of place in my usually quiet apartment.

Then frigid cold fear slams into me as I realize she's laughing. In my room.

I'm immediately shaken out of my shock and quickly striding to my room, wondering what on earth she could be laughing at.

As I make my way across the apartment, my thoughts scattered and my senses on high alert, I suddenly trip over something, a curse slipping past my lips in frustration. Quickly glancing down, my stomach lurches when I realize it's Cass's dress lying discarded on the floor that I stumbled over.

I nearly trip again, my brows shooting up in shock as I take in the sight of her dress sprawled on my floor while she's here in my room.

A surge of nerves tightens my throat as I cautiously step through the threshold, my heart pounding in my chest like a drumbeat echoing in my ears.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, could've prepared me for what I see as my eyes land on Cassandra damn Adams.

The air in my lungs is forcibly knocked out of my chest as if I've been sucker-punched, leaving me gasping for breath. My eyes widen in shock, my mouth falling open in disbelief, and every nerve ending in my body tingling with an overwhelming sense of disbelief at the surreal sight before me.

There, entangled in the rumpled sheets of my bed, is Cass, her laughter echoing softly in the room as she delicately pets my cat with a carefree demeanor that contrasts sharply with the woman I'm used to.

And amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling within me, the worst part isn't merely seeing the woman I was previously fantasizing about in that very bed, now cuddled up in it. It's the stark realization that she's wearing one of my old T-shirts, undoubtedly grabbed from the laundry stacked on my dresser.

With the way Cass is positioned in the rumpled sheets of my bed, her body curled and legs bent, the frayed cotton hem has risen, offering a teasing glimpse of the curve of her lower back. The fabric barely conceals the lace-trimmed edge of her black underwear that accentuates every contour of her perfectly shaped ass.

I swallow thickly, momentarily rendered speechless as I stare, transfixed at the breathtakingly attractive woman sprawled in my bed, a potent blend of desire and disbelief coursing through my veins.

Am I dreaming?

My attention shifts momentarily as Louise, my usually aloof and unfriendly cat, makes her presence known with a rare meow of greeting. It's a testament to Cass's magnetic charm that even my usually standoffish cat deems her worthy of attention.

Louise brushes against Cass's face affectionately before trotting over to me, winding around my feet.

Cass's gaze follows the departing black cat, her alcohol-flushed features softened by a rosy blush. When her gaze meets mine, a lazy smile graces her features, a rare sight that sends a fluttering sensation coursing through my chest. It's a fleeting moment of genuine warmth amidst the usual indifference or searing heat of our interactions, leaving me yearning for more of this.

God, I want this to happen when she isn't drunk. For her face to light up when she sees me or to choose to get into my bed in sober clarity, untainted by alcohol.

As Cass settles further into my comfortable sheets, a surge of desire ignites within me, coiling tightly in the pit of my stomach. Her change in position causes her to arch her back, accentuating the curve of her figure, her tempting silhouette sending a jolt of heat racing through my veins.

"Hey," Cass greets me softly, her voice laced with playful warmth as she nestles deeper into the soft bedding. The sight of her, so effortlessly alluring in my bed, tightens the muscles of my abdomen with a searing intensity, a primal urge stirring deep within me.

Jesus Christ.

"What-" I begin, the nervous laugh escaping my lips as I step further into the room, desperately trying to mask my flustered state. "What are you doing?" I manage to ask her curiously as I cautiously approach the bed. I lower myself into a crouch, ensuring that our gazes align at eye level, not wanting to stay in my former face-to-ass position without her explicit consent.

Cass snuggles into my pillow, a cheeky smile spreading across her face. "You said to get comfortable, I am," she replies sweetly, whispering the end like it's a secret, her eyes unabashed as she blinks back at me calmly. My heart pangs slightly that I've created a dynamic between us that she only feels comfortable around me when she's drunk.

"By climbing into my bed?" I question, my eyebrows raised in amused disbelief, a wry grin tugging at the corners of my lips as I know she's not going to remember a second of this in the morning.

Cass's brow furrows with momentary confusion before she props herself up slightly, allowing me to discern the dark grey Deftones t-shirt she's wearing, a relic from my college days. Swallowing thickly, I tear my gaze away from the provocative sight, focusing instead on her face in an attempt to maintain some semblance of composure.

"Huh. That explains the cat," Cass mumbles, looking around my room as if she's confused that it's not hers. Guess I was right in assuming our places are the same.

A fond smile pulls across my face as I tilt my head to the side. "I'm not sure that sober you would be happy that you're in my bed," I inform Cass, making her turn slowly to me, her brows crinkled in the middle. Despite the confusion evident in her expression, I can't help but be momentarily distracted by the perfection of her lips as she exhales with a soft sigh.

"But it's so comfortable," Cass all but moans, the incredibly seductive sound immediately sending a shiver down my spine that I struggle to suppress. The sound of her voice like that while in my bed twists my gut into a knot of conflicting desires.

I really don't want to be the sleaze who gets turned on by a drunk and half-naked woman in his bed, but I'm only human.

I allow myself a brief moment to fully admire her face, knowing she won't recall this conversation come morning. "You're beautiful," I murmur softly, my heart pounding at telling her this, my eyes tracing over her features with a mixture of admiration and longing, watching as a deeper flush spreads across her cheeks in response.

"Mmmm, but you hate me," Cass mumbles in a half-hearted protest, her voice laced with a hint of vulnerability as she stretches out in my king-size bed, a contented moan escaping her lips.

Good god.

Clearing my throat to dispel the swirling emotions threatening to overwhelm me, I rise to my feet and stride purposefully over to my side of the bed she chose to crash on. I grab the comforter to pull it up and fully cover her, hiding that tempting body of hers while making sure she stays warm. Cass simply mumbles an incoherent protest, but I ignore her.

As she reluctantly settles against my pillow, I lean into her, making her widen her beautiful eyes slightly, blinking at me in confusion.

"I don't hate you, Cass. I never did," I confess honestly and quietly, pressing a brief, chaste kiss to her temple. "There's water on the bedside table. Drink it," I instruct gently, before stepping back and withdrawing myself from her and walking away.

At the threshold of my door, I look at Louise expectantly, who's been sitting, watching us. Louise simply tilts her head at me, a silent acknowledgment before going back to my bed. With a graceful leap, she settles beside Cass, snuggling into the angle of her bent legs with a faithless sense of affection.

"Traitor," I murmur lowly, a hint of playful accusation lacing my words, though Louise merely lowers her head onto her paws, purring contentedly, unbothered. Glancing back at Cass, I find her already passed out, the rise and fall of her chest a steady rhythm against the comforter.

I linger for a moment, imprinting the sight of Cass in my bed into my mind, knowing it will be the only time I'll ever have this fleeting glimpse of intimacy with her.

Turning away, I close the door behind me and settle on the couch for the night.

_______

Cass's POV
_______

The first thing I feel is pain.

Everywhere.

A low, guttural groan escapes my lips as I reluctantly pry my eyes open, the bright world coming into focus. The harsh, unforgiving light pierces through my bleary vision, sending stabbing daggers of discomfort straight into my throbbing skull. I wince, the sheer intensity of the headache sending waves of nausea churning through the pit of my gut.

"Oh God," I mutter under my breath, my voice barely above a whisper as I bury my face into the softness of my sheets, seeking solace in the familiar embrace of my bed. Relief floods through me as I realize I'm home, safe and sound, despite the chaotic blur of the night before. But as I inhale deeply through my nose, a sudden jolt of dread courses through my veins, chilling me to the core.

Instead of the comforting scent of my sheets, familiar and reassuring, my senses are overwhelmed by an unfamiliar smell. A blend of soap and pine fills my nose, a distinctly masculine scent that lingers like an unwelcome intruder. Dread settles like a heavy weight in the pit of my stomach, the realization sinking in with alarming clarity.

These are not my sheets.

Panic claws at the edges of my consciousness as I struggle to piece together the fragments of the night before, searching desperately for answers in the haze of my memories. But the events remain shrouded in shadow, a murky fog that obscures any semblance of clarity.

Did I sleep with someone?

The thought sends a wave of dizziness crashing over me as I shoot up in bed, the world spinning violently around me. I clamp my eyes shut, fighting to steady myself and suppress the rising panic threatening to overwhelm me.

Then ever so slowly, I open my eyes again, more confusion going through me as I look at what seems to be my room, with different furniture, feeling slightly lived-in in comparison to my bare apartment I haven't finished decorating. I realize with slight annoyance that it feels much more comfortable and warm in here than it does in mine.

As I look down, I realize I don't need to be holding the comforter up to my body, as I'm wearing a... Deftones shirt? What the...

Panic skitters across my nerves seeing that I'm only wearing my underwear underneath the oversized cotton t-shirt. Swallowing hard, I force myself to take a deep, steadying breath, struggling to maintain composure amidst the rising tide of uncertainty and apprehension threatening to overwhelm me.

Gingerly, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet meeting the cool hardwood floor with a muted thud. Looking around, I spot the undoubtedly masculine decor around the room. On the bedside table is a half-empty water glass, a clock, an old silver watch scratched to shit, and a singular pill. Huh.

Shaking my head slightly, I push off the bed and onto my feet, swaying momentarily. As I pad across the room laid out the same as mine, headed for the bathroom, I wonder what floor I'm on. I must've hooked up with a guy in the building. Or I'm in a sister building with the same layout.

Either way, I have to pee.

Pushing open the door, I'm greeted by a rush of humid air that carries the unmistakable scent of soap, a telltale sign that someone has recently taken a shower. Despite this, the foggy haze of my thoughts fails to make the connection I step into the bathroom, only to collide head-on with a solid, warm, and damp presence.

A surprised sound escapes the man I've inadvertently collided with, our feet skid on the condensation-slickened tiles, propelling us both into an ungraceful crash on the floor, limbs entangled in a heap. Despite the pain flicking through me, laughter involuntarily bubbles up in my chest before I can stop it.

He's on his back, and I've somehow settled right on top of him, our legs intertwined amid the chaos. The first sensation that registers is the warmth of his skin against mine, still faintly damp from the recent shower.

As I lift my gaze to meet the startled eyes of the man whom I evidently slept with last night, my laughter abruptly dies in my throat as I recognize the unsettlingly familiar shade of blue staring back at me in disbelief. It's Rick.

Rick. 

"Morning?" he ventures tentatively, his insanely sculpted chest rising and falling with a rapidity that matches the frantic beat of my own heart. I blink at him in shock for a moment, my eyes tracing the damp tendrils of hair framing his all-too-familiar, exasperatingly well-structured face.

With a mind of their own, my eyes dart downward, and a gasp catches in my throat as I realize that the only barrier between our fully exposed bodies is the thin t-shirt I'm wearing and the fluffy white towel draped precariously low on his hips.

A shrill scream escapes my lips as I scramble away from Rick, a deep groan of pain echoing in the room as I inadvertently elbow him sharply in his groin in my frantic attempts to put some distance between us.

"Oh my GOD!" I shriek once I manage to stumble off him, my hands fumbling to grab a spare towel from the rack to cover myself, the blood rushing to my cheeks in a furious blush of embarrassment.

Rick, cringing in pain, gets to his feet, holding his towel to keep himself decent. But I quickly notice as my eyes linger on his body there is nothing decent about the way he looks right now- his evident v-line accentuated by the way his towel is hanging low on his hips, a tantalizing glimpse of toned muscles beneath the damp fabric.

I suddenly consider what it would be like to run my fingers along those muscles, feeling them twitch as I get too close.

Snapping my eyes shut, I force those illicit thoughts away, willing my racing heart to calm its frenzied beat.

I'm going to throw up.

"Alright, screaming really isn't necessary," Rick breathes, his voice a low murmur that draws my attention back to him, the lines of pain gradually softening on his face as he straightens up. "I'm the victim here- I think you left a bruise," he remarks, his brows furrowing slightly as he adjusts the towel around his waist, looking down.

My heart nearly stopping at the sight, I force my eyes to his face. "You're the victim?! I just woke up in your bed, with no clothes on!" I argue, the shrillness of my own voice resonating painfully in my ears, causing Rick to look at me with surprise.

A smirk of amusement tugs at the corners of his lips, his eyes crinkling with mirth as he looks down at me. "I had nothing to do with that, Adams," he informs me, his tone dripping with playful self-assurance as he tilts his head to the side.

I shake my head in disbelief, my brows knitting together in a mixture of frustration and apprehension. "I was blacked out. I have no idea what you did," I confess softly, the words tumbling out with a tremor of vulnerability that I can't conceal, my chest tightening with the sudden rush of fear that I may have been taken advantage of.

Piercing disappointment courses through me, a bitter taste of betrayal lingering on my tongue. For once, I allowed myself to trust a man I worked with, only to wake up in his bed with no recollection of how I got there.

"Hey." Rick interjects sharply, his voice cutting through the haze of my thoughts, his tone firm and resolute. My eyes flicker to his, my heart rate spiking in response to the intensity of his gaze.

"Nothing happened. I swear to you, Adams," Rick asserts calmly, his brows raised earnestly as he meets my gaze. "You, Michonne, and Soph came over last night for somewhere to crash. When I came back from getting them settled upstairs, you had undressed yourself and gotten into my bed," he explains, his words delivered with a sincerity that leaves no room for doubt.

My lips have parted as his words register. Undressed and got into his bed??

"I slept on the couch. I'm sorry I don't have any cameras to prove it, but you can go see the pillow and blanket out there right now," Rick continues, his tone careful, his gaze unwavering as he seems to want to reassure me.

I gulp, searching his features for any hint of deception, but all I find is sincerity etched in the lines of his expression. His set brow and genuine eyes meet mine earnestly, offering a glimmer of reassurance amid my swirling doubts.

"I may be a lot of things, Adams, but a coward who needs a woman to be blacked out and slurring to sleep with him is not one of them," Rick states calmly, his words resonating with a straightforward honesty that catches me off guard, causing me to pause and blink at him in surprise.

"Slurring?" I repeat, adding horrified to the list of uncomfortable sensations going through my body.

Rick looks at me for a moment, before a faint smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He looks down momentarily, the early sun reflecting off the nearby buildings creating a halo effect with his wet curls.

"Just a bit," he admits, tilting his head to the side as he looks up, the way he's looking at me making me want to set myself on fire.

"I undressed myself and just- got in your bed?" I ask, genuinely horrified at my drunk self. This is why I don't drink.

Rick nods with a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I think you thought you were in your apartment," he offers, his attempt to lighten the mood tugging at a small corner of my heart, despite the embarrassment of the situation.

I gulp, shifting on my feet, my face hot. "I-I didn't do anything else did I?" I stammer, my brows furrowing in anxious anticipation as I fear the worst— that my drunken actions may have crossed a line, fueled by the lingering attraction I harbor for the man standing before me.

Rick meets my gaze with a steady assurance, something unfamiliar flickering in his eyes before he responds firmly, "No," his voice carrying an air of certainty that provides a measure of relief, despite the lingering doubts gnawing at the edges of my mind.

After a moment of silent contemplation, I nod slowly, averting my gaze and exhaling a shaky breath of relief. "I'm sorry," I offer with a cringe, the weight of regret settling heavily upon my shoulders as I grapple with the aftermath of my intoxicated escapade.

Rick's light chuckle makes my eyes snap back to his to see him shaking his head. "It's fine. I'm just glad you three were smart enough to come here and not get yourselves hurt out there," Rick assures me with a nod, his gaze holding mine steadily.

I stare at him for a moment, a peculiar sensation settling over me. I wonder if I said anything last night. Or if he did. The uncertainty of the night I don't remember gnaws at me, mingling with the awareness of our current lack of clothing.

"D'you mind-" Rick begins, his gaze flickering down to where the towel barely clings to his hips.

Following his glance, my eyes trace the line of his veined hands to the spot at the bottom of his hips where the fluffy white fabric bunches, igniting a subtle wave of desire between my legs. I can't help but wonder what it would be like to touch him, to feel his warmth against my skin, feel him inside-

Suddenly jolted back to the present by his expectant gaze and the realization that he's waiting for my response, a flush of heat floods my skin. I shake my head slightly, tearing my gaze away in a futile attempt to quell the rising heat within me.

"Oh! Y-Yeah, I can-" I stammer, stumbling over my words as I hastily wrap the towel around myself, desperate to shield myself so I don't show off my ass to him. It's not that special of an ass anyway, not in comparison to his tight, tan, and muscular figure.

Forcing my gaze downward, I swiftly exit the room. "Your dress should be on the dresser," I hear Rick inform me, to which I simply nod in response, eager to escape the awkwardness of the bathroom.

I finally feel like I can breathe again as I step back into Rick's room, the oppressive humidity and the presence of Rick's bare body no longer suffocating me.

The bathroom door shuts behind me with a soft click, and I find myself covering my mouth with a trembling hand, my eyes widening in disbelief. What the hell just happened?

Dread clenches my stomach, making me close my eyes as I lean against the wall for support. Rick's reaction, his calm demeanor, it's all too unnerving. I can't shake off the sinking feeling that he's going to use whatever happened while I was drunk against me.

But as I reluctantly glance back over my shoulder at the closed door, a strange sense of uncertainty washes over me. He was surprisingly... kind. Letting out a slow exhale, I shake my head, attempting to push aside my escalating anxiety as I pad over to his dresser to retrieve my dress.

However, as I begin to rummage through his neatly folded clothes, my fingers brushing against the fabric of his dark t-shirts and athleisure wear, my dress is nowhere to be seen. Panic starts to flutter in my chest, exacerbated by the intimacy of being in his room, touching his clothes. I turn in a circle, my eyes desperately scanning the space for any sign of my missing dress.

No matter how hard I look, I can't find it, frustration prickling my nerves.

With the towel still securely wrapped around me, I stride out of Rick's bedroom and into the main room, which is laid out almost identically to mine. The living room sits in the center, flanked by a kitchen on the far wall, and again, my eyes still dart around anxiously, searching for any sign of my dress.

The aroma of something delicious being cooked fills the air, halting me in my tracks as I catch sight of Sophie and Michonne bustling about in the kitchen, their laughter ringing out amidst the sizzle of food on the stove.

I also notice the white pillow and blanket on the couch to the right of me, sending a strange pang of pity through my chest. While the couch is expensive and no doubt very comfortable, I feel awful for taking his bed from him.

But it's also strangely sweet how he did that for me.

I guess he is a Southern gentleman then.

"Morning sunshine!" Sophie's cheerful voice rings out, breaking through the haze of my thoughts and drawing my attention back to the bustling activity in the kitchen. Michonne flashes me a warm grin as she expertly cracks an egg into a gleaming silver bowl and Sophie pours some orange juice.

They both look remarkably fine, a stark contrast to my current state of disarray. With a pounding headache and a queasy stomach, I feel like my brain might actually explode from my hangover.

"Have you seen my dress?" I croak out, clearing my throat and squinting against the sudden influx of sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Sophie and Michonne exchange knowing glances, their expressions telling me everything I need to know before I even reach them, still clutching the towel tightly around myself.

"I didn't realize you liked the Deftones," Michonne says innocently, her gaze flicking towards the oversized shirt I'm wearing, a mischievous smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

"It's Rick's," I mutter through clenched teeth, the embarrassment of the situation evident as their grins widen in response. Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. "Nothing happened, I just seemed to take it upon myself to change while drunk," I explain with a resigned sigh, feeling the weight of their curious gazes on me.

"The dress is at the dry cleaners," Sophie suddenly blurts as if she's been dying to tell me, making my head snap in her direction. Michonne quickly elbows her in the side, shooting her a warning glance, her eyes widening.

"What?" I ask incredulously, my mouth falling open in disbelief.

Sophie and Michonne exchange a series of meaningful glances, their expressions laden with silent communication, while I stand across from them, growing increasingly impatient.

"What did you do," I growl, my tone laced with a mix of frustration and apprehension as I narrow my eyes at the pair, causing them to freeze and exchange nervous glances before turning their attention back to me.

Sophie lets out a weary sigh. "I saw it this morning, and it was um- dirty, so I thought I'd do you a favor and send it to the dry cleaners," she tells me with a simple shrug, her tone betraying her innocence as my jaw drops in disbelief.

"And you didn't think I would want to be wearing clothes while at Rick's place?" I hiss, my eyes widening incredulously as I struggle to comprehend their thought process. Michonne hides her smirk, quickly turning around to flip an omelet.

"You two are unbelievable. I'm never drinking with you again, I hope you know that" I snap, crossing my arms and shooting daggers in their direction as Sophie's expression softens with a smile.

"Oh, but we had so much fun!" Sophie exclaims, leaning on the countertop with a wide smile that does nothing to ease my frustration.

"Too bad I don't remember a second of it!" I retort, feeling a surge of irritation as Michonne lets out a snicker from her place at the stove.

"Smells great in here," a voice calls out from behind me, causing my spine to stiffen. I quickly look over my shoulder to see Rick walking towards us, his presence immediately commanding my attention.

My throat constricts at the sight of him in casual jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt rolled up to his elbows. His still-damp curls are tousled and unstyled, a stark departure from his usual office demeanor, sending a flutter through my chest.

His confusion is evident as his gaze falls on me still clad in nothing but a towel and his shirt. "Did you not find your dress?" he asks, his brow furrowing in confusion, but before I can respond, snorts escape from both Sophie and Michonne again.

Clenching my jaw, I refuse to look at them, meeting Rick's gaze. "Soph took it upon herself to send it to the dry cleaners for me," I inform Rick, trying to control my racing heart with the way he's looking at me.

I can't help but notice how unfairly handsome he looks, bathed in the soft morning light that streams through the windows, casting a warm glow across his rugged features. His tousled curls catch the light, framing his face in a way that accentuates his strong jawline and the subtle creases at the corners of his eyes which I guess must crease when he smiles.

Rick's eyes widen with shock at my words, darting over to the pair of women unsuccessfully trying to stifle their laughter. His mouth parts before he wisely shuts it with a nod.

"Right. Uh, feel free to keep that shirt as long as you need," Rick tells me with a quick nod, his gaze barely lingering on mine for no longer than a second before he rounds the kitchen island to make some coffee.

I blink in bewilderment at him, watching him move about his kitchen with practiced ease, a small grin playing on Michonne's lips as they banter over the sound of the coffee machine. Despite my confusion, I can't help but notice how effortlessly he seems to fit into his own space, a glimpse into his natural habitat that leaves me feeling oddly captivated.

As Rick teases Michonne about last night, I strain to hear their conversation over the persistent ringing in my ears, the events of the morning already feeling like a surreal blur.

Feeling the need for a moment to collect my thoughts, I quickly excuse myself to the powder room. Stepping inside, I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror and nearly recoil in horror. No wonder Rick was avoiding looking at me earlier, I look like a damn ghoul.

My mascara has smudged into dark circles around my eyes, my hair is a frizzy and disheveled mess, and Rick's shirt hangs off my frame in the most unflattering way possible.

Taking a deep breath, I set to work, quickly washing my face and scrubbing away the remnants of makeup. I run my fingers through my hair in an attempt to tame the unruly strands, before wrapping the towel securely around my waist.

Feeling marginally more presentable but still ridiculous with the towel, I emerge from the powder room and return to the kitchen, where the lively chatter and the tantalizing aroma of fresh coffee greet me.

Clearing my throat nervously, I take a seat beside Sophie on a barstool, feeling slightly self-conscious with no makeup as Rick and Michonne continue to work on breakfast.

"Want any coff-" Rick's sentence is abruptly cut off, and I glance up to see him staring at me, his eyes widened and his mouth slightly parted in astonishment. His eyes dart down and around my bare face, probably realizing how bad I look without makeup.

I blink back at him holding two coffee mugs, looking so domestic and husband-like that it momentarily catches me off guard, stirring something deep within me.

"You have freckles," Rick breathes, the sentence so quick that the words seem to tumble from his lips. I feel my eyebrows to my hairline with surprise, my stomach clenching at the unexpected intimacy of his observation.

"Yeah," I reply dumbly in response, my voice soft and cheeks hot with embarrassment. Normally, I cover them up with makeup so that they're never visible. But I figured no makeup was better than the disaster my face was before.

Unable to tear my gaze away, I find myself locked in a silent exchange with Rick, his bright blue irises fixed unwaveringly on me, capturing my attention in a way that feels both thrilling and unnerving.

"She would like coffee, Rick," Michonne's snort pierces through the charged atmosphere, snapping me out of whatever spell had fallen over me.

Rick clears his throat with a slightly breathless chuckle, a gesture that sends goosebumps rippling over my arms before he leans over and places the coffee cup in front of me.

"It's not poisoned, is it?" I ask snarkily, as I bring one of my knees up to my chest, hoping to ease the strange tension and slip back into the easier banter that usually defines our relationship.

Rick's jaw ticks, sending me an exasperated look. "If I wanted to kill you Adams, I would give you a light beer and that'd probably do the trick," he retorts quickly, his words laced with a hint of sarcasm that makes my jaw drop in astonishment.

The women who are supposed to be my friends erupt into roaring laughter, the sound echoing through the kitchen and adding to my sense of bewilderment.

As our friends crack up at the joke about my horrible alcohol tolerance, I find myself staring at Rick, my jaw cocked in disbelief. He just smiles back at me, his expression teasing yet oddly genuine, his eyes holding a glint of something I can't quite decipher. I slowly shake my head, refusing to let myself smile as desperately as I want to.

"You two are gonna need to figure out how to get along before Tuesday," Michonne breathes through her gasps of air following her laughter as Rick brings his mug to his mouth.

I turn to her, confusion flickering through me. "What d'you mean?" I ask, my brows furrowing as I study her expression fighting the lingering effects of her laughter.

"Oh, right. I need you two go down to Georgia for a few days for the case," MIchonne tells us calmly, making my mouth part.

"Georgia?" Rick echoes, his eyes widening as he lowers his mug, a hint of alarm creeping into his tone at the unexpected news.

"Yep. Better pack your bags, you two," Michonne says with a playful wink, her words punctuated by the deft clatter of plates as she serves up four perfectly made omelets.

As I eat her frustratingly amazing cooking, I can't help but cast a glance at Rick, wondering what going to Georgia with him with be like. A slight ripple of fear courses through me at the thought of being stuck alone with him for a few days, unsure of what to expect.

Let's just hope I don't drink something and end up in his bed, naked, again.

_______

A/N: hoped you liked it my lovelies!!