IKEA – Unplanned (Not everything comes with instructions)
Written by Ashley Self
Part I – Scene Setup
That new bartending job at the strip club—mixing cocktails she barely knew how to make, surrounded by strangers and even a ghost or two—offered her something she’d never had: a fragile chance at independence. But was this really what she wanted? Was this her future, or just another escape route?
So they agreed—like two undercover agents on a mission—to reach the IKEA sample room separately, blending into the crowd, avoiding suspicion. But after that kiss, every step away from him felt like an endless math problem, stretching seconds into lifetimes, each tick of the clock a slow, deliberate torment.
She’d left behind the chaotic life of scams and running, but the fear still clung to her, sharp and restless. That wild, restless existence wasn’t for her anymore. She needed steadiness—for herself, and to spare her mother the worry she couldn’t afford. No more secrets. No more lies. Almost.
Her thoughts spiraled as she rounded a corner, the sudden scent of hairspray and leather cutting through the damp London air—then she almost bumped into Tevvie.
She’d noticed him before—Blue eyes, tall, flawless, like a glossy magazine cover come to life. A model who frequented the club, maybe to be seen, maybe to hide from his own shadows. She was drawn to him, but part of her mocked the feeling—he’s just a pretty face. Nothing more.
Yet beneath the cynicism, a quiet voice whispered warning: Careful. You’re staring too long. Step back now, or you’ll forget how to leave.
But this time, under the soft golden light of late afternoon, he looked different—more human. Vulnerable, maybe. Real.
Up close, the glossy magazine cover image softened. There was something warmer beneath the surface, an almost magnetic pull that caught her breath and made her forget how to steady her own heartbeat. Maybe it was the chill forcing them closer, but it felt different—like gravity had shifted just for them.
Ashley couldn’t tell if it was the fog curling around them or the sheer proximity of Tevvie that made her world spin slightly off-kilter. They stood just a breath apart, the city pulsing around them—a blur of lights, footsteps, and distant car horns—yet somehow, none of it seemed real, as if time had folded in on itself and left only the two of them suspended.
Their fingers brushed—an accidental graze, or maybe a silent invitation neither dared name. The fleeting contact sparked a current, setting the air between them alight.
Then, the kiss came— not careful. It simply happened, like two magnets finally snapping together after a long, inevitable pull. It was the kind of kiss that steals your breath and rewrites the world in that single moment.
She’d rehearsed this moment a thousand times—kissed him in the shadowed corners of her mind, whispered it into the quiet woolen silence of her worn-out stuffed bunny, who had heard it all. More than once, she had pressed a shy kiss to his faded nose, pretending it belonged to someone else. One ear drooped lower than the other, ever since it came loose in the wash and her mother stitched it back on with mismatched thread. He’d always been all ears — a gentle keeper of stories. And this one… this one might’ve been his favorite.
When they pulled away, both took half a step back—not out of distance, but to catch their breath, to survive the sudden vulnerability of the moment and the quiet, aching pull of wanting more.
“If we keep at it, we’ll be viral in five minutes,” she whispered, forcing a smile that tried to mask the way her pulse was still racing.
Tevvie chuckled softly, eyes glinting with mischief, but didn’t move much farther. “Then we need a plan.”
So they agreed—like two undercover agents on a mission—to reach the IKEA sample room separately, blending into the crowd, avoiding suspicion. But after that kiss, every step away from him felt like an endless math problem, stretching seconds into lifetimes, each tick of the clock a slow, deliberate torment.
Ashley watched his tall frame dissolve into the crowd, every instinct begging her to follow. But the game demanded discipline. And maybe—just maybe—that wait would make their next meeting dangerously sweeter.
“Dangerously sweeter,” she thought, sliding her hands deep into her coat pockets, trying to anchor herself.
The damp sidewalk gleamed under the kind of muted grey afternoon light that made her wonder if the sun had called in sick—its absence swallowing color, leaving the world washed out and soft around the edges.
So unlike the wild tropical waves she carried within, or the warm breeze that always seemed to trail behind her, teasing her skin, tugging her thoughts (and maybe even her body) all the way to the IKEA store… and to him.
A bus roared past, splashing cold water onto her shoes. The sudden chill seeped through the fabric, a sharp contrast to the warmth still lingering from the kiss. The city seemed to conspire against her self-control—every honk, every distant shout, every scent felt amplified, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
She passed the bakery.
And then—turned back. Not because she wanted a cinnamon roll (okay, maybe a little), but because… well. Timing was everything.
It was easier to think when Tevvie wasn’t right there—though easier was a very relative term.
The bakery was supposed to help.
She pushed open the door like she was on a mission. The bell overhead jingled—far too innocent for the mischief in her head.
She wasn’t there for pastries.
Obviously.
She was there for delay.
Strategic loitering.
A covert operation in the name of not-arriving-first.
She hovered by the display case, pretending to care deeply about the options.
Pecan twist? Too flaky.
Croissant? Too classic.
Cinnamon roll?
Tempting. But no.
Even surrounded by sugar and spice, the only flavor on her lips was him.
She eyed a lemon tart. Nothing.
A chocolate eclair. Nada.
Tevvie’s kiss had rewritten her entire palate.
“Focus, Ashley,” she muttered.
The lady walking a sausage dog in a tartan coat disagreed silently.
The dog squinted too.
She turned back to the glass, tried again.
Nope. Still Tevvie.
Whatever this was, it was humming under her skin.
She peeked at her phone. Minute wasted (perfect).
Ahead, the blue-and-yellow temple of Swedish consumerism loomed through the mist.
She tightened her scarf.
Definitely not smiling.
(She absolutely was.)
Ashley pushed open the glass doors, the familiar swish echoing in the near-empty store. She’d been there dozens of times, but today, every blue-and-yellow aisle seemed charged, alive with unspoken anticipation.
Almost immediately, a young cashier spotted her. “Ashley?!” The voice was a mix of surprise and exhaustion.
Lizzie—the human embodiment of a ticking clock five minutes from freedom—barely managed a breathless “What…” before glancing nervously at the register, counting down the seconds.
Ashley gave a sheepish grin. “Hey Liz! Didn’t expect to see me here, huh?”
Lizzie’s eyes widened, eyebrows rising. “Well… it’s… closing time! And—uh—you’re… um…” She gestured vaguely at Ashley’s coat and scarf. “I thought you were, like… not working today?”
Ashley shrugged lightly, keeping her tone casual. “Oh, I just left something in one of the stand rooms. Won’t take me long, I promise.” She didn’t say what. Her grin said it all: mind your own damn business.
The cashier shook her head, muttering under her breath, “I don’t even know why you’re here…” Already shuffling toward the register, she was clearly trying to mentally clock out while still standing behind the counter.
Ashley let herself glide through the aisles, Lizzie’s sharp voice fading behind her. The store was nearly empty, but something about this visit felt different—like the blue-and-yellow maze had taken on a life of its own.
Scattered around the furniture displays were absurd “survival kits”: fake toy crossbows propped against the shelves, bright neon signs warning of “zombie traps ahead,” and little dreamcatchers hanging from the ceiling like bizarre ornaments. Somewhere near the kitchen section, a robot vacuum whirred ominously, its blinking red eyes resembling a tiny robotic sentinel on patrol.
Ashley smirked, fingertips brushing a pillow with a printed pattern of cartoon brains and “Caution: Zombie Zone.” Whoever had arranged this 'Day Of The Death' clearly had a wicked sense of humor—and maybe a little too much time on their hands.
As she passed a display of bunk beds rigged with “tripwires” made from string and glitter, she wondered if Tevvie was navigating this funhouse maze too—dodging invisible dangers and sleep traps just to meet her.
Ashley weaved through the maze of faux kitchens and minimalist lamps, the scent of cinnamon candles mixing with particle board and distant meatballs.
Did he take the right turn? she wondered, mentally drawing the IKEA floor plan like a secret agent mapping enemy territory. Did he run into Greg at the home lighting aisle or Lisa by the bathroom sinks? She grinned. Either one would grill him like a suspicious side table.
He’ll charm his way through. I mean… he usually does. Right?
He’ll charm his way through. I mean… he usually does. Right?
Right.
A few displays later, she passed that setup—the one where she’d once stood frozen in “yoga mannequin” pose for a store promo. She smirked.
There was the time she’d sneezed mid-pose and nearly took down an entire bookshelf. Or when a toddler had tried to mount her like she was a ride at an amusement park.
She’d survived snotty kids, collapsing furniture, and existential crises in aisle B12.
Surely she could survive one slightly illegal, possibly magical kiss with the hottest human IKEA had ever seen.
Right?
Left.
A few minutes later, Tevvie stepped into the store, his jacket catching a gust of artificially warm air as the doors whooshed shut behind him.
Lisa, from the bathroom sinks aisle, was just about to clock out—coat on, bag in hand, earbuds already in. She’d made it halfway to the staff exit when she caught movement in her peripheral vision. Tall, suspiciously perfect. Damn it.
She turned, sighing through her nose like someone who had just been emotionally betrayed by the universe.
“Excuse me, sir…” she called out, retracing her steps with dramatic reluctance. “Just a heads-up—we’re closing. Like, now.”
Tevvie flashed a practiced, polite smile. “No worries. I’m one of those decisive customers. I already know what I want.”
Lisa raised a brow, unimpressed. “That’s what they all say… and then I find them forty minutes later agonizing over whether ‘greige’ is more gray or beige.”
He chuckled. “No debates tonight. I’m here for caramel.”
Lisa, already tugging her bag strap higher, gave him a slow, skeptical once-over. “Regular caramel? Dark caramel? Caramel macchiato? IKEA has layers, my guy.”
He leaned in slightly, tone playful. “There’s only one caramel I’m after.”
Almost, he wanted to add Ashley’s caramel—the warm hue that held the sun’s gentle glow and the rich depth of midnight espresso. The kind of color that made his fingers twitch with the urge to trace it, to memorize it by touch. He imagined the silky heat of her skin beneath his hands, every curve and contour sending a quiet, involuntary shiver down his spine. One he couldn’t stop.
Lisa made a face halfway between a smirk and an eye-roll. “Right. Just don’t rearrange the display bathroom. I’m three minutes away from freedom and I swear, if I hear one brush hit the floor—”
“No promises,” he tossed back, already disappearing into the labyrinth of sofas and strategically placed LED lighting.
Lisa stood there a moment, watching him go, then muttered, “I should’ve left five minutes earlier,” and resumed her walk of resignation toward the exit.
Ashley had stalled on purpose.
She gave the fake plants way too much attention—like she was auditioning for a role in “Botany: The Musical.”
Sniffed every candle with theatrical concentration, even the ones labeled Midnight Moss and Winter Armpit.
She had sworn she wouldn’t be the first to show up.
She was not—repeat, not—going to be that girl, loitering by a fake showroom bed like it was a sacred shrine to destiny.
Not when she could pretend to be effortlessly cool. And vaguely interested in rattan storage solutions.
And yet… there she was.
The “Stjärnhimmel” display was all soft whites and vibrant pops of color—ridiculously photogenic, borderline smug. She let her fingers drift over the sheets, the fabric cool and crisp under her skin, murmuring temptations she hadn’t planned for. The bed looked almost unreal in its perfection—like a promise dressed in linen. A soft invitation. A quiet kind of gravity.
She pretended to browse a throw blanket. Then another. And then she stopped pretending altogether.
From her half-hidden corner, the edge of the mattress grounding her, Ashley scanned the maze of displays, trying not to hold her breath. Her pulse betrayed her anyway—fluttering high and impatient.
Did he get lost? Is he stuck with Lisa? Oh ghosts, what if he bailed?
And then—movement.
Her stomach flipped. Her fingers tensed on the blanket’s fringe. Her mouth forgot how to stay neutral.
Because there he was.
Tevvie. In full view now, threading through showroom shadows like he belonged in them. Every step unhurried, measured. That maddening model confidence intact—but softer around the edges now. Warmer. Realer.
Ashley’s grin slipped in before she could stop it—half amusement, half damn it.
She imagined him charming whoever he passed with that grin—that infuriating grin that worked like a skeleton key on anyone mildly conscious. Her grin deepened, despite herself.
And as his eyes finally found hers, everything between them quieted. Even the overhead music faded.
There you are.
Part II – On Display
Ashley stood with an inviting smile, her voice slicing through the stillness like silk.
"Hi, customer... what can I do?" she asked, her tone laced with mischief, soft yet charged, like the air before a summer storm.
Tevvie’s smile deepened, though it barely masked the sudden heat crawling up his neck. Her voice, playful and low, rippled through him like a current.
"Mmm... I’m looking for bedsheets with... stain-proof features," he murmured, leaning in, each word slower, heavier. "And a comfy, king-sized bed... for very steamy activities." His gaze didn’t waver—smoldering, steady. "I think I need a demonstration to be convinced. Would you help?"
Something in Ashley's breath hitched—just for a second. The air between them tightened. She closed the small distance, the corners of her lips curling upward, her eyes glowing with something both wicked and curious.
"I’m more than willing to show you..."
Her fingers rose slowly to her shirt. One button. Then another. Each undone loop a deliberate act, not of haste, but of control. The fabric parted just enough to hint at warmth beneath, her skin catching the soft IKEA lights like candle glow.
And still—neither of them touched. Not yet.
As the final button slipped free, her blouse fell soundlessly to the floor, a pale puddle at her feet. The soft pink of her bra caught the last shimmer of light before the showroom dimmed, casting her in a dusky glow that made her skin look almost ethereal.
Tevvie’s breath hitched. For a heartbeat, he could only stare—drawn not just to the curve of her body, but to the quiet power in how she stood there, unafraid, utterly present.
And then—darkness.
The lights overhead blinked out, plunging the room into shadow.
“Damn, they’re closing…” Ashley whispered, her voice thinner now, disoriented but still wrapped in heat.
But Tevvie didn’t hesitate.
He stepped forward, the space between them collapsing in a single breath. His hands found her waist, steady and reverent. His lips pressed into the hollow just above her chest—one kiss, then another—slow, open-mouthed, the kind that lingered and left a trace.
His palms slid along her spine, mapping the soft dip and rise of it, until they reached the clasp of her bra.
A pause. A breath.
Then a flick, practiced and gentle, as he unhooked it, letting the straps loosen beneath his fingers.
The darkness wrapped around them, thick and pulsing, and with sight taken from them, every sound, every brush of skin, became amplified. The shift of fabric. The hitch in her breath. The quiet thud of her heartbeat—fast, like his.
“Wait…” she whispered, her voice trembling—not to stop him, but to shift the moment. Her hand reached instinctively for her phone, the screen glowing to life as she activated the flashlight.
A soft beam of light cut through the darkness, revealing the quiet intimacy of their stolen corner. Around them, the IKEA showroom stretched out in hushed stillness. The bed stood at the center like a silent invitation—its crisp sheets and generous size, a shimmering portal that might stir to life the quietest yearnings and secret selves, drawing them out into the warm embrace of night’s unfolding.
Ashley raised the phone higher, casting scool, pale shadows that danced across the pillows, the wall, her own figure.
Tevvie’s eyes didn’t leave her. She was illuminated in that beam, her silhouette outlined in the pale glow, every curve softened, every breath visible. His voice dipped low, brushing her skin like a velvet ribbon as he leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear.
“I want you to show me what you crave…” he murmured, voice rough with desire. “Be my guide—take me across every secret place on that gorgeous map of yours. Let’s create memories we’ll never forget… the kind that echo every time we walk into a store like this.”
As he spoke, his mouth traveled to her neck, leaving a trail of soft, deliberate nibbles—sensual punctuation marks on a sentence they hadn’t finished writing.
She sat on the edge of the bed, fingers curling into his waistband with quiet purpose, tugging him gently closer. The brushed steel of his trousers cooled her skin through her palms as she leaned in, nuzzling her cheek against him—not rushing, just letting the moment breathe.
Then she tilted her head and looked up, her eyes meeting his with playful challenge and something deeper—an invitation.
“Am I naughty for wanting to taste you?” she asked, voice low and teasing, but her gaze stayed steady, searching. “What’s naughty for you, Tevvie?”
Before he could answer, she went on, softer now, thoughtful.
“To me... pleasure isn’t something to be ashamed of. It’s natural. Honest. Bodies were made to enjoy each other—why should we pretend otherwise?” Her hands remained still, respectful, but her words did all the touching.
They didn’t know everything about each other yet, but she didn’t need certainty to recognize the spark between them. All she needed was this shared breath, this unspoken understanding. He was listening. He wasn’t pulling away.
Ashley may have been young, but she was sure of one thing: she believed in a world where desire wasn’t taboo, where sheets could be more than just fabric—they could become canvases. The body, a story. Intimacy, not a performance or a secret, but a shared space where shame didn’t exist—only curiosity, warmth, and connection.
She smiled as she brushed her lips near his skin, not quite touching. Letting him feel how patient she could be. How present.
“Tell me,” she whispered, “where your mind goes when no one’s watching.”
Tevvie couldn’t help but agree, his hand moving slowly to stroke Ashley’s hair, grounding himself against the flutter of sensation her presence sparked at his hips. The soft rustle of fabric sliding down echoed faintly in the quiet room as his trousers pooled at his feet.
He murmured, “Bodies are made to enjoy and give pleasure… I’d put my signature under that anywhere you want.”
His voice was low, sincere—like a promise whispered in a sacred space. The warmth of her breath brushed his skin, mingling with the faint scent of his cologne and the subtle musk of their shared closeness.
Ashley caught the slight pause in his words—anywhere or anytime? The difference was subtle, but it stirred something low and warm inside her. She didn’t ask for clarity. Instead, her touch offered him her own answer, moving slowly along his skin like a quiet vow.
It wasn’t expertise that guided her, but the quiet urgency of instinct—raw, impulsive, and laced with wonder—like a flame learning the shape of the wind.
His body responded in waves, small tremors that traveled through her palms and lips, feeding into her. The space between them thickened with heat—not rushed, not wild, but steady and full, like breath held just a second too long.
She imagined his signature in every place where her skin would still feel him long after he stepped away. A mark not seen, but remembered—in the places her breath caught, in the softness behind her knees, in the arch of her back when his hands had found it.
The scent of his skin mingled with the flavored hint of her lip gloss—clean, faintly spiced, touched with heat. She breathed him in like something familiar she hadn’t known she missed.
When his body shivered under her touch, it was like the beginning of a sentence she already wanted to finish. That quiet gasp he gave, the tension in his thigh, the way his hand lingered in her hair—it all spoke of a need they weren’t naming yet, but were already writing, one touch at a time.
The world didn’t disappear. It simply faded—until all that remained was this closeness, this hush, this slow, deliberate unfolding.
Perhaps there were footsteps echoing somewhere in the distance—but they were too deep in their own slow-burning blaze to care. Every breath, every shiver, every taste between them felt amplified, sacred. The world beyond faded into hush, as if they’d slipped beneath a glass bell where only their pulses spoke and time forgot to move.
Perhaps...
His hands began to wander again, tracing her curves like a blind man reading braille, searching for the words written in her skin. Every discovery—caught beneath his fingertips, carried to his lips—sent waves of heat spiraling low through her belly, igniting every nerve. The sheets beneath her clung damp to her shape, steeped in the essence of their passion.
His mouth found hers once more, slow and deliberate, like a pilgrim returning to holy ground. She arched into him, breath trembling, skin flushed, the friction between them a silent language only they spoke.
She held on to him, breathless, her voice breaking between two heartbeats.
“Even if we switch… don’t leave my body. Not for a second.”
He was already too far gone to imagine otherwise. His mouth brushed her ear, voice rough with hunger and certainty.
“Even the store’s security cameras couldn’t stop me now… I’m not leaving your body, Ashley.”
Her fingers tightened in the sheets—creased now, scented with skin and something wilder—and she melted into him, piece by piece, until her thoughts dissolved into pure sensation.
For a while, that was all there was—heat, motion, rhythm, and the wild beauty of surrender.
Then, through a haze of laughter and aftershocks, she murmured against his neck, “Oops… I wasn’t even thinking about the cameras.”
His smile brushed her skin.
“We’ll have to deal with that before we leave,” she whispered.
Because some moments weren’t meant to be replayed.
Only remembered.
Part III – Emergency Exit
Time had slipped past midnight.
The air inside the store had grown still, dense with the scent of wood polish and leftover warmth from display lights now dimmed. Somewhere beyond the partitions of mock kitchens and spotless showrooms, the only guard on duty was likely slouched in a security booth—maybe dozing off, maybe watching porn… or, worse, watching them.
Ashley stirred slightly, her bare shoulder brushing against Tevvie’s chest.
The sheets—crinkled, overpriced, and now definitely “used”—held the fading heat of their shared chaos. Her voice came out soft, wicked.
"Hope the guard enjoyed our performance… but we really need to get our hands on that film. Got any cash? We might have to bribe him."
Tevvie’s grin curved slow and wicked, mischief glowing in his eyes like embers refusing to die.
"They can take it as a reward for working late and handling all the security business," he murmured, voice lazy with satisfaction. "I’ve got enough to bribe them—at least enough to keep it from being sold somewhere else. Otherwise, they’d get fired too. Hehe."
Ashley chuckled, the sound low and smoky.
The glow from her phone cast a halo across the mess they’d left—clothes draped over chairs, crumpled on the floor, as if the store itself had sighed and undressed with them. The air smelled faintly of sweat, cotton, jasmine fragrance and vanilla lip gloss.
She curled against him for one last breath of stillness. Tevvie’s arm wrapped around her like instinct, his fingers tracing absentminded lines down her spine.
She tilted her face up to his, pressing a kiss that was less about heat and more about gravity—as if her mouth had no choice but to find his.
A small, satisfied purr left her throat before she finally, reluctantly, pulled away.
With a reluctant sigh, she pushed herself upright, her body still humming with warmth, her curls a wild halo that caught the last of the dim light like spun shadow.
"Tev, we need to hurry—my phone’s dying," she whispered, breath still laced with laughter. Then, softer, more sincere:
"But first… thank you. For everything. You’re amazing."
Her kiss landed light and lingering on his lips—sweet, unhurried, the kind that lingered even after the contact was gone.
Then she flashed a grin, mischief rising again.
"The exit’s through the furniture section. We’ll have to navigate the labyrinth—quietly. Think ninja."
Her laughter tumbled free, uncontrollable.
"And if the guard stops us, we say: ‘meatballs wore off, damn!’ and just run."
It echoed off the faux walls and tidy mock kitchens around them, warm and alive in a store that had long since closed.
They slipped between faux living rooms and staged kitchens like a pair of undercover agents on a ridiculous, late-night mission. Their bare feet made barely a sound against the cold showroom floor, but every creak of a tile or hum of an appliance felt deafening. Somewhere in the maze of staged kitchens, a faint shuffle answered their footsteps… but neither noticed.
Ashley bent low behind a wardrobe display, whispering in mock-serious tone:
"Operation Meatball: Phase Two. Objective—recover the tape, avoid detection, live to brunch another day."
Tevvie gave a sharp nod, biting back a grin as he mimed tiptoeing like a cartoon thief. She elbowed him in the ribs, and they both stifled a laugh—the kind that bubbles up harder the more you try to choke it down.
"Shhh—don’t blow our cover!" she hissed, lips trembling with suppressed giggles.
Every step forward just made it worse. Tevvie ducked behind a potted plant pretending to be an indoor jungle, peeking out like a spy, and Ashley had to bite her knuckle to keep from snorting aloud.
They were halfway to the security booth, weaving between a minimalist couch and a basket of rolled-up rugs, when Ashley froze.
"Wait… what if he’s watching us right now? Like—right now?"
Tevvie glanced up at the black dome above.
"Well... if he is, he’s definitely getting five stars on Yelp."
That did it. Laughter shook through them, barely muffled behind their hands, their knees threatening to give way.
Ashley wiped at the tears in her eyes. "Okay, serious now—ninja mode, for real."
A shadow moved behind them.
A voice, dry and unimpressed, broke the air.
"You two know it’s closed, right?"
They froze—caught mid-step, like kids with their hands in the cookie jar.
Ashley’s heart was still light, still in her ninja-fantasy haze, the kind of mischief that in K-dramas always ends with a kiss and a shared meatball. Everything felt scripted, safe.
Then the voice cut again, shattering it all.
Her stomach dropped like a faulty elevator. Heat rushed up her neck. The bubble of mischief popped, replaced with the cold, heavy weight of being seen.
Caught.
Really caught.
She spun toward the sound, pulse thundering. Hair wild, clothes barely in place, cheeks still flushed—it was like standing naked under a spotlight.
The guard, built like a retired linebacker, eyed them with mild amusement.
His gaze landed on her.
"I know you—you were pretending to cook meatballs in the kitchen showroom a couple weeks ago. Still fond of meatballs, I see."
Her heart tripped over itself. She opened her mouth, shut it again. Her eyes darted to Tevvie with a silent: Please say something smooth before I die.
He was already on it.
"Let’s make sure no one has to write any reports tonight," Tevvie said—calm, smooth, like this was just another Tuesday night mischief. He slid the bills over with that infuriatingly confident smile that somehow made it feel like they were all in on the same delicious secret.
Ashley, bright-eyed, jumped in as if what they'd done was the most reasonable thing in the world.
"We were… testing the mattresses. For science."
Tevvie didn’t miss a beat. Completely deadpan.
"And the meatballs."
The guard stared for a second too long. Then, with a grunt and a shake of the head, pocketed the cash.
"Just go."
Before anyone could reconsider, Tevvie took Ashley’s hand, leading her through the glass doors and into the hush of the night.
His voice brushed her ear, playful, low:
"If I couldn’t find a way out, we’d probably end up in prison for trespassing. So… what do you say we finish the night at my place? Less risk of prison. More risk of me not letting you sleep."
Ashley let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
Still flushed. Still breathless. Still smiling.
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