"The propinquity effect is the tendency of individuals to form close relationships with people they repeatedly encounter. That is, the more often one comes into contact with another person, the more likely it is that one will form a friendship or romantic relationship with that person."
—The American Psychological Association
I. The Gym
Chloe notices him the moment he enters the university fitness center—his tailored suit and polished oxfords are glaringly out of place amongst the myriad of tank tops, sports bras, leggings, and sneakers. She huffs a confused sound and furrows her brow. Who wears a suit to the gym?
Her feet pound a rhythmic beat on the thin rubber track of the treadmill as she watches him with a nosy sort of curiosity.
He's walking with a student, and she wonders if he's a trustee or a donor or some other university bigwig on a campus tour, but as they near, she's surprised to discover that he's actually around her age.
Okay, so not some university bigwig. She changes her theory. Perhaps he overdressed for his first day of work? But would anyone actually make the mistake of wearing a suit to work at the university fitness center?
As she contemplates, her eyes wander over him. He's tall and slim, with a square jaw that's covered with neatly trimmed facial hair, a long, straight nose, and impossibly dark eyes framed with thick, curly lashes.
A flash of interest sparks behind her ribs. He's attractive.
But her interest shifts into something less pleasant as he turns to watch a girl do squats in front of a mirror. He tips his head to the side, and an appreciative smirk curves across his face as he openly checks her out.
Chloe keeps her narrowed gaze trained on him as she finishes her run. He drifts aimlessly around the area, not touching a single machine or free weight. But his eyes do quite the workout, moving unashamedly up and down over the shapes of people exercising.
It's disgusting and inappropriate, and she can't control the righteous indignation that wells up inside her at his boorish behavior.
And maybe it's the adrenaline coursing through her system and making her bold, or the class she took on feminism last semester that's still fresh in her mind, or perhaps it's the knowledge that she'll have to deal with men like him all the time when she joins the police force, but whatever the reason, she hops off the treadmill and stalks in his direction.
"Excuse me," she says, tapping him on the shoulder with a hooked finger. While her words are polite, her tone is decidedly not. "Do you work here?"
"Heavens, no!" he exclaims, and the smooth lilt of his British accent catches her off guard. "Whatever gave you that idea?" He turns to face her and the confused lines of his forehead smooth the instant he lays eyes on her. A suave smile spreads slowly across his face.
She'd thought he was attractive from afar, but up close, he nearly steals her breath. His smile makes his eyes crinkle slightly at the edges, and his irises sparkle under the bright florescent lights that hang from the ceiling.
Flustered, she stutters over her words. "I've been watching you-"
"You have, have you?" He leans closer, his grin only becoming wider as he clearly takes her words to mean something else entirely.
As his eyes drop to her mouth, her stomach flips without her permission. Her lips curl in revulsion, and she takes a step backward, glaring at him through slitted eyes.
"You've been wandering around the gym watching people work out, but you haven't done a single exercise yourself. At first I thought maybe you work here or something, but you don't have a badge or a clipboard, and you're not cleaning... Turns out you're just a creep."
Surprise makes his eyes widen, and she sees something else—intrigue? amusement?—flash within them. "Well, now! Aren't you a clever detective! A regular Sherlock Holmes!"
She ignores the quip. "If you're not working out-"
"No need," he cuts in, and she clenches her jaw at being interrupted yet again. "All of this," he gestures down his body with a sweeping motion of his hand, "is god-given. Why mess with perfection?"
She sucks her lips between her teeth and releases an annoyed breath through her nose, rolling her eyes at his pompousness. "Then why," she grits out, crossing her arms over her chest, "are you here?"
"I came with my friend, Maze." He tilts his head to a girl on the leg press, the same girl he'd come in with. She's watching them, her lips upturned in amusement. "Thought I'd check the place out."
"So you didn't come here to work out." Chloe concludes with a nod to confirm her initial suspicion. "Well, if you're not going to, I think you should leave."
He barks an astounded laugh, like he can't believe her audacity. "Oh, you do? And who made you the gym police? Wait—do you work here?"
He's teasing her, and his carefree attitude only aggravates her more. "You're making people uncomfortable."
"Am I?" His eyebrow lifts high in challenge. "And pray tell, who exactly is uncomfortable?"
He twirls in a slow circle, his gaze roaming over each and every individual. Through the mirror, he locks eyes with a gym bro at the squat rack. The gym bro blushes—blushes!—and stands up straighter, flexing his muscles and correcting his form before starting his next set.
A girl moves between them, breaking their eye contact. There's a jaunt to her step, a sway to her hips. She succeeds in stealing his attention, and he watches as she moves to a spot in front of the mirror. After checking to make sure his eyes are still on her, she bends over to begin a set of deadlifts.
A flush warms Chloe's cheeks as she looks around the room.
He's right; she's the only one who seems bothered by him. In fact, nearly everyone else is throwing glances his way, vying for his attention and blushing when they get it, and then working harder as if to impress him.
She's never seen anything like it.
It's weird. And gross.
Maze hops off the machine and makes her way over to them. "I'm done. Let's go," she says, not pausing as she passes them on her way to the exit.
He gives her a nod, and then turns back to Chloe, making a sweeping gesture with his hand as if he's conceding. "Seems you're getting your wish after all. Maybe I'll see you around, Detective."
"I hope not," Chloe mutters, shaking her head as she watches him leave.
She makes her way over to the recently vacated leg press machine, a warm satisfaction blooming in her chest. However, the feeling is short lived, because all eyes are now on her—some curious, some judgmental, some annoyed, even.
She tries to shake it off, but it leaves her unsettled. She had been trying to do the right thing, but she can't help feeling as though she misstepped.
A girl sidles up to her, wiping sweat from her brow with a towel. Chloe recognizes her from some of her classes, but can't remember her name.
"Do you know who you just yelled at?" the girl asks through a small, flabbergasted chuckle.
Chloe shakes her head, the unsettled feeling intensifying. Should she?
"That was Lucifer Morningstar."
II. Chloe's Dorm Room
Chloe groans and pulls the pillow tighter over her ears. Unfortunately, it isn't enough to drown out the shrill ringing of her alarm, just as it hadn't been enough to drown out the obscene moaning coming from the room next door the night before.
She cracks one eye open. Her room is still dark. Lifting up onto one elbow, she grabs her phone from the nightstand.
6:30 am.
She'd named the alarm First day of classes :) thinking it'd be a cute message to get her pumped for the day, but after only a few hours of sleep, the smiley face seems more mocking than cheerful.
She dismisses the ringing and lets her head fall back onto the pillow, but she only lets herself wallow for a moment before the anticipation of the day gets to her.
Blearily, she climbs out of bed and pads toward the bedroom door, eyelids drooping heavily. She makes it all the way there relying almost entirely on muscle memory alone, only to step in a cold wet puddle of goop.
She bites her lip to hold in a yelp as she yanks her foot away.
Fuck.
She'd forgotten that in her desperation to make the moaning and rhythmic knock, knock, knock of the bed frame against the thin dorm room wall stop, she'd blindly reached for something on her nightstand to chuck at the wall.
Turns out, that thing she'd impulsively grabbed had been a bottle of lotion that had apparently burst open on impact.
Heaving an irritated sigh, she snatches the pile of clothing she'd picked out the night before and opens the door.
To her surprise, she hears humming coming from the kitchenette area. The soft clamor of sounds indicates that someone is cooking, as does the smell of frying bacon.
She would have bet anything her roommate would be asleep for another few hours after the vigorous night she'd had.
But as Chloe rounds the corner, it's not the petite frame and fiery red hair of her roommate that she finds moving comfortably around the common area of the suite.
It's someone much taller, with broad shoulders and a muscular back that tapers into a trim waist. He's wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs that hug tight to the curve of his ass. His tanned skin is splashed with freckles, and two enticing dimples punctuate the spot on his lower back just above the waistband.
He turns from the small griddle when he hears her approach, and she recognizes him immediately.
"Oh!" he says, and she can hear the way he's tickled to see her there. "It's you, from the gym the other day. The detective."
His lips tug into a lopsided smirk that makes her heart speed up and her insides twist into warm knots.
Damn it, why does he have to be so fucking attractive?
It kind of infuriates her that she thinks so. She'd done some digging into him since their encounter at the gym a few days ago. Apparently he's a big man on campus—president of the Sig Ep fraternity and well-known for having quite the slutty reputation.
She ignores the warmth in her belly and forces a sardonic smile in reply. "And it's you, the gym creep."
Despite her annoyance, she can't stop herself from admiring his bare chest, the lightly defined lines of his abs, the slight bulge in his boxers.
Her mind drifts, remembering the sounds he'd made the night before. She imagines what it would be like to have his body pushing her into the mattress, his strong arms caging her in as he pushes into her with long, deep strokes; or what he'd look like below her as she sinks down on him, bracing herself on those taut abs.
Heat flares in her cheeks, and she quickly shakes those thoughts from her head.
He looks smug—like he knows exactly where her mind has gone. He cocks an eyebrow, looking her up and down too, taking in what she can only assume is not her best look, given the measly three hours of sleep she'd managed and a foot coated in cream-colored goo.
"Fun night?"
"Not as fun as yours," she grumbles as she hobbles past him on her way to the bathroom, leaving a trail of lotion behind despite her best efforts not to.
"Jealous?" he calls after her. "I'd be more than happy to show you a fun night too, Detective! All you have to do is ask."
Her face screws up in distaste at the pick-up line. "In your dreams, buddy," she says, before closing the bathroom door and securing the lock in place. She catches a glimpse of his astonishment just before the door closes, and it fills her with pride.
Her reply had been automatic—Lucifer is an egotistical ass who clearly has a superiority complex—but while she showers, her mind rebels against her and continues the sexy daydreams from before.
...
When Chloe emerges from the bathroom, clean and fully dressed, she's not expecting Lucifer to still be there. But he's standing in the kitchenette, grinning at her as she pads through the common area of the suite, toweling at her damp hair.
"Brekkie?" He offers her a plate. In the center, there's an omelet filled with mushrooms, red peppers, onions, and cheese, and on the side, three slices of crispy bacon.
She eyes it warily. The stubborn urge to reject the offer crawls up her throat, but the food smells delicious and her stomach rumbles greedily. It looks a thousand times better than the energy bar she was going to grab on her way out. She drapes the towel over the back of a bar stool and takes the plate, sliding onto the empty stool across from him.
"Thanks."
"You're quite welcome."
He cracks another two eggs onto the griddle as she tucks in.
"Wow," she says around a mouthful of omelet. The eggs are fluffy, the veggies charred and flavorful. "This is so good."
She's expecting him to boast about his cooking abilities or somehow twist her comment into a sexual innuendo, but he doesn't. He smiles softly, like he's genuinely pleased by the compliment.
"I'm glad you like it."
He continues to work at the griddle while she eats. After a few moments of strangely comfortable silence, he asks, "Why are you up so early?"
"I have class in," her eyes cut to the clock on the microwave, "thirty minutes."
His gaze follows hers. "At 7:30?! Who in their right mind signs up for a class that early?"
She snorts, amused. "I had to. It's a required class for my major, and they only ever offer it Monday-Wednesday-Friday at 7:30."
"Ah." He has the decency to look contrite as he gestures toward her roommate's closed bedroom door. "I hope we didn't keep you up with our late night… activities."
Her head tips to the side and she purses her lips, sending him a pointed look that says, yes, yes, you did.
He clucks his tongue. "Apologies."
A snarky reply sits at the tip of her tongue, but he actually looks and sounds sincere, so she swallows it down and simply nods in acknowledgement before scooping another bite of food into her mouth.
"Would you like some coffee?" he offers, holding up the pot that just finished brewing.
It feels like a peace offering, and given that he'd apologized and had already made her breakfast, she can hardly stay annoyed with him. Plus, she could really use the caffeine.
"Oh god, yes please."
He pours them each a cup, smirking like he's in on some private joke that she isn't. She squints at him, unable to deny the way he piques her curiosity. She's intrigued by him. He'd been such an arrogant ass at the gym, but the way he's been acting this morning—kind, apologetic, considerate—doesn't align with the mental image of him she'd begun to create.
She blows softly on the hot liquid before taking a sip.
"Mmm," she hums at the taste, her eyes closing in delight; it's smooth and nutty. When she makes the stuff, it always ends up tasting burnt. She cracks one eye open, peeking at him over the edge of her mug. "God, that's good."
His gaze darkens as he looks at her, and she blushes under the intensity of his stare. He clears his throat, pulling his attention from her to spoon veggies onto the omelet. "What major has you up at the crack of dawn?"
She chews on her lip, her belly warm and tingly from the drink. She won't admit that the way he'd looked at her had anything to do with it. "Criminal Justice," she replies, and then takes another sip.
Something sparks in his eyes as he looks up from folding the egg. "Oh, so you really do want to be a cop, then?"
She shrugs and blinks secretively. She still isn't sure how she feels about him and doesn't know if she wants to open up. Instead, she keeps her answer vague. "I want to help people."
"You're mysterious. I like that." He nods slowly, accepting the non-answer as he lifts his own omelet onto a plate. She appreciates the way he doesn't pry further. He turns a cheeky grin in her direction. "Will you at least tell me your name so that I have something to call you other than 'Detective'?"
One corner of her mouth lifts into a playful smirk. "I don't mind 'Detective'." The comment makes him chuckle, and she can't help but laugh too, before giving in. "It's Chloe."
"Chloe," he repeats it back, and she likes how it sounds on his tongue. "I'm Lucifer."
She nods, but can't help asking, "Your name's really Lucifer?"
"'Fraid so. Dad was a bit of a nutter. I make do, though." His dark eyes sparkle as he leans over the counter, grinning around a forkful of food.
She remembers the way people at the gym had reacted to him, the way they all seemed to crave his attention.
That you do, she thinks to herself, shoving a strip of bacon into her mouth. That you do.
III. Griffith Park
"Chloe!"
Chloe hears the enthusiastic squeal only seconds before a tiny body crashes into her, string bean arms wrapping tightly around her waist.
She lets out a laugh and affectionately ruffles a head of stubborn brown curls. "Hi Leah!"
Leah beams up at her and loosens her arms. Her curious blue eyes find the tote bag hanging off Chloe's shoulder. "What did you bring?"
"Chips! You like chips, right?"
The little girl nods and takes Chloe's hand, and together, they walk underneath a huge banner with the words Cookout for the Kids 2022 printed across the front in big colorful lettering.
The Crystal Springs Picnic Area in Griffith Park is a flurry of activity.
Kids are everywhere—they chase each other around the picnic area, climb on the nearby jungle gym, and launch themselves off of the swings and into the sand below. Their delighted squeals and happy laughter fill the air. The joyful energy is palpable and contagious; it makes Chloe smile and adds a little skip to her step.
"Anything else?" Leah asks, giggling as they narrowly avoid collision with a group of kids playing tag.
"Guacamole."
"Eww! Gross."
"You don't like guacamole?" Chloe swings their clasped hands in a dramatic arc between them.
"No!" The little girl's nose wrinkles. "It looks like…well, you know," she says, and then sticks her tongue out and mimes getting sick. "Bleh, bleh!"
Chloe snorts and shakes her head, while Leah smirks up at her, clearly proud of her ability to make Chloe laugh.
Chloe had met Leah a week ago when she started volunteering at the group home where she is currently living. It hadn't taken long at all before the silly little thing had weaseled her way into Chloe's heart.
"It tastes better than it looks," she tells her, but Leah's narrowed eyes slide up to hers, a doubtful frown pulling at her lips.
It's a nice day for early spring—the sun is out, birds are chirping, and a pleasant breeze tickles Chloe's skin. As they approach the picnic tables, the mouthwatering smell of hamburgers and hot dogs cooking on the grill wafts past Chloe's nose. Her stomach gives a little grumble.
"What are you gonna eat?" she asks. "A hamburger? Or a hot dog?"
"A hot dog!" Leah grins up at her, bouncing excitedly on her toes. "With lots of ketchup and mustard!"
Chloe drops her bag onto a bench as Cierra, another little girl from the group home, comes running up to them.
"Hi Chloe!" she greets with a smile, before turning to Leah and grabbing her hand. "Leah, come and play with us!"
Leah laughs. "Okay!"
They shout goodbye over their shoulders as they skip off, and Chloe waves at them, warmth bubbling up in her chest. It's nice to see them so light and carefree.
She's only known these kids for a week, but she's quickly grown attached to each of them. They're such good kids—sweet and smart and funny. And so resilient. When she thinks of the adversity they've already had to face at such young ages, it makes her heart ache.
"Hello, Detective," a voice, smooth as silk and sweet like honey, rumbles near her ear, and a shiver races up her spine.
She recognizes the voice—and the accent—instantly, even though it's been two weeks since the morning she'd woken to find him in her kitchen.
She spins to face him, a startled hand springing to her chest to cover her suddenly racing heart.
"Lucifer!" she scolds. "Don't sneak up on me like that."
"Sorry." He smirks, not looking the least bit apologetic.
She takes a big step to the side to put some distance between them, because, apparently, the man has no awareness of personal space. "What are you doing here?"
Smiling brightly, he gestures between their matching white t-shirts with the Cookout for the Kids 2022 logo printed across the front. "Volunteering! Same as you, so it would seem."
"Well, yeah," she chuckles, "but why are you volunteering? It doesn't seem like something you'd do…I mean, unless you're trying to beef up your resume."
His smile falls, and hurt flashes across his face. It's gone in an instant, but she sees it.
Remorse snakes through her. The remark had been flippant; she hadn't realized that questioning his charitability might actually hurt his feelings. She hadn't thought he cared about things like that.
She opens her mouth to apologize, but before she can get a word out, a woman rushes over to them. She's wearing a t-shirt that matches theirs, but she has a tailored suit jacket over top of it, making her appearance slightly more professional than the other volunteers that litter the picnic area.
She seems a little frazzled, but when she smiles at them, it reaches her eyes, and Chloe likes her immediately.
"Hey, Lucifer! I have a name tag for you." She peels the sticker from a sheet of paper and gives it to him. She then turns a questioning look toward Chloe. "And you are…?"
"Chloe," she supplies with a small smile, the regret from her earlier statement about Lucifer only intensifying when it's clear that the woman already knows him. This isn't his first time volunteering with them.
"Nice to meet you, Chloe. I'm Carmen," she says, finding Chloe's name tag and holding it out to her. "I work with Foster LA, and I'm one of the organizers for the event today. Thank you for giving up your Saturday to help out."
"Oh, of course. Happy to."
"We're about to start serving lunch—would you two mind handing out plates?"
They agree easily, happy to have something to do, and move behind the table to start on their task. The volunteers who'd been grilling drop off plates of steaming hamburgers and hot dogs, and Chloe starts organizing the table—potato salad, coleslaw, baked beans, fruit and veggie trays, chips, and a number of different dips. Carmen makes an announcement that lunch is being served, and a line begins to form, snaking out from the table.
"You know," Chloe's eyes scan the line of hungry faces. "I didn't realize the cookout was for the community, too. I thought it was specifically for kids who are currently living in foster care group homes."
Lucifer drops a hot dog onto a plate and holds it out to a little girl. When she goes to take it from him, he yanks it back with a teasing grin.
"Lucifer!" The girl laughs and puts a hand on her hip, giving him a scolding look through narrowed eyes until he gives in, relinquishing the plate to her with a laugh.
There's a warm little flutter in her gut as Chloe watches the interaction, and a soft smile tugs at her lips.
"The purpose of the cookout today," Lucifer replies after the little girl runs off, "is to connect the kids with potential adoptive families in the area, and to raise money for Foster LA and some of the other foster organizations in the city."
"How do you know all that?"
"I volunteer a few times a week at some of the group homes."
"You do?" She squints at him in surprise. Even though she'd assumed based on his interaction with Carmen that he'd volunteered with Foster LA in the past, she hadn't expected him to have volunteered that often.
He nods. "I have for a few years now."
"Wow." She's impressed by his dedication. It makes more sense now why her comment before had been upsetting and hurtful. She had implied that he's a selfish person, but he's been volunteering with these kids for years—that's anything but selfish. Her brows lift with curiosity. "So if it's not for your resume, then why do you do it?"
He focuses on putting the plate together in front of him, considering what he wants to tell her.
She's also someone who holds personal information close to the chest, so she doesn't press him on it. If he doesn't want to answer, she'll respect that. "You don't have to–"
"When I was a kid," he says at the same time, turning to look at her for just a second before directing his attention back to scooping potato salad onto the plate, "I spent some time in a group home. I was in foster care for a bit—my parents weren't around much—and I got into some trouble, which is easy to do when you feel like you're worthless and unloved."
She watches the corners of his mouth lift into a sad smile, and her heart constricts at the thought of Lucifer as a little boy, lonely and uncared for. She reaches out a hand to squeeze his forearm supportively.
"But," he continues, and his voice startles her. Her hand falls away. "I turned my life around. I got clean, started seeing a therapist, managed to get into college—with a scholarship, no less. I want these kids to see that it is possible. Even though they'll have to face additional struggles and hurdles and a system that seems determined to make them fail, I want them to see that they aren't destined for anything—that they have a choice about who they will become. That they can be better than the people who have failed them."
"I'm sorry," she says, because she doesn't know what else to say. She can't imagine what he's been through. Sure, her mom was absent at times and overbearing at others, but her dad was always there for her, always supporting her. And she never doubted either of their love for her.
"It's not your fault." He smiles at her, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He surveys the kids spread out across the picnic area eating their lunches and clears his throat. "Well. Now that you know my story, why are you giving up your Saturday to be here?" He waits a beat but before she can answer, he teases, "To beef up your resume?"
She chuckles. "No," she replies, a playful note to her voice. "It's for class."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I had the choice between writing a research paper or doing a service learning project for my Juvenile Delinquency class. Service learning seemed like it'd be a lot more fun and also more rewarding, so here I am."
"A class that teaches juveniles how to be delinquent?" He turns a playful grin in her direction. "Where do I sign up?"
She snorts at the lame joke and rolls her eyes at him, perhaps not as surprised as she should be to find that she's actually more amused than annoyed. "Shut up."
"What?" His dark eyes sparkle with mock innocence.
"I'm just disappointed," she says, bumping her shoulder to his. "I thought you were better than cheesy dad jokes."
His mouth drops open dramatically, and he brings a hand to his chest. "Really, Detective? Likening my humor to that of a middle-aged father? I'm quite offended by the comparison."
"Yeah, well, you should be," she says, sending him a cheeky grin. It slips, though, once she realizes what she's doing.
She's flirting.
With Lucifer.
Slutty, creepy, superficial, frat-boy Lucifer.
Though, she's beginning to realize that she'd been wrong about him. That the real Lucifer isn't any of those things. Well, except maybe a slut. But there's a whole lot more to him than just that.
She clears her throat and turns back to the food. She can feel his eyes on her for a split second longer, before the next kid in line draws their attention.
"Hey Lucifer," the boy sing-songs, "is she your giiiirlfriend?"
"No!" Lucifer scoffs. "She most certainly is not."
His quick denial confuses her, as does the way the bridge of his nose scrunches with distaste. She can't help but feel insulted and a little hurt, too. Because she's also starting to realize that she likes him.
She huffs and shoots a glare at him, before saying to the kid, "He would be so lucky."
Lucifer smiles ruefully at her. "Sorry, darling," he apologizes. "Nothing against you—you're quite lovely actually, wouldn't have guessed it based on our first meeting—but I don't date."
"You?" She snorts a disbelieving laugh. "Don't date?"
"Nope," he confirms, popping the 'p' jovially.
Chloe hums, annoyed by the wave of disappointment that washes through her.
...
After the last child has been fed, they make up plates for themselves. Chloe follows Lucifer over to a vacant picnic blanket in the shade of a large oak tree. She isn't sure why exactly—there are plenty of open seats with the other volunteers and the kids—except that she's having fun talking to him and doesn't want to stop.
There are crumbs on the blanket left over from the kids who had previously eaten there. Chloe brushes them away before taking a seat on the woven fabric. Lucifer spreads his long limbs out across from her, stretching out of the shade and letting the sun warm his bare arms.
"So," she says, swallowing a bite of her hamburger, "you really don't date?"
A laugh escapes his lips. "You're not going to let that go, are you? I mean, is it really so surprising?"
She shrugs, but for some reason, it is.
He's clearly attractive and has a reputation for being incredible in bed; and the more she gets to know him, the more obvious it becomes that he's kind, generous, intelligent, and funny, too. He's a catch. She's certain there are plenty of people who would jump at the chance to date him.
"Why not?"
"I like my freedom," he says with a chuckle, like it should be obvious. "I've seen what happens to my friends when they're in a relationship—they suddenly have all these rules they have to follow. I don't want someone telling me what I can and can't do. I don't answer to anyone, and I won't give up my free will to bend to someone else's desires. None of that has ever sounded appealing to me."
"Well when you put it like that, I can see why!" She huffs a laugh. "But being in a relationship isn't really like that when you're with the right person—someone who complements you, and enjoys a lot of the same things you do, and who makes you a better person? Having a partner to go through life with? It's pretty great, actually."
Her eyes slide to him, and the way he's looking at her, like he's captivated and curious and hanging on her every word, makes butterflies erupt in her belly.
She blushes and turns to watch the kids playing nearby. "I mean," she continues, a little more tentatively, "I'm sure that casual, meaningless sex is fun and all, but don't you ever get lonely?"
He's quiet for a long moment, and when she sneaks a glance at him, she thinks she sees something on his face, like maybe she's struck a nerve.
Finally, he clears his throat. "How could I be lonely? I live in a house with twenty other guys and have somebody new in my bed every night. There's no time to be lonely."
She forces a chuckle, even though the thought of him with all those different people is beginning to make her stomach churn with jealousy.
He spears a grape and pops it into his mouth. "So, what are you doing for your service learning project?"
He's probably deflecting, but she's relieved by the change of topic, too. And she's actually really excited about the project and the class itself, so she's happy to discuss it with him.
"I'm volunteering all semester at one of the girls' homes, and then I'll write a report on the experience and tie it in with everything I've learned from the class. There's a whole chapter on the relationship between foster care and delinquency. And the professor is amazing—she's a leading researcher on the subject so she really knows her stuff."
Lucifer listens with interest while she talks about the class and her ideas for the project, throwing in some ideas of his own based on his experiences in foster care. By the time they've finished lunch, her project is fleshed out and more multilayered than she'd originally planned, and she feels a renewed excitement for it.
...
She's just returned from tossing their trash in the garbage when Leah comes charging over to them. "Chloe! Chloe!"
"Hello again." Chloe catches her in a hug. "Are you having fun?"
The girl nods emphatically, her blue eyes wide. "So much fun! And you know what? There's a family who wants to adopt me!"
"Really?" Tears sting Chloe's eyes as she pulls the little girl into another hug. "Leah, that's amazing!"
"I'll have a sister, too," she adds. "She's really nice."
"I'm so happy for you."
"Congratulations!" Lucifer chimes in with a soft smile. "That's very exciting."
She gives him a shy nod, then turns back to Chloe. "Hey, Chloe?"
"Hmm?"
"Will you braid my hair?"
"Of course."
Leah moves to sit cross-legged in front of her and Chloe begins to comb her fingers through the soft locks.
"My mom used to braid my hair," she says quietly. "She died."
"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," Chloe says, sliding her fingers soothingly over an errant curl.
"It's okay."
Her heart breaks at the sadness in Leah's voice. It's a sadness she knows well herself—and she hates that Leah has had to experience it so young.
She glances briefly at Lucifer. His attention is on a pie-eating contest on the other side of the picnic area. She hesitates, knowing that he's listening.
"My dad died," she finally says, a murmur near Leah's ear. "Two years ago. I miss him every single day."
"I miss my mommy, too." Leah sniffs. "And I miss having a family…but I don't want a new mommy. Well…I do, but I don't at the same time. "
"You know," Chloe says, scooping a strand of hair and crossing it over another. "Your mommy will always be your mommy. Nothing will ever change that—even if you go live with a new family and get another mommy. We can never have too many people in our lives that love us and take care of us, and I think your mom would want you to be happy. Don't you?"
Leah nods. "Yeah. I think she would."
Chloe slides a hair tie off her wrist and around the end of the braid and then gives it an affectionate tug. "All done."
The little girl twists her neck to send a vibrant smile in Chloe's direction, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. "Can I see?"
Chloe pulls out her phone and takes a picture of the braid. "There," she says, showing it to Leah.
"It's perfect!" she squeals, twisting further so that she can give Chloe a big hug. "Thank you, Chloe!"
Lucifer clears his throat. "I've got something for you, too."
"You do?" she asks.
He holds out a halo of tiny white flowers all knotted together. "It's a flower crown."
"Wow! It's so pretty!" She gazes at him with wide eyes and an awed expression on her little face as he leans forward to place it on her head. "I have to go show Cierra! Thank you!"
As Leah runs off, Chloe feels a small bubble of regret balloon behind her sternum. She's happy she could comfort Leah, but she isn't sure she wanted Lucifer to know about her dad.
"I'm sorry," he says after a moment. His voice is soft, and she can feel his eyes on her. "About your father."
She purses her lips to hide her emotion and turns to look at him. He's got his hand outstretched, a smaller ring of flowers resting in his palm. She squints at it, her lips curving into a smile without her permission.
"For you," he says. "It's a bracelet."
"You know those aren't flowers, right?" she teases with a small chuckle. She takes the flower bracelet anyway and slips it onto her wrist. "They're weeds."
He laughs and gestures to the grass, dappled with the tiny white blooms. "I worked with what I had; cut me some slack, will you?"
Chloe bites her lip. His smile makes her feel warm and safe in a strange and unexpected way. He had opened up to her about his childhood, and she finds herself wanting to open up to him about her dad.
"He was a cop," she says softly, tracing her finger over the flowers at her wrist. "He was shot in the line of duty."
"Ah. Hence your criminal justice major?"
She nods. "They investigated, said it was a robbery gone wrong—an open and shut case. But there were some things that just didn't add up. I thought there was more to it than that," she cuts her gaze to him and lifts her shoulder ironically, "but what do I know?"
"From what I can tell, quite a lot. You're observant, clever, and have notable instincts. I hope you ignored them and trusted yourself."
The compliment makes her heart beat faster. She cracks a smile and teases, "Oh, so you mean my instincts were right about you? Being a creep?"
His eyes narrow as he plays at being affronted.
"I'm kidding!" she insists with a laugh. She sobers and then says more seriously, "You're a good person, and I was wrong about you."
He looks at her like he isn't quite sure what to say, a blush turning his cheeks the lightest shade of pink. Chloe thinks it makes him look softer, beautiful. "Thank you, Chloe."
She can feel her own blush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks at the intense way he gazes at her, so she averts her eyes to pick at a loose thread on the picnic blanket.
"So do you want to be a cop?" he asks, steering them back to the previous conversation. "Follow in your father's footsteps?"
"I do. Eventually a detective, actually," she says, and she sees the spark in his eyes as he realizes why she'd enjoyed his little nickname for her. "In Homicide. I want to bring justice to victims and closure to the loved ones left behind."
"I think that's quite admirable of you."
She smiles at him, warmth filling her chest as Carmen makes her way over to them.
"Oh good, you're done eating! We need some people to judge the three-legged race; you in?"
...
The sun is starting to set when the house parents of the group homes start rounding up their kids.
Chloe says goodbye to the girls while Lucifer ribs and teases the boys. He tosses the smallest one over his shoulders and parades him around. The other kids erupt in peals of laughter over it.
She starts picking up trash, keeping one eye on him as he helps load the kids into their respective vans.
"You're really good with them," she observes when he returns to help her clean.
"Don't let it get out. It'd ruin my reputation," he says with a grin, balling up a wrapper and tossing it into the can.
She laughs softly at the joke, but then lets her head fall to the side in contemplation. "Would that be so bad? For people to know you're not a self-centered, pompous asshole?"
His smile falls and he shrugs.
"Why don't you want people to know the real you?"
He avoids her eyes as he moves to the table to snag some empty chip bags. When he finally looks at her, his face is open; he's more vulnerable than she's ever seen him.
"What if they don't like what they see?" he asks, his voice so soft it almost disappears with the breeze.
"I think you'd be surprised."
His brow crinkles as he gazes at her, a soft, genuine smile tugging at his lips. It lights up his whole face.
That evening, as Chloe makes her way back to campus, she can't stop thinking about that smile.
IV. Class
A hundred students fill the lecture hall. Some doze; others scroll mindlessly through social media. A few stare out the large vaulted windows, daydreaming.
From her desk in the middle of the auditorium, Chloe watches Dr. Sato with rapt attention, every so often scribbling important bits of information into her notes.
She'd been sure a class focused solely on juveniles would be a waste of her time. If she becomes a homicide detective like she plans, she'll be dealing mostly with adult offenders.
But Dr. Sato finds ways to make the class both interesting and relevant.
Learning about the risk factors that influence why young people offend, many into adulthood, is changing the way she thinks about the system—and about offending in general.
It's making her a better person.
And that's why she loves the class so much.
Because she doesn't just want to be a detective. She wants to be a good detective. She wants to understand why some people are more likely to offend than others. The system is flawed, and she wants to learn how to improve it, how to do things better, how to recognize her own biases and learn how to overcome them. She wants to be able to connect with the people she'll be serving, the victims and their families, but also the suspects and perpetrators—and understanding why people offend will help her do her job well, will help her catch killers.
Ultimately, she wants to make the world a safer place.
And she wants to make her dad proud.
She's jotting down a reminder to look into the research of Dr. Gideon Wang for her service learning project when the door at the back of the lecture hall suddenly slams shut.
Chloe jumps, and her pen scrapes a sharp line across the page (and right through her notes) as she, along with everyone else in the room, turns toward the sound, scowling at the person who'd decided to make such a disruptive entrance—and fifteen minutes into class, no less.
"Hel-lo!" the latecomer greets, his melodic voice echoing through the auditorium.
She huffs in disbelief, equally exasperated and amused as she slowly shakes her head. Because, of course, it's him. Lucifer. The man who has a knack for showing up everywhere she is lately.
"So sorry I'm late," he continues as he glides down the center aisle of the auditorium, his gaze sweeping over the rows of faces, not at all phased by the fact that all eyes are on him or that he's holding up class.
He's wearing a suit again, like the first time she'd met him in the gym. If she hadn't been narrowing her eyes at the absurdity of the stylistic choice, she'd have appreciated how well he wore it.
"Hurry and take your seat," Dr. Sato says, an impatient irritation in her voice as she frowns at him. She doesn't wait for him to sit before she continues with the lecture.
When Lucifer's eyes finally land on Chloe, his lips curl into a grin, and he wiggles his fingers at her in something that resembles a wave. He makes a sharp left into her row, and her cheeks flush a bright red when she realizes he had been scouring the room for her.
She buries her face in her notes as the students already seated in her row scoff indignantly, grumbling as they shift their bags and their legs out of the aisle so that he can clamber past them. Somehow, he remains graceful all the while.
"What are you doing here?" she hisses as he slides into the empty seat next to her.
He's still got that Cheshire grin stretched across his face, and she swears the white of his teeth sparkle under the bright lights like a cartoon character. "I'm in this class now."
"You are? Why?"
"You spoke so highly of it at the cookout last weekend," he shrugs, "and I was curious."
Someone in the row in front of them turns to shush him. Chloe gives her classmate what's meant to be an apologetic smile but is really more of an embarrassed grimace.
"But the drop/add period is already over," she whispers. "How'd you get transferred in so late?"
"Well," he begins, but pauses at her admonishing look. He lowers his voice and tilts his head sardonically. "Well, first I had to bribe the receptionist at the Registrar's office for your schedule—I wanted to ensure I enrolled in the correct section of the class. You really do love these early morning lectures, don't you? Anyway, all it took was a little charm and they got me right in. So, what have I missed?"
She shakes her head incredulously—as if she could fill him in on nearly four weeks worth of material right now in the middle of class—but she bites her lip to hide her smile.
She starts to turn back toward the front of the room, but pauses, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Why are you always wearing a suit?"
"Always? If I'm remembering correctly, the last time we met I was in a t-shirt and jeans and the time before that I was hardly wearing anything at all." His voice is light and teasing, and she flushes at the reminder of him in only a tight pair of boxers. "Though I suppose you could say I was one rather thin article of clothing away from being in my birthday suit."
Her cheeks are still hot as she turns her attention back to the front of the lecture hall—she does not need to imagine Lucifer in his birthday suit in the middle of class. She notices some of the other students continue to shoot dirty looks at them for being disruptive. Even though she hates the attention, she can't stop the corner of her lip from twitching up into an amused grin as she thinks about the way Lucifer had burst into the room, no qualms about being late or causing a scene. An odd sort of giddiness bubbles up inside her—she's flattered that he'd gone through the trouble to get into a class she enjoys.
"So this is the professor you like so much?" he asks, leaning in so that his breath rustles the hair by her ear.
She suppresses a shiver and tips her head just slightly in his direction to nod.
They watch the way Dr. Sato moves around the front of the lecture hall, gesturing eagerly with her arms, a keen smile on her face and a passionate twinkle in her eye.
"I can see why."
He's surprisingly quiet and respectful for the rest of the lecture. He doesn't take notes, but he listens attentively.
And when, at the end of class, the professor calls on Chloe to answer a tough question that she nails the answer to, she won't admit that her stomach fills with butterflies when Lucifer leans over and whispers into her ear, "Well done, Detective."
V. The Mineshaft
Music roars in Chloe's ears.
Eve's face is so close to hers that their breaths mingle in the small space between them. Strobe lights above the dance floor paint Eve's skin with colorful patterns that flicker and twist like the inside of a kaleidoscope. Every so often, their hips or thighs or chests brush as they move to the thumping techno beat.
Chloe can't contain her gleeful smile. She may not have the best moves or stay on beat very well, but she loves to dance.
When the song ends and transitions into another, her friend leans in, her mouth close to Chloe's ear. "I'm gonna get another drink! You want one?"
Chloe nods, and Eve twists their fingers together, tugging her through the pulsing crowd and over to the bar.
The music is still loud when they reach the bar, blaring from speakers mounted high on magenta-colored walls. The floor vibrates to the beat as they find the back of the line. It creeps into the soles of Chloe's feet and climbs up her legs; subconsciously, her hips begin to sway.
Her friend nudges her side, her teeth glowing in the dim, blueish lighting as she grins. "I love this place!"
"Me too!" Chloe beams back at her, bouncing a little on her toes. Eve's enthusiasm is contagious.
She's always been a vivacious foil to Chloe's more even temperament. It's one of the reasons Chloe likes hanging out with her so much—Eve makes everything fun. She's somehow always able to put a positive spin on even the worst situations and manages to pull the same kind of exuberant energy from Chloe when they're together.
And her friend is right. The Mineshaft is the best gay club in the city. They always have amazing drink specials and never skimp on alcohol. The dance floor is always packed, the people are friendly, the music never misses.
When they make it to the front of the line, Chloe stretches across the bar to order a vodka red bull, shouting so that she can be heard over the booming music.
As she waits for her drink, there's a sudden shift in the energy of the room. She feels a prickle on the back of her neck and somehow she knows exactly who's caused it. She spins around to see Lucifer making his way gracefully through the dance floor. The crowd seems to part for him like the Red Sea. It's natural and effortless for them to make room as he passes, and Chloe is left once again struck by his effect on people.
"Vodka red bull," the bartender announces behind her.
Turning back to the bar, Chloe snags the drink. "Thank you!"
She takes a sip. It's admittedly not the best tasting combination of flavors, but she likes the kick of energy the drink gives her. She needs it after the long week she's had. Lots of late nights studying and completing assignments only to be followed by too-early mornings in order to make it to class on time.
"You have a tab, hun?"
"Chloe Decker."
Nodding, the bartender sidesteps over to the cash register, and Chloe moves away from the bar to make room for the next person in line.
As if by some invisible pull, her eyes are drawn to him again. Her heart speeds up, and warmth blooms in her cheeks.
He looks good. He always looks good, but there's something about seeing him dressed for a night out, clearly dressed to impress, that's an entirely different sight to behold.
He's wearing dark jeans that are fashionably sleek, and a short-sleeve, button-up shirt. The top few buttons are left undone and a sliver of smooth skin peeks out. She can't tell the color of his shirt in the dark club, but she thinks it might be purple—maybe even the same shade as the little devil emoji. She amuses herself with the thought of telling him so, knowing he'd probably smile that little private smile of his whenever someone makes any sort of religious reference to his name.
His outfit clings to him in all the right places, showing off the long, lean lines of his figure well.
The man certainly takes pride in his appearance.
Eve appears at her side, sipping from a refreshing-looking mojito. "There's an empty table over there," she says, grabbing Chloe's arm. "Wanna sit for a second?"
Chloe lets her friend drag her over to a high top in the corner of the bar area. It's a little bit quieter in the corner furthest from the dance floor, and they are able to hear each other without having to shout.
Eve launches into a story. She had recently started working at a florist shop, and a customer had been so impressed by her friendly service and knowledge of the plants that he had sung her praises to the manager.
"I just feel really good about switching to a plant science major, you know?"
Chloe nods absently. She tries to focus on Eve, but her gaze keeps drifting, tracking Lucifer as he moves through the club. Now that she knows he's here, he's all she can think about.
It irks her.
He flits from person to person, flirting with everyone who so much as glances his way. As he joins the line at the bar, his lips curve into a suggestive grin at something someone whispers into his ear.
Her stomach twists with an emotion she doesn't want to admit is jealousy.
Because Lucifer is insufferable. She thinks about the day she first met him at the gym. He's full of himself, arrogant, and cocky.
But that's not the truth and she knows it. She remembers the way he'd offered her breakfast, and how he'd taken an interest in her plans for the future. The way he'd laughed with the kids at the cookout and his shy smile as he'd offered her a bracelet made of flowers. She remembers his vibrant energy as he'd burst into her classroom, and the pride in his eyes when she'd impressed the professor with her clever observation.
Trying to convince herself that the real Lucifer matches up with the first impression she'd formed of him is a half-hearted attempt to protect her ego from the blow of his rejection.
Because she wants him. She wants to date him. She wants to be his girlfriend and partner, not just another notch to join the many on his bedpost.
But he doesn't want any of those things with her, and that hurts.
Eve's phone lights up on the table between them. As she peers down at the illuminated screen, Chloe watches as a girl slowly runs her hand down Lucifer's arm. She twines their fingers together and leads him toward the dance floor.
"Oooh!" Eve squeals as she reads the message. "Ella and Linda are here! Wanna go find them? And then maybe do some more dancing?" She wiggles her shoulders as she makes the suggestion, her eyebrow bouncing up and down eagerly.
Chloe forces a smile, but her cheerful mood has soured. "You go ahead. I'm gonna go to the bathroom first. I'll catch up with you guys out there."
Eve downs the rest of her mojito and then skips off toward the entrance to look for their friends. Chloe stays at the table for another moment, swirling the remaining ice cubes in the bottom of her glass with her straw as she watches Lucifer dance.
He's sandwiched between two people; all three of them move in tandem to the music.
There's a guy at his back in a mesh crop top and tight black leather booty shorts. His hands grip Lucifer's hips as he grinds against his ass. He leans forward, his mouth close to Lucifer's ear, and she wonders what he's saying that makes Lucifer's tongue dart out to flick at his bottom lip.
A girl dances in front of him, her back to his front. She reaches backward, and her fingers slide into the short hair at the base of his skull, urging him closer. Lucifer ducks his head, his face tilted toward her, and his hands slide up her hips to skim the sides of her breasts.
The initial unpleasantness of seeing him dancing so sensually with other people gives way to a hot burst of arousal in the pit of her stomach as she pictures herself in that girl's place.
She wants to dance with Lucifer like that. She wants him to dance with only her like that.
Her eyes blaze a trail from his large hands, splayed over the girl's ribs, and up his strong arms. His muscles flex just so beneath the flashing lights. She takes in his broad shoulders and the rough stubble covering his sharp jawline. At last, she lands on impossibly dark eyes that are staring right back at her.
Oh. He's caught her looking.
A thrill runs up her spine and a flush warms her cheeks. She's a little embarrassed to be caught, but the alcohol mutes the feeling, making her bold and daring instead. She lifts her chin and holds his gaze as his lips twitch into that crooked smirk that makes her stomach do flip-flops.
There's a spark of interest in his eyes as he cocks a brow, and his hands fall away from the girl's waist. He slips out from between his dancing partners and makes his way over to her. They look disappointed for only a second before they close the gap, hardly missing a beat as they continue to dance with each other instead.
"Well, well, well," he says as he nears, his smooth accent carrying just slightly over the thumping bass. "If it isn't my favorite future detective."
She has to bite into her lip to keep from grinning at their little inside joke.
"Must you ruin all my favorite spots?" she teases, but her tone is entirely devoid of the annoyance she'd hoped to exude.
Because she's happy. She's happy that the second he'd laid eyes on her across the crowded club, he'd dropped everything and everyone to come talk to her.
It makes her feel special, even though she tells herself it shouldn't. It's a dangerous game she's playing—getting her hopes up with someone who doesn't want the same things as she does.
His head quirks to the side, and surprise flashes in his coal-lined eyes. "I wouldn't have guessed the Mineshaft to be one of your favorite places. For a number of reasons."
Her first instinct is to feel offended. Does he really think she's such a stick in the mud that she doesn't know how to have any fun?
But then another thought crosses her mind. Is he surprised that her favorite bar is a gay bar? He'd feigned nonchalance, but she'd heard the curiosity in his tone. Does he just want to get to know her better?
Hope tries to fill her chest, but she tamps it down. "Why not?"
"A nightclub doesn't seem to mesh with your vibe."
"And what vibe is that?"
"That of an uptight criminal justice student who loves routine and order." His face screws up with distaste. "And planners and to-do lists. I'd have expected, say, the library to be more to your taste."
Scoffing, she rolls her eyes. "So I'm serious about school! And so what if I like the library?"
A satisfied grin stretches across his face.
It makes her cross her arms over her chest defensively. "I have goals in life. I know what I want, and I'll do whatever it takes to make it happen."
"Mmm," he hums, his eyes dropping to her mouth. "Yes. You're a real go-getter, Detective. I like that about you."
The unexpected compliment catches her off guard and makes her voice falter. "But I know how to have fun, too. And it's the weekend. I'm not gonna spend it all in the library."
"So you're here to let loose? Blow off some steam?" He takes a step toward her.
She matches it with a step backward, her back colliding with the wall behind her. "I guess so."
She swallows as he leans in close. For a second, she thinks he might kiss her. And even though she knows it'd be a bad idea, she also knows she'd let him. Her core pulses at the thought, a slow heat beginning to build in her gut as she holds his darkened gaze.
"Why not blow off some steam with me?"
The tip of his tongue darts out to wet his lip suggestively. He reaches out and gently brushes a loose strand of hair out of her face, his fingers grazing the shell of her ear as he tucks it away.
She shivers and her eyes fall to his lips. He has beautiful lips. And oh how she's tempted by him. A few drinks in, her inhibitions are lowered, and desire clouds her judgment.
She wants to kiss him, taste the dip of his collarbone, feel the hard and heavy press of his desire—desire for her—between her thighs.
So what if he doesn't want a relationship? She can do no strings attached.
And who knows? Maybe it'll be different with her. Maybe one night with her won't be enough, and he'll want more. Maybe she can change him.
It's that thought that makes her shake her fuzzy head and duck underneath his arm.
"I have to go to the bathroom," she flings out as an excuse as she rushes off. A quick glance over her shoulder and she sees the disappointment and confusion written all over his features.
In the restroom, she stares at herself in the mirror. Her face is flushed from her interaction with Lucifer, and her eyes are a little glassy from the alcohol.
"You are not that girl," she scolds herself.
"What girl?" a voice pipes up from one of the stalls behind her.
She turns and leans her hip against the counter. "The girl who thinks she can get a guy who doesn't 'do' relationships to do one with her."
"Oh, honey," another voice says, followed by the flush of the toilet. The stall door opens and a queen in full drag makes her way over to the sink next to Chloe. "You'd be setting yourself up for heartbreak."
She nods. "I know."
Lucifer doesn't want a relationship. He's happy with meaningless sex; he doesn't want to change.
But the memory of his face at the picnic when she'd told him about how great relationships could be flashes through her mind, attempting to argue otherwise.
The queen smirks knowingly at her through the mirror. "I see that look on your face. You're still thinking about it."
"I just like him a lot," Chloe admits, feeling the surprising sting of emotion at the corners of her eyes. She sniffs and blinks the moisture back.
"Well then go for it!"
"Yeah, go for it!" The other stall bursts open and the owner of the first voice staggers out. The girl's got on knee-high, glossy red platform boots that Chloe is immediately envious of. She looks Chloe up and down with wide, appreciative eyes. "Girl! You are insanely hot! He'd be out of his mind not to want you!"
Chloe smiles bashfully. She can feel her cheeks turning pink from the enthusiastic compliment. "Yeah, well, wanting me isn't exactly the problem. He's told me before that he doesn't date, but I don't want just casual sex. Not with him."
Platform boots slips in between them to use the vacant sink, and Chloe scoots backwards to make room for her. "Have you told him how you feel?"
She shakes her head. "I'm afraid," she says, ashamed by her cowardice. A real go-getter, Lucifer had called her. Apparently not when it comes to matters of the heart.
"Weigh out the consequences. If the risk is worth it, you gotta take that leap," the queen encourages, shutting off the tap and turning to dry her hands. "And if it doesn't work out, at least you know you gave it a shot. Otherwise, you'll always be left wondering 'what if…'"
Chloe chews on her lip as she considers the advice. The worst that can happen is that Lucifer tells her he's not interested. It would hurt for awhile, but at least she'd know for sure and would be able to move on from her feelings.
"You're right."
The queen smiles and moves toward the door. "Good luck, honey."
Platform boots finishes drying her hands and follows her out. "You got this!"
"Thank you!" Chloe calls after them.
As a few more people stumble into the restroom, laughing as they chatter loudly about their night, Chloe takes a determined breath and heads back out into the club.
Lucifer is still standing where she left him, whiskey glass in hand. But he's no longer alone. A small group of people have formed a circle around him, and he's giggling at something a beautiful woman is saying.
Immediately, the determination in her chest deflates like an old balloon. He can have almost anyone he wants, and still he chooses not to date. What makes her think she'd be the exception?
An unpleasant mixture of disappointment, rejection, and jealousy makes her stomach feel topsy-turvy. She doesn't want to think about him anymore. She just wants to find her friends and forget about these feelings. She'd come to the Mineshaft for a girls' night, not to pine after someone she can't have.
She makes her way to the dance floor, passing him by as she does. She doesn't look to see if she's caught his attention, but she knows she has by the way he shouts "Detective!" just over the thumping bass of the music. She pretends she doesn't hear and slips into the crowd.
She hides amongst the bodies, not yet searching for her friends, just needing a minute to herself. The music pulses through her veins, and makes her heart pound in time to the beat. She focuses on losing herself to it. The sounds, the way her body moves, the flashing lights, the people around her.
She gets so swept up in it, that when hands settle on her waist, she startles. For a second, she hopes that they belong to Lucifer, but she quickly realizes they are too small to be his.
She turns her head to see a girl behind her. She's pretty; petite with a pixie cut that frames her delicate facial features. The balled ends of a silver septum ring peek out from her nose. She smiles and mouths, is this okay? and Chloe nods, moving her hips to dance with her.
She tries her best to get into it. The girl is cute and she knows she'd be interested if Lucifer wasn't taking up all the space in her head. She can feel his eyes on her from across the room and it's distracting. Trying to ignore him, she closes her eyes, hoping to get back to that free and floaty feeling she'd had only moments before.
"I think you have an admirer," the girl shouts into her ear.
The hands on her hips turn her body slightly so that she's facing Lucifer, who's hovering near the edge of the dance floor with that same group of people surrounding him. He doesn't seem at all interested in their conversation; his gaze keeps flickering to her.
The strobe lights from the dance floor hit his face and tint his skin red for a moment, and she can't help the giggle that bubbles up inside of her as she thinks it a fitting complement to his name.
"He's just someone I know from class."
"He's been glancing at you the whole time we've been dancing."
Chloe doesn't know how to reply. His fascination with her would make sense if he was interested in dating her. The signals he's given her are confusing and mixed, and the alcohol only makes her brain feel less equipped to make sense of it all.
It isn't long before the girl loses interest, her hands dropping away from Chloe's waist.
"Thanks for the dance," she shouts, before disappearing into the crowd.
Chloe wants to feel frustrated at Lucifer for ruining her opportunity to get to know the girl better, but she's not. Because truthfully, she didn't want to get to know the girl better. She wants to get to know Lucifer better. Sighing, she marches off the dance floor and over to her 'admirer'.
"Can you stop staring? You're scaring everyone off. No one wants to dance with me."
"I do." He pushes off the wall and extends his hand. "Dance with me instead?"
Her pulse quickens and her stomach flips, but still she shakes her head. "No."
He frowns, hurt pinching at his features.
It tugs at something inside her.
He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, she changes her mind. "One dance," she tells him, holding up a finger, hoping that maybe it will get him off her back and satisfy her own itch to be near him. "Then you have to leave me alone."
"Well that's no fun."
She gives him a look.
"Alright. Only one dance if that's all you desire."
"It is."
She places her hand in his and he gives her a tug, spinning her back toward the dance floor.
It's easy to get lost in him. His chest is warm and broad against her back, his hands large and firm on her hips and stomach. He pulls her close until her ass is pressed against his thighs, and everything else fades away.
There's something possessive about the way he holds her, and it makes a thread of desire tug at her core. Heat floods her belly as they move together.
The tug becomes an insistent throb as they find their rhythm. He bends over her, all-encompassing. His hot breath tickles her ear, and all she can smell is the scent of his cologne. His hands slide up over her ribs and back down to the outsides of her thighs, and she can feel his interest against the small of her back. Her resolve begins to shatter because fuck, she's turned on.
She rolls her hips a little more insistently and he hums a rumbly sound that vibrates through her, making goosebumps fan out over the nape of her neck.
Lucifer lets go of her waist to grasp her elbows, and with a gentle pressure, urges her arms up over her head. Their hips never falter as they continue to dance. His fingers trail a path down her arms. She turns her head to the side and feels the soft scratch of his stubble against her cheek as he leans in close to her.
She turns to face him, bringing her arms down around his neck. She remembers the girl he'd danced with earlier, and she drags her own nails through the soft hairs at his nape. She can feel the shiver that runs through him because of it.
"I've wanted to do this with you all night," he husks against the shell of her ear before his forehead comes to rest on hers.
She knows he's telling her the truth. He's barely given anyone else a second glance since he discovered she was here, even though there are plenty of willing people in skimpy clothing dancing around them, checking him out, trying to snag his attention.
"Why me?" she asks, because she has to know why—why he seems intent on chasing her if all he's after is a quick fuck. It doesn't seem worth all the effort.
"You're special," he says, his eyes locked with hers.
"Because I'm a challenge?" she asks, trying to understand. "Because I haven't just fallen into bed with you like everyone else? You like that you have to chase me because it's new and thrilling?"
He leans back a little, shaking his head. He looks frustrated, but not with her. "Can we talk outside?"
It's hard to hear over the music, so she nods. This doesn't seem like a conversation she wants to shout in the middle of a packed dance floor anyway.
He takes her hand and leads her out the side door to the patio. It's much quieter out here, and people stand in small groups talking with friends and smoking cigarettes. A couple is making out hot and heavy against one of the brick walls. They move a bit further away and find a quiet corner.
A light breeze dances across Chloe's skin as she leans back against the railing, waiting for Lucifer to continue. It feels nice after the heat of the dance floor.
"I must admit," he begins, fidgeting a little with the onyx ring on his finger, "it did feel a little like a challenge at first, but that wasn't what was new and thrilling about being around you. People fall into bed with me because that's all they want from me. They want what I can give them, what I'm known for—the single best night of their lives. No more, no less, and no strings attached."
He frowns, his gaze on his shoes. Before she'd gotten to know him she might have been surprised that that upsets him, but not now. Not really. The way he'd looked at her at the park flashes through her mind again. She'd seen it in his eyes; he'd wanted what she had described—yearned for it. She'd come to think the way he presented himself was just an act to keep people at arm's length, but she'd never considered that it had become more of a self-fulfilling prophecy that he wished he could break out of.
He smiles, and it's a shy little thing that makes her heart squeeze as he meets her eyes. "No one's ever wanted to get to know me for me. No one cares that I have a 4.0 GPA or that I volunteer with foster kids every week. Most people don't even know that I was a foster kid. No one's ever been curious about why I don't date or asked me about my interests. But you did."
A shiver runs up her spine and the last of her defenses begins to crumble. "What will happen if I let you catch me? Will you lose interest?" she asks, barely above a whisper. Her voice shakes slightly with nerves. It's scary to be so honest about her feelings, but she feels like she can be vulnerable with him. "Because I really like you, Lucifer. But I'm afraid I'm going to get my heart broken."
"I-" He sighs. "Chloe, I can't promise that I won't break your heart."
She frowns, her heart sinking just a little. He reaches for her hand. His palm is a little sweaty, and she finds it endearing that he's nervous. Regardless of how he acts with others, he's been himself with her almost from the very beginning. It's reassuring that he's not trying to pretend to be someone he's not, and even if it hurts, she appreciates his honesty.
"What I can promise you, Chloe," he continues, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles, "is that I'll do my very best not to. I don't know the first thing about dating or relationships, but what I do know is that I can't get you out of my head. I wonder constantly about what you're doing, and if you're happy. I hear a joke and want to tell it to you, and try to guess whether it'll make you laugh or roll your eyes. I see news coverage of a crime and want to hear your thoughts on it. I admire your determination, your spunk, your intelligence, your kind heart. And I know there's so much more of you left to discover. I want to know it all—I want to know everything there is to know about you."
Chloe's eyes are wet and her heart thumps wildly in her chest.
"Lucifer," she squeezes his hand. She doesn't know how to respond—she feels so unprepared for such a beautiful confession. Her thoughts race and emotion clogs her throat.
"Would you consider having dinner with me?" he asks.
"As a date?" And even after all that, she has to clarify, because she has to know for sure.
He chuckles and confirms, "As a date."
"Then yes," she says, a happy laugh bursting from her mouth. She won't say she's not afraid because she is. But sometimes the risk is worth it. And she knows in her heart that Lucifer is a risk worth taking. "I'd love to have dinner with you, Lucifer."
"Really?" She can see the delight in his eyes, the pleasant surprise in the tentative way his lips curve into a small smile, the relief in the way his brow relaxes.
She bites her lip to contain her grin. "It's a date."
+1. In Between
It's dark.
Lampposts light the walkways through campus, casting everything in a warm yellow glow. Sounds of chatter, the occasional loud burst of laughter, and shrieks of joy fill the air. For many, the night is just beginning.
The sun had set a few hours ago. Goosebumps spread over Chloe's bare arms and legs as a light breeze rustles the hem of her dress. It feels nice, though, after the warmth of the day.
Lucifer walks beside her, close enough that their hands bump every so often. She peeks shyly at him from the corner of her eye, only to catch him sneaking a glimpse of her too.
Her stomach flutters. She smiles at him, her cheeks warm with a blush. The next time their hands brush, his fingers slide in between hers. His skin is soft and smooth, and his hand is large, but it fits with hers perfectly.
It's the first time all night they've had a lull in the conversation, but the silence between them doesn't feel awkward. It gives Chloe the chance to replay the evening in her mind.
Lucifer had picked her up at precisely six o'clock. His jaw had dropped when he'd seen her in her favorite little black dress, and when he'd told her she looked breathtaking, butterflies had erupted in her belly.
He'd taken her to an upscale restaurant on the beach. When they'd arrived, he'd given her a shy smile and asked if he'd chosen well or if she wanted to go somewhere else. After she'd reassured him it was beautiful and perfect and the food looked delicious, he'd beamed with a proud twinkle in his eye.
Crisp white tablecloths were draped over each table, and folded cloth napkins marked each place setting. String lights crisscrossed above the patio where they sat with a view overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The sunset had been a gorgeous backdrop to their meal—vibrant shades of oranges and pinks that faded into dark purples and midnight blues.
Over dinner, they'd learned more about each other. Lucifer had a passion for music, and promised to play her something sometime. He opened up more about his childhood and the volunteer work he'd done with Foster LA, and told her about his dreams to own his own business one day.
A few times her mind had drifted, not from disinterest, but because she'd gotten lost in his eyes, the curve of his lips, the melodic lilt of his voice.
She'd seen flashes of a future together—studying in the library, Lucifer goofing off and attempting to distract her; introducing him to her mom and telling him more about her dad; lazy weekend mornings where they'd lounge in bed for hours, leading into equally lazy days where he'd play music while she read.
It'd been the perfect date.
Another breeze chills her skin, but Lucifer's hand is warm in hers. She swings it gently between their bodies as they approach the dorms.
Hers is just up ahead, and suddenly she feels an urge to slow down, to take smaller steps, anything to prolong this moment for as long as she can. She doesn't want the night to end.
"This is me," she says, a reluctance slipping into her voice as she nods at the building.
They come to a stop in front of the door. She turns to face him, her fingers fidgeting nervously with his.
"Thank you for dinner." She pulls her lip between her teeth before smiling shyly up at him. "I had fun."
Hope sparks in his eyes. "Does that mean there's a chance you'll want to do it again sometime?"
She beams up at him and gives his hand a squeeze. "More than a chance."
He smiles, happy and relieved. She catches the way his eyes drop to her lips, and she swallows, tipping her chin up to him. Nerves race up her spine, and desire twists her stomach. Her heart beats wildly in her chest. She's imagined how his lips would feel against hers for weeks.
But as he leans in, he veers to the side and pulls her into a hug instead. He's warm and solid. His arms are strong as they slide around her waist and pull her close. She curls her arms around his shoulders and gives him a squeeze, breathing him in.
"Goodnight, Chloe," he says softly near her ear. He releases her slowly, like he doesn't want to let go.
He gives her one last smile and then turns to leave.
Before she's even thought it through, she's reaching out for him, grasping his hand, tugging him back to her.
A small, surprised gasp leaves his lips. Before she can second-guess herself, she's rising up on her toes and capturing his mouth with hers.
It's light, tentative, and a little clumsy as she leans into him, a hand on his shoulder for balance. The other finds his cheek, keeping his face close to hers. His arms wrap around her waist, steadying her first before drawing her closer.
His stubble is rough against her fingertips, but his lips are soft as velvet, yielding and eager as he lets her take the lead. She deepens the kiss. He tastes of chocolate mousse, red wine, and fresh mint.
It's a heady, addictive combination. He's an amazing kisser and she could get lost in him for hours, but with a gentle tug on his bottom lip, she pulls away before she gets too carried away.
He's adorably dazed as he gazes at her with heavy lids, and a part of her wants to grab his tie, pull him inside by it, and ravish him against the wall.
But the other part of her doesn't want to rush this. She wants to take things slow, for him mostly. Prove to him that he's worth the time and effort.
"Goodnight, Lucifer." She lowers back down onto her feet.
"Sweet dreams, Detective."
She watches him walk away with a smile on her face, her heart full of hope for what their future holds.
It's just their first date after all.
They have all the time in the world.
A/N: Lemme know if you enjoyed it? ❤