Betty didn't believe in epiphanies.
Cold hard logic and deductive reasoning had always been her tools of choice for solving a dilemma.
Even as a book lover and former English major, she was solidly left-brained. Not someone who took much stock in symbolism or intuition. She was way too analytical for that.
But even rationality had its limits.
When life delivers a sign in what seems like the most innocuous of moments, latching onto you and refusing to let go.
And suddenly the cobwebs clouding your brain are gone. And everything flows as clean and as clear as water.
It happened to Betty at precisely 9:26 am that morning. Approximately one hour after she'd woken up to her regular alarm.
Somehow, though, it felt as if she hadn't slept at all.
The sadness in Jughead's drunken smile as he'd said goodbye the night before kept playing in her mind. A spool of tape unfurling like a ribbon behind her closed eyes. On constant repeat.
That was natural she thought as she propped herself up against her fluffy pillows and glanced in the direction of her vanity mirror. To still be thinking of him. But the weird insistence in her bones to go after him, to patch the wing she'd broken, as if he were some sort of wounded bird. That was decidedly less so.
The feeling unnerved her. It wouldn't go away.
She felt off-kilter, but in a different way than the previous day. No longer numb and resigned. But overly alert and sensitive. Unable to disassociate. Goosebumps rising on her skin at every touch, every surface she came in contact with. The cool metal of the bathroom faucet and the thick gel-like soap when she washed her face. The coarse khaki and smooth rayon of the army green pencil skirt and light pink floral tank top as she slipped them over her skin.
And Glen's presence. She was hyper aware of that most of all.
Unconsciously shivering when she felt him stirring next to her in bed, or as he jostled past her while she was trying to get dressed.
The irritating way he simply sat down at the dining table after his shower, expecting her to bring him coffee and breakfast. His nose buried in the Wall Street Journal app on his phone. The distracting clucking sounds he made while reading, the harsh crunch of apricot jellied toast between his teeth.
Somehow he managed to make more noise reading the news than she did, even with a physical copy of the Riverdale Register in her hands.
Unable to concentrate, Betty folded up the newspaper into a perfect square and pushed her half-eaten plate away. She felt annoyed. He was annoying.
It was odd. How overwhelmingly empty the apartment had seemed when Glen had first left her. Metaphysically. Beyond the very obvious misplaced pieces of furniture and kitchen equipment.
She had mourned his absence in the beginning. Hadn't she?
But now Glen's presence in their once shared space was simply crowding her. Bothering her to no end. Like a slow rush of droplets falling from a leaky ceiling.
After sucking down the rest of her coffee in a bid to shake off the phantom discomfort, Betty stood up to clear the table.
As had become her habit, she removed the engagement ring and placed it on a sheet of paper towel on the kitchen's marble counter. The warning about chemicals and band discoloration something shared by all the bridal magazines she'd once pored through.
The soapy, lukewarm water poured over her hands and she carefully curved the lemon-scented sponge over each of the dishes' crevices. She repeated the order in her head. Smallest to big. Sterling silverware first, followed by colorful ceramic mugs, and finally white porcelain plates.
As she began to towel off the utensils, Glen absentmindedly muttered something to her about starting work on the guest list that night.
She looked toward him sharply, her eyes catching sight of the diamond glinting against the morning light.
Betty found herself unable to look away from it, the summer breeze swirling in through the window slats enveloping her in its clarity.
She gasped softly as it hit her.
She had zero desire to compile a guest list, nor did she want to put the ring anywhere near back on her finger. In fact, she wanted to throw it out the window. To watch gleefully from six flights up as it splintered into dozens of tiny sparkling specks.
The butter knives and dish towel in her hands dropped on the counter with a clatter. Betty swiveled around to face the expanse of the apartment.
Glen's back was to her, his sandy blond hair falling forward as he continued to scroll through his phone, apparently not even expecting an answer.
Betty stared at the glass-topped table, thinking how much prettier a picture it would be if, poof, Glen were simply gone. Or better yet, if Jughead were sitting at one of the table's gray suede chairs instead, smirking over at her.
The sensation caught in her throat, before racing through every one of her veins. Then, all at once, it was all she could think about.
She didn't want Glen there.
Agreeing to take him back had been a mistake.
A fearful decision made out of spite and stubbornness. Her terror at upsetting convention. Of not doing what was expected of her.
It was always the same story. Never daring to venture from the path long since dictated for her.
But Betty couldn't play pretend any longer. She just couldn't. The urge to run to Jughead was too strong.
"Glen," she uttered breathlessly, the words leaping off her tongue like they couldn't come up fast enough. "This isn't working."
"Huh, I'll buy you a new one," he mumbled, clearly not paying her his undivided attention.
"No," she contradicted with a snort, not even angry at his obliviousness. "Us. We're not working."
"What?" Glen asked, in shock, her words still not computing. But he finally put his phone down to stare at her. "What are you talking about? We're getting married."
"I don't want to get married," Betty told him. She swatted her index finger around in a dizzy circle between them. "I don't want this."
Glen was gaping at her like she'd grown two heads. But Betty just laughed out loud as a burst of wild freedom overtook her.
She could feel each beam of sunlight streaming in from the window behind her, warming her skin. Dappling her in that same initial sense of calm she'd had after sleeping with Jughead the first time. It flooded through her body.
It was so simple, she realized. Glen had been right to leave all those weeks ago. Maybe not the way he'd gone about it. Well, definitely not. But the idea. That had been accurate. They didn't belong together. He'd intuited it then, just as she knew it for certain now.
She had no desire to spend the rest of her life with him. In fact, even one more boring minute together was liable to make her go insane.
Glen began to redden and spout out various protests, but they all sounded like gibberish to Betty's ears. She wasn't listening. Her mind had already flitted back to Jughead.
Maybe it was merely a fling, not destined to last. Or maybe he did have the potential to be her forever person. But it didn't really matter. Because either way, she sure as shit would have preferred it was him at the table right now. Making snarky comments to her about how with her shirt tucked neatly into her skirt she looked like the grown-up version of a preppy cheerleader. Gobbling down the breakfast she'd prepared with gratitude and not as a given. Smirking at her like he wanted to drag her back to bed for the rest of the morning.
He was the spark she needed. She just hoped it wasn't too late.
Betty did her best to swallow down the lingering fit of laughter. But she couldn't hide the delirium of relief glimmering in her eyes as she spoke the next words aloud. Enough to silence Glen.
"I don't want you."
Betty parked her car across the street from Jones Auto Repair.
Oddly enough, she hadn't been back there since her accident. Her excursions to the South Side during their time together limited to only the Whyte Wyrm and Jughead's apartment.
Stepping out of her car now, she immediately looked out of place.
In her pastel outfit and pink ballerina flats, Betty stuck out like a sore thumb on the seedy streets of the South Side's industrial area.
But the squalid surroundings didn't freak her out like they had all those weeks ago. Too much adrenaline was thrumming through her veins. She was practically bursting.
Grabbing hold of a large white plastic bag with Pop's cherry red logo plastered on the front, she headed in the direction of the garage.
Walking through the wide, paint-chipped opening that led into the space, her eyes began to dart around nervously. Seeking out Jughead's silhouette among the various vehicles and stray equipment.
All morning she'd been waiting for what would be considered an acceptable hour to show up here with Jughead's favorite lunch. The minutes had seemed interminable.
At first she had killed some time with an anxious stroll along the banks of Sweetwater River. Before heading to the diner and sweating it out over three cups of decaf iced coffee.
She'd finally ordered the burgers and fries a few minutes before noon and made her way over to him.
"Hello?" Betty called out, precisely as Sweet Pea appeared in her line of vision. A wrench in his hand and a menacing glower in his eyes.
Betty giggled into her thumbnail at his cartoonish attempt at intimidation.
"Unless someone just happened to rear-end you right outside of our establishment," he spat angrily at her, "You have a hell of a lot of nerve showing up here."
"Or punched holes in all of my tires?" she couldn't help but quip, despite the pink tingeing her cheeks.
"Don't get cute with me," he grumbled, the frown deepening on his face. "You shouldn't be here."
"I need to talk to Jughead," she told him, her voice cool but insistent.
"Haven't you done enough damage?" Sweet Pea barked in accusation, approaching a few inches closer to loom over her. "What, are you here to finish the job?"
Betty frowned. While she appreciated Sweet Pea's protectiveness of his friend, he might have been taking the guard dog act a little too seriously.
"Can you please let me pass?" she requested.
"Nope," Sweet Pea shook his head, a mean laugh playing on his lips at her seeming naivete. As if he'd really allow her onto the premises that simply. "There's no way I'm letting you talk to him."
Betty tried to sidestep him, but Sweet Pea, with his broad stocky frame, physically blocked her way forward.
She inwardly groaned. What was he, five? Playing defense for a ridiculous version of capture the flag?
Glaring at the man, she tried again, this time dodging in the other direction. But all her maneuvers to get past him proved futile.
"Are you serious?" she sighed in frustration, her hands clamping on her hips.
"As a heart attack, blondie," he sneered.
"Please, Sweet Pea," she cajoled, her posture easing as she attempted begging.
"Are you kidding?" Sweet Pea scoffed. "Do you have any idea what you did to him? I've never ever seen him as bad as I did this past week."
Betty looked down, her cheeks flushing. Remorse crawled over her skin at the thought of how fucked up Jughead had gotten the night before (and god knows how many other nights this past week). But she knew she couldn't let the shame over what had happened between them until this point deter her.
She narrowed her eyes slyly, before opening her mouth again.
"Jughead!" she screamed as ear-splitting and crazed as she could. Her eyes shone victoriously as Sweet Pea's face twisted into an unhappy grimace.
She heard him before she saw him. The office door clicking open, the stomp of his leather combat boots on the metal staircase.
"Damnit Samuel," he snapped, "I thought I told you not to bother…"
The words died on Jughead's tongue as he caught sight of her. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he ran a shaky hand through his wavy hair. Almost as swiftly though, he composed himself.
"It's okay, Sweets, I've got it," he said, quietly now.
"You sure, boss?" Sweet Pea asked, still looking like he wanted to chase Betty away with the wrench.
"It's fine."
Sweet Pea made a face but otherwise shrugged. Shooting Betty one last death glare, he wandered back to tinkering under the hood of the old pickup truck he'd been working on.
Jughead bounded down the stairs, slowing his steps when he approached her. Betty bit her lower lip as she studied him. Aside from the very obvious lack of sleep in his eyes, he appeared no worse for wear. Good, even. Clad in his usual uniform of faded jeans, ribbed tank top, and work shirt.
She offered him a shy smile, receiving only a courteous nod in response.
"How can Jones Auto Repair help you today?" he asked. "Spark plug issue? New tires?"
His tone was scarily polite. A complete departure from the snarkiness when he'd actually had to service her car. It disarmed Betty, and she gazed at him dumbly, unsure of how to respond. She'd never encountered a Jughead like this before.
Only when he impatiently raised his eyebrows at her, his foot lifting to turn straight back around, did she find her words.
"Actually," she murmured, gingerly placing the Pop's bag down on the least filthy patch of floor she could find. "I'm looking for a new guy."
Jughead stared at her in confusion for a moment, before the words registered. The start of a boyish grin began filling his face, but he was quick to suppress it.
"Do they offer those at garages?" he posed.
He spoke with feigned disinterest, but she could see glints of that familiar teasing in his expression. It made her feel woozy.
"I'm hoping they do at this one," she breathed out, her eyes meeting his as he silently appraised her.
Her knees felt weak. She really wanted him to say something. To accept. But he still seemed tentative. She needed to show him more.
Betty took a step toward him, her whole body trembling in anticipation.
"Hi," she whispered.
Hey," he whispered back.
Jughead pursed his lips as she glanced up at him, squeezing them into his right cheek. When he relaxed his mouth, his blue eyes peered at her as intensely as she'd ever seen them.
"What about the wedding?" he asked.
"What wedding?" she responded, holding his gaze.
He blinked first, his hand tugging at the collar of his work shirt. When he looked back, her blue-green eyes were waiting for him.
"Maybe you just have cold feet?" he proposed, his eyes narrowing despite his light tone.
"No," she shook her head, her voice resolute. "It was always a mistake."
Jughead shifted his weight and nodded, but didn't say anything else.
"I made a mistake," she added softly, tilting her chin and peeking up at him with pleading, puppy dog eyes.
He finally seemed to cave, offering her a hint of the smirk she'd been craving.
"What'd you tell Scooter?" he questioned.
"I told him my vibrator on its last dredges of battery was better at pleasing a woman than him."
Jughead laughed so loudly it made her heart skip.
"And that I wanted someone else," she continued, fainter, but with the same certitude. "That I wanted you."
His smirk widened. And then, with no more hesitation, he pulled her into him, kissing her so hard she felt tingles all the way down to her toes.
Betty lost all sense of time in his embrace. Warmth spread over her skin, as his calloused thumb caressed her cheekbone, his soft, eager lips pressing hungrily against hers. Sucking down the strawberry flavor of her chapstick, the bittersweet taste of sugary coffee on her tongue. Seeking more and more.
It was only Sweet Pea's very pointed throat-clearing that drew her out of the haze.
"Get a room," the man snarled grumpily over at them.
Betty could feel herself flushing, but Jughead just continued to hold her close to him, smiling against her nose.
"Do you want to?" he asked.
"I have to go to work," she murmured in apology.
"Call in sick," he smirked, his eyes dancing with mischief.
Her knees wobbled. That look would be her undoing.
"You're a bad influence," she told him, begrudgingly extricating herself from his arms to pull her phone out of her skirt pocket.
"I think you owe me," he drawled.
She rolled her eyes good-naturedly as she placed the phone to her ear and waited for Veronica to answer.
"Vee," she said, faking a sneeze, "I'm so sorry, but I—"
"Don't start with me, Bee," Veronica trilled over the line. "We both know you're not sick. I can buy you an hour, but that's it."
"But—" Betty started to protest.
"Tell garage guy I said hi," Veronica said, silencing her.
Betty shook her head, a sheepish smile alighting on her face. Of course.
"How'd you know?" she asked.
"Please, Bettykins, I know everything," Veronica chirped. "But also Glen has called me repeatedly to ask if you've gone insane. Don't worry I told him he's a bastard. And that at least you had the decency to drop him to his face."
Betty couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks, Vee. I love you."
"Love you, too," Veronica cooed. "And I'm expecting intimate details."
"Deal," Betty agreed, before turning back to Jughead, who was grinning at her expectantly.
"I have an hour," she told him, gesturing to the plastic bag on the ground. "Including lunch."
"Perfect," he winked. "The only reason I was willing to forgive you was because I smelled Pop's."
"Forgive me?" Betty asked, Jughead's purposeful goading already riling her up. "You're the one who wouldn't tell me how you felt."
"I'm pretty sure showing up drunk on your doorstep suggests otherwise," he countered.
"And you could have saved us all that experience by just talking to me before," she retorted.
"Betts," Jughead chuckled. "Do you want to fight or do you want to me to fuck you? Because I'm not sure my post-hangover headache can handle both."
"Jughead," she hissed, blushing crimson as Sweet Pea groaned at them from under the truck's hood.
He quirked an eyebrow teasingly at her, waiting for an answer.
"Fine, the second," she whispered. God she really was a goner for him.
"Now, admit it's a bribe," he ordered her.
Betty folded her arms over her chest. "Maybe I was simply hungry," she taunted.
"For the love of christ," Sweet Pea interrupted, his head popping up to glare at them. "Can you two please stop it with your weird-ass foreplay? It's making me gag."
"Oh, be quiet, Sweet Pea," Betty brushed him off. "Why don't you work on regaining your appetite? There's a burger for you too in there."
Jughead cocked his head triumphantly at her and she realized her slip-up.
"Fine," she sulked. "It's a bribe."
"Good try, blondie," Sweet Pea mumbled, bounding over. He scooped up the take-out bag and swiped out a foil-wrapped burger before handing the bag over to Jughead.
"You coming?" Jughead asked Betty, his head angling toward the upstairs office.
"I'm not sure I want to anymore," she sassed.
Jughead just snickered at her attempt to regain the upper hand. In an instant, he was up against her, leaning down to trail featherlight kisses over her neck. Betty made a show of resisting him until he stopped to nibble on her pulse point. At which point her body involuntarily shuddered.
He was smirking when he lifted up his head. "Come on, stubborn baby," he said, grabbing her hands and easily leading her up the stairs. "Let's get that room."
As soon as he closed the door behind them, their lunch was abandoned somewhere on the floor and they pounced on each other.
They made out blindly, their lips greedy, tongues insistent. Hands wandering everywhere. Tracing the outlines of each other's bodies over their clothes, knocking the mesh of fabrics askew.
Stumbling backward as they staggered further into the room, Betty felt her thighs bumping up against a large slab of metal. Jughead's lean frame immediately covered hers, and her fingers gripped the edge of what she assumed was the desk, his lips finding their way back onto her neck.
"How come we've never done it here before?" she panted, as his mouth glided down the sensitive skin, nipping kisses into it.
While sporadic, they hadn't exactly shied away from exhibitionism during their previous hook-ups. Usually after drunken nights at the Whyte Wyrm.
It started when Betty, tipsy on her third pint of hard cider, made fun of Jughead for his initial resistance to the blow job at Roving Eye. Galled, Jughead upped the ante. Nearly dragging her by her ponytail into the bar's dingy bathroom and bending her over.
Riskier spots soon followed. From the tube slide at the playground in Pickens Park to up against his motorcycle in a thicket of trees in Fox Forest. Betty's fears of coming down with poison ivy or being arrested for public indecency no match for Jughead's ability to egg her on.
But, somehow, those dares had never led them to the garage.
"Well," he smiled, his fingertips tiptoeing up her legs. "The desk is reserved for special girls."
"I wasn't special before?" she protested, cocking an eyebrow at him.
"I thought you didn't want to fight," he reminded her.
Jughead squeezed the insides of her thighs before lifting the hem of her skirt up over her waist.
Betty felt her legs shaking, but she managed to fire back, "Then don't provoke me."
"That's exactly what I'm trying to do," he growled, fiddling with the dainty bow on her pale blue panties before moving his fingers down to cup her center.
"Oh," she moaned softly, as her heat spilled into his hand through nothing but thin cotton.
He kissed her then, leisurely this time, but no less intensely. His velvety tongue melting against hers. Betty sank into the kiss, her response heightened by the circles his fingers were rubbing over her arousal. Rendering her barely conscious.
"Call me baby again." She whispered the command against his lips, nails digging into the skin of his shoulder and upper back under the work shirt.
Jughead loosened his grip on her center and Betty cried out at the loss of his warmth. He broke away from the kiss, glancing at her with a smug grin.
"You liked that, huh?" Jughead ribbed her.
"I didn't not like it," she deflected, her eyes a fiery mix of sass and desire.
"Whatever you say," he mocked.
"Forget it," she pouted, her voice turning into a yelp as he spontaneously grabbed her ass and lifted her atop the cool metal of the desk.
Once again fingering the elastic of her underwear, Jughead grazed the silky skin of her stomach.
"What did you think about the most this week, baby?" he asked, his voice low and husky. The words sent a delicious shiver straight to her core.
"Your tongue," she confessed in a whimper.
"Interesting," he teased, smacking his lips. "Guess I'm getting lunch and dessert."
"Jughead," she attempted to chastise. But it came out as a desperate whine.
He began to tug at her panties, chuckling when Betty rushed to lift her hips up from the desk so he could pull them off her legs.
Throwing the flimsy piece of cloth over his shoulder, he knelt down on his knees before her, spreading her open.
"Try not to make too much noise," he warned, eyes shimmering up at her from between the insides of her thighs.
She sighed, the torment of nothing but his hot breath against her aching center making her squirm.
"The walls are paper thin, Betts," he continued, grinning at her helplessness. "And I don't want customer complaints."
Before she could even think to form a witty riposte, his tongue was caressing her center, the tip swirling lightly over her clit in that tantalizing way that always left her starving for more.
"Keep going," she pleaded, her back arching, one hand bracing against the desk, the other slipping into his thick hair and pulling tight.
Instead of torturing her as she'd feared he would, Jughead moved his face down almost obediently, using the whole of his tongue to lap at her opening.
After only a few strokes, Betty was already mewling little moans, her hips bucking wildly as she begged for his mouth to drown her in ecstasy.
Jughead kept up the pace, relishing in the taste of her he'd gone too many days without.
When his lips surrounded her clit, and he began to suckle the sensitive nub, she all but combusted.
"Yes, Jug," she gasped, coming so embarrassingly hard and fast, her whole body spasming at the rush of tingles bursting through her.
She slumped against the desk after the final tremor, her breathing heavy.
"Hm," he declared proudly, clambering up to his feet. "Seems like you really did miss me."
"Juggie," she whimpered, her eyelashes fluttering as her body struggled to recover. "No fighting means no teasing."
He laughed, his tongue swiping out to lick his lips, still slick and coated with her arousal.
Without warning, she found herself being lifted upright and his mouth once again covering hers. She moaned at the taste of herself on his tongue, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close while he fumbled for his jeans zipper. God, she'd been longing for this.
"Take them off," she muttered, impatient to feel him inside her.
"I'm trying," he snickered, finally getting the latch and letting his pants and boxers fall to his ankles.
Betty took his length in her hands, and he instantly hardened at her touch. She stroked him up and down several times, Jughead's head lolling back at the sensation.
"I missed you, cheerleader," he confided, his deep blue eyes swimming with a raw vulnerability that seemed reserved solely for her.
"Show me," Betty whispered, a cross between an order and a plea.
Snatching her hand, he interlaced their fingers, before lining himself up at her entrance.
"Okay, Betts?" he questioned softly, suddenly seeming bashful.
It was sweet of him to ask all things considered, but she was more than ready. For all of it.
"Jughead, if you don't fuck me already—"
He thrust into her before she could finish the empty threat, at first gently, but then almost immediately with more intensity.
Her free hand found itself clutching his upper back, her long legs squeezing tight around his waist as she angled him in deeper. Itching to feel as much of him as she possibly could.
She loved the way he simultaneously moaned and accelerated his pace at the contact.
Continuing to plunge into her, Jughead jerked his head forward to capture her mouth in a needy kiss.
Betty surrendered totally, wanting to call herself his—every sinew of her body aflame at the feel of his sultry lips devouring hers, the entirety of him buried to the hilt inside her.
Even amidst their pleasure-filled daze, she could sense it wouldn't take long. Both of them were way too overstimulated.
With only a few more firm, thorough thrusts, Jughead was groaning into their kiss, Betty's name on his tongue. At that honeyed sound, his stomach muscles clenched and he shattered inside her.
Betty cradled him against her after his release, their bodies remaining fused, heavy breaths mingling with the patter of their rapid heartbeats.
Only when she felt Jughead start to soften did she reluctantly let go of her hold on him and allow him to pull out of her.
He teetered a step back before righting his boxers and jeans.
"Hold on, Betts, I've got you," he muttered, a soft grin settling on his features. He moved to one of the desk drawers and rummaged through it until he came up with a handful of old take-out napkins.
"Thanks, Juggie," she murmured, shooting him a tender smile back as he handed them to her. A subtle signal he'd take care of her.
"Mmm, now I'm hungry," Jughead remarked, eyeing the faded restaurant logo on the napkins.
"I'm pretty sure our food's cold by now," she teased him, carefully wiping the sticky mess from her center and thighs.
"You have so many things to learn about me, cheerleader," he joked, taking the dirty napkins from her and tossing them in the wastebasket. "I just happen to have a microwave here."
"No tissues, but a microwave?" she ribbed sarcastically. "Very handy, weirdo loner."
"Speaking of handy," Jughead said, his eyes twinkling as he bent his elbow to help her down from the desk. "When do I get to meet this vibrator?"
"Only special boys meet Matt," she parroted innocently, smoothing her skirt down.
"Matt?" he asked, eyebrows raising.
"90s era Matt Damon," she explained haughtily.
She could see his lips quivering as he tried to hold back his laughter. He almost succeeded.
"Oh, I get it," Jughead smirked. "Scooter was your Charlie Dillon, but I'm your Will Hunting."
"Worse," she said, spooning his cheek in her palm. "You're my Jughead Jones."