The bar had finally emptied, and Callen—true to his word as the designated driver—made sure everyone got home safely. Deeks and Kensi were the first to be dropped off, still bickering about whether pineapple belonged on pizza. Eric had been next.
That left Nell and Sam.
Sam was half-asleep in the passenger seat, arms crossed over his chest, when Callen pulled up to Nell's place first.
She unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned forward into the gap between the seats, giving Callen a warm, tired smile. "Thanks for the ride, Callen. And for making sure I honored my bet with maximum public humiliation."
He smirked. "You're a good sport, Nell."
She rolled her eyes, but there was a glint of amusement in them. "See you Monday?"
"Yeah."
She stepped out, shutting the door behind her, and he watched for a second as she disappeared inside.
Ten minutes later, he dropped Sam off at his place. He should have been heading straight home after that. He was heading straight home after that.
Until he pulled into his driveway and on getting out, something caught his eye in the dim light of the car.
A phone.
Specifically, Nell's phone.
It was lying in on the rear passenger seat, probably having slipped from her pocket at some point.
Callen exhaled, picking it up, debating his options.
He could wait until the morning. It wasn't like she needed it right now.
But then again… it had only been about twenty minutes since he dropped her off. She probably wasn't even asleep yet.
And besides, it wasn't that far. That was all the justification he needed.
With a shake of his head—mostly at himself—he turned the key in the ignition and backed out of his driveway.
xxxx
When Nell opened her front door, Callen had a few thoughts at once.
One: She had, in fact, not gone to bed yet.
Two: She had changed into comfortable sweats, the kind that looked impossibly soft and were clearly well-loved.
Three: She was still wearing his jersey.
That last one? That messed with his head.
Because she wasn't just wearing it.
She was still wearing it.
Like it wasn't part of the bet anymore. Like she had taken off the rest of her outfit but chosen to keep his jersey on.
That shouldn't mean anything.
And yet, as his brain short-circuited slightly, he was pretty sure it did.
Nell blinked up at him, clearly caught off guard. "Callen?"
He held up her phone. "You left this in the car."
Her lips parted slightly in realization, then she sighed, shaking her head. "Wow. I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached."
He smirked. "That'd make our cases more interesting."
She laughed softly, taking the phone from him. "Thanks for bringing it back. You could've just waited till Monday."
Callen shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Figured you might need it."
She studied him for a second, something flickering behind her eyes.
Then she shifted her weight, tugging at the hem of the jersey absentmindedly.
And that was a problem. Because all it did was remind him that she was wearing it.
That it was his.
That it was draped over her in a way that shouldn't have been nearly as distracting as it was.
And for the second time that night, Callen found himself standing too close to Nell Jones, fighting an urge he wasn't sure he should be fighting anymore.
Her scent was warm—clean, familiar, with a hint of something soft that he couldn't quite place but didn't want to stop breathing in. Her eyes, wide and searching, locked onto his, full of something that made his pulse stutter.
"Callen?"
Her voice was quieter this time, careful.
Like she knew.
Like she was waiting.
He could step back.
He should step back.
Instead, he stepped forward.
The space between them had already been too small, but now it vanished entirely. The air thickened, charged with something neither of them had spoken aloud but both had felt brewing for far too long.
"Callen…" Her voice was barely a whisper now, her breath warm as it fanned against his skin.
She didn't move.
Didn't pull away.
Did she want this as much as he did?
He didn't wait for an answer.
His hand came up, his fingers tracing her jaw before cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin. She was so soft. So right, against him.
His gaze flickered to her lips. And then he kissed her.
Slow at first. Testing. Savoring.
She tasted like warmth, like something steady, something that made his head swim but his heart settle all at once. It was different from anything he expected—softer, deeper, laced with an unspoken understanding between them.
Then she made a sound—somewhere between a sigh and a small, breathless hum—and it was like something in him snapped.
The kiss deepened, heat rushing through him as his arm slipped around her waist, pulling her against him, as close as he could get without losing himself completely. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, grabbing it like she wasn't ready to let go, like she needed this just as badly as he did.
The world faded.
No background noise. No second-guessing. Just her.
Her warmth, her lips, her body fitting against his like it was something that had always been meant to happen.
He didn't know how long they stood there—seconds, minutes? It didn't matter.
What mattered was the way her breath hitched when he finally pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. The way her hands lingered against his chest, like she was trying to steady herself, or maybe like she wasn't ready for the moment to end either.
Callen let out a slow breath, his fingers still resting at her waist. He should say something, anything, but the only words in his head were ones he wasn't sure he was ready to voice.
So instead, he pulled back just slightly, letting himself drink in the way she looked up at him—flushed, lips still parted, eyes still full of something unspoken but understood.
"Night, Nell," he murmured, voice rougher than he intended.
She blinked, dazed for a second, then a slow, knowing smile curved her lips.
"Night, Callen."
He forced himself to step away, to turn and walk down the hall, even though his body screamed at him to stay.
He hadn't planned on this.
Hadn't meant for it to happen.
But it had.
And all because of a damn jersey.