Chapter Text
Downtown - Boston, MA - March 2, 2026 - 10:42 p.m.
It gets to a point.
Yes, Eloise Bridgerton is fully aware that she has had a leg up in life. Wealth, family, a stable progression from higher education into a career that most women in their late twenties would kill for.
But still. It gets to a point where being born with a silver spoon in her mouth cannot fix the pit growing inside of her. The pit that gets just a liiiitle bit bigger every time one of her siblings has another kid, or gets married, or starts dating her best friend. Nope, no amount of money or influence in the world can change the fact that Eloise is, effectively, being left behind. To keep the singularity at bay and prevent her body from completely collapsing in on itself, she finds herself at an Irish bar. On a Monday night. For Colin’s birthday.
Eloise sipped her beer in the corner booth, the aggressively loud rock band switching between covers of hair metal bands and traditional Irish music had morphed into a loud droning in her ears.
“EL!” Penelope shouted. The droning stopped.
“Eloise, did you hear a word I said?” Penelope asked.
“Honestly, no. I can’t even hear myself think in here, Pen.” Eloise took another large sip of beer before pressing her fingers into her temples. “Why did Colin pick this place? We aren’t even Irish,” she groaned.
Penelope chuckled beside her. “Birthday boy chooses, sorry El. He’s been talking all week about ‘splitting the G.’ He even bought a pint glass to practice with.”
Colin was at the bar with his best friends, Phillip and Michaela. The bartender, ever patient with tourists and Colins, was serving him pint after pint of unfinished Guinness until he achieved his goal. Phillip looked back at the girls in the booth, shoulders shrugging and a loving eyeroll as Michaela came bounding over with a tray of half full pint glasses and shots.
“Irish car bombs,” she said matter-of-factly, slamming the tray down in front of them, Phillip and Colin trailing behind her.
A collective groan echoed around the table as they filled in the booth.
“Michaela, if Colin has any more Guinness he might throw up,” Phillip said.
“Then you can have his, too,” Michaela retorted, throwing a wink at Phillip.
“NO!” Colin shouted, “I’m blarely bruzzed. Buzzed.”
“Oh, babe. No. You should switch to water for now,” Penelope said, rubbing Colin’s back.
Michaela passed out the glasses, two for Phillip (“I’m not drinking that”), and raised hers up in a toast.
“To Colin, birthday boy, my best friend, and the only person that can grow up in Boston and still want to spend his birthday at a tourist trap.”
The rest of them raised their glasses in agreement before dropping the shot glasses into their beers and chugging, Colin pouting while he sipped on his water.
“Blech,” Eloise gagged, “that is offensively named and disgusting.”
“It’s not that bad,” Phillip said while stacking the glasses back on the tray, the fifth pair still sitting unclaimed in the center of the table.
“It tastes like a curdled milkshake,” Penelope said.
“Oh you’re all such babies,” Michaela said, pulling out her phone. “Now, scoot together for a picture. Phillip, move over by Eloise.”
Eloise choked on her beer. “Michaela, I’ll take the photo. I'm his sister. I've got almost thirty years of photos with him.” She stood up from the booth, snatching the phone from Michaela’s hand before she could protest.
Michaela pushed Phillip further into the booth next to Colin and took the seat beside him.
“Alright, now everyone pretend like they like Colin.” Eloise snapped the photo, Colin’s jaw dropping in anger, Penelope trying desperately to stifle a laugh, and Phillip and Michaela buckling over.
“Eloise!” Penelope scolded with the hint of a laugh in her voice. “That’s mean!”
“It’s a joke, Pen,” Eloise said, sliding into the booth next to Michaela. “Besides, that’s how you get the best photos. No one’s putting on a fake smile and you’ll always remember how much fun you had.”
“Well,” Colin said, without slurring this time, “since you have decided to insult the birthday boy, you get to have the last drink.” He pushed the pint and shot glass over to Eloise, a shit-eating grin on his face. “For the memories, right, El?”
The rest of the group stared at Eloise, smug looks pressuring her to succumb to Colin’s wishes.
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes before dramatically throwing back the last of the abominable concoction. “Michaela, never actually try to order this in Ireland.”
Slowly, the party dispersed. Penelope dragged Colin home to preempt the inevitable hangover, and Michaela said something vague about Francesca before slipping out.
“They didn’t close their tabs,” Eloise noted.
“I’ve got it,” Phillip said. “One more for the road?”
Eloise nodded politely as Phillip walked over to the bar.
Six months. Six months, three weeks, four days, and three hours since Colin and Penelope started dating. Six months, three weeks, and four days since “Eloise and Penelope” had turned into “Eloise and Penelope and Colin.” And on occasion, “Eloise and Penelope and Colin and Colin’s friends.” Michaela and Phillip weren’t exactly strangers to Eloise, though. Michaela and Francesca had been dating for years, and Phillip and Colin were two inseparable peas since high school. Still, Eloise found herself mourning the long lost days of “Eloise and Penelope,” spinsters together forever.
She was happy for them. She swears. Most of the time. There was the occasional moment of weakness and selfishness where she resented it, she wasn’t afraid to admit it. She hated herself for thinking it, but the pit was growing. Every day she felt it.
“You’re doing it again,” Phillip said as he sat down, placing a beer in front of Eloise.
“Doing what?” she asked, feigning ignorance.
“Well,” he continued, “you have that look on your face like someone set fire to your bookshelf.” He took a sip of his beer. “So, either that actually happened or you’re spiraling.”
When did this happen? she asked herself. When did Phillip Crane come to know the faces she made or the way her brain worked?
She sighed. “Do you ever miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“The before times. Pre-Colin and Penelope. When you could hang out with Colin without the two of them being an amorphous blob of love and happiness.”
Phillip chuckled. “I don’t know, not really. It was different, but it wasn’t better or worse. He’s just a new version of himself. A happier version. He seems…grounded. Comfortable. Isn’t that all we want for our friends?”
Eloise crumpled up her napkin and threw it at his face. “Do you always have to be so understanding? Can’t you just commiserate with me?”
His smile widened, his blue eyes assessing her in the way that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. “Not when you’re being a brat.”
She scoffed. “Excuse me? I’m not being a brat-”
“You are,” he interrupted, “and that’s okay. You’re allowed to be, so long as you only say that stuff to me and not to them. You miss your friend. That’s normal.”
“God, you’re annoying,” she said, finishing her beer.
Phillip looked down to his lap, shaking his head with a small laugh. “Come on, we should get going. We’ll miss the last train.” He stood, grabbing his coat and guiding Eloise out of the bar with his hand hovering at the small of her back.
The two stepped out onto the sidewalk, the late winter chill biting and their breath billowing in the air around them. Eloise reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Holding it open towards Phillip, he took two out and placed both between his lips, the tip of his tongue lightly grazing the paper. He grabbed the lighter from her hand, lit them both, and passed one back to Eloise. Her stomach fluttered before placing it between her lips.
She heard Phillip chuckle to himself beside her. “What?” she asked.
He exhaled, smoke billowing from his nose, before turning to Eloise with a smile, the smile, again. “You do realize that you willingly went out to a bar on a Monday night for Colin’s birthday?”
“So?”
“Sooo… I don’t think you’re as mad as you think you are about them.”
“I never said I was mad. Just…” she waved her hand around vaguely, the words escaping her. The last beer catching up to her. “Whatever,” she said, taking a long drag.
The silence stretched between them, the cold air eventually sending a shiver up Eloise’s body and making her teeth chatter. Phillip crushed the butt of his cigarette under his boot.
“Come on, let’s get you home.”
The red line train to Cambridge emerged from downtown, crossing the Charles, moonlight glittering across the water. Eloise sat with her face pressed against the glass, Phillip sitting in front of her suppressing a laugh.
“Is my suffering amusing to you?” she asked.
The smile again. “You do know you didn’t actually have to drink the second car bomb, right?”
“Who am I to say no to the birthday boy?” she said into the glass before turning her head to glare at Phillip.
The train pulled into Central station. Both Phillip and Eloise live within a few blocks of Central Square, Eloise towards the Harvard side, Phillip towards MIT. When they reached the top steps, Phillip moved in the same direction as Eloise.
“I promised Penelope I’d text her that you got home safe,” he said before she could argue. “I know you don’t need a man to walk you home, but I’m not facing Penelope’s wrath for abandoning her best friend.”
They walked the few blocks to Eloise’s apartment, a small, brick building just off Mass Ave, taking the elevator to the fourth floor and unlocking the door to her studio apartment.
Eloise stepped inside, turning on the lights, before turning around to see Phillip still standing in the hall, hands in his coat pockets and leaning against the doorframe.
“Are you not coming in?”
He blinked in surprise. “Eloise, you’re drunk.”
A small smile reached her lips. “Has that stopped us before?” she asked, before grabbing his arm and pulling him inside.
Her fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt with the dexterity of a woman who had, in fact, done this many times before. His mouth was at her throat, the scratch of his beard on her skin sending an ache directly between her thighs. The smell of sandalwood and cardamom filling her senses. She pushed the shirt off of his shoulders, her hands traced the edges of the scars on his back. Her hands moved, dragging through the hair on his chest, across the hard ridges of his abdomen, down to the button of his jeans.
His hand grabbed her wrist, stopping her. He pulled back, a few curls falling down his face, eyes struggling to focus on hers, drunk on the headiness of her touch.
She felt heat creep up her neck, a sharp pang behind her ribs, and the familiar feeling of her insides trying to claw their way out, the feeling she always had when she looked directly in Phillip’s eyes. Fight or flight kicked in. She crashed her lips onto his again, pushing him backwards to her bed until the back of his knees hit the frame and he fell back onto the mattress.
Quickly, he pulled himself back to the headboard, his head resting on her pillow as she climbed on top of him, legs straddling his hips and kissing him once more. His hands trailed up her body, pushing the hem of her shirt up and tracing circles on the small of her back. Her tongue slipped between his lips, tracing the tip of his, and she felt the length of him between her legs flinch. There he is.
Something inside of him snapped, pulling her shirt over her head and flipping her over, covering her body with his own. She moaned into his mouth, his grip tightening on her as his lips moved down her cheek, to her neck, her clavicle, the top of her breast. Her hand gripped the curls at the nape of his neck as he nipped at her chest, then soothed it with his tongue, over and over again. She saw static behind her eyelids.
His mouth continued its descent, kissing down her stomach, unbuttoning her jeans and pulling them back with her underwear in one easy motion. She unhooked her bra and threw it carelessly off to the side. Laying there, bared to him completely, he stared at her as if it were the first time all over again, like she was something sacred. That hungry look in his eyes, moving over every inch of her body, his bottom lip briefly sucking behind his teeth. It undid her.
Her hand moved down her body, touching herself between her legs as she watched him stare at her. His eyes widened before he lightly tapped her hand out of the way, replacing it with his own and leaning back down over her, his mouth barely an inch from hers.
“Impatient, are we?” he whispered against her mouth, smiling. His fingers circled her clit, moving down through her wetness and back up. The sensation sent shockwaves through her body, her back arching off the bed, her hips grinding herself into his hand. She could feel the pressure building, the ache tightening, her moaning growing louder when he suddenly pulled back.
She let out a small scoff in protest, opening her eyes. Phillip stood up, removing the rest of his clothes, before sliding back down the bed, his mouth slowly, gently placing soft kisses up her thighs, pushing them apart. Her head fell back down onto the pillow, a sigh of ecstasy escaping her as his mouth found the center of her.
Phillip Crane is many things. A man of science. A reserved, patient man beloved by her mother for his manners. Owner of five too many houseplants for a normal thirty-year old man with the body of an athlete. And, to Eloise’s benefit, a man with an incomparable ardor and talent for eating a woman out. In fact, the first time they hooked up, he spent thirty minutes teasing, edging, and working her through the most intense orgasm of her entire life. A challenge she posed to him out of boredom, curiosity, or some other secret third thing. What the typically impatient Eloise would have called excessive and unnecessary is what turned their drunken mistake into a recurring event.
His tongue lapped against her, sucking her clit and delving into her, a devastating pattern that made her see stars and involuntary oh’s whimper out of her. She felt him smile against her, the smug bastard. His lips enclosed around her clit as his fingers gently pushed into her, curling up inside.
“Fuck,” she cried out as the world stuttered around her, her vision flattening. He continued to work her through it as her nerve-endings sparked. Her toes curled, her back arched off the bed, the walls of her throbbed around his fingers. He stayed there until she was shaking beneath him, her thighs locked against his head and her hands pulling at his curls.
She pulled him up by the hair, tasting herself on his lips as she pushed her tongue into his mouth. He made a sharp inhale, gripping her hips and steadying himself. He pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, catching his breath. “You taste incredible.”
“I want you,” she moaned against him before reaching between them, guiding him into her. His hips snapped forward. She gasped, grinding her hips to meet his. The two moved frantically, without grace, hands grasping at each other, sweat dripping from his forehead as he angled himself deeper.
Her head leaned back as he hit that spot. “There,” she grunted, locking her legs around his hips. Once, twice.
Her head spun again, fire pooling in her lower abdomen. The pleasure rippled through her again before she felt him follow, pulsing inside of her as his head fell down to her forehead. They breathed each other in, the air thick with musk as they both came down.
After, he pulled her against his chest, his arm wrapped around her waist, holding tightly, possessively. The point in the evening where there’s clarity, no longer intoxicated by Phillip’s eyes, or his shoulders, or his arms, or his maddening smile. No, he was simply ‘Phillip’ again. That was the agreement, at least. Somewhere along the way, this happened. The holding and the staying.
“Did you ever text Penelope?” she whispered.
“Mm,” he grunted, half-asleep. Affirmation, presumably. A problem for Future Eloise.
FIVE MONTHS AGO
The pub crawl was Michaela’s idea. Somehow she had convinced Francesca to go as well, an event so rare and cataclysmic, Eloise said she felt the Earth shift on its axis.
“You’re so melodramatic,” Francesca said as they walked to the third bar.
Eloise scoffed loudly. “Fran. Francis. Francesca. My love. You only go out with us once every, what, five years? This is monumental.”
“I go out more than that. And please don’t call me Francis ever again.”
Colin and Penelope had been dating for just over a month, the two attached at the hip already. They had made their way to the third bar ahead of the rest of the group, presumably to get some “alone time” in the bar bathroom. Sure enough, as they entered the bar, Colin and Penelope were just sitting down, clothes disheveled, in the booth at the back of the bar.
“Disgusting,” Eloise said, sliding in next to Penelope and dragging Francesca next to her.
Colin reached across the table, flicking Eloise on the forehead. “Don’t be jealous, El. It doesn’t suit you.”
Michaela slid in next to Colin, John next to her. And pulling up a chair at the end of the table, Phillip.
“We ordered a round of shots,” Penelope said as a waitress brought a tray of entirely too many shots for seven people.
“How many rounds?!” John asked. Terrified.
“As many as they could fit on the tray,” Colin said, passing out the glasses.
Michaela cleared her throat, raising her shot glass.
“Michaela, you don’t have to do a toast at every-”
“AHEM,” she cleared her throat again, interrupting Phillip. “To love!”
“At least it was short this time,” John whispered out of the side of his mouth to Phillip.
Love. Yes, that nebulous concept Eloise had heard so much about and seen in others. She took another shot off the tray without waiting for the rest of the group.
“Let’s play a game,” Michaela suggested. “Most likely to. Whoever gets the most votes has to take a shot. I’ll go first.” She tapped her finger to her chin, looking around the table. “Most likely to date two people at once.”
Every finger pointed at Francesca without hesitation.
“Wha-”
“It’s okay, Fran,” John said, struggling to suppress his laughter. “It’s extremely funny now.”
Francesca groaned, throwing back her shot. “That was targeted.”
“Well, good thing it’s your turn,” Michaela said, winking at Francesca across the table.
“Fine,” Francesca retorted, narrowing her eyes at Michaela. “Most likely to have a mental breakdown and fuck off out of the country for three years.”
The fingers moved to Michaela. She took her shot.
“Okay,” she said, wincing at the burn in her throat, “no more targeted ones. Let’s see…most likely to murder their partner.”
The vote was split, three fingers pointing at Francesca, four at Eloise.
“Fair,” Eloise said without protest. The game continued.
“Most likely to help you bury a body.” John.
“Most likely to have kids first.” Penelope.
“Most likely to start a cult.” Colin.
“I don’t think you would do it on purpose, love,” Penelope reassured him. “You’re so charming, I think it would just happen.”
“I’m choosing to take it as a compliment,” Colin said after taking his shot. “Alright, alright. Um. Most likely to have the most sex in one night.”
Colin, Penelope, Michaela, and John pointed at Phillip. The other three at Michaela. Eloise raised an eyebrow at the vote.
“What?!” Francesca shouted. “Phillip?”
Phillip turned bright red at the end of the table, tilting his head back and rubbing his beard.
“Please, elaborate.” Phillip ignored Francesca, taking his shot and attempting to move the game forward.
Colin finally interjected, sparing his best friend the embarrassment of recounting this story in front of Colin’s sisters by doing it himself. Still mortifying.
“Our sweet, shy Phillip here had quite the reputation in college. He had one girlfriend, sophomore year. She was,” he paused, searching for the diplomatic word. “Forgettable. Anyway, she broke up with him, but she happened to brag to her entire dorm that the future Dr. Crane had a talent for, well, kneeling at the altar.”
Eloise and Francesca looked at each other, confused. Then back at Colin.
“Pearl diving.”
Francesca put her head in her hands, Eloise cocked her head to the side.
“The old lickety-split-”
“Oh my God-”
“With our encouragement,” Colin continued, nudging Michaela, “Phillip got over that breakup very fast.”
“Can we move on now, please?” Phillip begged, taking another shot, presumably as a coping mechanism. “Most likely to lecture everyone about conspiracy theories.”
Unanimously, the table pointed at Eloise.
“I don’t believe in conspiracy theories,” she argued.
“Wouldn’t stop you,” Francesca joked, passing Eloise her shot.
The game wrapped up after a few more rounds, everyone sufficiently trashed. John had taken the opportunity to tap out while everyone walked to the fourth and final bar of the evening. The drinks slowed, more water was ordered, and the conversations returned to less salacious topics. Colin and Penelope were cuddled up in the booth, making out, while Michaela and Francesca were wrapped up in their own conversation with Phillip. Eloise slipped out unnoticed to the back alley for a cigarette.
The pit had started growing again. The emptiness, the loneliness. It had stalled for a few years there, after Francesca and Michaela finally got together. She had Penelope. She had Colin. She had them as separate entities in her life that didn’t overlap. Now they were sticking their tongues down each other’s throats in a bar at 1:00 in the morning. She threw the butt of her cigarette on the ground, stomping on it like a petulant child. She was not proud of herself.
“You alright there?”
She jumped, her head hitting the brick wall of the bar behind her.
Phillip rushed up to her, grabbing her head to inspect it for injuries. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m fine,” she said, jerking her head out of his large hands.
She heard him laugh behind his hand. Her eyes darted to his, glaring, daring him to say something.
“Something funny?”
He smiled. The one that she’d noticed before, the honest smile. It disarmed her.
She sighed, offering him a cigarette and lighting another one for herself.
“I just came out to tell you that everyone went home,” Phillip said, leaning on the wall next to her.
Eloise shut her eyes, leaning her head back and blowing smoke straight into the air.
“Colin and Penelope left, I think they forgot we were even there to be honest,” he continued, chuckling to himself. “And Fran was practically falling asleep, so they left just a minute ago. I told them I’d make sure you got home safe.”
“How chivalrous,” she said dryly.
Phillip let out a loud exhale beside her. “I’m going to ask again. You alright?”
She considered it. “Do you ever feel like part of you is missing?”
“What-“
“Like there’s a hole in your stomach, where something used to be but it’s not there anymore and it’s getting bigger every day and you feel like the rest of your internal organs are falling through it and your body is going to collapse in on itself like a dying star until you’re just a black hole, and then you’re going to start sucking up everyone around you into your miserable hole.”
She waited. Sat there in silence. She looked over at Phillip, staring straight ahead of them at the opposite wall.
Suddenly, he erupted into laughter, bending over, clutching his stomach.
“UGH,” she groaned again, throwing her cigarette on the ground and pushing herself off the wall to walk away.
“Eloise!” he said, still laughing, and grabbing her wrist. “I’m sorry,” he wiped away a tear from his face, “you just phrased that horribly.”
She froze, staring at where his hand was gripping her arm, his hands rough and calloused, sending a chill up her spine. She didn’t try to tear it away, she just leaned back up against the wall. Phillip’s hand moved to hers, giving it a comforting squeeze once he’d regained his composure.
“I know what you mean, for what it’s worth. Not the ‘miserable hole’ part, but the rest of it, sure.” He turned his head to the side, a soft grin on his face, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. An inscrutable stare. His eyes, briefly, flashed to her mouth, then his head turned back to the wall in front of them, and he released her hand.
“Was that story true?” she finally asked, breaking her silence.
“What story?”
“The game. Your college girlfriend.”
He groaned, tapping the ash from the tip of his cigarette. “Can we not?”
“Why?” she pressed, the corner of her mouth lifting inquisitively.
“Because I don’t think it’s appropriate to have that conversation with my best friend’s little sister.”
“Is that what I am?” She challenged him. “Am I not an adult woman with her own agency that can decide for herself what is ‘appropriate’ for her feminine ears?”
“El-”
“Or is it some misogynistic bro-code thing?”
“Eloise.”
“Enlighten me,” she said, a devious glint in her eye.
Phillip turned towards her, shoulder leaning on the building, putting out the last of his cigarette.
“Yes, it’s true. I was told I was good at it.”
“How good?” she asked, turning towards him.
He rubbed his hands across his face, looking in his palms for a way out of this conversation. “You’re a smart girl, Eloise, you can use your imagination.”
“Hm.” She grunted, pouting, turning her back against the wall again.
“What?”
“I just don’t know if I believe you,” she teased, the inflection in her voice rising.
He barked out a laugh. “That’s perfectly fine with me.”
“I think Colin is exaggerating, or you lied to impress your ‘bros.’”
“Why would I lie about that?”
She cackled, her head hitting the wall again. “Why does any guy lie about anything?”
His hands reached to inspect her head. Again. “I’ve never really cared about impressing other guys, Eloise. What does that get me?” His thumbs parted the hair at the back of her head, gently applying pressure. Electricity shot through her, for a moment, until he pulled his hands back. He was standing in front of her, facing her. Her eyes met his. Blue, deep, warm, inviting.
“Do you know what I think?” she asked, the tips of her fingers starting to trail up his arm. She watched his Adam's apple bob, his jaw tighten, lips pressed together tightly. Suddenly remembering himself, his best friend’s little sister, the alley. His eyes started darting around, anywhere but on Eloise’s face.
“I think,” she continued, fingers resting on his shoulder, “I need a demonstration.”
He looked up, eyes focused on the sky. He said nothing. An impregnable fortress.
“I think you should prove it,” she said again. Her hand came up to his chin, tilting his gaze back to her, biting her bottom lip. The single, flimsy, remaining shred of his honor and dignity snapped in a second.
His mouth was on hers, his body pinning her to the wall while his hands threaded through her hair and cupped her face. She forced her tongue between his lips, her fingers gripping his shoulders tighter as his lips moved against hers. The heat between them sent shocks through her.
He slid his hand down, squeezing her hip before wrapping it behind her, pulling her flush against him. She gasped into his mouth as his hand gripped her ass. He smiled, pulling his face back an inch, looking into her eyes.
Oh.
“Come to my place,” she whispered. He leaned his forehead against her, the wheels turning, the scenarios playing out in his head for when Colin finds out.
“Eloise-”
“I want you to show me your hidden talent,” she whispered in his ear. His hand gripped her tighter. “I don’t want you to let me come until your jaw hurts.”
A growl at the back of his throat, he pushed her back against the wall. The thoughts in his head were gone, brain empty, a single horny tumbleweed blowing by. She chuckled, pushing him off of her, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the alley.