out of tune (the guitarist: book 2) | eddie munson x reader

part ten: anything but the rubies

AN: i'm gonna be away for a week with limited wifi, so i'll try to keep posting but the chapters will just be coming out a bit slower! I'll go easy on the cliffhangers (maybe)

CW: alcohol mention, lightly suggestive depictions

The static radio was buzzing through the kitchen, electrifying the air between you and Munson as you finished off a second cup of coffee.

"Any better?" he chuckled, gesturing to your reach for the pot to pour a third.

"Getting there," you chirped sarcastically, already filling his Harley Davidson novelty mug to the brim. "It's not every day you get drunk enough to abandon your favorite sweater at a house party." And then make an intoxicated phone call to the boy you're secretly still madly in love with, who luckily turns out to be equally as in love with you.

"Which sweater?"

"The green one," you replied into the mug, your voice echoing as you took a stabilizing drink of sugared coffee.

"Oh, I love the green one," he mused. "That's the one you were wearing the first day we spoke. You had that terrifying look in your eyes, glaring at me like you were gonna punch me into my locker." He smiled longingly, his reaction contrasting your past aggravation, just as it had back then.

"You were being particularly obnoxious that day," you recalled, unable to stop the smile from growing on your face as he pinned you with that boyish stare of his– the one that set your heart on fire.

"Obnoxious? Sure. Charming? Absolutely." He flashed you that devilish grin.

"Charming?" you chuckled, emphatically swing your spoon to point at him. "As far as I recall, Eddie Munson, you were nothing short of infuriating the day we met. Slammed your locker and everything."

"And as far as I recall, (Y/n) (Y/l/n)," he leaned forward on his elbows, bringing his face nearer to yours from across the table. "You were nothing short of beautiful. How else was I supposed to get your attention?"

Your face warmed as you averted your eyes.

"See?" He prodded your face with his forefinger, drawing your gaze back to him. "I wanted to be the reason you were blushing like that."

You could have melted under that stare. "Well," you crooned, grabbing his hand in yours to raise it to your face, where he traced over your cheek with a thumb. "Congratulations. You successfully got under my skin. And then some."

He huffed a laugh, raising his brows in victory. "Oh, hell yeah, I totally charmed your pants off."

You giggled as he rose from his seat, emulating a victory dance to the tune of the song playing scratchily over the kitchen stereo. He reached out a hand, dramatically gesturing for you to get up with him.

With a conceding nod, you made to set your coffee mug back down on the table when you noticed the blotches of punch painting the hem of your shirt.

"Hey," you trailed, eyes still on your shirt as you grabbed it to inspect the liquor likely sticking to the skin beneath your clothes. "Speaking of my pants–"

He perked up, immediately pinning you with a playful grin.

"No," you chuckled, "not that. Look."

Eddie wandered over to you, taking the hem of your shirt in his hands. His fingertips unconsciously brushed the skin of your navel, sending a spark of lightning down your spine.

"My parents think I spent the night at Robin's. I can't go home reeking of half-off tequila night at the Holiday Inn."

"Shower here," he stated bluntly.

You raised a skeptical brow, plastering him with a knowing stare.

"I'll keep my hands to myself!" He backed away, raising his arms accordingly in earnest as he chuckled under your stare. "Seriously, use my shower, borrow some clothes, hell, rob me blind while you're at it. Wouldn't want you in any hot water with my future in-laws." He raised his brows roguishly for emphasis.

With that, you stood on your toes to plant a kiss on his temple. "Thanks, Ed," you chirped, already turning down the hall. "Just point me to the safe."

Before you could step farther, he grabbed a light hold of your wrist, swinging you back around to face him. In an instant, his hand was on your waist, dipping you as he planted a returning kiss on your mouth.

You grabbed hold of his neck for support.

When he broke away, he grinned against you. "You may wanna chug some mouthwash if you want your covert ops to succeed," he mumbled, " 'cause you don't just smell like discount tequila night, you taste like it, too."

You gasped, swatting a hand against his chest as you rose to return back down the hallway. "Just for that, I'm taking the rubies."

"Good God, you devil, not the rubies!" He flailed a dramatic hand against his chest, stumbling back like a fainting window.

You giggled as you entered the bathroom, your laughter echoing down the narrow hall.

When you'd finished showering, ringing out the smell of smoke and spirits from your hair and scrubbing syrup off your skin, you emerged smelling like Old Spice and pine.

The door cracked open under your touch, where you were greeted with a small pile of folded clothes.

You lifted them back into the bathroom, and upon further inspection, realized that Eddie had given you the Ramones t-shirt you'd meant to borrow months ago. He'd been wearing it the day he'd first asked you on a real date. Along with it, he left you a pair of black jeans with a belt and chain hanging from the loops.

You hadn't seen this particular chain before, since it wasn't the one usually hanging at his side. It must've been old.

Nonetheless, you layered the clothes on, soaking in the scent of his cheap cologne entwined into the fabric.

Your footsteps were light on the shag carpet, your knuckles swift as they tapped against his bedroom door. "Eddie?"

It swung open, and you were greeted with a grin plastered on your boyfriend's face as he took in your appearance. "Man," he whispered under his breath. "That's totally fucked up, (Y/l/n)."

"What?"

"You look better in my clothes than I do."

A laugh escaped you as he wrapped his fingers around your– his– belt loops, pulling you closer by the waist of his jeans.

You leaned up to connect your lips with his, breaking away just as he began to pull you closer.

You sighed, placing a hand against his mouth. "I need to get home. My mother is probably waiting next to the phone by now."

After a few dramatic looks exchanged between the two of you, you managed to convince him to haul ass to his van, following the typical routine of dropping you half a block away, if only because your parents knew Robin couldn't drive.

Everything about your clamber down the block toward your house was typical, even down to the fact that you'd had to stop half way to tie your shoe.

What was not typical, however, was the figure standing at the edge of your driveway when you returned.

Holding your sweater.