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One Last Chance Before I Go

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Hey Her co-workers all hated him—at least the ones she worked with regularly. Veronica had hated him from the first time he’d sat in her section, having found him to be rude beyond the point of all reason. Ethel, meanwhile, found him pleasant enough as a person, but she needed the money from her job at Pop’s and that meant that she needed to keep her tables turning. Him coming in and camping out at a table for hours on end, consuming nothing but endless free refills of coffee and the occasional hamburger or plate of fries, cost Ethel money she really couldn’t afford to lose. That was how Betty had first earned the “privilege” of waiting on the quiet beanie-wearing man with the wavy jet black hair five years ago.


He came in religiously every Friday or Saturday night when she was working the late shift: never before 11. Usually, he’d come in with his laptop, setting up shop in the booth in the farthest corner from the door. Occasionally, he’d settled in with a book instead—almost always a critically-acclaimed true crime novel. From the few words they’d spoken over the years, she knew his voice had a sultry timbre to it, and he seemed to make an effort to be courteous, always keeping eye contact with her while they spoke and never forgetting to say “please” or “thank you.”


She wasn’t sure why, but she always felt like he was just intensely lonely. It was an odd feeling given that there’d been a handful of times when he’d come to the diner with other people, usually for his birthday, she thought. There was just a world-weariness that seemed to be perpetually lurking behind his intense blue eyes. It was an expression she found herself all too often trying to hide. 


Betty had been in the kitchen helping Pop Tate close up when she heard Veronica’s disdainful huff announcing his appearance. Telling her boss she’d be right back to finish up, she walked out the swinging doors between the kitchen and the diner’s dining area, grabbing the new pot of black coffee on her way over to his usual table. He looked up with appreciation as she’d poured him a piping hot cup of the black stuff and placed it carefully next to his laptop before turning back to his work. She kept standing next to his table a moment longer, trying to get his attention with her continued presence, but not wanting to unduly disturb him. When he still didn’t look up after a couple minutes, she finally gently cleared her throat, which had the desired effect of drawing his eyes away from his laptop screen.


Despite having seen his piercing gaze a few hundred times by now, his eyes still managed to take her breath away for the first second or two when they locked on to one another. “Umm,” her voice caught in her throat for a second. She swallowed before trying again, “I just wanted to let you know. We’re actually closing down the kitchen in a little while because of the storm, so if you’re gonna want anything from the grill, you should order it now. Otherwise, the only stuff available in the next hour is going to be cold sandwiches, salads, and pie.”


The man raised an eyebrow at that. Ever since Pop Tate had opened the diner forty years earlier, it had never closed, Pop Tate being of the opinion that cops, first responders, and truckers were all entitled to a hot meal in a clean, friendly restaurant, even if it was 3 a.m. Therefore, for the kitchen to close was a big deal.


All the weather reports said the Nor’easter was going to bring upwards of two feet of snow to their area that night, so it there was unlikely to a lot of drop in foot traffic. Add to that that Pop Tate had moved to the other side of town to be closer to his ailing mother, and he’d made the decision to shut the grill down for the night once he cut Veronica loose at midnight.


“Thanks for the warning,” he said with his usually smoke-tinged voice. “I guess an order of chili fries then, if I can?”


“Sure thing! Be right back,” Betty had beamed at him, her blonde ponytail swishing wildly behind her as she turned on her heel.

Ten minutes later, she returned with his chili fries and a fresh splash of coffee, putting both on his table as unobtrusively as she could manage. He didn’t move his eyes from his computer, but he did give her a head nod to acknowledge her presence.


After she finished making sure everything for the hot line was properly stored away in the walk-in cooler, Betty went back to the front counter to roll more set-ups to pass the time.


Before she knew it, midnight had come, marking the departure of Veronica and Pop Tate, leaving her all alone with her taciturn regular. Despite the slowness, she tried to keep busy. Betty ran fresh coffee back to the man in the booth every ten minutes or so. She restocked all the sugar, napkin, ketchup, mustard, salt and pepper dispensers in the entire diner. She made sure all the glasswork was completed, with all the clean water and juice glasses and all the clean coffee mugs were properly put away. By the time 2 a.m. rolled around, Betty was just about ready to start going over the stock in the back store room, but she felt bad leaving her customer to his own devices.


Grabbing the freshest pot of coffee she’d put on for him, and a heaping slice of cherry pie on a whim, she walked purposefully over to his booth. As always, she set the items carefully in front of him, making sure not to disturb his work, although unlike normally, she once again waited next to the table’s edge until she got his attention. When he did finally look at her, his eyes flickered to the cherry pie first, then up to her face with a questioning look. “Not that I’m not a cherry pie fan,” he started up casually, “but I’m pretty confident I didn’t order any tonight.” He gave her the tiniest smirk as he finished speaking.


Betty gently nibbled on her lip as she thought how to frame her response. Eventually, she settled on saying, “I know. This piece is on me. I was just going to get some counting done in the stock room, and I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten you.”


The young man in front of her studied her pensively for a moment thinking over his next words carefully. “Do you need to do the restocking now?” he finally asked.


Something about his look inspired her to give an overly truthful answer. “Well, technically, I don’t actually need to do it at all.”


When he gave her a cheekily amused smirk, she elaborated, “Yesterday was my supposed to be my last day, but my co-worker who was originally scheduled to work tonight though ran into a childcare issue. Pop didn’t have anyone else to cover the shift, so I agreed as one final favor for how good he’s been to me over the years.”


The man in front of her sat thoughtfully for a moment in silence after Betty finished speaking. When he eventually start talking, his words had a distant quality to them, like he was really speaking to himself than to her. “Wow. I almost missed you. That would’ve been unfortunate.”


For some unknown reason, she agreed with him. Although she’d never tell him, that was the other reason why she’d agreed to cover for Ethel: she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving without having have some sort of good-bye with him. Just as she was about to say something to fill the silence stretching between them, he seemed to snap back to himself. Looking her dead in the eyes, his voice had taken on a darker, more sensuous quality as he’d stated, “Then you’ll have to join me for a bite of pie.”


Without any type of coordination between her body and her brain, she found herself suddenly sliding into the other side of the booth across from him, completely mesmerized by the hooded lust that had abruptly overtaken his darkening blue eyes.


“So, why did you quit your job here?” he asked softly.


It was such a simple question, yet it had such a complicated answer. Living in Riverdale was never meant to go on for so long. Her father, Hal Cooper, was a serial killer better known as “The Black Hood.” She had been a key witness for the prosecution, her father having not only psychologically tortured her for months, but also having given her an extensive confession that the state police had been able to gruesomely corroborate. Because of the tangled relationship with her father, the prosecutor on the case had expressed legitimate concerns for Betty’s safety if anything happened with Hal between the end of trial and whenever his appeals finally ran out. Unfortunately though, because it was a state-level case, the U.S. Marshall Service was unable to offer her any kind of protection detail. Luckily, one of the investigators on the case still had some family ties in the small, remote town of Riverdale. Through the use of these connections, the prosecutor on her father’s case had managed to throw together her own makeshift Wit Sec-style deal. Betty had gotten an apartment with nominal rent and the job at Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe, with the understanding that once it was safe, she was free to return to her old life whenever she wanted. That had been five long years ago.


Then, just as Betty was beginning to believe she was never going to return to her former life, State’s Attorney McCoy called. The U.S. Supreme Court had declined to take up her father’s appeal. He was out of legal maneuvers; his multiple life sentences now set in stone. Betty hadn’t been able to believe it.


It had taken her a few weeks, but she’d finally got everything sorted out with Columbia about returning to the School of Journalism to finish working on her accelerated Master’s. Similarly, she’d reached out to a distant cousin of hers living in Manhattan about living with her for the time being. After her cousin’s initial shock at randomly hearing from Betty had five years of radio silence, and Betty’s initial confusion over learning her cousin and her girlfriend had been living together for the past several years, Betty had managed to secure housing.


While Betty thought about all of these things as she’d looked deeply into the hungry blue eyes of the young man in front of her, she simply replied with a quiet “It was just time to move on” instead.


He nodded slowly as if he understood completely. A beat went by, then another, before either of them spoke again. Eventually the young man’s silken voice wrapped around her as he said, “I hope Pop manages to find your replacement quickly, otherwise I may have to find a new diner.”


At Betty’s confused look, he added sardonically, “I don’t think either of your co-workers like me very much.”


She couldn’t help it: she burst out laughing. It was the truth, but the three of them had thought they’d been so clever about concealing the fact that Betty was the only waitress who ever seemed to serve him. Apparently not so much.


When she’d finally calmed down enough to stop laughing, she chanced a glance across at him; for one brief second, she caught a look of surprising joy tucked behind his eyes at having brought her a small measure of such unbridled happiness.


They spent the next several minutes eating the slice of cherry pie in relaxed silence before it was Betty’s turn to probe a little. “How come you always come in so late? You don’t exactly look like you’re a cop or a trucker.”


He swallowed his bite of pie and washed it down with a sip of coffee as he chuckled a little. “Something like that,” he replied a little cryptically before choosing to elaborate. “I’m a union organizer for the Teamsters. We’re not supposed to meet up during business hours and my territory is so spread out that I’m usually not getting done with my meetings and such until at least 10:30 or so.”


“Oh wow,” Betty said sincerely. “Impressive.”


The young man just shrugged. “Honestly, I didn’t have much of a choice. My dad is a pretty powerful organizer for the union, and my grandfather knew Hoffa personally. It was just expected that I was going to get involved.”


Betty felt a twinge of sadness for the man. She knew first-hand how despondent it could be to feel crushed by the inevitably of your family’s expectations.


“Do you like it at least?” Betty asked.


He thought about her question for a long moment before answering, “I’m good at it. And some days that’s enough for me to like it.”


She nodded her head in understanding.  As she glanced back down at the table, she realized that his coffee was almost empty, so she stood up, intending to grab the pot for to refill it for him. Instead, she caught herself suddenly transfixed by his perfectly pouty lips, and she knew in that instant that there was one more  thing she wanted to do before her last not-a-shift at Pop’s ended in a couple hours.


“I know this is totally inappropriate to ask, but could I get your help with something?” she asked with a practiced innocence that had gotten Betty her way throughout much of her life.


He looked at her skeptically for a second. “Depends,” he hedged.


“There’s some stuff on the top shelf in the storage room that I know hasn’t been inventoried in years, but I can’t really get to it on my own. Would you, maybe, be willing to pull it down for me?” Betty had nearly whispered the last sentence as she’d lightly nibbled on her bottom lip.


His eyes got impossibly darker as his already lust-blown pupils got even larger as they tracked the intentionally seductive ministrations of her teeth against the tender skin of her lip. Sliding out of the booth after her, he simply said, “Show me.”


Betty led him toward the back of the restaurant, through the double swinging doors, to a surprisingly large, albeit tightly packed, dry goods storage closet. Inside, there were several sets of sturdy wooden shelves mostly filled with industrial-sized dry restaurant goods—napkins, straws, register paper—along with a small 2’ x 2’ wooden side table that had formerly resided in Pop’s office. To make sure there was enough room for both of them in the storage closet, Betty hopped up on to the side table before stretching to point at a particularly dusty-looking section of the top shelf. “Right up there,” she said in a much breathier voice than she intended as her minded fully began to process the inferno of heat that was radiating between their bodies.


“There?” he parroted as he crowded her space, tracking where her delicate hand was pointing.


“Mmhmm,” she’d mumbled, losing any coherency to her thoughts as his eyes suddenly dropped to her lips.


She had a brief second to put her hand down to steady herself on the table before his body moved to cage her in, his surprisingly soft hands suddenly cradling her face, pulling her in for the most all-consuming kiss she’d experienced in her life. Their mouths moved over each other’s in such a perfectly coordinated movement of lips and tongues and teeth that she would’ve thought they’d kissed each other a thousand times before rather than being nearly complete strangers.


Her hands wound their way into the amazingly soft inky blackness of his hair, gently dragging her nails along his scalp as she less gently tugged on his hair. He let out a deep groan at her ministrations before responding with a rougher tug of her bottom lip with his teeth.  It was her turn to groan as her entire body felt like it had turned into one giant pulsating ball of need.

His hand sensuously slid up the side of her body until he was able to perfectly cup her heavy breast in his palm, his thumb teasingly running over her nipple, using the combined friction of his finger and the soft cotton of her shirt and her bra to stimulate the nub into a taut peak begging for further attention. Betty just moaned as she felt herself getting wetter and wetter for him.


She locked her lithe legs around his hips pulling him closer to her overstimulated body as she tried to grind herself against him to ease the gnawing ache consuming her pussy.


He kept his hips pulled away from her tempting heat for a moment though causing Betty to whine in frustration. “Jughead,” he breathed against her neck.


“Huh?” was the only response her sex-starved mind could come up with.


His gravelly chuckle against her skin drove her already ignited senses into overload. “My name. It’s Jughead. So you know what to scream later,” he said cockily.


With that, he dropped his lips to her neck, roughly nipping at the porcelain white skin there, marking her as his. Her breathy moans and the increasing force with which Betty was pulling on his hair spurred him on, his hands rapidly finding their way under her uniform shirt to the silky soft skin underneath.


Betty tried to leverage his seeming distraction by shifting her weight so that she was now pushing her hips up into his, rather than waiting for him to drop his body weight against her. The angle of her movements caused his impressively rock hard length to dig the seam of her work shorts right along her clit causing her to let out increasingly staccato gasps of pleasure as she tried to dry hump her way to completion.


Just as she could feel her body beginning to race toward the impending crest of orgasm, his hands forcefully gripped on to her hips, stilling her movements.  Betty let out a high-pitched whine of frustration as he denied her her sweet, sweet release. Jughead just let out an amused “uh uh uh” before adding more darkly, “Did I say you could do that?”


“Mmmmmm,” she half moaned, half whined. “Please, Juggie, I need to come so badly,” she begged.


“I bet you do,” he replied with a self-assured confidence that bordered on arrogance. His hands suddenly moved from holding down her hips to undoing her belt and unbuttoning her pants as she moved to help him roughly tug off the clothing that was preventing them from completely acting on their mutual need.


‘Thank God I waxed this week,’ briefly flitted through Betty’s mind as she suddenly felt his deft fingers probing the sopping entrance to her pussy.


“God, you’re so wet for me, Betts,” he whispered into her hair.


In her lust fueled haze, she had a moment of unintended honesty. “I’ve always been like this around you,” she sighed breathily as two of his fingers slid easily inside her.


Jughead let out a strangled noise at her admission as he expertly sought out the rough sponginess of her G-spot along the front wall of her pussy. He stroked her with a maddeningly consistent “come here” motion that she tried to rock her hips along with to generate more something, but he continued to deny her attempts to chase after her pleasure. “Uh uh,” he tutted again. “I told you, Betty, I’ll tell you when you can cum.”


The way he said it was the most erotically charged thing Betty had ever heard, particularly from someone who was still completely dressed.


Deciding to literally take matters into her own hands, she reached for his own jeans, running her hand firmly along his extremely prominent bulge before popping open his fly with a sympathetic, “Ahhh, that must feel so much better.”


As the denim tension around his cock suddenly eased, Jughead withdrew his fingers from Betty’s now throbbing pussy, before licking every bit of her tangy essence off his digits. Betty whimpered at the sheer eroticism of it.


Please,” she begged him incoherently.


“Please, what?” he teased back.


Jughead,” she breathed out desperately, “please, I need to feel you inside me…” she practically whispered, not trusting her voice beyond that.


Reaching quickly into the back pocket of his jeans before they fell completely off his hips, he grabbed the condom he’d started keeping there specifically whenever he came to Pop’s, although never in a million years did he imagine the blonde goddess in front of him begging him to fuck her would actually give him a reason to ever use it. He carefully ripped open the foil packaging before sheathing himself in the latex barrier. Gripping his shaft firmly in his hand, he used the head of his cock to lightly tease Betty’s clit, causing her to moan in frustration again before he finally slid himself completely inside her, feeling her tight walls grabbing and squeezing at him as every long, thick inch of him slowly drove further inside her.


His head dropped to her forehead as they both stayed connected like that in stunned silence for a moment, neither one of them fully able to comprehend just how perfectly naturally their bodies seemed to fit to one another. It wasn’t until Betty intentionally squeezed the walls of her pussy tighter against him, urging him to move, that his mind finally dropped back into his body.


Touch yourself,” he growled into her neck, quickly adding “slowly” when he registered the eagerness of her compliance with his command.


At the edge of his vision, he could see her pout of frustration as she begrudgingly went along with his direction. He grinned before capturing her lips roughly with his own as he began snapping his hips against hers in a carefully coordinated undulating rhythm; a rhythm that caused every inch of his cock to drag along every overly stimulated part of Betty’s pussy he had teased and tormented with his fingers.


As he began to feel the strain in his abdomen and the tightening in his balls that indicated his impending orgasm, he grunted out, “Cum for me, Betty. Show me how good and tight you can milk my cock.” He could feel her fingers eagerly pick up their pace as the positioning of their bodies caused her knuckles to rapidly tap against his pelvis with every rub of her clit.


Her increasingly high pitched moans fueled his own sounds of pleasure until suddenly she keened out his name, her velvety walls stroking and pulling at his cock with such strength that his body was forced into cumming only moments later.


Betty cradled Jughead for a minute between her thighs as they both tried to process the sheer intensity of their mutual orgasm. Eventually, Jughead began to feel himself soften inside her, and he quickly pulled out so he could properly dispose of the condom.


“There’s a small trashcan by the door,” Betty said in a completely satiated voice as she noticed him looking around.


“Thanks,” he replied quietly.


They arranged their clothes in mutually content silence, until they both came to the same sad realization: this would likely be the only intimate moment they would spend together.


“Betts…” Jughead started to say, wanting to put his thoughts into words, to let her know he wasn’t normally casual about things like this.


Betty smiled softly at him before holding her fingers gently to his lips. “At least we have this memory, Jughead. Even if nothing else, that’s something.”


He kissed her fingers, understanding her desire not to ruin what they just shared by focusing on what they likely couldn’t have in the future.


She was right—he would forever cherish this memory, he thought as they both silently walked out of the storage closet into the still empty interior of the diner.