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They go parking after the carnival, making out in his backseat like it's their first time all over again.
"Missed you," he says against her throat when she slides her leg over his and straddles him. "Missed this."
She's missed him, too. "Mmm." She lets him suck a hickey into her skin, dragging her nails over his nape in retaliation, his dick hardening beneath her. They're not going to have sex tonight, not while she's got her period, but they can do other stuff and she's missed him.
When his hand slips under her shirt and slides up so he can cup her tit, squeezing, she rocks her hips against his and whispers his name.
He groans hers, and her heart skips a beat.
He drives her home after, pulling up outside her house and switching off the engine. He seems nervous now, one hand scratching the back of his neck and his gaze flicking between her face and the windscreen.
"So, um, are we gonna, you know, tell --?"
She takes pity on him. "Don't worry about it, Kenick. I'm not gonna hold you to it." She tries to keep her tone light and not mean, not disappointed. "Your offer? You can take it back."
He blinks, surprised. "You're sayin' no?"
"You're sayin' you meant it?" She arches an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
He scowls. "Ain't so hard to believe, is it?"
Kinda. Sorta. Maybe? She forces herself to shrug. "No one's holding a shotgun anymore, so..."
"I know that," he snaps, and she can feel her temper start to flare in response, her upper lip curling into a sneer, but he continues before she can bite back. "I know that," he repeats, softer, "but I still wanna."
Oh.
Outside, there's a trio of cats sniffing around Ol' Man Thomson's garbage can. Inside the car, Kenickie carefully takes her hand in his.
"Betty?" he asks nervously.
Her breathing hitches, and then settles. "Okay," she says.
She tells her family that she and Kenickie are back together and her mom insists on her inviting him over for dinner. She hasn't worked out yet how to tell them about his proposal -- or her acceptance of it -- without everyone immediately assuming she's knocked up, so when she answers the front door three nights later and finds him wearing trousers and a button down shirt under his T-bird jacket like he's here to impress someone, her eyes go wide.
Fisting the front of his shirt, she yanks him down to her. "You will say nothing," she hisses.
He rolls his eyes. "Riz--"
"I mean it," she threatens. "One word about marriage and I'll feed you to the sausage grinder in the deli, so help me God."
He looks a little hurt, and she does feel bad about that for a moment, but tough. Suffering through a family dinner is bad enough -- she's not adding a, tell us what made you decide to propose now? train wreck to the evening and having her mother and brother and sisters know just how much of a virgin she ain't anymore.
"Fine," he says, sounding anything but. He covers the hand she has on his shirt with his own and squeezes, hard, until she lets him go. Straightening, he pulls his comb out of his pocket and runs it quickly through his hair. "But if I'm keeping my mouth shut, I want yours open." She looks at him, confused, and he crosses his arms, clarifying, "I want a BJ later."
She snorts. "Don't we all."
From the kitchen, her mom's voice sings out for them; grabbing his arm, Betty pulls him inside.
They go for ice cream after dinner, just the two of them, and when they end up parked at the lookout again, she watches almost fondly as he drapes her Pink Ladies jacket over the front seat with the same amount of care he'd given his own jacket. She still doesn't have any roses, but the moonlight in this moment is good enough.
"It's not because I don't want them to know," she says. "My family, I mean. I just --"
He fiddles with his comb, not looking at her. "I'm gettin' a job, you know. Ain't gonna offer you nothin'." He runs the comb through his hair before sliding it back into his pocket. "And if you were waitin' on -- I mean, I was gonna, tonight, you know, ask for your hand or whatever if you needed me to make it right for them or somethin' -- but."
Her stomach swoops at the image of him declaring his intentions to her family, and she feels her cheeks burn.
He glances up at her, bashful almost. "Betty --"
"Don't be fucking stupid," she huffs, cutting him off. "The only permission you need is mine."
He freezes, staring at her for a moment, before laughing like she's just proclaimed him King of the World or something. "You like me stupid though," he says, reaching for her. He tugs her onto his lap and sets his mouth on her neck, one of his hands slipping under the hem of her skirt so his fingers can start swirling lazily up her inner thigh. "And, you know, fuckin'."
She realised early on in their first attempt at dating that laughing at his stupid jokes only encouraged him to make more stupid jokes, so she swallows down the chuckle his quip tries to rise, and palms his dick through his jeans.
"I like you," she says without thinking, only hearing the words herself when she feels him freeze against her.
He swallows hard. "Yeah?"
Well, yeah. "Said yes, didn't I?"
His second yeah is quieter but she ignores that and catches his mouth with hers, kissing him proper, licking into his mouth and letting him suck on her tongue. He groans and pulls her closer.
"Get me a ring," she breathes against his lips. "And I'll fucking skywrite it in the heavens."
At breakfast, the next morning, her mom chatters on about how nice dinner was last night, and how polite Kenickie was to comment on her gravy, and how well he looked, all cleaned up in what looked like a new shirt, and, "I think you have that boy smitten, Betty."
Hiding a smile behind her coffee cup, Betty hums noncommittally.
The ring he gives her two days later is gold with a chip of a diamond that she has to squint to see clearly. He doesn't repeat his offer, and doesn't go on his knees for her, either, but that's probably because he's already lying between hers, his mouth on her stomach.
"Was it really not my mistake?" he asks quietly as she admires the way the ring gleams on her finger.
"It was mine." She turns the ring around on her finger so that it's just a stripe of plain yellow gold, and imagines introducing herself as Mrs Kenickie Murdoch. "I'm the one who said what the hell, remember?" Making a fist, she brings her knuckles to her mouth and kisses the ring. "And I didn't sleep with Balmudo."
She can feel the way his entire body just melts against hers at her confession, like all his bones have just suddenly vanished. "Good," he says.
Her gaze narrows at his obvious elation and approval. "I could have, though. I maybe even wanted to, a little." His grin deflates somewhat and she relents. "But I didn't."
He says nothing this time, just ducks his head and hides his smile against her stomach, and eventually she shifts, kneeing his ribs.
"Your turn," she says pointedly.
He nips at her skirtband. "I didn't sleep with Cha Cha neither," he admits, and she grins.
"Good."
When he calls her the next morning to boast about the job he just got offered, and how he's gonna treat her to dinner at Alice's Restaurant to celebrate that and their one week anniversary of being engaged, she's wearing her ring and standing on a kitchen chair while her mom pins the hem of her wedding dress, and there's a smile on her face that just won't quit, not even a little.
I'm gonna marry him, she thinks, almost disbelievingly, I really, really am.
On the phone Kenickie says, I'll see you later and bye and love you, as he hangs up, his tone easy and casual like it's not the first time or anything she's heard him say that word to her, and her heart skips way too many beats as she listens to the dialtone.
"I --" Her mom looks up as she clears her throat, as she clutches the handset like he's still on the other end. "I think I'm a little smitten, too."
Her mom hums around the pins between her lips, soft and pleased, and Betty laughs and shakes her head and reaches over to hang up the line and dial a number.
"Frenchy?" she says when the line connects, grinning, "how are you at doing wedding make up?"
The End
