Settling his grip just above the muted curve of Bitty's hips, Jack squeezes. "Better." Bitty coughs out a laugh. "Glad you're satisfied." "Almost satisfied," Jack says. "I still have my shirt and socks on." "Good," Bitty says, and he leans to press them together, forehead to forehead, chest to chest with only cotton worn thin between them. "I like you like this. It's cute."

Long-distance relationships are rough, but it's nothing everybody's favorite tiny, southern, pie-baking hockey player can't handle. When Bitty’s phone rings, a reverent silence passes over the Haus. Dex and Nursey stop fighting over a video game controller; Chowder sticks his headphones into the laptop that’s streaming his Sharks game; even the oven that Bitty’s filled up with apple pies does not dare sound its high-pitched alarm.