What her best friend had said was probably just some dumb throwaway line, half-drunk and tossed out like an empty beer can to make her laugh:

"I could fuck you if you're that desperate."

But Bo grabbed onto those words like a lifeline, like a spark tossed onto a pile of dry tinder she'd been hoarding for years. Her friend didn't notice—too hungover to see how Bo's hands trembled around her phone the next morning, her thick fingers tapping the cracked screen again and again. She'd been up all night, lying on her too-small twin mattress with its faded floral sheets bunched under her damp back, eyes flicking between the ceiling and her phone.

Outside her bedroom window, the sun was already a harsh slab of light cutting through the grimy blinds, painting strips of warmth across her cluttered floor. An old scented candle sat half-burned on her nightstand, its vanilla scent mixing with the sharp tang of sweat and desperation. All she could think about was that line. That possibility.

She and her roommate had been best friends since they were awkward kids—two weirdos sitting side by side on the cracked playground bench in their too-big backpacks. They'd been thick as thieves through braces and hand-me-down clothes, through stolen sips of cheap booze in high school and whispered confessions under the stars. But everything tilted when puberty hit. They both started looking.

There'd be these tiny moments—like when they'd change in the same room before a sleepover, and Bo would catch her roommate's eyes lingering on her belly, her thick thighs, the soft curve of her breasts. They'd snap away when she looked back, cheeks flushed, breath caught. They'd both pretend it hadn't happened, giggling too hard over stupid movies, pushing the thought down deep.

That memory was pulsing through her now as she lay sprawled across her mattress, the cheap box fan blowing humid air across her sweat-slick skin. One hand moved between her legs, the other clutching the sheets. Her bedroom door creaked, hinges squealing just enough for her to hear the sharp inhale from the doorway.

She looked up, propping herself on her elbows. Her heart skittered in her chest like a trapped bird when she saw her roommate standing there—strapped into that ridiculous leather harness, the silicone cock bobbing with every hesitant step closer. Bo let out a shaky laugh, wiping slick fingers off on her soft thigh.

"Hey," she said, her voice rough with want, breath coming fast. She tipped her chin up with a crooked grin, trying to be playful—trying not to let the sheer hunger in her eyes swallow her whole. "Whenever you and Princess Penelope are ready." She nodded at the pink silicone swaying between her roommate's thighs. The name was stupid, a lifeline of humor to keep her from drowning in her own nerves.