Laundry Room, 3rd Floor

You’ve had drinks with her. A few times now. You and Jake invited her up for wine when she moved in last fall. She brought something red and bold and didn’t mind that Jake talked about his protein intake like it was a TED Talk. You laughed about it later. She did too.

She’s fun. Easy to talk to. Bold in a way that makes you feel more awake when she’s around. She teases you, always. About your yoga pants, your playlists, your boyfriend’s biceps. But it’s friendly. Mostly.

She holds the dryer door open for you tonight. You’re hauling a basket down the third-floor hall, late as usual, hair in a messy bun and no bra under your hoodie.

“Still doing laundry at the witching hour,” she says, eyes skimming you.

“Still prowling the halls like a perv,” you shoot back, and you both laugh.

She doesn’t leave, though. She leans against the wall and watches as you start sorting. She makes a joke about Jake and his grilled chicken obsession, and you grin because it’s true. And because she’s always just… witty.

“You should come by again soon,” you say, tossing in a towel. “We haven’t hung out in a while.”

She pushes off the wall and steps closer. “Without Jake next time.”

You blink, half-smiling, trying to decide if she’s joking. But then she’s behind you…close, warm, hand brushing the back of your thigh.

“Do you know how often I think about bending you over this washer?”

You stop breathing for a second.

“I—”

“Shh,” she murmurs. “Just nod if you want me to touch you.”

You do. You don’t know why. Or maybe you do.

She tugs your leggings down without ceremony. Her fingers slide between your legs like they were meant to be there, her mouth on yours, claiming. Her other hand spreads you wider, thumb teasing against your ass, slick and firm.

“You’re already soaked,” she whispers, breath hot at your ear. “You ever think about this when he’s inside you? Me instead?”

You moan. Quietly. She smiles against your neck.

“Bet he doesn’t even know how to talk to you like this,” she says. “How to pull it out of you. How to make you beg.”

Her fingers moving over your clit. Her thumb presses harder. You’re gripping the washer like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

“Are you gonna be a good girl and come for me?” she whispers. “Right here, where anyone could walk in?”

The words send you over the top and you come, hard.

And later, pulling your hoodie back down, cheeks flushed and heart hammering, you wonder how you’re going to look Jake in the eye over grilled chicken and protein shakes.