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So you invited Rose into your room to play Mario Kart. Just Rose! Because John is fun and all but you both can’t handle each other all the time; he never learned an indoor voice and you can’t tell when he needs space and so you just—not right now. He’s doing his thing, and you’re doing yours! And you didn’t invite Dave, because. Because Dave is being—Dave. Urgh. And you like him a lot, you do!! You were sort of dating, back before the game, and it was nice. He’s just. Uuuughhhh. He’s so needy, he always wants to be touching and talking and his mouth goes a mile a fucking minute and you can’t keep up! And he never, ever says what he wants, he covers it under a million layers of metaphor and implication and whining. And his boyfriend is so fucking loud and so fucking annoying, and it just—not! Fucking! Tonight!
Tonight you are going to hang out with Rose, because Rose is great. Well. Rose is infuriating, but not in the way that makes you feel like you’re going to crawl out of your own skin if you don’t get away. Rose is infuriating in a way that electrifies you. She makes you want to beat her, at Mario Kart or, or, at something else! At everything else! You want to see her face when she realizes you’ve won. You want to surprise her, catch her off guard. Excite her as much as she excites you.
“Best out of three,” you declare, picking up your controller and piling pillows up behind you on your bed.
Rose looks at you, her face impassive like always, and arches one eyebrow.
“Well,” she drawls, and you’re torn between how much you love the sound of her voice and how she’s so smug you want to bite her face off. “That sounds nice and all, but it’s kind of low stakes, isn’t it. You should up the ante.”
“Fine!” Your face feels hot. You can see her bra strap peeking out from under the collar of her shirt. Normally that wouldn’t distract you, you’ve seen a zillion bras before, but you can’t stop staring. “Um. You have to take off a piece of clothing every time you lose!”
That gets Rose’s attention, enough so that her eyebrows raise up above her shades, and you almost get through her blank veneer. Almost. But still! You are the coolest, it is you.
“Strip Kart. Unconventional, but I can work with that. I hope you’re wearing layers,” she says as she picks up her controller. You start the game, and grin.
___
The thing is, you and Rose are pretty much equally matched. But Rose wore layers. So here you are, in your bra and boxers and glasses and one sock. While Rose is still in her bra, and her leggings, and her underwear, and her socks and her sunglasses. You’re close to losing this whole thing! Which is unacceptable! So this time, when you start to fall behind her kart, you lean over and maybe...grab her controller. A little bit.
“You cheating fuck,” she says, yanking it out of your hands.
You leeeeeeaaaaan over to grab it again; you’re taller than her and your reach is longer. She can’t keep you away forever!
“Drastic measures, Rose! Drastic...uh.” You look up from where you’re basically in her lap to grin at her, and are struck by the realization that you can see under her shades like this. Her eyelashes are...really pretty.
Rose takes advantage of your momentary distraction to yank the controller away. But you will not be defeated so easily, and she’s an idiot if she thinks that’s all it’s gonna take to stop you. You give up all pretense of playing Mario Kart and lunge at her. She moves faster than you—how did her combat skills get so weirdly honed?—but you’re bigger and have sheer determination on your side. You push her backwards onto the mattress and lean over her again, reaching for the controller in her outstretched arm.
Rose waits until you’re off-balance before she grabs your arm, hooks her leg behind your knee, and flips you over onto your back. It takes a moment for you to process how thoroughly owned you just were, and then she’s sitting on your stomach, controller held aloft in victory.
Her hair is all messed up from your tussle, sticking out every which way without her headband to hold it down, and her shades are crooked. She smells like sweat and shitty deodorant. Her boobs are, like, right in your face. You suddenly don’t give a shit about the controller, about winning whatever this is, at all.
“I do believe this is checkmate,” She says, leaning down to smirk in your face. “No one likes a sore loser.”
You note that you’re really fucking close to her face. And her mouth. Her shitty cheap black lipstick is smeared.
You kiss her before you even think about it, and when she gasps and kisses back, you don’t feel like you’ve lost anything at all.