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    Summary

    “For the record, even if I were straight—which, ugh—he still wouldn’t come close to being my type," Agatha quips.

    Rio snorts, tipping forward as she laughs. Agatha feels Rio's hair graze her thighs, the urge to run her fingers through it wreaking havoc upon her train of thought. When Rio sits back up, she stays close, eyes roaming Agatha’s face—her gaze is piercing in spite of her intoxication. “What is your type, then?” she breathes, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip.

    Agatha feels warmth spread throughout her body. The heated color is likely visible on her face, far more than the flush of alcohol ever was. Once again taken aback by the reaction Rio spurs in her. She’s a grown woman, for God’s sake. She can handle a little flirting without being set alight and left tongue-tied.

    And this is just meaningless flirtation, she assures herself vehemently. Plain and simple.

    Or, two strangers cross paths at a bachelorette party. Well, 'cross' is putting it lightly. More like the pavement was still wet, and now they're cemented together, footprints and all. A winding road if you've ever seen one.

    Or or, 'And They Were Roommates': THE PREQUEL

    PS: This can be read as a stand-alone story.

    Series
    Language:
    English
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    Chapters:
    6/?
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