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The first thing Beca noticed was that the temperature in the rehearsal room had apparently risen by about fifteen degrees. She could feel her face flush and desperately prayed to the acapella gods that no Bella, particularly one Stacie Conrad, would notice said flushing. She felt like every article of clothing she had on was conspiring to smother her. Her traitorous T-shirt, her double crossing leggings and her backstabbing sports bra.
The second thing she noticed was that the temperature had not, in fact, changed.
The third thing she noticed was that Chloe Beale was wearing a top that should probably require some kind of permit.
A new top. Beca may not (she definitely did) have had a mental catalogue of every outfit Chloe Beale had ever worn in her presence. Every blouse, skirt, sweater, pair of jeans, leggings, tank top, pyjama set, slacks, shorts and even, on one Bellas activity day etched forever in her mind, jodhpurs.
This was a new edition to Beca’s (not so creepy) mental gallery of things Chloe Beale looked great in.
It was red. Of course it was red. Chloe and the color red had a long-standing, mutually beneficial relationship. But this wasn’t the usual fitted sweater or scoop-neck tee. This was something soft and drapey and criminally low-cut, a silky little number that plunged just enough to make Beca’s brain short-circuit every time Chloe leaned forward to grab her water bottle.
Beca blinked.
Then blinked again.
Beca’s brain went:
ERROR 404: SELF CONTROL NOT FOUND
And then in a desperate act of self preservation, very deliberately looked at the piano.
Which looked very piano-y. A paragon of a keyboard. Ivories meant to be tickled. The perfect set of…
“Beca.”
A voice made of steel, coated in honey, interrupted her spiral.
“I wasn’t looking,” Beca said, entirely unconvincing.
“You were absolutely looking,” came Aubrey’s clipped voice from right beside her.
“I am looking at the keyboard,” Beca insisted. “Which is an instrument. For music. That we are here to make.”
Stacie snorted. “Sure, Beethoven.” Stacie was in the middle of some kind of stretch that involved her foot lifting up behind her head. Ordinarily the sight would have thrown Beca into a gay panic of titanic proportions. But her mind could only deal with one poorly supressed queer spectacle at a time. And Chloe Beale and her sin of a top were first and foremost in the brunette’s brain.
Beca risked a glance up.
Big mistake.
Chloe was laughing at something Lilly had whispered, head tipped back, collarbones on display, that red fabric shifting just enough, stretching in just the right way that…
Beca’s eyes dipped.
And stayed.
“Caught you,” Stacie sang as she flopped over into a backwards arch, winking at Beca from her upside down position.
“Stop ogling my friend.” Aubrey snapped in an offhanded manner; her eyes locked on the way Stacie’s arch made her tank top strain to contain the lanky Bella’s pneumatic assets.
Beca’s gaze snapped up so fast she almost gave herself whiplash. “I wasn’t … I mean, I was just … It’s a very… symmetrical outfit.”
“Symmetrical,” Ashley repeated thoughtfully. “Yes. Very balanced. Left and right. Quite even.”
Amy chimed in. “Are we critiquing fashion choices now? Because I have some notes about all of you I’ve been dying to share.”
Chloe straightened, adjusting nothing. Not tugging fabric up. Not pretending to notice. Just standing there with that effortless posture: shoulders back, spine straight, red hair falling over one shoulder and framing…
The dip.
The curve.
The suggestion.
There was a flash of white.
No.
Not white.
Ivory.
Lace.
Why is there lace at rehearsal? Beca thought wildly. Why does that matter? Why do I know that’s lace?
Aubrey crossed her arms and glared. “Your pupils are dilated.”
Beca scowled. “You can’t even see my pupils from there.”
“I can feel the thirst from here,” Stacie replied.
Beca took a deep breath in an attempt to calm her frazzled nerves and promptly burst out on a coughing fit as she choked on her own saliva.
Chloe rushed across the room; her face filled with concern. “What’s happening? Are you okay, Becs? Do I need to take you to Campus Health again?”
“Nothing. Is. The. Matter.” Beca snapped.
“Beca’s fighting demons,” Amy unhelpfully supplied, a comment which earned her a quizzical look from the redhead.
Chloe tilted her head, sweet and open and infuriatingly innocent. “Are you sure you’re okay, Becs?”
“I’m fine.”
“You look tense.”
“Not tense, normal level of tension here.” Beca said through gritted teeth.
“Okay then…” Chloe said with a calming smile.
Good, Beca thought, covered that up perfectly. I am smooth as … a smooth thing. Beca’s brain still seemed to be glitching. At least she was no longer fixating on the physical charms of her best friend.
All was good.
And then Chloe leaned forward to grab her water bottle.
Not far.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Fabric shifted.
The lace flashed again.
Things may have heaved. Slightly.
Chloe’s chest was close enough that Beca could see the faint scalloped edge of lace through the silk.
Close enough to notice the subtle lift.
Push-up.
Definitely push-up.
Why do I know that? Why does my brain know the mechanics of this?
Beca inhaled so sharply she tasted air.
Stacie made a low appreciative whistle. “Well. Well. Well!”
Aubrey’s jaw tightened. “Chloe.”
“Yes?” Chloe asked, blinking again like a woodland creature.
“That top.”
“What about it?”
Aubrey stared and then chose to look at a spot three inches above and to the left of Chloe’s face.
“It is… bold.”
Chloe looked down at herself. “Oh. This old thing? It’s just something I found in my closet.”
“Your closet is conspiring against Beca,” Amy murmured low enough that only Beca could hear.
Beca glared. “Can we rehearse?”
“Absolutely,” Aubrey said crisply. “Let’s focus. Places everyone. Chloe you lead us through the moves.”
It wasn’t like Beca hadn’t watched Chloe teach new dance steps to the Bellas before. Hadn’t watch Chloe pop her hips, arch her back, deliver an agonizingly slow body roll that demonstrated what perfect control the redhead had over the form she had been blessed with and was justifiably proud of.
But now.
Every time Chloe gestured with her hands, the neckline shifted. Every time she laughed and leaned toward Cynthia-Rose, the silk pulled slightly. Every time she flipped her hair back…
There it was again.
That uncanny valley.
That infuriating whisper of lace.
Okay, Beca thought. Okay. Think about something else.
Taxes.
Laundry.
Jesse.
Yes.
Jesse.
“I dated Jesse,” she muttered under her breath.
Amy, unfortunately, heard everything.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Nothing,” Beca snapped.
Chloe shot Beca a confused look, having caught the first part of the conversation and not much more. “You dated Jesse?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“I like guys,” Beca said more louder and sharper than was strictly necessary.
“Okay.” Chloe replied in a calming tone.
“I have a history.”
“With Jesse.”
“With men.”
Chloe’s lips twitched.
The other Bellas had stopped even pretending to practice and were looking at Beca like she was a volcano about to erupt.
The brunette started babbling to herself about a body drop being a perfect next move and she sank to her knees, letting out a loud ouch as bone hit floor. She whimpered in pain, wishing she were anywhere else but in this torture chamber of a practice hall, surrounded by women who thrived on tormenting her musically and emotionally.
Chloe stepped closer, close enough that Beca caught the faint scent of citrus and something sweet. The top shifted again as Chloe bent slightly, resting her hands on her knees to meet Beca’s eye level.
Eye level.
Unfortunately, that eye level was dangerously adjacent to…
Beca swallowed.
“You know,” Chloe said softly, “it’s polite to look someone in the eyes when they’re talking to you.”
“I am,” Beca protested, and then her gaze betrayed her again. It dipped. Just a fraction. Just a flicker.
Chloe saw.
Of course she saw.
Her smile widened slowly, like sunrise.
“Oh,” she murmured. “Ohhh.”
Beca straightened her back abruptly. “We should run the bridge again.”
“Deflection,” Aubrey muttered.
Chloe stood up fully, adjusting nothing, making no effort whatsoever to reduce the situation. “You like it.”
“Like what?” Beca squeaked.
“The top.”
“It’s a top,” Beca said. “It’s… fabric.”
“Low fabric,” Stacie added helpfully.
“Very… economically cut fabric,” Amy chimed in.
Chloe folded her arms loosely under her chest.
Which was rude.
“Beca,” Chloe said, all innocence. “If my outfit is distracting you, you can just say so.”
“It’s not distracting,” Beca snapped.
“You just missed your cue.”
“I was improvising.”
“You sang the wrong key.”
“Jazz.”
Aubrey pinched the bridge of her nose.
Chloe stepped even closer. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m warm.”
“It’s February.”
“I run hot.”
Stacie leaned toward Aubrey. “She does. Me too, Bree.”
Beca glared at them both.
Chloe’s expression softened, just slightly. “Becs.”
That tone. The gentle one.
The one that made Beca’s chest ache.
Beca looked at her properly now. Face. Eyes. Lips. That infuriating dimple.
And then, inevitably…
Her gaze slipped.
Again.
She wanted to pluck her wandering eyes from her head.
Chloe’s breath hitched.
Just a little.
The room went quiet.
Aubrey cleared her throat. “Five-minute break.”
Stacie waggled her eyebrows. “Take your time.”
Lilly saluted. “Godspeed.”
The Bellas scattered with suspicious enthusiasm, leaving Beca and Chloe standing in the center of the room like two stray cats figuring out whether fight or flight was the proper response to the situation.
Beca went to shove her hands in her pockets. A move that was somewhat undercut by the fact her leggings did not have pockets, so she just awkwardly jammed her hands into her hips. “They’re being dramatic.”
Chloe tilted her head. “Are they?”
“Yes.”
“Because from where I’m standing, you’ve been staring at my boobs like they personally wronged you.”
Beca made a strangled sound. “I have not been staring.”
“Beca.”
“I’ve been… observing.”
Chloe laughed softly. “Observing.”
“For science.”
“Oh, absolutely. Very academic.”
Beca’s ears burned. “You wore that on purpose.”
Chloe’s eyebrows lifted. “What makes you say that?”
“Because you’re not subtle.”
Chloe took one slow step forward.
“Maybe I didn’t want to be subtle. Or maybe I’m wearing it for science too. Conducting my own little experiment.”
Beca’s heart slammed against her ribs.
“What ? Why?” she asked, voice thin.
“Hypothesis: Tiny brunette DJs response to ocular stimulation results in panic and random acts of awkwardness. Yes or no. So far we’re coming down hard on the yes side.”
Chloe looked at her for a long moment, no longer speaking. Not teasing now. Not playful.
Just… steady.
“And because,” Chloe said quietly, “you’ve been weird for weeks.”
“I am not weird.”
“You are. You can’t look at me. Or you look too much. You get all tense and snippy. You glare at guys who flirt with me. You glare at girls who flirt with me.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
Beca opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Chloe softened further. “Beca, what’s going on?”
There it was.
The thing Beca had been avoiding.
The swirling, confusing, stomach-flipping, pulse-racing thing.
“I don’t know,” Beca admitted.
Chloe stepped even closer, until the red fabric was in her peripheral vision again, until Beca could feel Chloe’s warmth.
“I think you do.”
Beca shook her head. “I dated Jesse.”
“I know.”
“I date guys.”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes,” Beca echoed faintly.
Chloe’s voice gentled. “And?”
“And you’re my best friend.”
“I am.”
“And I don’t want to ruin that.”
Chloe’s lips curved. “By looking at my chest?”
Beca huffed. “You’re not helping.”
Chloe laughed softly. “Sorry.”
Silence settled between them.
Thick. Charged.
“I wore this,” Chloe said finally, fingertips grazing the edge of her neckline, “because I wanted to see if you’d notice.”
Beca’s breath caught.
“And?” she asked.
“And you noticed.”
Beca let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. I noticed.”
Chloe studied her face. “Does it scare you?”
Beca hesitated.
“Yes.”
Chloe didn’t flinch.
“Why?”
“Because it means something.”
“Like what?”
“Like I don’t just notice. I…” Beca’s voice dropped. “I like it.”
Chloe inhaled sharply.
The air shifted.
“You like it,” Chloe repeated.
“I like you,” Beca blurted, and then froze like she’d just confessed to a felony.
The words hung there.
Between them.
Alive.
Chloe’s eyes went wide.
Then warm.
“Oh, Becs.”
“I didn’t mean to … I mean, I did mean to, I just didn’t mean to say it like that …”
Chloe stepped forward and gently caught Beca’s wrists.
The contact was electric.
Beca did not, could not, pull away.
She just stood there, eyes locked on the redhead, in a hormonal stupor.
“You’re not broken,” Chloe said softly. “You’re not confused in a bad way. You’re just… figuring it out.”
Beca swallowed. “You make it very hard to figure anything out.”
Chloe grinned. “Because of the top?”
“Yes, because of the top!”
Chloe laughed, bright and delighted. “I knew it.”
Beca groaned. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Maybe,” Chloe admitted. “But only because I’ve been waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you.”
The world narrowed.
Just Chloe. Just her hands. Just that red fabric and the way it rose and fell with her breathing.
“I didn’t want to push,” Chloe continued. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. But Beca… you look at me like I’m your favorite song.”
Beca’s throat tightened.
“And I look at you,” Chloe added, “like you’re mine.”
The room felt too small.
Too quiet.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Beca whispered.
“That’s okay,” Chloe said. “We can learn.”
Beca let out a shaky breath. “You’re not mad?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“Because I’ve been… staring.”
Chloe’s lips curved slowly. “I wore it so you would.”
Beca blinked.
“You’re evil.”
“Strategic.”
“Manipulative.”
“Motivated.”
Beca huffed a laugh.
Chloe stepped even closer, their toes nearly touching now. “Do you want to try something?”
Beca’s pulse spiked. “Like what?”
Chloe’s fingers slid from Beca’s wrists to her hands, lacing their fingers together.
“Just this,” she said softly.
Beca looked down at their joined hands.
Then up at Chloe.
“This is okay,” Chloe murmured.
“It is,” Beca breathed.
“Still scared?”
“Yeah.”
“Still here?”
“Yeah.”
Chloe smiled, radiant.
“Good.”
Beca’s gaze dipped again, almost involuntarily.
Chloe laughed quietly. “You can look.”
“I am looking respectfully.”
“There is nothing respectful about your face right now.”
Beca groaned.
Chloe leaned in slightly, her voice warm against Beca’s ear. “If you’re going to stare, at least own it.”
Beca swallowed hard. “I’m trying.”
Chloe pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.
“Then stop fighting it.”
And gently… so gently Beca almost missed it … Chloe brushed her thumb along Beca’s knuckles.
The smallest touch.
The biggest shift.
The door creaked open.
“Time’s up!” Stacie called. “Did we resolve the boob situation?”
Beca jumped.
Chloe didn’t let go.
“Mostly,” Chloe called back, eyes never leaving Beca’s.
“Define mostly,” Lilly shouted.
Chloe smiled.
“We’re workshopping it.”
Beca rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too.
As the Bellas filed back in, whispering and grinning, Chloe squeezed her hand once before letting go.
The top was still low.
The bra was still push up and lacy.
The room was still warm.
But something had changed.
Beca didn’t look away this time.
She met Chloe’s eyes.
And held them.
And when Chloe winked at her…
Beca didn’t panic.
She just smiled back.
Maybe she was confused.
Maybe she was figuring things out.
But for the first time, it didn’t feel like awkward.
It felt like she was on the verge of something amazing.