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Trinity fixes her hair one last time as the buzzer sounds. Her long shower left her flushed and flustered and barely ready to answer Victoria’s can I come over? text with an appropriately nonchalant anytime, crash.
If her girl wants to sleep over, Trinity will always be ready for her, even in a heat wave. She’s got a cheap bottle of wine (red and sweet, Victoria’s favorite) chilling in the fridge, Olivia Dean low on her speakers, and Huckleberry on a blessedly long night shift. All she needs is…
“Oh, thank god,” Victoria moans, sliding past Trinity to immediately flop onto the couch. “The AC at my parents’ house is broken. There’s no way I’m sleeping there.” She’s in a tiny black sports bra and shorts, skin glistening with sweat, hair frizzing out of her ponytail.
“Uh,” Trinity starts, glancing towards the bedroom, where she’s dimmed the fairy lights to a low twinkle.
Victoria cracks an eye. “What, you thought this was a booty call? In this heat?” She picks up a piece of junk mail to fan herself.
“No,” Trinity blusters. “Of course not, Crash. I’ll get you an ice pack and an OliPop. Sit in front of the fan.”
“Hey,” Victoria says, craning her head as Trinity walks past, asking for a kiss. “Thank you. Really. Just let me cool down before we warm back up.”
Then she winks, so silly and cute that Trinity can’t help but blush like a teenager all the way to the kitchen.