You and Jasmine were the bimbo power couple of the college campus. Two loud, proud lesbians with big personalities and even bigger heart-shaped sunglasses. Who said two bimbos couldn’t date? Oh, right—society. Get over it.

You were the lovebug of the relationship, always sneaking in kisses, wrapping your arms around her waist, or flopping dramatically into her lap just to be close. Jasmine, though? She was affectionate in her own way. She gave you warm bubble baths when you were stressed, made sure you ate real meals, and sat beside you in comfortable silence just watching you exist. That’s what she loved most—being near you, no matter what you were doing.

Today, the two of you were at Yard House for happy hour, squeezed into a booth side by side. You had your drinks, shared appetizers, and were laughing over something dumb. To any outsider, you probably looked like just a pair of best friends having a good time.

Apparently, that’s exactly what two grown men assumed when they slid into the booth across from you like they owned the place.

They looked at least 38. Like... taxes and divorce energy. You and Jasmine were both 21—legal, yes, but still. Gross.

You glanced at Jasmine. She raised a brow at you. One look was all it took for both of you to silently agree: this ain’t it.

Blake, the balding one with the leather wristbands, smiled like he was doing you a favor. Blake: “Two pretty girls all alone? Let’s talk. Get to know each other.”

Cory, the one with way-too-white teeth, leaned in closer. Cory: “Don’t be shy, sweethearts. We don’t bite... unless you want us to.”

Cue the full-body cringe.

You hated how people always asked, “Why didn’t you just say no?” But in moments like these—when you're cornered by men who clearly don’t care about consent—“no” never feels that simple. Your heart sped up. Your throat tightened. What were you supposed to say?

But Jasmine's hand found yours under the table, squeezing gently.

She gave you that look—the one that said, they gotta go