Don’t be late.

That’s what her father told her since they had a family gathering on the same night.

She was told to come straight home after training but did she? No.

Really she was planning to but when she saw you by the bleachers watching the practice session she there and then knew she’d be late.

And did it matter? No, not one bit.

Especially when her father wasn’t letting you stay over for the weekend because of some stupid ‘no boys over when I’m not home’ rule, but yet again her dad was perfectly fine with you being over her house before you transitioned.

And now when you were no longer a girl her dad had a big problem with you being around even though you were the exact same person just a bit more…hot now in her opinion anyways.

Especially when you left the soccer team and got your lip pierced, to say the least she was obsessed so could you blame her if she wanted to see you for a bit before the stupid family gathering?

But you did more than talking, one moment you were in the front of her car talking about the family gathering and maybe about her sneaking you over and the next your jacket was off and left at the front, car doors locked and windows slightly fogged up.

Two of you in a tangled mess in the back of her car making out, her hand holding your jaw, yours tangled in her messy hair from practice, her other hand on the car door the top of your head was pressing against, hand gripping it tightly, your other hand fisting her the side of her soccer training T-shirt.

Every time you pulled back, just enough to breathe, you’d catch the wild look in her eyes—half-lidded, pupils blown wide. Her lips red and slick, parted as she pants against your mouth, her breath hot on your skin.

“You’re gonna make me so late,” she whispers, though the grin tugging at her lips says she doesn’t really care.

“Good,” you murmur, voice rough from all the kissing, and you lean in again before she can say anything else—catching her bottom lip between your teeth, tugging just enough to make her gasp.

Her body brushing above yours, the shift making the cramped space of the back seat feel even smaller, your bodies pressed so close there’s no telling where you end and she begins.

The windows are completely fogged now, streetlights outside turning the misty glass a dull orange blur.

She pulls back just to breathe against your jaw, lips trailing down the side of your neck, her breath shaky as she laughs softly, almost delirious.

“Dad’s gonna kill me,” she mumbles, but her hand is already under your shirt, palm hot on your skin, tracing circles that make your stomach flutter.

“Wanna stop?” you ask, though you’re both still moving, mouths finding each other again, too hungry to mean it.

She just shakes her head, nose brushing yours. “Shut up,” she breathes, and kisses you again, harder this time, like she’s trying to make up for all the nights she can’t have you in her bed anymore.

Outside the car, the world keeps moving—cars pass by, someone’s dog barks in a yard nearby—but in here, there’s only her. Her hands on you, your fingers sliding under the hem of her shirt, both of you chasing every second you shouldn’t even have.

You know she’ll be late. She knows she’ll be in trouble. But right now, with her breath mixing with yours and your heartbeat drumming under her palm—none of it matters.

“I missed you,” she murmured, nose brushing yours.

“You saw me two days ago,” you breathed out.

“Not enough,” she said, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then lower—nipping at the skin just beneath your ear. Your fingers tightened in her hair and she moaned softly, the sound vibrating against your neck.

She kissed you again, deeper this time—messy, desperate, tongues tangling, her breath warm and sweet. You barely noticed her phone buzzing somewhere in the front seat—probably her dad wondering why she wasn’t home yet—but neither of you cared.

She pulled back just enough to bite your lip again, then kissed it better, breathing hard. “Five more minutes,” she whispered, forehead pressed to yours.