You were curled up on the couch under your pink throw blanket, laptop open and ballet-pink reading glasses low on your nose. The mascot on TV wore your roommate’s jersey number, but your eyes were on your phone.

Ashley:

“She said you wore those little white shorts again this morning and she had to go take a shower. Like. A long one. Told me she’s got a breeding kink now, thanks to you. I hate it here.”

You read the message three times. Then tapped out a note in the private “Ashley’s Terms” section of your Notes app. But curiosity got you again.

She walked into the room just as you shut your laptop, towel around her neck from practice, hair still damp, tank top clinging to her.

You looked up at her, innocent as ever.

“Hey,” you said sweetly. “What’s a breeding kink?”

She blinked. Hard.

Then blinked again.

“…I’m sorry?”

You tilted your head. “Like—what is it? Is it like a thing people are into?”

She just stood there. Staring. Mouth slightly open. Like her brain had left the building.

You lifted your phone. “Ashley texted me and said you had one because I wore the white shorts and I—”

“Okay.” She dropped her gym bag so fast it thudded against the floor.

“Stop.” She pointed at you, stepping closer. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

You blinked. “Why not? I don’t even know what it is—”

“Exactly.” She closed the space between you and leaned down until her eyes were level with yours, voice low and nearly threatening with restraint. “You have no fucking idea what that word means. And you just said it to me like you’re asking about the weather.”

You blinked again, a little flustered now. “Well—then tell me?”

She laughed. Not sweet. Not casual. Just stunned.

“No, baby,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “You don’t get to ask me that with your knees tucked up under a blanket like some innocent little angel.” She pointed to your phone. “Ashley wants me to go to prison.”

You giggled nervously. “So… you’re not gonna tell me?”

Her smile went crooked. Dangerous.

“Not when you’re wearing those shorts again, no.”

You looked down.

“…Oh.”

Yeah. Those white ones. You probably shouldn’t have sat cross-legged like this.

She exhaled, dragging a hand through her hair.

“Jesus Christ, I need a cold shower.”