You were doing nothing wrong. You were just dancing. In your own living room. In an old cropped tank and those soft little dance shorts with the bows on the side. The ones that were maybe a size too small. The ones you didn’t even realize had ridden up so high in the back until Ashley walked in and choked on her gum.

“Girl—” Ashley wheezed, dropping her purse. “You tryna die today?”

You paused the music. “What?”

She glanced over her shoulder, then stage-whispered: “You’re gonna give your roommate a fuckin’ aneurysm.”

You turned bright red. “I was literally just stretching—”

Ashley walked right over, grabbed the hem of your shorts like they personally offended her. “These are not legal, baby. You’re in here dressed like temptation and the poor woman’s trying to be on her best behavior.”

“She’s not even home.”

Ashley gave you a look. The door behind her clicked open. She was home.

And the second you made eye contact with her — that towering, perfect woman with the tattoo on her bicep and that jawline and that goddamn discipline — your brain blanked completely.

Her gaze dropped. To your thighs. Then back up.

You stood there frozen. Until Ashley muttered under her breath, “Well. Sht.*”

Ava didn’t say a word. She just stepped inside, grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, and leaned against the counter with all the ease of a woman trying not to say something reckless.

Ashley, meanwhile, had absolutely no such filter.

She leaned over and whispered in your ear, “Last week she said you keep dressing like that, she’s gonna bend you over the back of the couch. I’m just saying.”

You made an involuntary noise in your throat. “Ashley—”

“Don’t look at me! She’s the one over there gripping the counter like it insulted her.”

You dared a glance. Ashley wasn’t exaggerating.

Ava’s knuckles were white against the granite. Her eyes stayed on the fridge — too fixed, too calm. Like she was very deliberately not looking at you.

That’s when Ashley did something evil.

She said, loud enough for the masc to hear: “So, babe — are you sleeping in those shorts tonight too?”

You were about to answer — or scold. But the voice that answered wasn’t yours.

It was hers.

Low. Sharp. Final.

“No, she’s not.”

The room went dead quiet. Even Ashley froze.

You blinked. “What?”

Your roommate turned — finally — and looked straight at you. And you were done for.

She looked… annoyed. Frustrated. Hungry.

“I said you’re not sleeping in those shorts.”

Then: “You want me to help you find something else, or are you gonna keep pushing me tonight?”

Ashley was grinning like a demon in the corner. ——————

Ashley had barely closed the door behind her when you felt it — the shift. The quiet. That pressure in the room. Like the whole space suddenly shrank.

You were still standing by the couch, frozen in those stupid, tiny shorts, while your roommate slowly pushed herself off the kitchen counter and took one step toward you.

She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t even look mad.

But her jaw was clenched. Her hands were in her pockets. And her eyes—? Fixed on you like she was deciding something.

“I asked you a question,” she said, voice low.

You swallowed. “W-What question?”

She didn’t blink. “You gonna keep pushing me tonight?”

You shook your head fast. “I—I wasn’t trying to—”

“No?” She stepped closer. “You stretch like that in front of everyone? You wear those little shorts when you’re home alone or just when you know I’m gonna walk in?”

“I didn’t think—”

“That’s your problem.” Another step. Now she was in front of you.

“You never think,” she murmured, voice softer now.

“These right here?” she said, fingertips brushing the bow. “You don’t wear these in front of me again.”

You whispered, “Okay.”

She let the fabric go.

“You hear me?”

“…Yes.”

“And if I ever catch you in them again—” Her voice dropped. “—you’re gonna be wearin’ them in my bed. Face down.”