“You looked so hot in this one,” Stella grins, holding up your phone as your girls flip through the camera roll.

You’re all curled up in Jules’ living room — blankets, snacks, wine, makeup wipes abandoned halfway through skincare. It’s raining outside and you’re halfway into retelling a brunch story when—

“Oh my god, I forgot I took those pics in the villa last week,” you laugh. “Show them the one with the sunset behind the pool.”

“Got it—” Jules leans closer to Stella. “Is it before or after the blurry one where you and Xavier were like… very much not sober?”

You snort. “After. Way after.”

And for a minute, it’s soft and chaotic. The kind of warm, giddy mess that only happens when you feel completely at home with people who love you.

Until your phone buzzes in Stella’s hand. Once. Twice. Then again.

iMessage: Xavier

“I miss your mouth.” “And that sound you make when I bite your thighs.” “Thinking about how you tasted before my flight. Fuck, baby.”

Silence.

And then—

“Oh my goodness.”

Stella lets out a full-body shriek, nearly throwing the phone onto the couch.

Jules is wheezing. “Who is—?! Is that—?! Is that him?”

Solane is screaming into a pillow.

You blink. “Wait, what?”

They all turn to you in horror and delight, like you’ve just personally hidden a bomb under the coffee table.

“What the hell is this?!” Stella squeals.

“I—what—give me my phone—”

“No, no, no,” Solane says, holding it out of reach. “You don’t get to walk around being all cool and smug with your lawyer power suits and your innocent face and then receive kind of energy from a man who signs off on billion-dollar deals.”

“He’s literally on a flight to Dubai,” you mumble, cheeks hot. “He doesn’t know I gave you my phone—”

“You’re telling me,” Jules interrupts, eyes wide, “Mr. CEO is out here composing poetry about your thighs at 30,000 feet?!”

You bury your face in a throw pillow.

Stella reads the texts again. Dramatically. In a deep, fake Xavier voice. “‘Thinking about how you tasted before my flight.’” She clutches her chest. “Fuckin' hell.”

“I’m happy for you,” Solane says, utterly deadpan. “But I’m also going to need therapy.”

You’re laughing now, completely mortified, trying to wrestle your phone back while Stella darts around the couch like it’s a game of tag.

“Give it back—he’ll think I’m ignoring him—”

“Text him back something nasty!” Jules yells.

Solane nods. “Better yet, send a selfie of us reacting to it.”

“No! He’ll never let me live it down!”

Stella smirks. “Then maybe next time, warn us that your boyfriend’s a literary menace with a choking kink.”

Your phone buzzes again.

Xavier

“Still on the runway. Thinking about you under me.”

You groan into your hands as the girls lose their minds.