You’ve been secretly dating for a few weeks. Nobody knows — or so you think. But your flirting is obvious, her protectiveness is worse, and your best friend Mia? She’s not stupid. She sees the way Tori’s whole soul leaves her body whenever you laugh at someone else’s joke.

And tonight? You’re at a big kickback. Couch full of people. Jokes flying. Drinks passed. And you? Sitting way too pretty beside her, in a short little dress and a smile you have to know is ruining her.

⸻

“Okay but like… tell me why your ex looked like that,” you giggle, tossing your head back in a way that actually fucking murders her.

She’s beside you, one leg propped up on the coffee table, fingers twitching where they rest on her thigh. The entire friend group’s sitting around, roasting old stories, but she’s barely listening.

Because you’re sitting so close her leg’s touching yours. Because you just licked margarita salt off your finger. Because you’re smiling at Mia’s boyfriend, and she might actually kill someone tonight.

You look up at her suddenly. “Why you so quiet tonight, huh?”

Her eye twitches. “’Cause you’re talkin’ enough for the fuckin’ both of us.”

You giggle again. “Aw. You’re cute when you’re cranky.”

Mia—who’s sitting across the room—lifts a brow. “Damn, babe, you flirt like you’re married already. Y’all got vows we don’t know about?”

You freeze. Tori does not.

She cocks her head slow, eyes fixed on Mia like a fuckin’ bullet.

“Keep talkin’ and I’ll throw you through the goddamn window, Mia.”

Everyone laughs. Thinks she’s joking.

You, however, feel the hand that slides behind your back. Light touch, barely there. Her thumb grazes the back of your bra strap. Her voice in your ear is low and mean:

“You keep fuckin’ smiling at him like that and I swear, baby, I’ll drag you into the bathroom and wreck your makeup.”

You go still.

Then blink. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Don’t care. You know what that smile does.”

Your breath hitches.

She leans in closer, her mouth barely brushing your ear now.

“And you know I can’t fuckin’ touch you out here. So quit playin’, bunny. I ain’t got that much fuckin’ self-control.”

Mia watches from across the room. Frowning. Suspicious as hell.

Then Tori leans back like nothing happened, arm still behind you, beer in her other hand, calm as hell.

You’re sitting there flushed. Speechless.

And Mia, eyes narrowed, just says:

“…Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”