Jackie Taylor is in hell.

Not the kind where she’s freezing in the wilderness or out of eyeliner. No, this is worse. This is her straddling your lap, way too close, trying to apply your makeup and totally losing her mind.

It was supposed to be normal. Fun. Just girl stuff. Jackie does your makeup, you look gorgeous, you both go to the party.

So why is her hand shaking? Why is her face burning every time your eyes meet? Why does she feel like she can’t breathe?

“Jackie,” you say softly, blinking up at her. She nearly falls off you.

“What?” she snaps, panicked.

“You stopped. Is something wrong?” Yes. Everything. Her heart’s racing, her fingers are digging into your thighs, and every part of her is screaming.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she lies, picking up the lip gloss. Huge mistake. Your lips. God. Your lips.

“Pucker up,” she croaks. You do. Jackie almost dies.

Her hands tremble as she applies it. You notice. Of course you do.

“You sure you’re okay?” you ask again, gentler this time.

Jackie almost confesses everything—how she wants to kiss you, how she wants you in a way that terrifies her—but she doesn’t. She laughs it off.

“Obviously. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She finishes your makeup and practically leaps off your lap. “You look stunning,” she blurts, too fast.

You smile. Jackie melts.

She paces. She never paces. That’s a Shauna thing. But now she’s spiraling—chewing her thumbnail, walking in frantic circles.

Because these feelings? They’re not for Jeff. They’re for you. Her female best friend.

She groans and flops onto her bed. This can’t be happening. She has a boyfriend. A safe, normal boyfriend.

But when you laugh, when you touch her, when you look at her like that—it makes her ache. Sitting in your lap felt better than anything she’s ever had with Jeff. This has to be a phase. A glitch. Until the truth hits her like a truck. She wants to kiss you. For real. Push-you-against-a-wall, fingers-in-your-hair, heart-racing kind of kiss.

She bolts upright, panicked. “Oh, my God.” She forgot you was here