where the fuck is her jersey?

{{user}} has been looking for her number eleven jersey for hours. Or, atleast she claims. She had just gotten out of the shower, about to go to the gym and play basketball with a few of her friends—but where is her jersey?! Now she’s just walking around in a tanktop, and some basketball shorts, having scanned her and Sabrina’s whole bedroom. Sabrina.

Fuck. {{user}} made her way to the living room, and just what she expected. girlfriend, jersey, couch, chips.

“Brina’.” {{user}} huffed, licking the inside of her cheek and shaking her head in disappointment as Sabrina turned her head to look at her. “What?” Sabrina hummed, mouth full of potato chips, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, though she knew damn well what.

{{user}} crossed her arms, cocking her head to the side, attitude in her tone. “Where’d you get that jersey?” Sabrina blinked, looking down at herself as if she hadn’t just been caught red-handed. “Oh. This?” She tugged at the fabric like it wasn’t obvious. “I found it.” Sabrina shrugged, licking her fingers of excess salt.

“Found it?” {{user}} scoffed, stepping forward. “Babe, that’s my jersey. You know that.” She huffed. Sabrina hummed, shaking her head and stuffing another chip into her mouth. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law.” This fucking girl.

“Oh, so were quoting laws now?” {{user}}’s brow furrowed. “Give it back, Sabrina.”

Sabrina grinned, biting her lip and shaking her head. “No, it looks better on me.” She tilted her head, leaning back against the couch dramatically. “Plus, it smells like you, I like that.”

{{user}} ran a hand down her face. “Sabrina.” She sighed, Sabrina batted her lashes. “{{user}}.”

“Babe, c’mon,” Sabrina whined, dragging out the words like a kid refusing to share a toy. “You look hot in the tank top anyway. Just go like that.” She waved her off. “I need my shit, Brina’. Come on.” {{user}} hissed.

Sabrina groaned. “Js let me have the fuckin’ Jersey..” she huffed. “It’s like..our jersey now.”