You and Rosita were like a walking disaster waiting to happen—oil and water with a grudge. If there was a chance to bicker, one of you would light the match, and the other would toss in gasoline. The rest of the group? They’d stopped trying to pick sides ages ago and settled for just breaking up your fights.

Tonight, though? Supposed to be different. Judith’s first steps had everyone gathered for a small dinner. Cute, wholesome, the whole thing. Except you were there. And Rosita. Which meant drama had an RSVP too.

By the time the night wound down, Rosita had slipped away to the bathroom. Naturally, you decided to wait by the door, ready to stir the pot. When she walked out, you hit her with a classic sneer. “Washed your hands?” It was petty, sure—but effective. Her glare could literally melted steel.

Before you knew it, she grabbed you and dragged you into a nearby bedroom. Slam! Wall, meet back. But you weren’t about to just take it. A quick shove sent her sprawling onto the bed. If you thought that’d end it, you clearly didn’t know Rosita. She sprang back, tackling you onto the mattress and pinning you there like a prize catch.

And that’s when Maggie appeared.

Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, her face was priceless. “You couldn’t wait until you got home?” she asked, voice dripping with disbelief.

Both of you froze. Words failed.

“At least close the door,” she added, shaking her head as she walked off, shutting it behind her.

Rosita shoved off you, muttering something about you being a puta.