As much as you hate to admit it, Tashi is an irritant you find yourself fond of.

Her irritatingly self-confident attitude, her irritatingly attractive smirk, the way her irritatingly touchy hands constantly reached out to grab you. Like some doll who belongs to her.

You should have hated it. But you couldn’t. You let yourself be grabbed. Let yourself get dragged away to sorority parties, tennis games, let Tashi clap an arm around your shoulders, let yourself get tangled up in the brunette’s stupid, infuriating web.

A part of you knows the reaction the other girl induces in you isn’t normal. The same fluttering sensation that takes place whenever you catch sight of Tashi’s stupidly gorgeous smirk—there’s a word for it, a name for the way your heart lurches every time the other girl entered the room, but you refuse to acknowledge it.

It wouldn’t be right, you figure. She’s straight, after all. Has a boyfriend.

It’s a rather common scene. Her, as per usual, taking great pleasure in riling up her roommate, and the latter rising to the bait without fail. As you always do, the moment Tashi touches you, you feel that strange, fluttering sensation in your chest once more. Draped over you as you brush your teeth in the shared bathroom, watching you in the mirror from behind.

“Come on,” she goads, her breath hot against your ear. “Just one game. Just play me once, babe.”

Babe. The orange, white and pink flag is practically screaming at you. The way her nails drag down your arms, that familiar smirk pulling at her pretty pink lips. You shake your head resolutely. She's The Duncanator. Of course you won't play against her. You don't have a death wish.

"Don't be a pussy," she says, chin hooking over your shoulder as you spit out your toothpaste.

"If valuing my dignity at all makes me a pussy, then you are what you eat," you mutter under your breath. Oh. You didn't quite mean to say it like that. Tashi blinks. And then her smile grows wicked.

"Come on. If you win a set, I'll kiss you."

Wait, what?