Page 9 of Hotter in the Hamptons

Lola and Aly froze, staring at each other, Aly’s mouth half-open in surprise.

“It’s you,” Lola said when her brain came back online.

“It’s you ,” Aly replied, sounding just as shocked as Lola felt.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Me?” Aly cried. “You’re the one smashing bottles on my doorstep.”

Reluctantly, Lola broke eye contact and looked down. Her legs were covered in sticky wine, her feet wet. The remains of the bottle were scattered in sharp shards on the ground.

“Oh shit, your foot.”

Her foot indeed. The side of her big toe was sliced red like a rare steak. Blood had soaked her Hermès Oran sandal, spilling out onto the wooden step.

“Ouch,” Lola said, though the pain hadn’t fully registered.

She looked back up at Aly and then down at her foot, then back up again.

If this was some sort of sick cosmic joke, she sure wasn’t laughing.

“Jesus,” Aly said. “Can you just come in? I think we need to apply pressure to that.”

Aly reached out and pulled Lola by the elbow through the doorway. Her hand felt cool on Lola’s hot skin as Lola tried to relieve pressure on her injury, using her good foot to step inside.

The entryway was freezing, air-conditioning blowing her hair off her sweaty neck. A round, antique table held a bouquet of red roses from the garden, and next to it sat a bottle of sunscreen, a paperback, and Aly’s phone. It smelled like salt air and flowers and Molecule 01. Lola glanced furtively into the living room, which looked straight out of a Dwell magazine cover story, bright pops of color and big sofas and overflowing bookcases. The corner had cubbies filled with sneakers and sandals and canvas tote bags and dog leashes. Everything was chic yet comfortable, artsy—like people who loved each other lived there. The walls were a perfect juxtaposition, lined with abstract contemporary paintings and framed children’s art. It all made Giancarlo’s cream-colored haven feel almost sterile in comparison.

There was music playing, some sort of hip, female-fronted indie rock that Lola couldn’t place. She felt a begrudging curiosity, being swept into Aly’s space like this. She wanted to freeze time so she could examine everything closely…and then smash it all on the floor.

She put her busted foot down, and that was when she felt it. Pain shot through her toe and up her ankle.

“Fuck!” she yelped, hopping back onto her other foot, but not before blood spattered onto a light pink doormat. “Fuck,” she said again. “Your rug. Oh my god. Ow. Shit.”

She was sweating profusely. How in the world was this—Aly here , her bloody foot, the red drops on Aly’s rug—really happening?

Maybe, she thought, she was still asleep, having one of her insane hangover dreams. Maybe in a few minutes, she’d hear Ryan singing in their kitchen, back from his grocery run. She could peel the sheets off and wander downstairs and tell him all about this crazy nightmare she’d had while he threw his head back and howled with laughter, accusing her again of being obsessed. Then they could shower and go get lobster rolls and later take a midnight skinny-dip in the pool, and everything would be back on track—she’d be back to having the perfect summer. She just needed to force herself to wake up.

She closed her eyes tightly and then opened them again. But she was still in Aly’s foyer. And Aly was still staring at her, still wearing a black one-piece that showed off her slender legs and her clavicle and her perfect little boobs.

Lola’s cheeks grew hot. “Fuck,” she said again. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Aly said, so steadily that Lola wondered if they were living in the same universe. “You’re fine. It’s just a rug. Can I help you into the kitchen?”

Lola nodded meekly and allowed Aly to help her hobble through the foyer and into a kitchen with emerald-green tiles and a sparkling pink marble island. Long, leafy plants hung in the windows, making the whole space feel both curated and wildly untamed.

“Colorful,” Lola observed, appreciating the eclectic taste of whoever designed the space.

She bent down to examine the cut. Her sliced skin was flapping gruesomely. She stood up quickly. Lola didn’t have a strong constitution for this sort of thing, and she should have known better than to look at it. A wave of nausea hit her, and the room started to tilt. Suddenly, her sweat turned cold, the edges of her vision blurring. Maybe it was her hangover-related dehydration or the sight of blood or the shock of seeing Aly—or all three—but she was pretty sure she was about to tip over.

If you faint, I’ll never forgive you , she said to herself.

What came out of her mouth was “Um? I think I might need to…” She couldn’t finish before she rocked forward.

Aly grabbed her arms, steadying her. Lola hung her head as she focused on her breathing. She wasn’t sure what would be worse: passing out on Aly or puking on her. Both were feeling likely. Maybe if she fainted, she could just stay unconscious until this was all over. A coma-on-demand. She focused on the pressure of Aly’s hands.

“You’re okay,” Aly said, voice cool as fresh cucumber water. “Let’s sit you down.”

Aly deposited Lola on a barstool and then grabbed a crumpled white T-shirt off the counter, pulling it on. It was long on her, the hem stopping just at the top of her thighs.

Lola’s own near nakedness felt very loud in comparison.

She didn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because her brain was already cooking up ways to get the hell out of ARC’s kitchen. She could simply bolt, though with the dizziness and the bleeding, that might be a challenge. She could fake an emergency phone call. But then suddenly Aly was crouching before her with a wad of paper towels, taking Lola’s sticky ankle gently into her pale hands, and Lola realized she was, at least for the moment, stuck.

“I’m going to try to stop the bleeding, okay?” Aly peered up at Lola with wide, imploring eyes. Lola could only nod and then winced as Aly pressed the paper towels to the wound. The only thing distracting her from the pain was the way Aly’s eyebrows were knitted together in concern. Lola had the sudden impulse to reach out and smooth her brow, but she resisted. Even she knew that would be a very inappropriate thing to do, worse than leaving shards of broken glass in her entryway or spilling water across a café table. Instead, she took in the difference between their skin tones. Aly’s hands were like moonlight next to Lola’s golden legs.

“So what are you doing here?” Aly asked. “It’s kind of biblical to come all the way to the Hamptons just to bleed on my doorstep.”

Lola groaned. “I’m staying next door for the summer.”

Aly paused a moment, looking up at her with surprise. “Not Giancarlo’s house.”

“You know him?” Lola couldn’t believe it.

“I’ve only known him my whole life.” Aly was shaking her head, as though she shared Lola’s thoughts on their new living situation: annoyance, dread, disbelief.

“No.” Lola’s eyes went wide, taking in the decor, the signs now obvious. This wasn’t a rental cottage; this was a home.

“He’s best friends with my parents,” Aly said. “What are the chances?”

Lola didn’t answer, because she was suddenly worried that if she opened her mouth, the word fate would fall out. And she definitely, definitely didn’t need to talk to Aly about whether this was fated. This moment might have been Lola’s personal hell—sure, her embarrassment alone could recognize that—but there was also a teeny, tiny part of her that felt a strum of intrigue at Aly’s closeness again. It made the idea of chances feel very complicated.

Instead, she said, “I was just bringing a bottle of wine to my new neighbor. Trust me, I was not expecting it to be you .”

“That was nice of you,” Aly said. “I’m sorry it turned out to be me.”

“Yeah,” Lola said, shrugging, trying to mirror Aly’s no-fucks-given energy. She knew she was probably not very convincing. On the contrary, she found she had never given more fucks than she did around Aly Ray Carter. But damn if she was going to let Aly, who so easily brushed off their new circumstances like she wasn’t responsible for Lola’s demise, know that.

“Are you okay to hold this?” Aly asked, and Lola nodded, taking over the task of pressing the towel into her broken skin. When Aly stood back up, her knees cracked; Lola couldn’t help but take note of it, perhaps only because it reminded her that Aly was actually human, not some ethereal being made of unaffected poise and unsolicited opinions. “I’m going to get the first aid kit. Don’t move.”

As if she could have. Alone in Aly’s exquisite kitchen, bleeding out, Lola let the embarrassment wash over her. She was never the most graceful person in the world, but she wasn’t usually this disastrous, dropping the goddamn wine bottle, almost passing out at the sight of her own blood. Very smooth, Fine . She recalled the glass of water spilling during their interview and winced. When Aly was around, Lola didn’t know her ass from her elbow, and the worst part was Aly could probably tell. Lola put her face in her hands.

Despite the aggressive air-conditioning, a river of sweat ran between her boobs, marking the flimsy bikini that was just barely holding her in place. She glanced down. Thank god she’d remembered to shave her depression bush before coming here, but still, little bits of light brown stubble were starting to appear around her bikini line. She wondered if Aly would notice, if Aly cared about the length of someone’s pubic hair at all. Lola should really make an appointment to get waxed. Ryan would definitely come with her to that. In the Hamptons, they probably offered a full spa experience. They could make a day of it.

But in the meantime, she would have done anything for something to cover up with. A robe, a towel…a garbage bag.

Aly returned holding some hydrogen peroxide, gauze, and a Band-Aid. “This is going to hurt,” she noted apologetically.

“I’m a big girl,” Lola replied, but when Aly started cleaning her wound, tears pricked her eyes. She appreciated that Aly didn’t notice—or at least didn’t mention if she did.

“Oh shit, I think there’s a little piece of glass still in here.”

“Leave it,” Lola said, trying to pull her foot away. She didn’t want to risk Aly seeing her squirm.

“Hold still,” Aly snapped back, gripping her firmly, and Lola blushed, immediately obeying as a keen awareness ran up her spine.

She loved being told what to do.

With tweezers from the first aid kit, Aly deftly removed the chunk like a skilled surgeon. She held the glass up to the light as though it was a prize. “Got you, you little fucker,” she said in triumph.

Despite herself, Lola laughed. Aly smirked at the sound before returning to her task. When Aly seemed satisfied that the cut was clean, she held the gauze to it and then wrapped the bandage tightly around Lola’s toe. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches. The bleeding has already slowed.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Lola quipped and then reddened, hit with a sudden and specific longing for the last person who had played doctor for her: Justin. She wondered what he was doing on his break from her. If he was thinking about her at all. If he would think it unseemly if she bled all over his doormat. She shook the thought away.

Meanwhile, Aly balled up the bloody paper towels and the rest of the trash, tossing it into the garbage before washing her hands.

“Are you some sort of ex–Girl Scout?” Lola asked.

“I babysat a lot in high school,” Aly said, drying her hands on a dish rag. “Kids make you learn this stuff fast.”

Lola could not picture Aly with children. She seemed too cool for wiping runny noses and playing pretend. As if she could read Lola’s mind, Aly shrugged matter-of-factly. “I like kids.”

“Me too,” Lola said. “Though I think I need another five years to decide if I want them.”

“That’s funny,” Aly said. “I’ve always really wanted them.”

Lola felt a tender pull in her chest, not unlike the first time she heard Justin say the same. She had not bothered to imagine Aly as a mother, but seeing how nurturing she was, it made sense to her, somehow adding seamlessly to the picture of the cool girl in the long, white T-shirt before her.

“Can I get you some water?” Aly asked. “Or, like, some vodka?”

The mention of vodka made Lola’s stomach flip as she suddenly remembered the booze-soaked day that had led her here.

Their first meeting, sizzling with chemistry.

The article, brimming with cruelty.

The fallout online, which she’d never recover from.

The series of phone calls from her team as they abandoned her.

Justin, breaking her heart and then walking out the door.

Aly had been the source of all of it. Aly, who had just pulled a piece of glass from Lola’s foot. Whose brow Lola had just thought about petting. Whose skin was glowing in the fading afternoon light. Who, underneath that white T-shirt, was wearing a high-cut one-piece bathing suit that felt burned into Lola’s mind.

It was awfully confusing to hate someone so hot.

And she did hate her, she reminded herself. Or at least she’d been devastated by her. Wasn’t that one and the same? Or was it something closer to absolute vulnerability?

Before she could think twice, Lola reeled back. “You ruined my fucking life.”

Aly held Lola’s gaze with her chin slightly raised, as though she was ready to take whatever Lola was about to dole out.

“Well?” Lola said, her voice sharp. “You can’t seem to shut the fuck up about how basic I am when you can hide behind your screen, but in person, you have nothing to say to me?”

Aly considered her for a beat, her face thoughtful. “Has no one ever criticized you before?”

Lola scoffed. “Of course they have.”

This was a lie, and she realized it as soon as the words left her mouth. Lola had spent her whole life trying to be so inoffensive that she was literally offensive to no one. No one ever had anything bad to say about her because she didn’t give them any reason to. She’d contorted herself into various pleasing shapes for as long as she could remember—just as Aly had written.

The fact that Lola agreed only infuriated her more.

“I’m sorry you were hurt by it. I was just doing my job.” Aly’s voice was maddeningly even, almost patronizing in her refusal to rise to Lola’s bait.

“Was it your job to ruin my life?”

“It was my job to report on what I observed. What my research told me. What my gut was saying.”

“What would get the most attention,” Lola added, and then something clicked. She grinned somewhat manically. “You know, what we do is not so different. You’re over there on your high horse about writing the truth, but the real truth? You took me down so you could have a viral headline.”

“Oh, please!” Aly said, visibly bristling. “You think how well my stories perform impacts me at all? I get paid a flat rate. Do you even know how journalism works?”

“Ugh, spare me.”

“Lola, your shit hit the fan before I wrote the article,” Aly pointed out. “I was reporting on what already happened. You put your own foot in your mouth.”

“And you made it so much worse. You used me to critique my entire industry.”

“Don’t you think the industry needed critiquing? You can’t tell me you think influencing is still exciting at this point. When fashion bloggers first came on the scene, it was so cool. They were democratizing fashion. They took something exclusionary and made it their own. But now? All those same girls have just turned themselves into advertising platforms.”

“I’m a person ,” Lola whispered. “I’m not a representative of a problem or an angle for a story.”

Aly paused, her head tilting at Lola’s words. The truth was that Lola was not ready to have this conversation with Aly. It would mean cutting open parts of herself that she wasn’t prepared to touch. But anger, anger she could do. And Lola leaned into it, letting that burning in her stomach take over, pushing back all the other shit to those dark corners where she wanted them to stay.

Lola took a breath, letting her words land heavily. “You were mean and spiteful, and I wish I never agreed to meet you.”

“I’m sorry you feel like that,” Aly said, and Lola stiffened at her word choice. Not I’m sorry for what I did. Not I’m sorry for what I caused. God forbid she take responsibility. “I hope you won’t let it ruin your summer,” Aly added. “I’m sure you and Jason will still have a lovely time at Giancarlo’s house, and soon you’ll forget all about what happened.”

“Justin,” Lola snapped, her anger flaring once again. “And no, we won’t have a lovely time at Giancarlo’s house. He’s not here.”

“No?” Aly arched an eyebrow. “Not his scene?”

“It’s over. He dumped me.”

Because of what you wrote . She allowed the thought to swell in her mind, to become the reason even though she knew it wasn’t quite true.

“What?” Aly looked genuinely shocked. “But you guys are, like, Mr. and Mrs. Perfect.”

“Yeah, well.” Lola picked at her cuticle. “Your article was…” She trailed off, still not sure how much detail to divulge. “Let’s call it a major turning point.”

“I don’t understand why he’d break up with you based on what I wrote. Shouldn’t he have his own opinion of you?”

“It’s not that simple. And I really don’t want to talk about it with you of all people.”

Aly looked searchingly at the ceiling, giving Lola the opportunity to study her. Aly had a long neck, Lola noticed. It had been hidden under all that long, brown hair. She was like a swan. As mean as a swan too. As untrustworthy.

“So you’re here alone?”

“No, I’m with Ryan.”

“That’s good. I’m glad you won’t be alone,” Aly said, which was irritating.

Lola did not want Aly to be nice to her, to be reasonable. She wanted them to continue yelling at each other. “Are you here alone?”

“Oh, me? Yeah,” Aly said. “I needed a break from all the bullshit. I have some friends nearby, though. On Fire Island.”

“All the bullshit?” Lola sighed heavily and then took in the quiet luxury around her, the custom built-ins and the spotless surfaces and the view of the ocean. Aly didn’t belong in this place. “Shouldn’t you be holed up in some sort of Brooklyn writing warehouse for cranky hipsters? I doubt Jack Kerouac spent his summers in a mansion on Private Beachfront Property Lane or wherever the fuck we are.”

Aly winced. Under normal circumstances, Lola would have never dreamed of letting this much snark sail freely from her lips. In fact, she usually went far out of her way to avoid stirring the pot. But she wanted to hurt Aly—maybe as much as Aly had hurt her.

“It’s my parents’ beach house,” she said, the defensive edge in her voice hard to miss. “We came here every summer when I was a kid. I’m not going to apologize for the way I grew up.”

“Oh, right, I forgot that you’re a nepo baby,” Lola said, unable to stop the disdain coming from her lips now that she’d started. “Amazing that you choose to spend your time critiquing a lifestyle you were born into and still apparently indulge in. Do people know you live like this, daughter of publishing royalty? A true beacon of democratized taste, I’d say.”

Aly’s face turned splotchy and red. She folded her arms across her chest.

“Why haven’t you written the next great American novel by now? The great ARC must have something important to say, right?” Lola had the sudden sense that she had won a battle, and a fleeting swell of victory rose in her chest before quickly deflating as she took in Aly’s face.

“You can leave now,” Aly said, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

Lola felt the sting of the dismissal. “Oh, I’m leaving,” she blustered, calling forward the indignation Aly deserved. Because she did deserve this after everything she’d done, Lola was sure. But as Lola reached the door, stepping over the scattered glass, she couldn’t help but turn her head, taking in Aly still backlit by the kitchen. “Thanks again for the emergency services,” she added, a bit softer this time.

“Anytime,” Aly said, but she’d turned her back to Lola and stayed that way while Lola limped out of the house.

She heard Aly’s door slam closed behind her.

***

Lola exploded back into Giancarlo’s house.

Her heart pounded in the silence. Ryan was not back yet.

She hobbled up the stairs, kicked her ruined sandals off, and collapsed on top of the unmade bed, still rumpled from her sweaty nap.

She tried to make sense of what had just happened. Of all the cottages in the Hamptons, Aly’s was right next door. Lola would have to spend the whole summer dodging her. Their backyards were separated only by short hedges. If she was in the pool, Aly would be able to see her through the kitchen window. There would be nowhere to hide.

She briefly wondered what Aly did for fun out here, if they’d be at the same parties (that was if Lola even got invited to parties this summer; she wasn’t sure if her status as a cancelita extended out east). But she and Aly were rarely at the same parties in Manhattan, so maybe Aly had a different world here too. One that was cooler than Lola’s. Aly would probably be at private poetry readings and homemade sushi experiences, something pretentious and cringey like that—the kind of party Lola would secretly love to be invited to and probably never would.

She couldn’t wait to tell Ryan that she’d been right.

Across from her, there was a painting on the wall of a naked woman smoking a cigarette and looking at her phone. Lola hadn’t noticed it before in her delirious nap state. The woman’s eyes were unfocused, as though she’d recently gotten railed. Her breasts hung low over her stomach. A dog was curled by her feet. The scene looked intimate, as though maybe the artist had been the one doing the railing. Giancarlo had good taste in art.

Lying on her back, Lola took stock of her body. She was slick with sweat. Her foot hurt like all hell. Her headache threatened to blossom into a migraine. Her bones were tired.

And most of all, she was still completely riled up from the fight with Aly, a low thrum of anger left pulsing through her.

Which probably explained why her vagina was throbbing too. Mixed signals from her brain to her groin.

Plus, Lola always got horny when she was hungover.

Her hand wandered down her stomach and slipped underneath the waistband of her bikini bottoms. It didn’t take long before she was completely wet, her clit stiff, standing at attention. She cupped her other hand onto her breast as she started to rub herself furiously, not so much for the pleasure of it but so she could get the orgasm over with and move on with her day.

The door to the bedroom was wide open, but she couldn’t stop to close it. Didn’t want to.

She heard a distant door slam—Aly was back outside. Lola’s skin hummed.

She heard Aly’s voice command her: Hold still.

She felt the cool pressure of Aly’s hands on her arm, her ankle, her foot.

She saw the absolute concentration on Aly’s face as she pulled glass out of her cut. Grasped her heel in her palm. She watched Aly fold her arms across her chest, heard her voice as she raised it. She felt the fury rising in her chest at Aly’s pretention, at how condescending she was.

Lola took her hand away, panting, trying to slow herself down. She tried to remind herself what Aly had taken from her. How cruel her writing had been. How hurt Lola was that after all the chemistry between them, Aly only had horrible things to report on her.

But she couldn’t focus on any of that. Instead, she remembered Aly’s knees cracking when she stood. Her familiar, musky smell, so intoxicating up close.

Maybe this was the equivalent of a hate-fuck, she thought as she resumed touching herself. That would be reasonable.

It didn’t take long until the feeling was building again, almost too intense to bear.

She didn’t even realize how loudly she moaned when she came. Briefly, she lost all senses. The room turned spotty, and her ears rang. The only thing that existed was the blood in her body as it rushed to her clit.

Her heart was pounding loudly in her chest, bringing her back to earth. She held her hand over her throbbing labia, afraid of moving.

What the fuck was that?

She tried to catch her breath. It is totally normal to masturbate after conflict. This is fine. I’m fine.

The bed beneath her was damp from her sweat.

This was just my way of releasing tension.

With her free hand, she tugged her nipple absent-mindedly.

I do not actually want to fuck Aly Ray Carter.

On the contrary, it was less like an orgasm and more like a purge.

That was it. She’d binged on conflict with Aly, and now it was leaving her body.

Anything else—anything more than that—she simply did not have the capacity to examine further, not right now. She was nursing a heartbreak, mourning the death of her career. To have an actual physical attraction to the person who had wrought all that was unthinkable. There was nothing greater than her love for Justin, nothing bigger than the hole he’d left in her heart.

Besides, if it really came down to it, she wouldn’t even know what to do with Aly’s body. She reminded herself that she was, at the end of the day, straight. She always had been.

And straight women jerk off to thoughts of other women all the time. The first woman she ever masturbated to was her high school volleyball coach, with her long, blond ponytail, muscular calves, and a whistle that she blew with abandon when the girls weren’t making their digs. Lola used to love imagining Coach Lisa standing behind her, teaching her how to serve, guiding her hands into position. It wasn’t a fantasy about sex. She was aroused by the thought of Coach Lisa helping her. She wanted Coach Lisa’s approval, and sometimes, under the covers in her childhood bedroom, she made herself come just thinking about Coach Lisa saying, “Good girl, Lola.”

What would it sound like for Aly to say good girl to her?

She heard the Jeep pull into the driveway, Charli XCX blasting from the speakers. Ryan. Finally. She wondered how long it took to go to the grocery store in this town. It felt like he’d been gone for years. Long enough for a whole side plot to come in and hijack her summer before it even started.

The front door opened and closed. “Lola!” he screamed. “Lola?”

After a few moments, he started singing to himself. Like Lola, he had a habit of falling in love with whatever was on the radio at the moment.

She should go downstairs and greet him. She should help with the groceries, Venmo him for half or maybe all of it. She should ask him about the guy from the app that he was so excited about. She should look up where to get dinner and drinks and go dancing. She should make an appointment for them to get waxed. She should express gratitude that he’d allowed her to come with him to this beautiful house in this stunning place.

She should, she should, she should .

The problem was that she was still so turned on. She had the girl equivalent of a boner. A lady boner? There was no cute name for what was happening to her body. She was not fit to be seen by anyone in this state.

She got up and closed the bedroom door as quietly as possible, careful not to put too much weight on her bad foot.

Back in bed, she lay on her stomach.

Her hand wandered back down between her legs. This time, she started slowly, lightly. She was still so sensitive from her first orgasm. With her mouth pressed into the pillow to silence her own groans, she traced gentle circles. Her thighs began to shake.

She was ready for the fantasies now.

In an alternate universe, she imagined that she’d knocked on Aly’s door and not dropped the bottle of wine when Aly opened it. Instead, she said, “Well, hi there, neighbor,” in a way that was totally calm and collected.

It was Aly who was unable to play it cool now. “Lola?” Aly gasped. Aly, who in this fantasy world was wearing a string bikini, not a one-piece. Her stomach was flat, her hip bones pointy. “Is it really you?”

“The one and only,” Lola said. “Fancy a drink?”

She was not sure why she sounded British in this fantasy, but she went with it, surrendering control to the vision playing behind her eyelids.

The scene continued. She made her way into the foyer. Aly took the bottle out of her hands and placed it on the table. “Actually, I had something else in mind,” Aly ground out before pushing Lola into the door and pressing her entire body into Lola’s.

On the bed, Lola writhed, pressing harder into her hand. She could almost feel Aly’s torso thrust into hers.

Meanwhile, Aly let out a moan as they kissed, their tongues melting into each other. Aly bit Lola’s lip. Lola reached down and clutched Aly’s ass, which was mostly bare thanks to the cut of her suit. Aly was standing on her tiptoes.

“Lola, I want you,” Aly said and then brought her hands to Lola’s chest, softly teasing her nipples through her bathing suit. She felt the touch radiate out, chanting through her: I want you. Lola. I want. Want .

Lola pulled the string of Aly’s bikini top until it unraveled and fell to the floor. What did Aly’s boobs look like? She tried to imagine them. Perky, probably. Pink nipples. She wondered if Aly would let her touch them.

Aly pressed her pubic bone into Lola’s leg. Lola could feel Aly’s wetness through her bathing suit, and the feeling shocked her, turned her on. How novel, to have someone without a dick pressing their groin into you. She wondered if she’d ever experience it in real life. She wondered if she actually wanted to or if some things were better kept in fantasy, as fiction.

In bed, Lola gasped.

Her orgasm came out of nowhere.

She hadn’t even been trying to come, but she hadn’t been trying not to either. She’d been in another place entirely. A place where Aly was feeling her up, moaning with need for her. A place where… Her back arched. She was going to come for a third time. She hadn’t come three times in a row since the early days of her and Justin.

Not only that: it was the best orgasm she’d ever had. She felt it surging up and down her body, rocking her in waves of pleasure. She felt she was dying and being reborn over and over. She stuck two fingers inside herself to ride out the final wave, moaning into the pillow as her body did things it had never done before.

Lola had never felt this kind of desperate, feral longing for another girl. This was not the same as blushing because Coach Lisa tightened her ponytail in a certain way. This was something else. Something new. Something…terrifying. Of all the people in the world, did she really have to feel this way about Aly Ray Carter?

Lola fucking Fine , she said to herself. You will not harbor a secret crush on the girl who ruined your life. You will not.

As soon as she caught her breath, she fell into a deep, dark sleep.

She dreamed of volleyball practice.