To find submission, then romance, Dakota has to open two doors she'd rather keep shut. A charged recording session, a ride home in the rain, and a text she answers before she can think better of it.
Dakota slipped into the community theater studio a few minutes early. Dropping her bag by the wall, she took a slow breath.
Embody the role. Embody the role.
Mr. Harlan clapped his hands to get everyone's attention.
"Alright, let's pick up where we left off yesterday," he said. "We're going back to Taming of the Shrew. Katherine and Petruchio. Dakota, you're with Lena again. You'll be doing Katherine. Lena, you're Petruchio."
Dakota nodded and moved to the corner of the room with Lena. She rolled her shoulders once, trying to shake off the morning, and closed her eyes.
Embody the role.
She reached for a memory of submission. She expected it to be difficult. But the memory came anyway, sharp and immediate.
They were going to a Pride event.
Dakota had shown up at Lauren's apartment in what she thought was perfectly acceptable attire: a black t-shirt with a raised fist and a pin on it, her favorite torn jeans, and her well-worn combat boots. She'd even put on the flag pin Lena had given her months earlier. It felt like her. It felt honest.
Lauren had opened the door, taken one look at her, and smiled that soft, gentle smile she used when she was about to get her way.
"You look nice," Lauren had said, stepping aside so Dakota could come in. "Really. But… I got you something."
She'd led Dakota into the bedroom, where a large white box sat on the bed, tied with a pale blue ribbon. Lauren picked it up and held it out with both hands.
"I saw this and thought of you," she said. "I think you'd look really beautiful in it tonight."
Dakota had taken the box excitedly, already smiling as she tugged at the ribbon. It was a gift from her girlfriend. She'd hurriedly lifted the lid, expecting something cool, something that showed Lauren actually knew her.
Inside was a light, flowery sundress — pale blue with little white and yellow flowers scattered across it. The fabric was soft and delicate, with thin straps and a skirt that would move when she walked. It was pretty. It was also very much not her style.
Dakota had stared at it, her smile faltering.
"I already have something on," she'd said, trying to keep her voice light.
"I know," Lauren had replied, still smiling. "And you look cute. But this is a big day. I just thought… it would be nice if we matched the energy a little more. You know? Like we're really showing up as a couple."
Dakota had looked at the dress again. Then at Lauren's hopeful face. Then back at the dress.
She'd changed into it.
Lauren had helped her out of her clothes with the same gentle efficiency she used when she was getting her way. She'd zipped up the back of the dress, smoothed the fabric over Dakota's hips, and then guided her to sit on the edge of the bed so she could brush her hair. Dakota had sat still while Lauren worked the brush through the tangles, then watched in the mirror as Lauren did her makeup — soft, careful strokes of foundation, a little blush, mascara, and a light gloss on her lips. Lauren had even picked out a pair of small silver earrings from her own jewelry box and put them in Dakota's ears.
When she was finished, Lauren had stepped back and smiled at her reflection.
"There," she'd said. "Now you look like you belong with me."
Dakota had smiled back. It had felt tight at the corners.
She wore a lot of pretty dresses after that day. Not every day, but often enough. Flowy ones, soft ones.
Dakota opened her eyes.
She took a slow, deep breath and adjusted her stance, rolling her shoulders back as she wiped at the corners of her eyes with her thumb. She was surprised at how quickly the memory had come. She hadn't thought about that night in months.
Lena was watching her, script in hand, waiting.
Dakota gave a small nod. "Sorry. I'm ready."
Dakota didn't argue. She looked at Lena for a moment, then smiled — small, but warm.
"Then, God be blessed, it is the blessed sun," she said, her tone light and sincere. "But sun it is not when you say it is not, and the moon changes even as your mind."
She said it like she meant it. Like she was happy to be corrected. Like agreeing with him was the easiest, most natural thing in the world.
Lena pushed a little further. "Now, by my mother's son, and that's myself, it shall be moon, or star, or what I list."
Dakota didn't hesitate this time. She just looked at Lena with that same soft certainty.
"Forward, I pray, since we have come so far," she said, her voice carrying a quiet affection. "And be it moon, or sun, or what you please. And if you please to call it a rush-candle, henceforth I vow it shall be so for me."
It wasn't perfect. She still stumbled once on a longer line and had to start again, and her posture kept slipping — she'd catch herself standing too tall, too ready to push back, and had to consciously ease her shoulders down. But she was aware of it. She was working on it in real time.
When they finished, the room stayed quiet for a second.
Mr. Harlan didn't speak right away. He just nodded slowly, like he was turning something over.
"Better," he said finally. "Still rough in places. You're not fully inside it yet. But you stopped fighting the text. That's the first real step. Keep going in that direction."
Dakota nodded, keeping her face neutral, but her foot tapped once against the floor before she could stop it.
Inside, she was buzzing.
She wanted to smile so wide her face hurt. She wanted to bounce on her toes. She wanted to do a stupid little spin right there in the middle of the studio like an idiot. It had worked. Not perfectly, but it had worked. She'd actually pulled from that place and made something honest out of it. Mr. Harlan had seen it. He'd said better.
Not here. Not yet.
They moved on to other pairings after that. Dakota tried to stay focused, but the giddiness kept flickering under her skin like a live wire. She kept her hands busy — taking notes, adjusting her script, anything to keep from giving herself away. When she stood to switch partners, she had to consciously slow her steps so she didn't look like she was about to skip.
By the time class ended, she was still riding it.
She packed up quickly, rolling her script between her palms and tucking it under her arm. Lena caught her eye on the way out and gave her a small smile, but Dakota was already moving toward the door, her chest tight with the effort of not grinning.
Outside, she walked a few steps down the sidewalk, then glanced around to make sure no one was nearby. When she was sure she was alone, she let it out.
She spun once, fast, arms out, her bag swinging wildly off her shoulder. Then she did it again, laughing under her breath like she couldn't quite hold it in. She stopped and pressed both hands over her mouth, shoulders shaking, before dropping them and tipping her head back with a wide, stupid smile.
It had worked.
She stood there for another second, still smiling, then took a deep breath and let it settle warm in her chest. The high was still there.
Dakota adjusted her bag, turned toward the studio, and started walking.
Dakota was still smiling when she pushed through the studio door.
She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and headed down the hallway, already half-listening for Mike's voice.
When she stepped into the booth room, Mike was at the console with his headphones around his neck.
"We're picking up with the scene in the garden," he said without looking up. "The one right after they sneak out of the party. Should be a lighter day. More romance, less plot."
Dakota paused in the doorway.
"Oh," she said. "That's early. Like… really early."
Mike glanced over. "Yeah. We're jumping around a bit to get the tone right before we lock in the later stuff."
Callie was already inside, scrolling on her phone.
Dakota's eyes caught on her before she could stop them. Callie's hair was pulled back into a casual ponytail, with a few small strands framing her face. She was wearing a simple black dress — nothing flashy, just a clean, short-sleeved midi dress that hit just below the knee. It was clearly well-loved; the fabric had softened with wear, but it still moved nicely when she shifted in her seat. The cut was modest but flattering, and Dakota found herself noticing the way it sat on her frame, the way it followed the line of her waist without trying too hard. She looked put-together. Like someone who took the time to look nice even when she didn't have to.
At Dakota's comment, Callie looked up. Her expression didn't change much, but something in her posture shifted — a small, quiet alertness.
Dakota caught it. She raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, I read it," she said, dry. "So what?"
Callie didn't look away. She just tilted her head slightly, the corner of her mouth lifting in something that wasn't quite a smile.
"I never doubted your literacy," she said. "I'm just surprised you're reading any of it without being paid, given your clear disdain for the material."
Dakota felt the words land. For a second, she almost smiled back — sharp, ready — but she swallowed it. She wasn't here to start something.
Before either of them could say anything else, Mike cut in, his voice a little louder than necessary.
"Alright. Headphones on. We're rolling in thirty."
Dakota stepped into the booth and pulled the headphones on. The familiar weight of them settled over her ears. She glanced across the glass at Callie, who was already standing at her mic, script in hand, waiting. Their eyes met for a second longer than necessary.
Mike's voice came through. "Scene twelve. Mary and Jane in the garden. Dakota, you're up first."
Dakota found her line. She took a breath—
—and then stopped.
Romance, romance.
She had a place for remorse now. She had a place for submission. But romance? She didn't have anything clean for that. Not without dragging Lauren into it. And she wasn't ready to do that. Not yet.
She looked up at Callie through the glass.
"Give me one second," she said into the mic.
Callie didn't move. She just watched her, one eyebrow slightly raised.
Dakota closed her eyes.
The memory came easier than she expected.
It was only the third time she'd gone back to Lauren's apartment.
The place was small and always loud — four women sharing one bathroom, music playing from someone's room, the smell of someone else's cooking drifting down the hall. Dakota had gotten used to quick showers and never quite relaxing, even when she stayed over.
But that night, Lauren had run her a bath.
Not just a bath. A whole production.
The tub was already full when Dakota walked into the bathroom. Steam curled up from the water, thick with the scent of rose and something sweeter underneath. There were candles on the sink and along the edge of the tub — real ones, not the cheap tea lights. Rose petals floated on the surface. A bath bomb had already dissolved, leaving the water faintly pink and soft with Epsom salt.
Lauren was sitting on the closed toilet lid, already in an old t-shirt and shorts, like she'd been waiting.
"I know you like taking your time," she said, simple. "Figured you should get to, for once."
Dakota had stood in the doorway for a second, not sure what to say.
Lauren just smiled and nodded toward the tub.
"Go on. I'll keep you company."
Dakota undressed while Lauren looked at her phone, giving her a little privacy without making it awkward. When she stepped into the water, it was almost too hot, the way she liked it. She sank down until the bubbles came up to her collarbones and let out a long, low sound she didn't even mean to make.
Lauren glanced up from her phone and grinned.
"That good?"
"Yeah," Dakota said, eyes half-closed. "That's… really good."
Lauren set her phone down on the sink and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
They didn't talk about anything big at first. Just small, easy things. Dakota told her about the professor who kept mispronouncing her name on purpose, and Lauren laughed — a real, warm laugh that made Dakota laugh too. At some point Lauren reached over and brushed a loose strand of hair out of Dakota's face without thinking, her fingers light against her temple. Dakota didn't pull away.
At some point, the water started to cool. Dakota was about to get out when Lauren stood up.
"Stay," she said. "I'll warm it up for you."
She turned the hot water back on, testing it with her hand until it was right, then sat back down on the toilet lid like she had nowhere else to be.
Dakota watched her through the steam.
"You don't have to do all this," she said quietly.
Lauren looked at her for a second, then shrugged, soft.
"I wanted to."
She reached for the bottle of shampoo on the edge of the tub.
"Lean back," she said. "Let me do your hair."
Dakota hesitated, then did.
Lauren's hands were careful. She worked the shampoo through Dakota's hair with slow, steady fingers, massaging her scalp in small circles. The water was warm against Dakota's shoulders, and every so often Lauren would lean down and press a soft kiss to the curve of her shoulder before rinsing the soap away. Dakota closed her eyes and let herself be taken care of. No one had done this for her in years. It felt stupidly good.
Lauren rinsed her hair gently, then did it again with conditioner, working the knots out with her fingers. When she was done, she squeezed the excess water from the ends and leaned down to kiss the top of Dakota's wet head.
"There," she said, voice low. "All done."
Dakota opened her eyes and looked up at her through the steam.
Lauren was smiling down at her like she was something worth keeping.
"Can we start now?"
Callie's voice cut through the memory, sharp and dry through the headphones.
Dakota blinked hard, the bathroom and the candles and Lauren's hands in her hair dissolving all at once. She was back in the booth, heart beating too fast, script still in her hand.
Callie was watching her over her script, one eyebrow raised.
Dakota swallowed.
"Yeah," she said. "I'm ready."
She looked back down at her script, but she could still feel Callie watching her. Mike's voice came through the headphones.
"Alright. Let's take it from the top. Dakota, you're up."
Dakota found her line again. She took a slow breath, let the last of the memory settle somewhere in the back of her chest, and started.
"I love it when you kiss me like that."
There was a short pause. Then Callie's voice came through, low and warm, with a deliberate softness that made the words feel more intimate than they should have.
"Oh, do you?"
Dakota lifted her eyes.
Her gaze went straight to Callie's mouth.
She watched the way Callie's lips moved when she formed the words — the slight parting, the way the terracotta caught the light before she finished the question. Dakota felt her pulse kick hard in her throat. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her script without her meaning to.
She didn't look away.
"Yes," she said, her voice softer now, a little lighter. Coquettish. "Do it again."
Callie's mouth curved slightly. Not quite a smile. Something quieter. The lipstick shifted with the movement.
"Kiss me again," Dakota added, softer still, almost playful. "Please."
She was still watching Callie's mouth. She couldn't seem to stop. Every time Callie spoke, Dakota found herself tracking the movement — the way her lips shaped the words, the faint press and release, the small shift when she paused. Her mouth had gone dry. She swallowed once, trying to focus, but her attention stayed locked there.
Callie's voice came back, smoother and lower this time — unmistakably seductive.
"You're dangerous when you ask like that."
Dakota felt the corner of her own mouth twitch, but her eyes didn't move.
"Am I?" she asked, the words coming out just a little breathy, just a little teasing.
Callie didn't answer right away. She just looked at her, one eyebrow slightly raised, like she was deciding how far she wanted to take this. The silence stretched for a second too long.
Mike's voice cut in, a little sharper than before.
"Good. Let's go again from the top. Dakota, you were getting a little… caught up on that last line. Loosen it up. Keep it clean."
Dakota blinked, the moment breaking. She nodded even though Mike couldn't see her.
"Yeah. Got it."
She glanced back at Callie. Callie was still watching her, but the look had shifted — less charged, more professional. Like she'd already filed whatever just happened away and moved on.
Dakota looked back down at her script and rolled her shoulders once, trying to shake off the feeling still sitting low in her stomach. Her pulse was still too fast. She exhaled slowly through her nose and forced her grip on the script to relax.
She wasn't sure if she'd succeeded.
Mike's voice came through the headphones, casual.
"Alright, let's take five. Grab some water or whatever you need."
Dakota pulled her headphones off and set them on the stand. She didn't look at Callie as she stepped out of the booth. Her face still felt warm, and she needed a minute to get her head back on straight before she had to sit across from her again.
She headed down the short hallway toward the bathrooms. The women's room was empty when she pushed the door open. She checked the first stall anyway, then the second, pushing each door open with two fingers like she was clearing a crime scene. Old habit. Or maybe just paranoia at this point.
She was reaching for the third stall when a voice spoke behind her, low and amused.
"Looking for someone?"
Dakota jumped so hard she nearly slammed her hip into the sink. She spun around, heart hammering, one hand flying up like she was warding off an attack.
Callie stood just inside the doorway, one hand still resting on the door. She looked faintly entertained.
"Jesus Christ," Dakota muttered, pressing a hand flat against her chest. "How do you keep doing that?"
Callie tilted her head, the corner of her mouth lifting.
"Don't you know?" she said. "I'm a fucking ninja."
Dakota stared at her for a second, the words landing with a delayed, horrible clarity. Her face went hot so fast she felt it in her ears.
"Oh my god," she said, voice slightly strangled. "You heard that."
Callie's expression didn't change, but her eyes were bright with something dangerously close to laughter.
"Yep."
"I have excellent hearing," Callie said, stepping further into the room.
She moved past Dakota toward the sinks like this was a completely normal conversation to be having. Dakota watched her in the mirror, still feeling the full-body cringe burning under her skin.
Callie turned the water on and glanced up, catching Dakota's reflection.
"You know," she said, casual, "for someone who keeps ending up in bathrooms with me, you really should start checking the stalls before you start talking to yourself."
Dakota let out a short, helpless laugh despite herself.
"Noted."
She turned and stepped into the nearest stall, shutting the door behind her and sliding the lock into place with more force than necessary. She glanced down at the toilet seat and grimaced. It was wet. Not just a little.
"Fuck," she muttered under her breath. "God damn it."
From outside the stall, she heard the sound of Callie's makeup bag unzipping at the sink.
"You kiss your mom with that mouth?" Callie asked.
Dakota huffed out a laugh despite herself.
"I might kiss yours," she said. "I might have kissed yours once or twice."
There was a brief pause, then Callie's voice came back, calm and unbothered.
"My dad might have something to say about that." A soft click of a compact opening. "Let me guess. Out of toilet paper again?"
Dakota stared at the mess in front of her and sighed.
"No," she said. "I think the last girl that was in here must've done the hover and peed all over the seat."
She grimaced at the wet seat, cleaned it with unnecessary determination, layered down fresh paper, and sat again. Almost immediately, the urge hit her hard. The long shift, all the water she'd been drinking, and the tension of the night caught up with her at once. She started peeing — and it just kept going. A long, steady stream that seemed to go on forever.
From outside the stall, Callie made a small, impressed sound.
"Wow," she said after a moment. "You're running a marathon in there. Must be all the coffee."
Dakota blinked, still mid-stream.
"What?"
"Your shirt," Callie said. "That's where you work?"
Dakota looked down at herself and felt a fresh wave of embarrassment. She was still wearing her green work polo. She hadn't even changed before coming to the studio.
"Oh," she said, voice smaller than she meant it to be. "Yeah. I… forgot I was still wearing it."
Callie made a quiet, amused sound.
"Long day?"
"Something like that," Dakota muttered.
"You could've just used a different stall."
Dakota huffed out a laugh despite herself.
"You could've said that sooner."
Callie's voice came again, lighter this time.
"Didn't your mother ever teach you to look before you sit?"
Dakota huffed out a laugh despite herself, still flustered.
"She tried," she said. "I was a slow learner."
She flushed, unlocked the stall, and stepped out. Callie was still at the sink, calmly zipping up her makeup bag. Dakota moved to the sink beside her and turned on the water. As she washed her hands, she caught Callie watching her in the mirror.
Dakota pulled her work polo off over her head. The black T-shirt underneath rode up with it, briefly exposing the lower edge of her bra and a strip of stomach before she tugged it back down.
"Black suits you," said Callie, "Didn't take you for a lace girl, though.
Dakota smirked, still a little flustered.
"Thanks," she said. "It's your mom's."
"Must've been before the double mastectomy."
Dakota froze, eyes widening in horror.
"Oh my God," she said, mortified. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea—"
Callie finally smiled — a small, sharp, genuinely amused smile — and zipped her makeup bag closed.
"Just kidding."
Dakota let out a long, pained groan and dropped her face into her hands for a second.
"Jesus Christ, you're evil."
Callie didn't answer, but when Dakota glanced up, she caught the tail end of Callie's smirk in the mirror.
Dakota turned away quickly, cheeks burning, and busied herself with drying her hands.
She liked my bra.
The thought slipped in before she could stop it, stupid and warm and way too pleased. She tried to shove it back down, but it stayed there anyway, sitting low in her chest like a secret.
Dakota took a slow breath and looked up.
She didn't look at her script.
She looked right at Callie.
"I love it when you kiss me like that," she said, voice low and a little breathy, eyes locked on the other woman.
There was a short pause.
Callie's voice came through the headphones, low and intimate.
"Oh, do you?"
Dakota held the eye contact. She could feel the heat rising in her face, but she didn't look away.
"Yes," she said, softer now. "Do it again."
Callie's mouth curved, just slightly.
"Kiss me again," Dakota added, quieter, still watching her. "Please."
Her voice had gone breathy in a way she couldn't quite control. She could feel it happening — the way her focus narrowed down to Callie's mouth, the way the rest of the room seemed to fade out. She knew she was getting caught up again, but she couldn't seem to pull herself back.
Callie didn't answer right away.
When she finally spoke, her voice was smoother. Lower.
"You're dangerous when you ask like that."
Dakota's pulse kicked hard. She was still looking at her.
Mike broke in.
"Cut."
He sounded calm, but there was a clear note of warning underneath it.
"Dakota, you're getting caught up again. Reel it in a little. We're recording a scene, not having a moment."
Dakota blinked, the spell breaking. She sat back slightly and exhaled through her nose, feeling a flicker of embarrassment at how far she'd let herself drift.
Callie was still watching her from across the booth, expression unreadable.
Dakota pulled her headphones off one ear, clearly frustrated.
"Sorry," she said, voice tight, "but it's hard to find the vibe when Jane is chewing the scenery like a rabid goat. And what is the deal with these tropes? The whole 'I hate how much I want you' thing while she's literally climbing into her lap? It's lazy as hell. If I have to read one more line where the heroine is pissed at herself for being attracted to the other woman, I'm going to start keeping count."
There was a beat of silence.
Callie's face had gone very still. When she spoke, her voice was controlled, but there was a clear edge to it.
"People in love talk like that," she said. "And it's a dark romance novel. The internal conflict is part of the genre. It's not lazy. It's the point."
Dakota let out a short, incredulous laugh.
"Look, I'm not saying I was expecting high art," she said. "I'm just saying this CK Sterling person could've tried a little harder is all. Apparently she or he has written a bunch of these and they all get decent reviews, so there are fans. I'm just not one of them. You can pay me to read the lines, but you can't pay me to like them."
Callie opened her mouth, eyes flashing, but Mike cut in before she could speak.
"Alright, that's enough," he said, voice firm but even. "Both of you take a breath. We're not here to workshop the book. We're here to record it. Dakota, tone it down. Callie, stay on script. We're going again in thirty."
Dakota sat back in her chair, jaw tight. She could feel Callie still looking at her from across the booth.
She didn't look back.
They went through the lines a couple more times before Mike called it a night.
Dakota stepped out of the studio building and was immediately hit with a wall of rain. It was pouring now — much harder than when she'd arrived. Thunder rumbled somewhere overhead, and the streetlights blurred through the downpour. She opened her umbrella with a sharp snap and stood for a second under the awning, watching the water hammer against the sidewalk.
Down the block, under the glow of a streetlamp, a man in a dark jacket stood with his hands in his pockets. The same guy she'd seen the night before. He wasn't doing anything — just standing there, occasionally glancing toward the building. Dakota watched him for a beat, then looked away. Not her problem.
She pulled out her phone and opened the Uber app. The prices had doubled. Congestion pricing. Of course.
"Fuck," she muttered under her breath.
She was seriously considering just walking it. It was a few miles to her apartment, but she had the umbrella, and the idea of paying double for a ride made her stomach clench. She was halfway to closing the app when a car pulled up to the curb in front of her — a modest dark sedan, older but clean. The passenger window rolled down.
Callie leaned across the seat.
"Would you like a ride home?"
Dakota blinked at her through the rain. For a second she just stood there, umbrella tilting slightly. "I was going to walk," she said, even though she hadn't fully decided yet. "But, yeah, a ride would be nice."
Callie reached over and pushed the passenger door open. "Hop in."
Dakota folded her umbrella and climbed into the passenger seat. The door shut with a solid thunk, cutting off the sound of the rain.
She reached for the seatbelt and pulled, but it only came down a few inches before catching. She tugged harder. Nothing.
"I think your seatbelt's broken," she said, still yanking on it.
Callie glanced over. "Oh, yeah. It's a little weird. You have to kind of jiggle it."
Before Dakota could try again, Callie leaned across the center console. For a moment they were pressed together — Callie's chest against Dakota's as she reached for the belt. Dakota went very still. She was suddenly aware of the warmth of her, the faint scent of her perfume mixed with rain, the soft give of her body through the thin fabric of her dress.
Callie gave the belt a quick, practiced shake and it slid free. She pulled it across Dakota's chest and handed her the buckle without fastening it.
"There," she said, settling back into her seat like nothing had happened.
Dakota took the buckle with fingers that felt slightly clumsy. "Thanks."
The inside of the car smelled faintly like coffee and paper. There was a travel mug in the cupholder and what looked like a few loose manuscript pages tucked into the door pocket. It was neat without being sterile. Lived-in.
Callie put the car in gear. It was a stick shift. Dakota noticed the way her hand moved on the gear knob, the easy, practiced motion of it. Something about that detail — the fact that Callie drove a manual — lodged in her brain and refused to leave.
"Left at the light," Dakota said after a minute, voice quieter than she meant it to be.
Callie nodded and flicked on the turn signal.
They drove in silence for a block. The rain hammered against the windshield, the wipers working steadily. Dakota was acutely aware of how small the space was. How close Callie was. She could still feel the ghost of that brief press of bodies, and it was making it hard to think straight.
She cleared her throat.
"Thanks," she said. "For the ride. I mean. You didn't have to."
Callie glanced at her, then back at the road. "You were standing there looking at your phone like it had personally offended you. Figured it was the prices."
Dakota let out a short breath that was almost a laugh. "Yeah. Well. Rent's due soon. Some of us can't just throw money at surge pricing."
It came out a little sharper than she intended. She winced internally and looked out the window.
Callie didn't take the bait. "Turn right up here?"
"Yeah. Two more blocks, then left on Maple."
Another stretch of quiet. The only sounds were the rain and the low hum of the engine. Dakota could feel the tension sitting between them — not quite hostile anymore, but not gone either. Like the argument in the booth was still hovering, waiting to be acknowledged or ignored.
She decided to ignore it. Sort of.
"You know what actually pisses me off about that book?" she said, turning slightly in her seat. "The sex scenes. They're so over-the-top it's ridiculous. It's basically porn for women. Every scene reads like everybody's having the best sex of their lives every Tuesday. Nobody has orgasms on cue for six straight chapters. All the positions, all the dirty talk, the way everything's perfectly choreographed and lasts for pages. That's not how real people fuck. It's fantasy bullshit."
Callie's hands stayed steady on the wheel. "Some people like fantasy," she said, voice even. "Not everyone wants a documentary."
"Sure," Dakota said. "But when it's every single scene, it stops feeling like fantasy and starts feeling like the author has no idea what actual sex is like. Or they're just writing what they think sells."
Callie was quiet for a second.
"Or maybe that's saying more about the kind of sex you're not having than the kind of sex real people have."
Dakota let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Wow. Okay. I've had great sex. I've had amazing sex. I am very, very good in bed. Like, I would blow your fucking mind."
Callie's head snapped toward her.
Dakota felt the heat rush up her neck the second the words left her mouth. She shut up immediately, mortified.
Callie stared at her for another half-second, then turned back to the road without saying anything.
Dakota stared straight ahead, face burning.
"Left here," she said after a moment, quieter. "Then it's the third building on the right."
Callie turned. The car slowed as they approached the old brick apartment building. Dakota could see the familiar cracked sidewalk, the flickering light over the front door.
Callie pulled up to the curb and put the car in neutral, foot on the brake. The rain was still coming down hard, drumming against the roof.
Dakota didn't move right away. She looked at Callie in the dim light from the dashboard. The close space suddenly felt even smaller.
"Thanks," she said again, softer this time. "For real."
Callie met her eyes. For a second neither of them said anything.
Then Dakota reached for the door handle.
"See you tomorrow," she said.
She stepped out into the rain before Callie could answer, umbrella already opening as she jogged the short distance to the building entrance.
As she walked away from the car, the thought hit her before she could stop it: if she turned around right now, would Callie be watching her? Would their eyes meet through the rain-streaked windshield? The idea made something in her chest pull tight. She didn't look. She didn't take the risk. She just kept walking, pushed through the front door of her building, and let it close behind her.
Dakota came through the front door like she was being chased.
Jess, Taylor, and Priya were on the couch, the TV playing something low in the background. Taylor had her legs draped over Jess's lap. Priya was eating popcorn straight from the bag.
"Hey," Jess said, glancing over. "How was—"
"I don't want to talk about it."
Dakota didn't slow down. She dropped her bag by the door, kicked off her shoes without untying them, and headed straight down the hall to her room. She stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and let it click shut.
She peeled off her socks and dropped them, then shimmied out of her pants and underwear in one motion. She pulled her shirt over her head, reached back to unhook her bra, and let it fall to the floor with a quiet exhale of relief. She crossed to the dresser, grabbed the soft, worn t-shirt she always slept in, and slipped it on. The hem fell just below her hips.
She didn't even bother turning down the covers. She just face-planted onto the bed, arms flung out, face buried in the pillow.
A few minutes later, there was a soft knock.
Dakota didn't move.
The knock came again.
"Dakota?" Jess's voice, muffled through the door. "Can I come in?"
Dakota groaned into the pillow, then slowly rolled onto her back. "Yeah."
Jess slipped inside and closed the door behind her. She leaned against it for a second, studying her.
"So," she said. "Lauren texted me earlier."
Dakota let out a short, humorless laugh and covered her face with both hands. "Of course she did."
Jess came to sit on the edge of the bed. "She said she ran into you at work. That she asked you out. That you told her you'd think about it."
Dakota stared at the ceiling. "Yeah. Against my better judgment."
Jess's voice was gentle. "I know it's complicated. And I know she hurt you. I'm not saying she didn't. But you two were really good together before everything went to shit. And she's been doing the work. She really has."
Dakota let out a bitter little laugh. "Yeah. She was really good. Right up until she dumped me for another girl and I lost the apartment we were sharing and had to move in here because I couldn't afford to live on my own."
Jess winced. "I know. We got lucky that we lost a roommate right before you needed to move out anyway."
Dakota rubbed her hands over her face. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do with any of this."
Jess reached over and gave her knee a squeeze. "You don't have to decide anything tonight. Nobody's rushing you. I just… I hate seeing you this twisted up. And if there's still something there with Lauren… maybe it'll be different this time." She smiled, small but real. "But if she hurts you again, I'm going to punch her in the fucking face."
Dakota actually laughed at that — a short, surprised sound.
Before Jess could say anything else, the door eased open and Taylor leaned in. She reached for Jess's hand, gave it a gentle tug, and glanced at Dakota with a small, knowing look.
"Hey, honey," Taylor said softly. "Let's leave Dakota be. She's probably had a really long day."
Jess let Taylor pull her toward the door, but she didn't leave without one last look back.
"I'll be out here if you change your mind," she said. "Or if you just want company. Seriously."
Taylor gave Dakota a quiet, sympathetic smile, then guided Jess out of the room and shut the door all the way behind them.
Dakota lay there for a long time after that, staring at the ceiling. Eventually she sat up, grabbed her tablet off the nightstand, and pulled up the next episode of Family of Five. She could use some brain candy. She hit play, turned the volume low, and let the familiar voices fill the room.
She made it through most of the episode before her mind started drifting again. Eventually she set the tablet on the nightstand and turned off the lamp. The room went dark except for the faint glow from the streetlight outside.
She tossed and turned for a while, trying to quiet her brain, but the restlessness wouldn't settle. Eventually she stopped moving, let out a heavy sigh, and rolled onto her back. She stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, then ran her fingertips slowly up her thighs. She hooked the hem of her t-shirt with both hands and shimmied it up over her hips, the fabric bunching around her waist. As her hands slid back down her thighs, the memory of Callie leaning across her in the car surfaced — the warmth of her body, the soft press of her breasts against Dakota's as she'd reached for the seatbelt.
Her phone lit up on the nightstand and buzzed loudly against the wood.
Dakota's eyes snapped open.
"Fuck," she muttered.
She reached for it, already knowing who it was before she even looked.
Lauren.
The first message had already come in.
Let me take you to dinner tomorrow night.
Dakota stared at the screen, thumb hovering. Oh, fuck no.
A second message appeared right after.
That little Italian place you love so much.
She exhaled through her nose. Well…
A third message came in immediately.
My treat.
Dakota let out a low, frustrated groan and dropped the phone onto her chest.
She lay there in the dark, phone rising and falling with her breathing, the interrupted heat still sitting low in her stomach.
At least she would get a free dinner out of it. And it wasn't like she had acting class tomorrow, so she could actually do it. She already had the audiobook session at eight anyway, so she wouldn't have to stay that long if it was awful.
She picked the phone back up, thumb hovering over the screen for a long moment.
Then she typed.
Tomorrow at six. I've got something at eight.
She hit send before she could overthink it, then immediately dropped the phone face-down on the bed like it had burned her.
She stared up at the dark ceiling, the phone still face-down beside her.
"Goddammit," she muttered.
She rolled over and yanked the blanket up over her head.