Hot water flows over my head and shoulders, loosening my spent muscles and calming my roaming mind. With my head tilted back in bliss, it pools in the hollows above my collar bones and streams down my long hair where it falls to the tub floor.

I breathe in a deep lungful of steamy air and close my eyes, just enjoying it for one last minute before needing to climb out.

There are few things better than a long shower after an exhausting day of dancing. Granted, I love it, but it's still tiring. And when I spend eight hours a day teaching various skills and routines to my studio's kids' classes, on top of a few hours worth of practice with my dance crew... well, my muscles are craving some relaxation.

I still wouldn't trade it for the world though.

The knob squeals as I turn off the water—the old pipes in this building constantly give me trouble—and I make quick work of wrapping a fluffy towel around myself with another twisted around my hair and up on my head like the world's plushest crown.

I'm sure to give my legs a nice coat of lotion and then reach for my deodorant. Note to self: buy more deodorant. Mine is pitifully empty, so I don't think twice before reaching for the Old Spice-labeled one instead.

I brace myself for the impact of cold air as I exit my en-suite bathroom. Sure enough, the blast is enough to cause goosebumps to rise on my arms and a scowl to form on my face.

My drab white-walled bedroom greets me in all its glory. I don't get much liberty to customize my two-bedroom apartment, but the rent is as cheap as it comes in this area (which is still way too much) and I split it with my roommate, Prisha, so I'm not really complaining in that respect. She's a better decorator than I am, so while the living area is pretty basic, her room looks like it came straight out of Pinterest. Mine, however, is just a mishmash of dressers with dance trophies and medals I've won littered all over, random pictures taped on the wall of old memories, and my ultra-comfy down comforter-covered bed.

It's not exactly what I envisioned when I decided to move further into the city by myself, but I'm closer to my dance studio here and it does afford me the freedom and independence I wanted; I have my own space (minus Prisha, but she's cool).

So if I want to eat ice cream for dinner, no one can stop me (even though I really shouldn't).

Or if I want to walk around in the nude, I will (poor Prisha's eyes).

And if I want to bring a lucky person back to my place every other night, I do just that (poor Prisha's ears).

It's probably not much by most people's scale, but it's mine. And in my humble opinion, fancy and expensive stuff doesn't always mean all that much. When I come home, I want it to feel like home.

When I gaze around my simple bedroom I see a place I fought and saved to get, stuffed full of years of memories, all of which feel very me.

Actually, I take that back. It's not the only thing I currently see. As I step across the threshold, my chill-induced frown is quickly replaced with raised brows as I spot a familiar figure sprawled across my bed as though he owns it.

Well... to be fair, he sleeps here almost as often as he does in his own bed, so maybe that's not too far from the truth.

I may have been remiss not to include my best friend in the equation as well. It's definitely not his apartment, but good luck telling him that. Sometimes I regret exchanging keys with him for the sole reason of these unexpected drop-ins. It's not like I don't do the same thing to him though, so touché, I suppose.

With his arms behind his head, his biceps flex distractingly against the hem of his black short sleeves. He doesn't move as I stride further into my room and I'd think he was asleep if it weren't for the single eye he peeks open to observe my entrance. "Geezus, woman, how long does it take you to shower? I've been out here for like 45 minutes, I'm pretty sure I dozed off once or twice."

At the foot of my bed, I plant my hands on my toweled hips and glare down at him. "Quinn, do you have any idea how long it takes to shampoo and condition my thick-ass hair, wash my body, wash my face, exfoliate my legs, shave my legs, shave my pits, trim the bush, and stand around to contemplate all of life's unanswerable questions?" I tick each item off on my fingers as I run through the full-shower-experience list.

"Hmm," his baritone rumbles in thought. "Apparently a long fucking time, judging by—"

A spare pillow is in my hand and flying against his vulnerable stomach in an instant.

Mirthful laughter erupts from the both of us as I smack him an extra few times just for good measure, and while we both know he's nearly a foot taller and could easily overpower me, he just raises his hands in a half-hearted attempt to divert the blows.

I toss the pillow on him when I'm finished dishing out my punishment and observe as he makes himself comfortable again, this time sitting cross-legged in the dead center. He wears an easy smile as he brushes a hand through his tousled dark hair, attempting to re-tame it.

Speaking of wearing something...

I spin (in a practiced maneuver I could do in my sleep) towards my dresser to open a drawer and grab a thong, then slide it up my legs under the towel.

"I assume you're here to pick me up for our family dinner tonight? Mom texted about it earlier." I question him as I pull out a bra. (Stupid, irritating bras. I hate them with a passion. But I do like the way they make my tits look.)

"Yeah, it's at seven-thirty. Plus I wanted to— Oh."

As my towel falls to the floor I look over my shoulder at his clipped exclamation. Then I huff a small chuckle at his averted eyes. "You've seen me naked before, Q. We used to take baths together, remember?"

"Right, when we were kids, Rory," he replies flippantly.

I hook my bra on as I click my tongue at him. "I've seen your dick."

He squints his eyes at me, his face a mask of disbelief.

"Last summer," I deadpan. "Niles' birthday party at his family's pool?"

An accusing finger is shoved in my direction. "Ok, that was only because you tricked me into wearing fucking dissolvable swim trunks, you bitch! The guys still tease me about it over a year later..." he trails off as his lips form a little pout.

I yank some clothes out of my closet and toss them onto my bed next to him. When I turn and face him this time, he doesn't turn away, despite still only being clad in my bra and underwear. I had a suspicion he was just being extra about seeing my boobs. It'd be a little hypocritical considering he walks around in his boxers. And we've been friends far too long to really give a shit; If I hadn't goaded him about it, I doubt he would've even said anything.

When I catch his caramel-brown eyes I give him a little smirk at the memory. "It was a good prank though."

His downturned lips slowly climb their way up to a grin. "Shit, yeah, it was. I was pretty proud of you for that one."

"Yeah, yeah. I know I'm a master." I do a little mock bow before grabbing my jeans and sliding them on, doing a little shimmy-and-suck to button them just under my belly button.

"Anyway," he draws the word out before continuing, "I was going to say that I also came over to see how your solo tryout went. That was today right?"

My eyes instantly roll to the back of my head. Not literally—that would be alarming—but about as far as they could go to display my extreme dismay at the subject.

The annoyed sigh that escapes me sounds more like a dying animal than a human as I flip around to fall on my back next to him. "Ugggh. Yes, it was today. But it was— I just can't— It was so STUPID!" My arm flies up in the air before falling to cover my eyes.

Quinn gives me a second before I feel him shift around. "Sooo..." he prods, "does that mean you didn't get it?"

"Uggggggh. NO. Stupid, perfect, Beth stole it. I saw her flirting with our crew captain, Reese, before tryouts today, with her perfect perky boobs and her perfect long legs. I practiced for a month straight, my routine was flawless! I earned it and she stole it because Reese can't keep it in his fucking pants and lacks the ability to separate the professional from the personal. Like, yeah, Beth's gorgeous, I'd clap those cheeks too, but it doesn't mean you give her the part when her routine was a mess!"

My breaths come out in infuriated puffs, my chest rising and falling in the silence that follows my outburst.

Quinn slowly pulls my arm off my face and peers down at me with his own sneer of solidarity. "Stupid Beth."

I nod.

"Stupid Reese."

I nod furiously.

"I'm sorry you didn't get the part. I know it meant a lot to you, and while I didn't see the whole thing, I did catch a bit of your routine last time I picked you up and you looked amazing."

I huff a little, but his praise is working to calm my little tantrum. I manage to mumble a "Thanks."

He looks absently away for a few seconds, his face scrunching up in distaste. "Just for the record, we hate her because she's a snake and not just because she's a size two, right? I hope you know she's no better than you just because she doesn't have your curves. And the captain's a complete imbecile if he's only giving her that part to keep his dick wet."

When he looks back down at me, his face is soft but there's an unmistakable firmness in the set of his eyes.

I let out a big sigh. At least I can always count on Quinn to call me out on my BS. "Yes, I know, of course not. They both just constantly irritate the shit out of me. And we both know how petty I get when I'm irritated... I'll be fine though, there's another competition coming up so I'll try for that." I give him the best smile I can muster, even if it's tight-lipped and half-believable. "Thanks for the support though, and for asking about it in the first place."

"Of course, my dear Briar Rose, I'll always be your personal hype man. Thicc thighs make the best earmuffs, don't forget."

He nods adamantly, almost solemnly like he's delivering news instead of cracking a joke, but a lopsided grin emerges when I whack his arm with the back of my hand.

"That auburn hair of yours?" He rambles on, despite my continued giggles and whacks of embarrassment. "Have I told you how it looks aflame in the sunlight? That sassy attitude and those badass dance moves? Killers. And this. stomach." His thick hand slaps down twice across my bare midsection in punctuation, his eyes following the motion. His mouth opens to continue but he pauses instead, his train of thought derailed. "This beautiful tummy needs a shirt. We should probably get going. My family is meeting us there so we don't have to worry about picking them up at least."

I chuckle again at his obvious cover-up, but as I glance at the shiny (and obnoxiously large) watch on his wrist, I admit he's unfortunately accurate.

I move to get up but he holds me back with a light grip on my arm.

"Hold up." He sniffs the air between us curiously before fanning my arm in a rapid up-and-down motion like a chicken wing. "Are you wearing my deodorant!?"