I'm hungry, drunk, and down a hundred dollars by the time we walk back into the hotel lobby. I wasn't planning on spending that much, but when Jenny pulled us into the tiny lingerie boutique a few blocks away, all the level-headed reserve I had slipped right through my drunken fingers. The rows of colorful lace sets were mesmerizing, displayed in long aisles organized by color. My drunken mind was amazed by it, reaching out to feel the soft fabrics against my fingertips as I held my cup in my other hand, sipping down my third tequila-mixed drink like it was a juice box.

I walked through the store like it was a rainbow waiting to be explored, admiring the pretty sets as I waited for Nia and Jenny to pick out their favorite pieces; but when I got to the far end of the store where the kaleidoscope of colors faded into white lace, I was entranced. It was the bridal section. Somehow, the little white pieces were more alluring to me than anything else I'd seen. They were beautiful—elegant, even, sliding like silk through my curious fingers.

I'll be the first to admit that my collection of bras and panties isn't the most seductive. Aside from the one black lace bra that I own, all the rest are basic Target bras. I have a handful of lacy panties—a gift from Nia for my last birthday—but other than those, my underwear drawer is filled with dull, bikini-style cotton underwear. I never really gave it much thought, and based on how Tristan's eyes always seem to darken whenever he sees me in them, I don't think he has any complaints. But as I explored the row of lacy lingerie sets, I couldn't stop imagining what he would think if he saw me in something like that instead, what his hands would feel like, exploring the barely-there lace wrapped around my hips and chest, lightly veiling, rather than concealing anything underneath.

The thought alone was enough for me to pick up the small, white lace set and bring it to the checkout counter, barely blinking at the price flashing on the screen as I swiped my debit card. I don't know if that was because of the tequila still coursing through my veins or the rush of adrenaline that surged through me at the thought of Tristan between my thighs, desperate to pull the scrap of lace down my legs. That same fantasy flashes through my mind again as we cross the lobby, sending a spark of heat across my skin, prickling as it goes as if each nerve in my body is catching fire.

"Should we go back out to the pool?" Jenny leads us into the elevator, her own much fuller bag of lingerie swinging from her hands as she presses the button to our floor. My shoulders and nose are slightly sunburnt from the three hours we spent out there before we left for the shops, but the poolside margaritas were too good to leave, and with the balmy desert sun beaming down on us, we were finally able to forget about the cold, seemingly infinite winter we left behind in Pullman. Our little college town does get warm, blistering hot, even, but it's late to arrive and early to exchange for the crisp autumn air that always sweeps in.

Growing up in Florida, I'm used to experiencing a different kind of heat every summer. It's tropical heat, the kind that warms you from the inside out and goldens your skin while you nestle into the sun-dried sand, falling asleep to the sound of waves crashing on the shore. This heat, dry and parched, isn't nearly as nice as that, but it's better than the frigid wind that's been pulling past Pullman, bringing ice-cold rainstorms along with it.

"I'm hungry." Nia shakes her head, running a hand through her short black bob. Her bangs fall back into place when she shakes her head a little, grinning at me as I slump back against the elevator wall.

"I'm starving," I agree, leaning my head against the cool surface. I gaze up at my reflection in the mirrored ceiling, turning my head slightly to get a better look at the rosy hue of my shoulders. It's a minor sunburn, one that doesn't hurt yet, and paired with the small matching patch on my nose, I feel like I'm back home again.

"Let's just order room service then." Jenny nods, stepping out of the elevator when the doors open on our floor. I fall into step beside her, fishing my phone out of my back pocket. Tristan's been in practice and workouts all day, and aside from the few texts he could send during their breaks asking how our girls' day was going, I haven't heard much from him.

James, on the other hand, made quite the impression when he sent Jenny a video of him working out. The entire thing was clearly filmed by Luke, laughing in the background as he narrated James curling a bar with more weight on it than I probably have in my entire body. The video alone was impressive but paired with Luke's commentary, it was hard not to join in on the laughs echoing in the background as he turned the footage into the introduction of a cheesy porno, giving us a whole background story on the lonely gym coach, just waiting for his next personal training session to start.

Turning the camera around, Luke winked. "That's you, Jen. Hope you brought some of those nice little spandex shorts you always wear. You know how I love those."

When a small towel flew into the shot, catching on Luke's shoulder, he grinned, looking back at the camera. "J doesn't seem to be into that idea; maybe you could just wear them for me then." The camera dropped to the floor, and from the reflection in the mirror, we watched James sprint after Luke, dodging and bobbing through the huge weight room, nearly crashing into their coach who walked into the gym.

Luke opted to dive to the side to miss wrecking the older man, and he tumbled to the ground, groaning loudly as their coach stared down at him, unsurprised, as if this kind of thing happens regularly at their normal practices, too. The old man simply shook his head as he stepped over the freshman on the ground, walking into the gym to check out the rest of his team. The camera caught the coughs and laughs echoing through the gym from the rest of the team, and my eyes caught on Tristan, laughing along with his teammates, dropping his own weighted bar back into the rack as he lifted his shirt to wipe away the sweat matting his curls to his forehead. My eyes caught on the sweat dripping down his stomach, finding its path down the maze of flexed muscles to his waistband.

Needless to say, after watching that video for a second time, Jenny was the first one to shoot up from her lounge chair by the pool, eager to go shopping. I'm starting to think the lingerie shop was her plan from the start.

"Abs?" I glance up to see Nia staring at me expectantly as Jenny slides her keycard into the door and pushes it open, leading us inside. "Are you cool with just staying in and ordering room service for dinner?"

"Yeah, of course." I nod, dropping my bag down at the foot of the bed beside my open suitcase. I will never not be okay with staying in. That's my first choice, always.

"What do you guys want?" Nia muses, flipping through the room service booklet. She kicks off her shoes, dropping down onto the bed, reading off the list of food. I kick off my shoes and drop down on the edge of the king-size bed, but I'm only half-listening to her read off the menu as I click to open the text from Tristan.

Tristan: Just got out of practice. We're going out for a team dinner. How's girls' night going?

I bite down on the corner of my mouth, trying to keep from smiling at his thinly veiled question. What he's really asking is how much longer until I can sneak down to steal you away?

My eyes dart over to Nia, rolled onto her stomach, kicking her legs up behind her as she reads off the menu, giving her commentary on what sounds good. Jenny's nodding along, absently listening to the list of food as she sits on the floor near her suitcase, rifling through it.

I type out my response, taking a little longer than usual because I'm too drunk to spell anything correctly on the first try.

Me: I don't think I've ever had this much tequila in my life.

I grin, sending a skull emoji to punctuate—a perfect representation of my poor liver.

The tiny text bubble pops up as he types.

Tristan: You're tequila drunk, huh? Think I can sneak you out? I'm going to need a taste of that.

I bite back my smile, typing back.

Me: The pool bar is closed, babes. You'll have to wait until tomorrow for a tequila sunrise.

The message pops up quickly, and my skin flames, sending a rush of heat down my stomach to where it pools between my thighs.

Tristan: I wasn't talking about the drink.

"Okay, what do you want, Abs?"

My eyes dart up, connecting with Nia's. Her brow raises, waiting for my food order.

"That avocado sandwich, no bacon," I say, picking the only thing I can remember her listing off. She nods, rolling off the bed to pick up the phone on the nightstand. When she smiles at us over her shoulder as she adds two bottles of wine to the order, I smile back, trying to ignore the pang of guilt in my stomach. She planned this entire trip. Booked the hotel, the flights, and the only thing she asked for in return was one solitary girls' day. One day of no boyfriends, no hookups, no boys—just us, like it always used to be.

Looking back down at my phone, I type out a quick reply, biting back my smile.

Me: There's a no penis rule on girls' night, remember?

The bubbles pop up and then disappear before popping up again quickly.

Tristan: Okay, what about tongues? I'm pretty fucking good with my tongue.

The heat between my legs pulses, matching the quick pace of my heart as it quickens in my throat. He knows that, though. He knows exactly what he's doing. But unlike him, I actually follow the rules of girls' night.

Me: Tristan.

I know he can hear my intended tone because I can practically hear the smile in his.

Tristan: Abby.

"Okay." Nia puts the phone back on the receiver, rolling off the bed with an excited smile. Kneeling next to her suitcase, she digs through her mess of clothes, all of which are spilling out of her bag, falling on the floor around her feet. When she finds what she's looking for, she sits back on her heels, holding up a small brown paper bag, her bright smile flashing as she wiggles her brows.

"I brought some bath bombs and face masks. Who's down for a spa night?"

"Five hundred," Jenny decides, grinning at me over the lip of her wine glass. A few strands of her white-blonde hair have fallen from her top knot, sticking to the pastel green face mask on her skin. She tries to smooth them back up into her bun as she takes another long sip of the white wine in her glass.

Nia shakes her head, her eyes flicking down to meet mine as she grins, smoothing the brush over my forehead with the heavy, mint-scented mask. The bubbles floating around us in the bathtub are sticking to her skin, and when she stands up, reaching over to place the bowl of leftover face mask on the bathroom counter, the glitter from the three bath bombs she threw in before we stepped in clings to her brown skin, casting a shimmering glow on the white tiled walls around us in the dim bathroom light.

Sitting back down in the water, she grabs her wine glass before looking at Jenny.

"You're not serious," she counters, raising a brow. "Five hundred? That's insane."

Jenny's lips quirk, running her hand through the glittering bubbles floating around her. When her eyes flick up to mine, she nods toward me. "What about you, Abs? What's your number?"

"A lot more than five hundred," I admit, trying not to think about it. "A lot more."

"You guys are ridiculous." Nia snorts, reaching out to refill her wine glass.

We're already on the second bottle. Clearly.

"He's like seventy, Nia. Five hundred is as low as I'll go."

"A sexy seventy," Nia corrects, raising a finger in the air. "That's a lot different than a gross seventy. Plus, I'm kind of into the whole stern, older man, I've been bad, and I need to be punished thing. And with how angry he always is, you know he'd be into that."

My nose wrinkles, trying to erase the image of Coach Kennley in a bedroom setting.

"So, what's your answer then?" Jenny prods. "How much would it take?"

Nia bites the inside of her cheek, genuinely considering it. "I don't know. I mean there's a lot of factors to consider . . . Does he have that clipboard? Is he going to make me run laps first? Do I get to keep that shiny whistle after?"

Jenny's eyes widen, looking at me for backup, but when the whistle comment finally registers, I lose it. My laughs echoing around the bathroom are cut short when my elbow slips on the edge of the tub, and I nearly drop my wine glass into the water. I catch it before it can disappear into the depths of the bubbles below, spilling nearly half the contents on myself in the process. The sweet white wine soaks into my bathing suit top, trails of it racing down my neck and shoulders into the bubbles.

Looking up, I catch Nia's devilish grin as she grabs the wine bottle and refills my glass.

"Jesus, Nia." Jenny grins, holding out her own glass for more wine. "Why do I feel like you've thought about this before?"

Nia sits back again, abandoning her glass to sip the remaining wine straight from the bottle. Nia's always been the most sexually adventurous out of the three of us, but this seems a little extreme, even for her.

"Listen, if I don't find a man on that fucking team who's going to actually commit, I'm going to be a perpetual jersey chaser. So, yeah, Kennley could get it."

"A freshman would definitely commit," I offer, grinning when her nose wrinkles.

"Seniors only." Nia shakes her head.

"And senior citizens, apparently." Jenny snorts.

Nia's cheek twitches as she reaches back and grabs a few fries from her plate on the edge of the tub.

"Speaking of committing . . ." Jenny grabs a chicken tender from her plate beside her, eyeing Nia before taking a bite of it. "What exactly is going on with you and Emery? Are you guys still just hooking up, or is it turning into something else?"

Nia takes another bite of her fry, looking down at the bubbles bobbing in front of her as she shrugs. "I don't really know."

Jenny's eyes dart to mine, and I stay quiet, watching Nia rest her head back on the edge of the tub, looking up at the ceiling.

"We go out all the time, and whenever we do, there's always an unspoken agreement that we're going to go home together. Like it's just known. And it's been working out fine like that for a while, you know? He takes me back to his place, and we spend hours locked in his room. The sex is good, and when we're alone, it feels . . . normal. Like everything is fine. But the second we walk out, and he sees his roommates, or we're in public, he gets distant. He's there, touching me, and pulling me into his lap, but he's not really there . . . not like when we're alone."

So the physical connection is there; it's the emotional one that's missing.

"Have you talked to him about it?" Jenny asks softly.

"And say what?" Nia shrugs, keeping her head back and eyes on the ceiling. "Hey, I know we agreed to be friends with benefits, but I'm starting to fall for you?" She looks defeated as she says it, but I take a bite of the sandwich on my plate and nod because, yeah, that's exactly what she should say.

"Yes," Jenny and I say at the same time, and when our eyes meet, we grin.

"No." Nia shakes her head.

"Why not? I mean, if you're fine with what you have now, then there's no need to say anything, but if you want more, you owe it to yourself to have that conversation with him, babe." Jenny's voice is soft, encouraging as she tries to get Nia to look at her, nudging her with her foot under the water. Nia doesn't lift her head, but her eyes flick down from the ceiling to meet Jenny's. "And honestly, what's the worst that could happen? He says no? He says he doesn't feel the same? Then we go out, get drunk, and forget all about it."

She lifts her head, biting the inside of her cheek as she considers us.

"If I tell him I want more and he doesn't, it would ruin everything."

"It would." Jenny nods, a sympathetic smile tugging at her lips. "But what's worse? Staying silent and falling for someone who will never give you more, or moving on before you let yourself fall too far? Nathan Emery was not the first man you fell for, and he won't be the last, Nia. But it's up to you to decide how long you want to keep yourself in a situation that you're unsure of. If you want more, you owe it to yourself to tell him. To see if it's something he wants, too."

She's silent as she considers that, and when she exhales slowly, she nods.

"You're right." She groans. "I know you're right. He's either going to say he wants more, too, and we'll be together officially, or he'll say he doesn't and we'll stop sleeping together, which is probably for the best if he's not into me."

"It's worth a conversation." I nod, smiling at her when she sits up, her shoulders a little less tense.

"I'm going to do it tonight." She nods, downing the rest of the wine in the bottle like it's water.

"To our girl, Nia, for being the badass bitch we know she is." Jenny lifts her glass.

"A queen," I add, raising my glass.

"An icon." Jenny grins.

"A legend." I laugh.

Nia stands up in the tub, the bubbles clinging to her toned legs as they slide back down into the water. Her eyes are flickering with her trademark energy as she says, "Well, ladies, I guess it's time to either get fucked, or get fucked up."

I stand up, too, watching the glitter from the bath bombs freckle my legs and stomach as I step out and grab a towel. When Jenny steps out beside me, I catch the excited smile she's trying to bite back because we both know girls' night is officially over.

Twenty minutes later, I'm slipping into the white lingerie set.

I run my fingers along the line on my hip where the soft material clings to me, and when I look up into the mirror, my lungs freeze as I admire the lace. It's silky and smooth against my fingertips, and even in the dim lighting of the bathroom, it's almost completely translucent. Standing here with the scraps of lace wrapped around me, I turn slightly, admiring the way the material narrows on my butt, giving a cheeky effect. Not a thong, not quite, but close. When I run a hand up my stomach to the fabric thinly veiling my nipples, a rush of warmth floods through me.

I've felt confident in my underwear before; in fact, the more I take off my clothes in front of Tristan, the more confident I feel because there's no faking the desire in his eyes when he sees me slip off my clothes. But this is different. This is more than confidence. I feel sexy. I feel powerful.

Wrapping myself in the knee-length, white hotel robe hanging on the back of the door, I walk out