Go with Kayla

You’re still tasting Kayla on your tongue when your eyes drift past her again.

The guy has Sadie’s hand now — fingers laced, thumb stroking the back of her knuckles like he’s already familiar with the feel of her. She’s not pulling away. She’s letting him lead her through the press of bodies toward the dark hallway at the back of the house. For one frozen second she glances over her shoulder, like she’s checking if anyone’s watching. Your eyes meet across the room.

Then the door at the end of the hall opens, swallows them both, and clicks shut.

The sound hits you harder than the bass ever could.

Your stomach knots so tight it almost hurts. Three years of her stealing your cereal, kicking your ass at Mario Kart, walking around the flat in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and those tiny sleep shorts that ride up when she stretches… and now she’s in a bedroom with some random guy who probably won’t even remember her name tomorrow. You can picture it too clearly: the way her short hair would look messy against a pillow, the soft sound she might make when someone else’s hands push under her top, the way her back might arch if he—

Kayla shifts against you. Her palm is still warm under your shirt, thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. She doesn’t say anything. She just waits, watching your face.

The jealousy is ugly and hot and immediate. Part of you wants to shove through the crowd, kick that fucking door open, and drag Sadie out of there. Another part — the part that’s been quietly losing its mind since the nipple slip yesterday — wants to pretend this doesn’t hurt at all.

You make the choice.

You turn back to Kayla, slide your hand to the nape of her neck, and kiss her like you’re trying to burn the image out of your head. She gasps softly into your mouth, then melts forward, kissing you back with the same sudden hunger. When you pull away just enough to speak, your voice comes out rough.

“Porch. Now.”

Her smile is small and bright and a little relieved. She takes your hand properly this time and pulls you through the crowd, past the kitchen, out the side door into the cooler night.

The porch is strung with cheap fairy lights and half-hidden by a wooden privacy screen. The music is muffled out here, just a low thump through the walls. Kayla doesn’t waste time. She backs you against the railing, steps between your spread legs, and kisses you again — deeper, messier, like she knows exactly what you’re running from and doesn’t care as long as you’re running toward her.

Your hands find her ass, squeezing, pulling her flush against the growing hardness in your jeans. She rocks into you with a quiet moan and slides one hand down between your bodies, palm pressing and rubbing over the bulge. The friction makes your hips jerk forward.

“Fuck,” she breathes against your lips. “You’re really into this, huh?”

You don’t answer with words. You slip both hands under her top, push it up, and cup her breasts through her bra. They’re softer than you expected, warm and full, nipples already tight against the thin fabric. You thumb over one and she shudders, biting your lower lip in retaliation before she reaches for your belt.

The cool night air hits your stomach as she pops the button on your jeans and slides the zipper down. Her hand slips inside, warm fingers wrapping around you through your boxers, squeezing, stroking. You groan into her mouth and push her bra up, baring her breasts to the fairy lights and the dark. Her skin is pale and smooth, nipples dark and stiff. You lean down and take one into your mouth, sucking, tongue flicking. Kayla’s hand tightens around your cock and she lets out a shaky little sound that goes straight to your spine.

Even as you lick and suck and her hand works you faster, the image of that door clicking shut keeps flickering behind your eyes. Sadie’s hand in his. Sadie disappearing. Sadie choosing someone else.

You bite down gently on Kayla’s nipple and she gasps, hips grinding forward against your thigh. Her free hand tangles in your hair, holding you there.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers. “Please— fuck, Danny, just… don’t stop.”

You don’t.

You decide you’re going with her.