Music Festival

Emily hadn’t planned on going anywhere. Chloe was spending the night at her parents’ house, and Jason was in Seattle for work. It was supposed to be a quiet evening. No bottles, no bedtime fuss, no half-asleep kisses from a husband who barely looked up from his laptop anymore. Just a night alone in a house that had started to feel too quiet.

She’d lit a candle. Poured a glass of wine. Half-watched something forgettable on the TV.

That’s when Tasha showed up.

Her usual sitter—technically a grad student with a flexible schedule and a sharp tongue—Tasha had long since blurred the line between employee and chaotic little sister. Tonight she stood in Emily’s doorway without knocking, balancing two neon fabric wristbands on her finger and wearing a skirt that made Emily do a double-take.

“Tasha, that skirt’s... borderline,” Emily said, half-laughing.

“You love it,” Tasha grinned, twirling once. “It’s a music festival, not a baby shower.”

“I wasn’t planning to go anywhere. Chloe’s at my folks’, and I thought—”

“Exactly,” Tasha said, stepping inside and tossing the wristbands onto the coffee table. “You have no kid. No husband. No responsibilities. Which means you’re not allowed to sit in here moping and watching **** documentaries like a widow.”

“I’m not moping,” Emily said—though the half-drunk wine said otherwise.

“You’re moping beautifully,” Tasha corrected. “Now get your sexy ass in the bedroom. I’m dressing you.”

Emily raised an eyebrow but followed. This wasn’t the first time Tasha had bulldozed her into a night out—but the others had been tame: a movie, a spa day, something quiet that still got her out of the house. Tonight felt different. The idea of being out in the noise, in the lights—seen—felt foreign. And exhilarating.

Tasha was already rifling through her closet like it was a clearance bin. “Something slutty,” she muttered. “But slutty in a mom-who-used-to-strip kind of way. Oh wait—you did used to strip.”

“Don’t you dare tell anyone that tonight.”

“Cross my heart. I’ll pretend you were a nun.”

She pulled out a short denim skirt and a clinging white tank top. The skirt barely looked longer than what Tasha was wearing.

Emily hesitated. “That’s a little—”

“Perfect,” Tasha cut her off. “It’ll show off your thighs, and your ass looks insane in it.”

Emily grabbed a bra, but before she could even slip her arms through, Tasha plucked it from her fingers with a single raised brow.

“We’re going braless tonight,” she said. “Like God and gravity intended.”

“You’re insane.”

“And you’re hot. Come on, milk mama. Let them bounce a little.”

Emily rolled her eyes but didn’t fight it. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the quiet of the house suddenly feeling too heavy—but part of her wanted to be pulled along.

Twenty minutes later, they were both dressed and flushed from laughing. Tasha’s makeup was immaculate, lashes curled like black fans. Emily had applied just enough to make her eyes pop, her lips a glossy rose. The tank clung to her breasts, the skirt rode high on her hips, and her nipples brushed the inside of the fabric with every step.

They looked like sisters. Badly-behaved ones.

In the Uber, they shared a flask of something lemony and sharp.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Tasha asked, teasing but serious beneath it.

Emily nodded slowly, eyes flicking out to the passing lights. “I don’t want to be the version of me that says no anymore.”

Tasha smiled, slow and wicked. “Then let’s go get sweaty and make questionable choices.”

The night waited. The bass was already humming in the air before they even reached the gates.