Ava had three roommates she could count on—Dani, Matty, and Jules—plus Matty’s girlfriend Sage. Everyone else came and went. She never chased another lesbian. Straight girls were easier: she’d fucked Lacey in the dressing room, bent Renee over the kitchen counter, and gone down on two strangers in a filthy theater bathroom without learning their names. Now Greta was directing Ava in a fifties period piece opposite Shannon, who’d never kissed a woman but played Bea with raw hunger. The script had Estelle loving Bea, then running away from it. Rehearsals started late and ended later. Blocking gave way to groping. Shannon’s thigh pressed between Ava’s during a scene change and stayed there. Estelle’s lines about fear started sounding like Ava’s own heartbeat. Shannon’s mouth tasted like cherry ChapStick and stage sweat; Ava kept coming back for another line, another taste, telling herself it was only research until the night they stayed in the theater and Shannon asked—quiet, almost shy—what Estelle would do if Bea didn’t stop her. Ava didn’t answer with words. She pushed Shannon against the painted flats, tugged her skirt up, and found her already wet through cotton. They fucked right there under work lights, Ava’s fingers buried deep, Shannon biting her own wrist so the night janitor wouldn’t hear. The next morning they read the breakup scene with bruised lips and shaking hands, both knowing the lines weren’t pretend anymore.
Ava had three roommates she could count on—Dani, Matty, and Jules—plus Matty’s girlfriend Sage. Everyone else came and went. She never chased another lesbian. Straight girls were easier: she’d fucked Lacey in the dressing room, bent Renee over the kitchen counter, and gone down on two strangers in a filthy theater bathroom without learning their names. Now Greta was directing Ava in a fifties period piece opposite Shannon, who’d never kissed a woman but played Bea with raw hunger. The script had Estelle loving Bea, then running away from it. Rehearsals started late and ended later. Blocking gave way to groping. Shannon’s thigh pressed between Ava’s during a scene change and stayed there. Estelle’s lines about fear started sounding like Ava’s own heartbeat. Shannon’s mouth tasted like cherry ChapStick and stage sweat; Ava kept coming back for another line, another taste, telling herself it was only research until the night they stayed in the theater and Shannon asked—quiet, almost shy—what Estelle would do if Bea didn’t stop her. Ava didn’t answer with words. She pushed Shannon against the painted flats, tugged her skirt up, and found her already wet through cotton. They fucked right there under work lights, Ava’s fingers buried deep, Shannon biting her own wrist so the night janitor wouldn’t hear. The next morning they read the breakup scene with bruised lips and shaking hands, both knowing the lines weren’t pretend anymore.
