Babysitting Lesbians: Party Plans

Alina's on the phone, lining up the chaos. Mom and Dad are gone, and she's about to torch their rules. Three different calls buzz in at once until someone knocks, sharp and steady. Nobody should be here. She cracks the door. Carter Cruise says she's the sitter her mother sent, and Alina nearly laughs. She's eighteen, for Christ's sake. Carter just nods, calm as stone, and says she's staying the weekend. The plan dies right there. Alina hangs up, one friend after another, each click a nail in the coffin. Carter sets her purse down and walks straight into the bedroom like she owns it, perching on the edge of the bed. Alina wheels on her, spitting words, but Carter only shrugs and says money for school matters more than wrecking anyone's good time. She offers a different kind of party. Alina snaps that she isn't into girls. Carter tilts her head, asks if Alina thinks girls look good. Alina admits it, grudging, then adds that looking isn't the same as wanting. Carter presses: ever kissed one? Never. Carter smiles at that, lazy and certain, says you can't hate something you haven't tasted. Alina opens her mouth to argue and feels Carter's breath on her neck instead. The first slow kiss lands just below her ear and the fight bleeds out of her. Heat rushes up fast, hotter than she expected, and she doesn't pull away.