Was It Something I Did?

Rachael Cavalli sits alone with her nerves screaming. Then she dials. Gabbie answers, and Rachael can’t keep the edge out of her voice. “Just get here.” When the door opens, Rachael doesn’t waste time. She steers Gabbie to the couch and spits it out—she wants out. The age gap feels like a ticking clock, and she’s terrified she’s stealing what Gabbie should be living. Clubs. Late nights. Someone younger. The usual stuff. Gabbie’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t argue; she listens. Then the fire ignites behind her eyes. Clubs? Age-mates? She couldn’t give a damn. She wants the raw pulse she feels every time Rachael touches her, the kind that cuts straight past calendars and rules. Nobody else even registers. Rachael exhales, shoulders dropping like the air just shifted. Gabbie leans in first. Their mouths crash, clothes scatter, and every excuse evaporates between tongue strokes and slick heat. On the couch, on the floor—wherever they land—they fuck like they’re proving something to the clocks on the wall. Soft moans, hard grip, skin slapping skin; every thrust a reminder they’re locked together for reasons no one else could touch.