Sara
“I hate math,” Sara says, dropping her pencil and leaning her head back against the wall. “It’s stupid and pointless and when am I ever going to have to solve quadratic equations working on the trains?”
Rokia’s assembling parts at the workbench, and she looks over. “What’ll you pay me to do it for you?” she asks, teasing.
Sara raises her eyebrows because that’s a look that usually ends in—things they definitely aren’t going to be doing in Sal’s office, unfortunately. But she really, really hates algebra, so, “I’ll buy you dinner, you and the girls.”
Rokia gets up, sits next to Sara on the couch. “Sold,” she says, taking the textbook off Sara’s lap. And they’re pressed together thigh-to-thigh, and Rokia knows exactly what she’s doing right now, grinning like she is, and Sara holds out all of 30 seconds before she digs her fingers into Rokia’s hair and kisses her, hard.