Thirteen
Rio thinks she should be thanking the universe.
Because as much as it had been against her the last few days—specifically whenever Agatha was involved—Agatha’s grip on her throat was making her quickly forget all its wrongdoings.
And maybe it wasn’t just the grip on her throat that made her forget the universe had been working against her. Maybe it was the last hour of her life.
To be fair, Rio knew Agatha was hot.
Over the last few days, Agatha had worn a multitude of outfits that Rio’s mind could filter through like a rolodex.
White shirt at the bar.
Dress at brunch.
Dress when they arrived at the resort.
Comfy but cute shirt at dinner.
Dress when they arrived at the resort.
So yeah, Rio knew Agatha was hot.
And she knew—even if Agatha denied it—that she had been watching Rio.
Hopefully looking for her, Rio would like to add.
She was watching when Rio gave Billy makeup.
She was watching when Rio took photos with Jen.
She was watching when Rio spoke with Lilia at the store.
A woman watching Rio? Hot.
But Rio didn’t know she was this hot.
She won’t admit it—seriously, press a gun to her head, she’s not going to admit it—but she had spent the past few days imagining what it would be like to be with Agatha.
What Agatha would sound like under her touch.
What she would taste like.
What she would feel like.
What she would look like.
What she would taste like.
And now?
None of her imagination compares to what Rio just witnessed.
No, not witnessed.
Caused.
She hadn’t realized that watching Agatha unravel, hearing those breathless little sounds slip past her lips, feeling her hands claw at Rio’s skin, would hit her like a freight train.
Now that she had experienced it firsthand, she didn’t think she’d be able to stop.
She wanted to stay in this bed forever.
Forget the wedding, forget the world, just stay wrapped up in Agatha, memorizing every inch of her, listening to every moan, every sharp inhale, every breathy plea.
And she was so close to getting what she wanted.
Agatha’s voice had been low, teasing, that baby slipping past her lips so easily that Rio had nearly lost her mind.
Then came the grip on her throat, the pressure just enough to make her body light up in all the right ways.
Then the word—please—made her stomach tighten, her hips twitch forward before she could even think.
Agatha begging. For her.
Rio was ready to let Agatha do whatever the fuck she wanted.
Because Agatha’s hand was on her throat. She was begging to touch Rio.
And then she was leaning up to meet Rio halfway.
And then—
Knock knock.
Rio ignored it. She barely even heard it over the rush of blood in her ears. She was too caught up in the moment, in the way Agatha’s hand flexed against her throat, in the way she was looking at her.
Knock knock.
Then Agatha growled.
And Rio felt that growl in places she really shouldn’t have.
Fuck, Agatha was hot. Why haven’t they been doing this the whole time?
Holy shit.
She wanted Agatha to do that again. Maybe right against her ear. Maybe—
Agatha pulled back, and Rio felt the loss of her immediately.
Then—
“Agatha? Rio? Are you guys awake?”
Fuck.
That was Jen.
And suddenly Rio remembers why they haven’t been doing this the entire time.
Agatha was Jen’s best friend.
Her sister’s best friend.
And really—truly—Rio wouldn’t normally care.
She wouldn’t.
But Agatha did.
Does.
Rio feels it.
The moment Agatha panics.
She sees it too, but it’s long after—at least long after in Rio’s mind—that she feels the panic. Her body tenses beneath Rio’s, the grip on her neck snapping away and pressing on Rio’s shoulders instead. Her eyes go wide, like she’s terrified.
Then the hands on her shoulders are pushing, and Rio doesn’t have time to react before she’s being launched to the other side of the bed.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Agatha whispers under her breath, sitting up so fast she tangles herself in the sheets. She doesn’t even seem to notice, too busy whipping her head around the room like she’s searching for an escape route.
Rio blinks, adjusting to the sudden shift in energy, the rush of heat still coursing through her body now clashing against the cool air hitting her skin.
She feels goosebumps. She shivers.
Then Agatha is reaching for the robe draped over the chair. Pulling it on.
Tying it tight.
Hiding.
That’s the word for it, isn’t it? Hiding.
And Rio knows—of course she knows—that Agatha wouldn’t just fling the door open, freshly fucked, the bed a wreck behind her and Rio still tangled in the sheets.
She knows Agatha wouldn’t just let Jen see her like this.
She knows.
So why the actual fuck does it sting?
Why did she expect—no, want—Agatha to do exactly that?
Her stomach twists.
She’s going to be sick.
Because this feeling—it’s familiar.
It’s high school.
It’s Wanda sneaking her behind buildings, meeting her under empty stairwells, leaning in close but never too close where someone could see. It’s the way Wanda had kissed her like she needed her but refused to look at her in the hallways.
The way Rio had been a secret.
And secrets? Secrets are easy to push aside. Easy to ignore. Leave behind.
And Rio had told herself she didn’t care. She made herself not care.
And then lived her life as if she didn’t care.
But now?
Now, she’s back in Westview. Okay—Eastview right now, but you get the idea.
Rio’s back home.
Giving makeup to a teenager.
Taking photos with her sister.
Sitting in her bookstore.
Now, she’s sitting in a bed Agatha had just had her in, watching her yank a robe tight around her.
And she hates it.
She hates that she cares.
Hates that it makes her throat tight, that it makes her fingers twitch with the urge to reach out, stop her, force her to stay tangled up in the sheets, to look at the mess they’d made and own it.
But Agatha is already at the door.
Then—
Knock knock.
“Guys, are you awake? It’s important,” Jen’s voice carries through, casual, oblivious.
Agatha hesitates, fingers on the lock. She flips the lock with a click, turning her head at Rio and putting a finger to her lips as if to shush her.
As if Jen could see the bed from this angle.
As if Rio wasn’t actively craning her neck to watch Agatha at the door.
Rio wanted to laugh. Or scoff.
The door cracked open just enough for Agatha to poke her head out. “What?”
Jen, being Jen, immediately tried to push inside. Agatha blocked the doorway like her life depended on it, shoulders squared, robe cinched tight. From the bed, Rio watched the light from the hallway stretch shadows across the room, flickering as the two of them jostled against each other in the doorway.
And then Jen grunted in frustration, the struggle ceasing. “Fine, Harkness, I won’t come in. Just came to tell you—the hotel found an extra room.”
Rio sat up slightly at that.
“So you guys don’t have to share.”
The words landed heavily in the room, but the real weight was in the silence that followed.
Was Agatha going to take it?
Would she kick Rio out?
But more importantly—was the night over?
Okay so please sue Rio for thinking with her clit.
Because Agatha had just been touching her. She had been looking at her with that dark, heated gaze, and Rio was pretty sure she would’ve already finished if this interruption hadn’t come knocking at the door.
She barely registered Agatha saying, “Oh. Thanks,” before sticking her hand out through the narrow crack in the door.
Rio assumed Jen was handing her a key card, but from this distance, she couldn’t quite tell. What she could see was Agatha slamming the door shut with finality, her back hitting the wood as she let out a breath.
And then—
“You don’t even know the room number,” Jen’s voice through the now closed door.
Rio’s smirk was immediate.
Now that was funny.
Agatha, who had been so quick to shush Rio, who had buried herself in that damn robe like she could will away what had just happened, had slammed the door shut without getting the actual information she needed.
Because she wasn’t going anywhere.
The realization settled warm and easy in Rio’s stomach, sending a slow, pleasant burn through her chest.
It definitely felt better than what she was feeling thirty seconds ago.
Agatha cursed under her breath and cracked the door open again. “Sorry, I—” she cleared her throat. “I drank too much wine.”
Jen made a sound. One of those sure, let’s go with that noises. “Okay, well, the room’s over by me and Alice. Room 237. Want me to walk you?”
“I’m fine,” Agatha said quickly. “I don’t need you to walk me.”
Jen, ever the menace, pushed. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
That knowing hum again.
Rio didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until she heard Jen’s steps retreating down the hall.
Agatha finally locked the door, flicking the bolt with a quick snap of her wrist. She lingered there for a moment, fingers still curled around the handle, before spinning on her heel. Her back pressed against the wood, her lip caught between her teeth.
And fuck.
Even now, after a full-blown panic, in nothing but a hotel robe, Agatha still looked good.
The dim lighting softened the sharp lines of her face, throwing her cheekbones into dramatic relief. Her hair was a mess—a sexy mess—wild and tangled from Rio’s hands. And then there was the way the robe sat just barely open, gaping slightly at the top, hinting at the skin beneath.
Like the universe was daring Rio to untie it.
But then—Agatha looked down.
And Rio didn’t like that.
“I don’t want Jen to know,” Agatha said, voice quieter now. “She can’t know, Rio.” She exhaled, fingers tightening around the belt of her robe like she could anchor herself to it. “She’s so stressed right now, and I can’t add to that.”
And there it was.
The gut punch.
Because yeah, that didn’t feel good.
It settled like an ache in Rio’s chest, sharp and uninvited. She knew what this was. She knew it wasn’t something to flaunt. And yet—hearing Agatha say it so definitively, like it was important that Jen never know—
It stung.
But then—Agatha looked back up.
“But,” she said, a small smirk tugging at her lips, “I was serious when I said you made me come really hard.” She shifted slightly, one hand releasing the robe to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And I would really like to do that again. If you’d let me.”
Rio stared at her.
Torn.
Because that had hurt. It had yanked her straight back to a place she never wanted to go again—no, a place she refused to go—where she was kept in the shadows, a secret to be hidden, something to be tucked away because someone was too afraid to claim her.
But—
Logically, what would telling Jen actually do?
Rub it in Jen’s face?
Make the wedding even more complicated?
And—Jen had been nice to Rio on this trip. Not just tolerating her, but actually trying. Like she was making amends. Or at least attempting to.
And then—there was Agatha.
Looking at her like that.
Standing in the dim light, her robe just barely clinging to her body, with lips that still tasted like wine and her, with those sharp eyes and flushed skin, and—
Fuck.
Rio’s heartbeat kicked up.
Because her want for Agatha?
It outweighed all of it.
So yeah.
She doesn’t care.
At least, not right now.