Road Trip

Part I

Sofia stood before the mirror, scissors in hand. She measured from the inner point of her eyebrow down to her cheekbone, took a deep breath, and cut diagonally across the hair she’d gathered in her hand. The dark swath sprung up, freed from its old weight, and Sofia stared, mouth agape, at this new set of bangs. She repeated the same motion on the other side. You got this, she told herself, daring herself not to break her own eye contact. Her espresso irises blended seamlessly into her pupils. Out with the old, in with the goddamn new—it’s what you deserve. 

A knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Are you ready?” Margaux called.

“One second,” Sofia said, dropping the cut hair in the trash. She ruffled her new bangs and flicked the rest of her dark, glossy hair behind her shoulders so its long layers cascaded down her back. Puckering her lips, she added a pink gloss that brought out the light shimmer in her silky blue halter. 

Margaux knocked again. “We’re going to be late!” she shouted. Then Sofia heard her mutter, “Femme stupide. Nous sommes en retard.”

Sofia clicked her make-up bag shut and squared herself in the mirror one last time. She was dreading this party, but it was the last obstacle that stood between her and her new life, her freedom. She had to go. “Coming!” 

In the car, Margaux buckled into the passenger seat. “So tell me again why you gave yourself bangs?”

“What? Does it look bad?”

“No, no. I’m just wondering…” She adjusted the seat belt so it split her breasts perfectly but avoided the thin bow she’d tied in the center of the scooped neckline of her green summer dress. “Quelle mouche t’a piqué?” 

“You know I don’t speak French.”

“Um, what fly bit you?” 

“What?”

“I guess it more so translates to: What has gotten into you?”

Sofia rolled her eyes and put the car into drive. “I’m just ready to get the fuck out of here.”

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the office they’d shared for the past two years, and walked through its glass doors, cheesily embossed with the statement Colorado Public Radio Welcomes You!

Thank god this was the last time she’d see those words. 

Inside, a banner had been strung along the back wall of their conference room: Farewell Sofia! it read. She hadn’t known what to expect, but the table lined with measly pretzel bags and a cooler stuffed with cheap beer seemed about on par with her whole employment experience here. They’d barely paid her enough to live, even though they’d promised more, and she’d worked her ass off for promotions that never actually materialized. Her new job at Nashville Public Radio was a major step up, and she selfishly relished the thought that no one else here had the chops to make it there. 

“Sofia! Star of the show! You made it.” Danny, her on-air co-host, flashed his charmingly crooked smile and came over to give her a bear hug. Nope, not even him, Mr. All-American, could hack it in Nashville. “Hey, I like your haircut. Very chic.” 

Sofia hugged him back, feeling the bulge of his lats beneath his soft shirt. “Of course I made it. It’s my party.” She pushed him off jokingly, and turned to Margaux. “Let’s grab drinks?” 

“Already on it,” she said, beelining for the cooler. 

Of the 50 or so people who worked for the radio, almost all were already there. Sofia wasn’t going to miss a single one, besides Margaux, who’d breathed life into the station when she was hired to redesign and maintain their website six months after Sofia had started; and, yes, Danny, she had to admit she’d miss him, too—even though she’d never confess it. They’d hosted the morning music show together for two years, and she didn’t know a single person who wasn’t a little bit in love with him, and it was for that reason she’d always claimed the opposite. She didn’t want to be one of the masses. 

Together, the three of them were something like a force, the young blood reviving an old art. Sofia was their star—the one people called in to talk to and request music from—and she knew the admin team was having trouble replacing her, but it wasn’t her fault they couldn’t attract someone. They were overworked and underpaid, and to everyone who’d reached out to talk with her about the position, she’d told the truth: the producers didn’t keep their promises and she’d had to fight tooth-and-nail for everything she’d developed on the show. Better luck at another station, she’d say. 

And finally, starting in two weeks, Sofia herself would be at another station. 

Margaux handed her a lukewarm Coors Light. “I don’t get why you Americans are obsessed with this shit,” she said, taking a sip. She looked like an Anthropologie model fresh from the south of France with her soft blue eyes, collar bones prominent above her green dress, and curly blond hair tied loosely in a bun at the nape of her neck. 

“Me neither,” Sofia sighed. Someone had put on a playlist of old 90s hits, and so far, none of the songs seemed right for the vibe. Too loud, too upbeat, too dramatic. If she’d been in charge, she would’ve gone lyric-less, more jazzy. “I think we’re going to need something stronger than this to survive the night.”

Danny leaned in. He smelled like he always did: fresh and minty, not like he’d just brushed his teeth but like he’d washed all of his clothes in peppermint detergent. It could be worse, Margaux and Sofia had chronically joked. “I’ve got some harder stuff in my car. Join me for a second?” 

Sofia and Margaux exchanged glances, and Sofia shrugged. “If you’re offering.” They followed him outside, to his old Bronco, which Margaux had finally confirmed had been bought with his parents’ money when she’d seen a woman looking categorically like Danny’s mother—given the same dark, thick hair and crooked smile—drop off an envelope with the DMV logo, and a few hours later, new tags had appeared on the license plate. From the back seat, Danny pulled out a bottle of whiskey. 

“To Sofia!” he cheered before taking a swig and passing it around. “So, you two excited for your road trip?”

Margaux lit up. “I am! It’s something I’ve wanted to do since moving here.” 

Danny ran a hand through his thick, wavy hair. Oh, it was hard to dislike him. If Sofia was being honest, she’d spent more than one night fantasizing about what it’d be like to run her own fingers through that mane. Why did his jawline have to be so perfect? “I guess a road trip is a very classic American thing, huh?” he said.

“Of course! So many movies talk about it,” Margaux said. “We’re going to see the Grand Canyon!”

“Well—” Sofia started, but was cut off by someone yelling from the office entrance.

“Sofia! We need you in here!” 

Sofia rolled her eyes. “Duty calls.”

Danny capped the whiskey and tossed it back in the car. He led the way inside, and Sofia’s eyes locked on his ass. Fuck, she’d miss that especially. Danny was hot in that sexy Colorado cowboy way, especially with his nice jeans on, tight but not too tight, perfectly molded around his ass and quads. That night he’d worn a creamy linen button down, the short sleeves hitting the middle of his biceps as though highlighting them, accentuating his forearms. She would’ve fucked him long ago, but she’d known it’d be a slippery slope—she wouldn’t have survived it, he wasn’t the commitment type—plus he’d already fucked every other woman in the office under the age of forty, and she didn’t want to be just another one. Thus, early in her friendship with Margaux, she’d initiated a pact: no touching Danny. Despite the fact that he had one of the sexiest voices she’d ever heard; despite his hips, which would put a rodeo star’s to shame; despite, despite, despite. She sighed, pushing down the flush of yearning.

As they re-entered the office, a light buzz settled over Sofia, making each and every interaction a bit easier, less annoying, more fun. She was tipsy, and accepted another beer from Margaux so they could keep coasting this agreeable high. 

As she’d been preparing to start over fresh in Nashville, she wanted nothing to get in her way. She’d made an even bigger pact with herself: no more fuckboys, period. She’d had her fun in Denver, but if she was being honest with herself, the one-night stands, the casual sex—it was all a proxy for her want of power, appreciation, validation. The things she wasn’t getting at work, where she’d poured her heart into making great shows with little recognition or praise.

She wanted real connection, real affirmation, real proof that she was exceptional. She knew that wasn’t going to come from hook-ups. They were only a distraction from her goals: hosting a show at FM 97.9, “The Big 98,” Nashville’s premier new-music station—reaching millions with her mixes and witty, creative banter. When she arrived in Tennessee, she’d be starting at NPR, but would work her way across channels as fast as possible. 

Sofia’s manager called everyone to attention, pointed to her, and offered a spread of congratulatory words. As was tradition at their office farewell parties, everyone went around and shared their favorite memory of Sofia from over the years. Most revolved around dumb interactions in the staff kitchen or referenced her on-air bloopers. Sofia smiled performatively, counting down the minutes til it was over and everyone clapped. “Thank you, thank you,” she said, half-assing a curtsy. 

A few folks left, but most returned to mingling, not wanting to pass up free beer, Sofia thought. 

“What will I do without you?” Margaux sighed, leaning her head on Sofia’s shoulder. 

“You’ll find your way,” Sofia said. 

“You know, Danny’s been looking at you all night.” 

“So what? He always looks at me.” 

“No,” Margaux said, “like looking looking at you.” 

Sofia raised her eyebrows and looked his way. Was he? At that moment, Danny was deep in conversation with someone from the accounting team, one shoulder leaning against the wall, widening the split in his button-down shirt just enough so she could see the gentle spread of hair across his chest. She imagined how firm his pecs would be—then swallowed, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t.” 

“No? I know you’ve always wondered,” Margaux said in a sing-songy voice. “And it’s your last night here, come on! Why not? You’ll probably never see him again.”

“Because a long time ago we said why not.” 

“Well, I’ll give you a—what do you call it? Hall pass?”

Sofia laughed. “Sure, a hall pass.” She sipped her beer, staring at Danny, and let herself indulge just a tad. Him without his shirt. Him in boxers. His hip bones. His abs. But could she, would she go there? For another second she supposed, given Margaux’s hall pass, that her personal ban on fuckboys could actually start the next day—that would be fitting, anyway, wouldn’t it? The day her new life was really beginning. Why not go out from Colorado with a bang? She had always wondered, after all—and as if on cue, Danny’s eyes suddenly lifted from his conversation to meet hers. A shock ran up Sofia’s spine. She snapped her attention back to Margaux. “Oh my god,” she breathed.

Margaux laughed. “Told you so.”

Flustered, Sofia groped for words. “But what—”

“Sofia!” Margaux cut her off, took Sofia firmly by the shoulders, and shook her as though trying to free up some sense. “You are leaving tomorrow! Ask him out tonight.”

She was tipsy enough to consider it, yet sober enough to feel the conviction behind her decision. Suddenly, she felt an intense drive to be the best fuck he’d ever had. “Ok, fine, why not?” 

“Exactly, woman!” Margaux practically pushed her forward. “Just make sure you’re at my house by 10 am.” 

Sofia leaned into the momentum, and quickly found herself in stride with Danny, who’d just left the accountant’s side and was walking across the room. “Hey,” she said. “Any chance you’d want to drink some more whisky?” 

He stopped mid-stride. “Definitely,” he said, and pivoted toward the door. 

Outside, the Colorado air was crisp and cool. “I’m so fucking glad to be away from that music,” Sofia sighed. “Who made that playlist?”

“Fuck if I know,” Danny laughed, reaching back into his car and pulling out the glass bottle. 

“What if we went to the park off 8th Street?” Sofia said, leaning against the Bronco.

“You don’t want to say bye?”

“Hell no,” Sofia laughed, then added. “I mean, I’ve said my share of goodbyes. Like five times to each person.”

“And Margaux?” 

Sofia waved the question off. “She’s chill.”

Danny gave a faux salute. “Alright, chief. Let’s roll.” 

They loaded into his car and he drove them a few miles across Denver. Sofia checked her bangs in the mirror. She still liked them, which somehow surprised her, made her feel bold. As they pulled into the 8th Street park, the scene was quiet, a playground tucked between two skyscrapers that perfectly framed the Rocky Mountains. Danny brought out the bottle, and each settled onto a swing, side by side, facing the peaks. 

“I won’t miss that damn office, but I will miss these mountains,” Sofia said.

“What about me?” Danny pretended to be hurt.

Sofia gave him a sidelong glance. “Yeah, yeah, it was nice working with you,” she said. And it really had been. “You helped make the place bearable.” 

“Glad I could be of service.” Danny took a swig and passed her the bottle. He pushed himself slightly forward and backward, hands holding each of the chains connected to the metal bar overhead. His biceps flexed, and Sofia pretended not to notice. She passed the bottle back to him, and he capped it, placed it on the ground, then stood up, walked behind her, and gave her a little push. 

“Hey!” she said.

“Just hold on, you’ll be fine. Aren’t you preparing for the ride of your life?” He pushed her gently again as she swung back to him, his hands connecting firmly with the square of her bare skin above the fabric of her halter. 

“Not a playground ride!”

“Oh, you’re too cool for playgrounds now?” he teased. “Too cool for Colorado?”

“It’s not my fault you can’t get your shit together!” she taunted him back. 

“Mhmm,” he said, pushing her again. This time she pumped her legs, egging the seat higher, swinging back with more force than before, catching him off guard. “Whoah,” he said, stumbling back. “Hey there, cowgirl.” 

She pumped higher, leaning back as she hit the highest point forward, seeing him upside down for a moment, before swinging down and again toward him. Then, on the next upswing, she waited til the apex and jumped off, like she had as a kid, launching forward and landing on her feet, out of breath from the thrill. Blood rushed to her face. She gave a short “whoop!” and started to laugh. 

Danny walked around the swings toward here, smiling. “I’ve always been impressed by you,” he said. “These swings notwithstanding.” 

She smiled back, taking in the entirety of him, several inches taller than she, his frame strong and wide. Even in the dark, his crooked smile shined. 

“What are you most excited about?” he asked.

“At this moment in time?”

“Sure,” he said, a flicker in his eye. “Right now.”

She stared straight at him, her gaze unwavering. “Kissing you,” she said.

His eyes zoomed to her lips, and a small growl released from his throat. He stepped forward. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

He took her in by the waist, and she slipped her fingers into his hair, finally, greedily, pulling his face to hers, pressing her hips into his. 

He parted his lips for her, inviting her in, and she tasted him with a triumphant purr, more musky than minty now, his tongue alive and fresh, just as she’d imagined all these years, and somehow so much more. Her hands ran around his skull, feeling for the hard edge of his jaw. Her knees felt weak, but suddenly she was ravenous. She let him support her as she pressed herself on him, one of his hands fixed on her waist, holding her tight against him, the other roaming her back, his mouth hot, demanding more from the depths of her throat—everything she wanted to give. 

His nails grazed the bare zone across the top of her back, his wants urgent, hands like claws, one now on her ass, digging into the seam between her hamstring and glute. He slipped a knee between her thighs, and she let herself drop onto him, feeling the strength of his quad. Her clit began to pulse, and she moaned, starting to grind on his thigh. She needed these jeans off, everything off. She needed to feel more of his skin.

“Take me to your house,” she said, breathy, panting. “I’ve been staying at Margaux’s since I sent all my furniture to Tennessee.”

He groaned as she broke from him, but she continued, pushing herself completely off him, extracting their limbs. She was buzzing with desire, and she took off running for the Bronco, high on these feelings, the promise that now pulsed before them.

Once in his bedroom, she ripped off her jeans as he pulled off his belt and dropped his pants, too. He pulled her back toward him and moved the dark swath of her hair completely to one side, so he could kiss her bare neck and reach for the halter, undoing its bow. The silky fabric fell forward and Danny scooped her breasts in his hands, kissing her mouth again as though inhaling oxygen after a long dive. 

His fingers then traversed her chest, pulling the top down and over her hips, and she stepped out of it before pushing him onto the bed. She straddled him, still in her underwear, a black lacy thong she’d worn with the possibility of living this exact scene. 

Slowly, tantalizingly, she unbuttoned his linen shirt, a cream color that balanced his tanned skin, revealing his chest, the smooth mounds of pecs she had long wished to touch. Her hips rocked with anticipation, gliding effortlessly, his boxers soft as he hardened and grew beneath her. 

She couldn’t help herself, running her hands over and over and over his chest, she worked her way to the dark green band of his boxers, cutting a straight line across his pelvis, his hip bones protruding like ridges, and Sofia pulled back the elastic for a second, then let it snap back against his abdomen. He gasped. 

She pressed her breasts against his chest and leaned to kiss him, now lifting her hips just enough to slide her hand in, down beneath the elastic band, where she found his dick hard, pulsing, and wrapped her fingers around its hot eager head. 

He moaned with the contact, and she felt him tense up, every neuron in his body reacting to hers. “We need to take these off,” he gasped, pulling at the lace now dripping wet beneath her clit, marking his boxers with dark smears of her desire. 

Sofia shucked her panties and pulled off his boxers before she reset atop him, her spine tall now, a hand on his chest, holding him down. She maneuvered him inside her, and his breath hitched as he entered. “Yes,” she whispered, feeling the fullness of him, his warmth swelling beneath her. With both palms on his chest, she rocked her weight forward, freeing her hips to move, to circle, to feel every angle of him, finding a place, a pace that forced both their eyes shut.

Danny dug his nails into her ass, and Sofia used his pressure to writhe, summoning the desire she no longer doubted he, too, had harbored for years. As she rocked into him, he rocked into her, and what they’d pent up together began to unfurl. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this—his voice replayed in her head, his growl running through her on repeat—her mind turning him over, over again, only here, right now, he was beneath her, probing her, pushing her, all of her to the surface, bubbling, she could break, burst, pour over him. 

He squeezed her tighter, calling out “Sofia,” the syllables so breathy and urgent. “Sofia,” he said again, his eyes thrown open now, bright, astonished. She nodded at him, at all this between them, their breaking point, rushing toward her faster than sound. Her chin rose to his ceiling, and from her throat a pleasure poured, rippling gratification through her breasts, her ribs, her stomach, every line of her straight down to her clit. “Yes, Danny, yes,” she purred, groaning, and he bucked beneath her. She felt him expand, swelling, and she held him with her thighs. Their breathing ragged, serrating the air, their chests heaved, then began to slow, softening.

“Woah,” Danny said, dramatically going slack, and Sofia blushed. “Woah,” she agreed and gently slid off him, lying beside him so they both faced the ceiling, lungs still working to slow the ups and downs. He wound his fingers into hers and squeezed, bringing her knuckles to his lips, where he planted a kiss, tender and warm.

As the first rays of sun hit the Rocky Mountains, Sofia slipped from Danny’s room. She walked the twenty minutes to Margaux’s apartment as though in a trance, buzzing with a sense of satisfaction. 

Inside, she crawled into Margaux’s bed, trying not to wake her. They were supposed to head out in less than four hours. 

Eyes closed, Sofia imagined what the day would bring. Exhausted already, yet giddy at the thought of the open road—the windows down, hair dancing in the wind, harmonizing with the music—and all that lay before them. A playlist of Sofia’s own design. Camping. Hot springs. She snuggled into the fact that this Colorado chapter of her life was over. Finally. Tomorrow her real future began. Who knew what they’d find out there. With Margaux, sometimes she felt anything was possible.

Part II

“Turn here!” Sofia directed at Margaux, pointing at a dirt road.

Margaux peeled off the highway, then slowed the car to absorb each gravelly divot and stone. The sun was directly behind them now, casting a long shadow ahead. All around them, the great plains of Kansas rolled on as far as they could see, the tall grasses gilded in the evening light.

Sofia rolled down her window and stuck out her head. “Finally!” she roared. Though the dash still read 90 degrees, as the fresh wind washed over her face it felt divine. After seven hours in the car, she was ready to jump out, run around, exercise this new sense of freedom she had been wanting for so long. 

“Where the hell are we?” asked Margaux. She lifted a knee to hold the wheel straight as she readjusted the red scrunchie that held a messy bun of blond curls atop her head. The white cotton tank she’d worn scooped low near her nipples, its bottom hem slightly ruffled, resting on the waist of her jean shorts. As they maneuvered slowly down the road, the small gold hoops she’d looped in her ears caught bits of the sun. No matter where she was, she looked elegant, effortless and cool. 

“You sure you don’t want to stay in Nashville with me?” Sofia asked, only half-joking. 

“Don’t change the subject!” Margaux turned, squinting her eyes at Sofia. 

“Ok, ok, ok—it’s not the real Grand Canyon…” Sofia paused for dramatic effect, drumming the dashboard. “It’s the so-called Grand Canyon of Kansas!” 

Margaux brows bunched together. “Say what?” 

Looking across the sea of grass before them, Sophia fielded a moment of panic. Canyons were typically near mountains, right? Worried she’d fallen for an internet joke, she tried to load the campground website on her phone, but nothing came up. “Shit, we’re out of cell service.” Sofia locked her phone and pushed down a sense of foreboding. “Well, we’ll find out soon enough!” 

Margaux sighed. “Two girls in the middle of nowhere—a story that rarely ends well.”

“Oh come on, where’s your sense of adventure? That’s normally your job in this friendship!”

“You’re right,” she flicked a bug that’d flown in the window back outside. “Les carottes sont cuites maintenant.”

“Les carottes sont blah blah blah,” Sofia mocked her, feeling a sense of relief when Margaux smiled, then happy when she reached over to turn up the music: Waxahatchee’s “Evil Spawn” had come on, a current mutual favorite song. Sofia had always appreciated their shared taste in music, and they belted the next lyric together: “There ain’t nothing to it, babe / we can roll around in the disarray / in the final act of the good old days.”

Sofia decided that even if there was no canyon, they would simply find a flat piece of the prairie to pitch their tent for the night. She was determined to enjoy the trip. Who knew when she’d see Margaux next? She hadn’t let Sofia behind the wheel all day. “I’m not dying in a car crash because you’re tired and negligent after fucking Danny all night,” she’d said first thing in the morning. 

“It wasn’t all night!” Sofia protested.

“Yeah, yeah,” Margaux smiled. “But you’re glad it happened, right?”  

“It was amazing,” she confessed, immediately launching into a play-by-play of what had happened Danny’s room, how she’d straddled him, his nails digging into her ass as she rode him, faster and faster, their shared climax, him cumming just as she’d orgasmed, wanting to scream, to release herself. “And now I’m done with hook-ups. Only serious relationships for me. I’m a new woman now.” 

Margaux raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes,” Sofia said. “I’ve had my share of casual sex. In Nashville I’m going to find a partner who treats me right—I just want a good person. I can’t be distracted or wasting my time with fuckboys.”

“Or fuckgirls.”

“That’s right,” Sofia said. “You get it.” 

Margaux nodded, but couldn’t suppress a laugh.

“Hey, I’m serious.”

“I know, I know,” Margaux said. “You Americans are so funny. All these big proclamations.”

“Well, that right there sounds like a big proclamation to me,” Sofia started, then stopped and cried out, pointing as a sign came into view, “Shit, it’s real!” 

It was old, faded by the sun, with an outline of letters reading: Kansas Canyon Campground.

“Thank god,” Margaux said. “And, by the way, what matters is that you’re in control of your actions as they relate to your desires, no? Self-integrity, like that woman psychologist was talking about during the midday interview show last week.”

Sofia nodded, distracted. All she cared about now was that she hadn’t led them astray into the middle of nowhere. Since leaving the highway, the terrain had slowly grown more variable. Now they could see small folds in the land, rippling out like grassy dunes. Margaux maneuvered the car around a shallow bend in the plains, and the campground finally appeared. As they continued, the sites branched haphazardly off the road, with clumps of car-sized boulders scattered between. 

Margaux pulled the Honda into site number five. She cut the engine and a hush descended. No one was around, as far as they could tell. Smells of wild herbs and old firewood wafted around them. 

“Home sweet home,” Margaux said, surveying the spot. There was an old wooden picnic table, a fire ring, and a flat patch of dirt for their tent. They’d camped together once before, a few weeks ago, in Rocky Mountain National Park.

Sofia got out and threw open her arms, spinning herself in circles. The open sky! No more Colorado! No more shitty pay and shitty deadlines. Only the prairie horizon stretching as far as she could see. 

Margaux popped open the hatchback. “Hey weirdo, here’s the tent.” She tossed the dark-green bundle of nylon to Sofia, who caught it against her chest. It left a streak of dirt across her cropped, light orange shirt. Sofia tried to dust it off, but only made the smudge worse.

“Oups! Désolé,” Margaux said. “Sorry, come here.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Sofia. “We’re camping.” She set the bundle down and started to unroll it. “Shit I think it’s still a little muddy from our last trip.” 

“We can let it dry a bit now before we sleep, no?”

Sofia nodded. “Yeah. Here, take a corner.” They stretched it out completely, then began to thread the poles so it could stand up and could air out. 

“Ugh, gross,” Margaux said, swatting at the air around her face and neck.

“Mosquitos,” Sofia said. They’d gotten one of the two poles in, so the tent was half-standing. “Wait, hold this here. I brought just the thing!” 

As she headed to the car, she heard Margaux flapping her arms and stomping her feet, yelling, “Go away! Putain! Putain!" Then came a crash, a sharp yelp, and Sofia spun around. Margaux had tripped over the pole on the ground, gotten twisted around, and fallen on top of the tent. 

Sofia rushed over. Not only was she now covered in dirt, there was some blood emerging from a scrape up her side from the end of one of the poles. “Shit,” Sofia said, crouching down.

But Margaux was laughing. “I’m ok, I’m ok.” She accepted Sofia’s hand and stood up. “Ah, have you ever heard of someone being taken down by mosquitos? That’s a little embarrassing.” 

“But wait, you’re bleeding.” 

Margaux touched her side, where her tank had ridden up and a curving scrape followed her ribs. “Oh, it’s nothing, just the surface,” she said. “Here.” She pulled the tank off, over her head in one smooth gesture, and her breasts bounced out as they were freed from the fabric. She used it to wipe the scrape, clearing the blood. Both watched as hardly any reemerged from the wound. “See?” 

Sofia cleared her throat. “Ok, good,” she said, trying to laugh it off. “Who the fuck knows where the nearest hospital is out here.” 

“No hospitals for us,” Marguax agreed. 

“Well—” Sofia dashed over to the car, rummaged in her duffel, and emerged with a small vial. “We definitely need this now,” she said, shaking it. “Don’t want anyone dying from mosquitos.” 

As she opened the bottle, a burst of sweet, soothing scent puffed into their airspace. Margaux’s face lit up. “Oo, lavender oil?” 

“Lavender and tea tree,” said Sofia. “A natural repellent my Nana made.”

“Some Italian witchcraft, I see.” Margaux reached out a hand to take the bottle.

“I can put it on you. Just hold still.” Sofia walked behind Margaux and, starting with the slender curve of her neck, massaged drops of oil up and around her ears, then down her shoulders, across her upper back, her lower back. She was grateful Margaux had driven so much, and felt this was the least she owed her. It felt a little daring, given Margaux was topless, but something about her cool bravura was infectious. “How do you have such smooth skin?” Sofia asked. 

“My mom sends me care packages from the French pharmacies,” Margaux said. “Next time maybe I’ll share some, if you come back to visit.”

After working the oil down Margaux’s torso, careful to avoid the scrape, she massaged her arms and wrists. Then Sofia knelt at her feet. Rubbing more oil between her palms, she used long strokes to apply it from Margaux’s ankles, up her calves, knees, thighs, not stopping until the skin from her frayed jean short hems jean to the straps of her leather sandals had been covered.

“There you go,” Sofia said, rising. “No death by mosquitos here.”

“Wow, that felt amazing, thank you—now let me do you.”

Sofia planted her feet in the dirt, wishing she’d worn sandals and could have as much free skin as Margaux, but her Air Force 1s were her comfort shoe, and they’d made sense when she was packing for this big, transitional trip.

Palms shiny with oil, Margaux faced Sofia as she rubbed her arms first, then neck, and collarbones. Goosebumps flared across Sofia’s skin. “Ticklish are you?” Margaux raised an eyebrow. 

Sheepish, Sofia said, “A little.” But staring at Margaux’s breasts, how they lifted and hung plump from the shelf of her ribs, her waist right below, a perfect hourglass, Sofia suddenly felt very hot, and she gestured for the vial. “Here, I can do the rest. It’s okay.” Margaux cocked her head, but handed it to her. 

“So, in the morning,” Sofia said, dabbing the oil on her ankles, trying to reset the scene. “We can hike to this supposed canyon. If I remember correctly, there should be a trail at the end of the campground—it’s only a half-mile to the lookout.”

“That sounds great,” Margaux said, walking over to work on the tent again, her breasts bouncing with the movement. She bent down, grabbed the poles, and stood back up, facing Sofia. “I’m glad we’ll get to stretch our legs before we drive—” she stopped abruptly. “Wait a sec, do you hear that?” 

Sofia lifted her head and strained her ears. Snippets of chords and lyrics, as though carried on wind. “Huh, yeah, I do.”

They scanned the horizon, but still saw nothing. Further down the road, where the music seemed to be trickling, had to be more campsites. The curve of a small hill and big group of boulders obscured whatever was further out that way, but now with the sky growing darker, Sofia realized could make out faint lights pulsing against the rocks: different colors alternated, seemingly synced with a musical beat.

“I wonder what’s going on over there,” Sofia said.

Margaux looked at Sofia, raised her eyebrows, and smiled. “We love a dance party, don’t we?”

“Fuck yeah we do.” Sofia smiled. “Let’s get this tent up and go.” 

Margaux threw on a tight black t-shirt and they set off. As they approached the hilly bend, the music grew stronger, clearer. Sofia didn’t recognize the beats, but she liked how edgy, how danceable they felt. Was this some desert rave? Sofia couldn’t imagine the scene in Kansas, but the closer they got, the sharper the lights grew, bouncing between the rocks. Before the next campsite came into view, Margaux stopped and grabbed Sofia’s hand.

Sofia’s attention rushed to her palm. “What?” she asked.

“What’s our plan here? Like, what if they’re a bunch of drunk men?”

Sofia considered this. “We’ll tell them our husbands are waiting for us back at our campsite.”

Margaux snorted. “The usual excuse.” Her smile turned mischievous again. “Ok, let’s go.”

First they saw a dozen or so cars arranged in a semicircle. Beyond was a glowing bonfire, a group of people were chatting and dancing around it. Old Christmas lights had been strung between the cars, and a disco ball hung between the middle two, sending out flashes of color, the laser beams that were bouncing off the rocks and pulsing with music.

The group, a mix of men and women around their age, didn’t look suspicious, so Sofia pressed ahead. “Hey,” she called out with a wave.

The nearest folks turned around, and seeing Sofia and Margaux, they raised their beers. “New friends!” they yelled. “Come on over!”

Sofia reached down and squeezed Margaux’s hand, then continued forward toward the group, dropping her friend’s palm. Immediately she regretted it, feeling naked suddenly.

“Hi, thanks,” Sofia said, regaining her nerve. “We’re in the campsite over that rise.”

“Shit, are we being too loud?” one of them asked.

Margaux straightened next to Sofia. “No, no—we came to see what was good over here. We liked your music.”

One of the men, in a blue beanie with facial scruff and a sand-colored flannel, gestured to the crew. “We’re all friends from high school,” he said. “We meet out here the first weekend of every month.”

“Cool,” Sofia said, gesturing to Margaux. “We’re on a road trip.”

A woman in a hoodie so oversized it nearly covered her jean shorts while accentuating her long, toned legs, stepped forward. Large gold hoops hung from her ears. Sofia admired her high cheekbones. “Nice! Where to and from?”

Margaux explained their path from Denver to Nashville. “Sofia here is going to be the next Great American DJ.”

The man in the beanie raised his eyebrows. “Oh really? You gotta play us some stuff.”

“She’d love to!” Margaux said, nudging Sofia forward. Sofia looked back at Margaux in surprise, but her friend only flashed a prankish smile before turning back to the woman. “While Sofia gets set up, could I get a drink?”

The two walked away, and Sofia followed the man to the speakers. “Here,” he said, handing her a phone that was already plugged-in. “Take it away.”

“You sure you’re just gonna to trust a stranger with your party vibe?” 

He looked Sofia up and down: her tanned skin, wind-blown hair, cropped top, jean shorts, Air Force 1s. “You look the cool-girl part,” he winked. 

Sofia flushed beneath his gaze. There was a special sense of power, a high she loved that rose from her influence on people, especially when someone like him looked at her with hungry, wanting eyes. She noted his chocolatey irises and long lashes, the scruff along his jaw. Beneath the edge of his beanie, light brown curls flipped outward. To break the momentary spell, Sofia looked over at Margaux, who was now dancing in the group. “Alright, let’s give it a go.”

Sofia plugged in her phone and pulled up an old playlist she’d made for a friend’s dance party the year before. “Here,” she said, hit play, and handed it back.

“Sick,” he said as the first song dropped and they watched the group react favorably. Margaux flashed a smile in their direction.

“So, have you been to the canyon’s lookout yet?” he asked. He was a head taller than she. A skater-boy, she assessed, now or at least when he was younger.

“You mean it’s real?”

“Of course it is—do you want to go?”

“Now? But it’s dark.”

“That’s when it’s best.”

Skeptical, Sofia shook her head. He pointed to the sky. “Look,” he said, and even with the almost-full moon, the Milky Way was visible, glistening like someone had split sugar over black velvet. “This is the right kind of light. I swear. You’ll see the best stuff. We’re in the fucking boonies—no light pollution out here.”

Sofia considered this stranger’s wry smile, the raw confidence with which he moved. 

This would be the ultimate test, wouldn’t it? To go with him and not hook up with him—a perfect way to declare her sincerity and define her commitment. “Gimme one sec,” she said, and ran over to Margaux. 

“Hey, you good over here?” she whispered. The crew was vibing, bouncing with the music, laughing. 

“Yeah, you?” 

Sofia nodded and threw her thumb to the guy in the beanie. “He wants to take me to the lookout.” 

“Does he now?” Marguax raised an eyebrow and fluttered her tongue suggestively. 

“Not like that!”

“Mmhm,” Margaux responded. She spun around, dancing with her back to Sofia. “Or you could stay and dance with us…” she said over her shoulder with a sing-songy voice.

“I know what I’m doing,” Sofia defended herself. 

“Okay!” Margaux shouted after her. “I don’t want to hear your bitching tomorrow…”

But Sofia was already headed back to the speakers. She asked beanie-boy his name. 

“Max,” he said, leading her down a smooth dirt path that snaked over and through the grass. “And you?”

While the music faded behind them, the intensity of insects chirping rose; with the cooling of night, everything felt alive again. “Sofia,” she said. “And just so you know, I’m not going to hook up with you.”

Max looked over at her, now tinted silver in the moonlight glow. “Forward, I see.” 

“Just want to make sure we’re on the same page,” Sofia said, determined. But as he sped up a half-step, she realized she’d have to be persistent in telling herself, and reminding herself of that, because damn, he walked with a cool swagger, the smooth ease of someone comfortable in their shoes. Another good ass. The kind that got her, every fucking time. She swallowed, following close behind.

Before long they reached a small platform, and as Sofia stepped up to the railing, she gasped, peering down into the canyon. Jagged, exposed rock stretched far down below, hundreds of feet rutted, layered in silver hues: the moon was bright overhead, casting a sense of magic upon them. “Wow,” Sofia exhaled. “You’re right. It’s all glowing.”

She looked at Max. A childish grin animated his scruff. His lean cheeks lifted toward the brown curls peeking out. His smile widened as she stared. The intensity of his eyes spurred her on, made her feel charged, wanted, empowered—but she held her ground. She was not going to hook up with him. He stood a full head taller than she, had wide shoulders like a football or hockey player. His Adam’s apple moved as he spoke. “I’ve been coming here since I was a kid,” he said.

Sofia’s sense of gravity was shifting, the vast canyon stretching below, the endless sky expanding overhead. What was up, down? Wrong, right? His essence was intoxicating. Baiting the thing in her chest that begged for this exchange of power. Before she could stop herself, Sofia gave in, leaned in, closing the gap between them, feeding off the electricity that sparked as soon as their lips touched.

He didn’t hesitate, reciprocating her hunger, his scruff grazing her face. The texture intensified around her lips as he pressed closer, desire raw on his breath. A rush of adrenaline opened her mouth. He felt like an itch she didn’t know needed to be scratched. She couldn’t stop. His tongue slipped between her teeth, curling around hers.

Max took Sofia’s rib cage between his hands and pulled her closer, their chests now engaged, spines undulating. The lookout railing pressed into Sofia’s low back, strips of solidity in the heated struggle to contain their most animalistic form. Nothing but those two bars of metal, barely bigger than her wrists, separated them from the chasm bending deep below. 

Sofia could feel the depths of Max’s hunger. The thought that he didn’t come into contact with many new people out in rural Kansas crossed Sofia’s mind. How fun to riff off chemistry with a total stranger. 

She slid her hands up his spine, across his broad shoulders, and down his toned obliques. All firm muscle, as her thumbs running along the plane above his belt confirmed: taut and powerful. 

Max took his tongue to her bottom lip, traced it left to right, then continued to her jawline, her earlobe, down her neck. She let him lick to her tank strap, which he took in his teeth and dragged down so it fell off her shoulder.

She leaned back, arcing over the cavern, and pulled off her top. She hadn’t worn a bra underneath and her nipples bounced as they settled into freedom. He dove back into her, his mouth again on her neck, his hands now on the railing, holding her in. “You smell insanely good, like lavender,” he said, running his tongue between her breasts. Then his teeth were squeezing her nipple, twisting lightly, lighting fireworks along her spine. Sofia swelled with heat and wanting. She was desperate for it, egging Max on, grinding her hips into his.

“Please,” she said, ripping off the beanie and digging her nails into the nice, brown curls that sprung to life. A groan of pleasure escaped his lips.

Max spun Sofia around, both now facing the vast moonlit canyon, her ass pressing into his groin. The railing was cool, firm in her hands. She pushed back into him, wanting as much contact as possible, wanting his strength, his body to focus on nothing but her. 

His hands found hers on the railing. Together their fingers wove, Max’s biceps like additional guardrails, something safe in this zone. Sofia ground her ass into him, her hips in figure eights. His dick defined itself quickly, and she moved herself up and down, her ass all over it.

Max released the railing, bringing his fingers to her waist, and traced the top edge of her cutoffs. A shiver ran down Sofia’s limbs. She could stop at any time, she knew, but no, no part of her wanted to stop—even though she’d told herself she wouldn’t. 

Leaning her head back, she reached for his earlobe with her teeth. “You can unbutton them,” she whispered. There was no going back.

Max’s breathing grew heavier, undoing the snap, pushing Sofia’s shorts to her ankles. He ran his palms over her everyday underwear: lacy briefs from a sporty boutique. “Please touch me,” Sofia said, breath hot in his ear. “I want to feel you all over me.” 

Max slipped a hand between fabric and skin, not stopping until he reached her clit, pausing for a moment to take her in, the lay of her land, then went further, between her legs, toward the hot opening she longed for him to touch.

“You’re so wet,” he said, voice gravelly, motored, his cock pulsing against her.

A finger plunged in and, yes, yes, yes, Sofia moaned. Another finger joined, and both began to circle inside her, feeding her fire, stoking her gently but firmly, confidently. “That feels so good,” she said, growing breathless. “Don’t stop.”

“Not til you reach the edge,” Max whispered, his second hand now working on her—maneuvering her clit in rhythm with the fingers inside. He was drawing opposing circles, outside and inside, crossing them like live wires. She bucked into him with each shock.

Max held Sofia steady between his arms, the railing, the rocks, what was left between her and the chasm below compressed and expanded in quick, sweet successions. Her eyes clamped shut, Max was whispering, “That’s it, that’s it,” sending flares down her neck, down her spine, a fire spreading between her legs. She gasped and heaved as she came, convulsing against his chest, held tall in his arms as her knees weakened and for a moment she felt blind, alive, flying, transcending all at once.  

Slowly Sophia softened. “There we go,” he said as her breathing slowed.

A few moments of silence passed, and reality settled back into Sofia’s purview. She hated that she had succumbed to this stranger after announcing that she wouldn’t. She should’ve just stayed and danced with her friend. Why was she always so quick to ditch her friend for a random dude? She tried to muster the wherewithal to talk by shaking her head, as though clearing the orgasm that was still lingering like a bright flash in her eyes. But she was too in her own head to speak. The insects buzzed louder than ever, and Max started kissing her again, turning her around. 

Sofia felt a pit, something darker now growing in her stomach. The orgasm had snapped her senses. Max’s whiskers suddenly felt less charming against her cheeks. They grated her. Her stomach knotted. Only now she found the words.

“Um, sorry,” she pulled away from him. Like an echo, she heard Margaux’s voice pounding in her head: Integrity. She could still leave with some. “I actually have to get back to my friend.” 

Max’s face clouded over. “What?”

“I’m really sorry, but I have to get back right now.” 

“After all that?”

Well now he was being a dick. He reminded her of one of her shitty hookups back in Denver. “Look, I got carried away and now I need to go.”

“Oh come on, first you say you aren’t gonna do anything with me—then you do this. Weren’t you into it?”

Sofia grimaced. “Yeah, I don’t know. I got carried away. But, um, I really have to go.” 

He stepped back and threw his hands in the air. Sofia bent to pick her shirt back up and righted her clothes. Max leaned against the railing and crossed his arms. “Whatever,” he said.

“Do you… want to walk back?” Sofia asked gingerly. 

Max shook his head. “Nah, you’re the one who’s got to go.” 

Sofia smiled, suddenly more sure of herself and her decision to bounce. This is exactly why she needed to be more selective.

Max turned his back to her, and Sofia scampered down the trail, her heart beating. It was super dark, she was in the middle of nowhere with a strange man, and now she had to find her way back on her own. That’s what I get for being so dumb, she thought. But more than anything, she was pissed she’d broken a promise to herself. Basically twice, first with Danny, now with Max. If she was going to find her own validation, her own power within, she had to step away from fooling around.

Before the bonfire came back into view, she heard her playlist ongoing. When she scanned the group, she didn’t see Margaux. The knot in her stomach wasn’t letting up. As she walked back over to their campsite, she tried self soothing: there was always tomorrow. She could learn from this feeling and start fresh, right? 

At their site, she unzipped the tent fly and was relieved to see the soft mountain of Margaux’s body, her hips and shoulders beneath the sleeping bag’s down sheet. As quietly as possible, Sofia slipped into the tent, peeled off her clothes, and slid into her own bag.

Margaux rustled a bit, and Sofia kept completely still, a deep sense of embarrassment alive, crawling all over her skin. “Hey, sorry to wake you,” she whispered. 

Margaux rolled over, sleepily looking at Sofia. “That’s ok, glad you’re back,” she said. “You all good?”

“Yeah,” Sofia exhaled, staring at the tent’s ceiling. A light breeze fluttered across the nylon. “All good—tell you about it tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait for the hot springs. I’m so sweaty after all that dancing,” Margaux said with a drowsy drawl.

If Sofia could, she’d beam herself right then and there to the hot springs. She wanted to wash away this shitty feeling. Her insides felt like lead, hard against the earth, knotted tight. The minerals would soften her again. She’d soak with Margaux, her friend naked and elegant, as always—and as Sofia directed her thoughts there, to the future, to feelings better than the ones now present, the image of Margaux’s breasts resurfaced, pert in the springs, her blond hair slicked back, the ends in the current swirling free. Sofia exhaled calmly, thinking she could learn a thing or two from Margaux, she who always seemed so self-possessed. How would she share what happened with Max? What would Margaux say?

As she slowly found her way to sleep, the music from the other campsite faded, the prairie sounds surfaced, filtering through the grass, the crickets unruffled, composing their own songs, their own rights to dance.

Part III

The next day, Sofia pulled the Honda into Bathhouse Row, the star attraction of Arkansas’ Hot Springs National Park. “We made it,” she said, relieved. The last few hours in the car had been brutally hot. Both of them gleamed with sweat. And there was a new tension between them. Margaux seemed distant.

Margaux threw her water bottle into a tote bag with her book. “I’m so fucking happy to be here. This dirt needs to get washed off! 

Sofia slung her own heavy tote over her shoulder and hurried after her friend.

They walked up the stairs to the old, squat building’s double doors. Trees surrounded the place, and tall frosted windows stretched from the ground to the roof. Margaux paused to read the sign. “Oh, this is the oldest continuously running bathhouse in the U.S.” 

Sofia peered over her shoulder. “I still don’t understand what a bathhouse even is.” 

“Nous verrons ce que nous verrons,” Margaux said, leading the way inside. 

Sofia paid for both their entrances. “You didn’t have to do that,” Margaux said, eyeing her. 

“It’s a thanks for road-tripping with me,” Sofia went to hug her, but Margaux was already following behind the attendant, who was leading them up a white marble staircase. And a thanks for listening to me bitch all the way here, she added in her mind. 

Margaux had a right to be annoyed, Sofia knew, as she’d had no choice but to endure the entire existential crisis that’d spilled out of Sofia during the morning’s drive. Her hook-up with Max the night before had rattled her, brought her close up to this tendency she had to use sex as a shortcut to self worth, a grasping at power. It wasn’t the first time Margaux had suffered through this sort of spiel from Sofia—and now Sofia wanted to make up for it. 

The staircase led them into the bath’s waiting room. The floor and walls were tiled white and sparkling clean. A dozen women were already lounging in the waiting room chairs, chatting, reading magazines, all wrapped in white sheets like Greek goddesses, completely naked underneath. The attendant asked Sofia and Margaux to take off and set their clothes in a cubby with their bags. Then, she wrapped each in a thin, white sheet.

Sofia took a good look at herself in one of the full-length mirrors: her tanned skin almost brown against the white linen, her dark hair long and loose, a little tangled but who cared. Margaux came up beside her. “We should’ve been born in Roman times,” she said, running her hands over the sheet, across her flat stomach and wide hips, adding definition to the faint silhouette of body Sofia could see beneath.

“We would’ve been unstoppable,” Sofia smiled. “But only if we’d been royalty. I don’t think I could’ve handled being a second-class citizen if we were female peasants.”

Margaux scoffs. “I would’ve been royalty. You would’ve been my handmaid.”

Sofia accepted the quip, feeling like she deserved it. As they settled into two chairs in the corner of the room with their books, waiting until their names were called for their turn in the baths, Sofia vowed to do better. As the attendant had explained, they’d each soak for twenty minutes in their private bathtubs, which were filled with a continuous stream of water piped from the hot spring outside. Then, they’d transition to a hot-towel treatment in the next room, finally moving into a steam shower to finish. Sofia couldn’t wait. She still felt sticky and heavy, beyond ready for a deep soak and cleanse.

The room smelled like eucalyptus and fresh laundry. Vases of daisies and pitchers of fresh water adorned the vanities that stood every few feet around the perimeter of the room. Beside her, Margaux opened Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow, a book Sofia had gifted her the month before. When Margaux crossed her legs, the sheet split at her thigh and fell away from her calf. 

Sofia stared at Margaux’s skin, much lighter than hers, well-hydrated and soft. Her toes were painted a warm orange. Around the ankle that bobbed, crossed in the air, was a gold bracelet. It looked like a string of tiny suns, small coins lying against her white skin. The faint outline of her sandal was visible atop of her foot, but it wasn’t a tan, just dirt from their days on the road.

“This is going to feel so good,” Sofia said, leaning back, imagining the hot water bubbling around them.

But Margaux didn’t answer, already deep in her book. Or was she ignoring Sofia? Asserting some personal space? 

Sofia cracked open her own book: Yerba Buena by Nina LaCour, which she’d started the week before. In it, an innovative bartender and a home remodeler were about to hook up after weeks of flirting, both of these fictional women seeking a deep connection, yet scared of the vulnerability it would require.

Margaux’s foot bobbed, distracting Sofia as the gold anklet glinted in the soft spa light. She tried to concentrate on Yerba Buena. The bartender was making the first move, boldly asking the remodeler to dinner, where their chemistry was deemed irresistible. But even as the characters took off each other’s clothes, leaning hot and heavy against the bartender’s bedroom dresser, Sofia couldn’t focus. Her gaze kept returning to Margaux’s ankle. The sparkle of gold, yes—but also the thought of her skin looking so damn good, even with its coat of dirt. Her calves were slender but taut, likely from the swimming she did on a near daily basis. Sofia thought she should really take it up for exercise, too. Maybe in Nashville. It was going to be hotter there anyway, she could find herself a public pool.

Sofia forced herself back to her book. The couple was good together, really, their flirting in the build-up had been smart and snappy, focused on art, which they both loved. If Sofia imagined herself in the room with the characters, she found she was more focused. She saw them devouring each other, maneuvering to the bed, grinding into one another, their hair loose and tumbling all together. This was the sex Sofia wanted! Not the one-night stands, but the build up of weeks, of passion strung along and ready to explode. She felt herself turn on, a warmth growing between her thighs, and she adjusted her legs so they were also crossed, adding a bit of pressure around her groin. 

She bounced her foot up and down, nearly grazing Margaux’s calf. In her book, the women slowed their movements, found a sensual rhythm, hotter, heavier, and—“Sofia,” the attendant called, breaking her from the spell. “Margaux.”

Sofia straightened herself, and nudged Margaux, who looked up, startled. She gathered it was their turn and squealed. “Ah, finally!” They returned their books to the cubby and followed the attendant down another hall. Sofia looped her arm around Margaux’s elbow. “This is going to be so good,” she squeezed.

The hall opened into a long room, lined on both sides with bathtubs. A curtain separated each, and inside the porcelain, woman after woman was soaking. Bronze pipes ran along the walls, pumping spring water continuously into each tub. First Margaux was assigned a tub, then Sofia the next one over.

A different attendant came and removed Sofia’s sheet. “Please step in the bath,” she instructed, and Sofia obeyed, thinking how strange this was, really—a public bathhouse. For hundreds of years, before hot running water was a common amenity, people would come to these for their monthly cleaning. This was an ancient ritual, a design of health, pleasure, and relief.

“Sit with your head over here.” The attendant gestured to the aisle side, and Sofia situated herself, looking at the wall. The piping criss-crossed like a geometric design across the tiles and connected to an antique faucet that poured hot water into the bath.  

A lavender-scented towel was placed beneath Sofia’s neck. A clock and temperature gauge rested between the pipework, and a small compressor ran a bubbler that gently moved the water around Sofia. The attendant unwrapped a loofah and sat on the stool next to the tub. 

Sofia relished the heat, stretching out her legs. The water came up to her chin, and she closed her eyes, sighing. A soothing gurgling sounded around the room. It was all as nice as she’d imagined, and she felt the tension she’d been holding since the night before begin to soften. It was a new day. She was safe, committed to herself, and her new life.

The attendant soaked the loofah and it expanded. She started scrubbing Sofia, legs first, lifting one then the other above the water. Blood rushed to the surface of her skin as the woman moved up and down, down and up, her ankles, shins, knees, thighs blushing with renewed life. 

When was the last time she’d taken a bath? There was one in Margaux’s apartment, but Sofia hadn’t had one. Did Margaux take baths regularly? Suddenly Sofia felt like she should know this, but she didn’t, and that rankled her, reminding her they’d soon be living so far apart. Fuck, she’d miss her friend. She regretted last night with new vigor. Anxiously, Sofia’s mind searched for everything she knew about Margaux, feeling urgently like she needed to catalog it all before it was too late. Her heart picked up speed—was it the heat of the water, the room, or these thoughts? She caught herself, reminding herself to relax.

Now the attendant took Sofia’s arm and, starting at her wrist, began to rub the loofah in small circles. With the lavender beaming from behind her neck, Sofia was swiftly transported back to the day before, to Margaux’s touch as they’d massaged each other with the lavender and tea tree oil. She looked over to the next bath, where she knew Margaux was soaking. The curtain was closed, but Sofia could imagine Margaux reclined, relieved, relaxing as her own attendant worked her magic. After all she’d put her friend through, she deserved this, and so much more. 

Sofia’s attendant asked her to lean forward so she could scrub Sofia’s back. Sofia scooted up, relishing the attention. She felt as though the water and loofah really were washing beyond the built-up grime, reaching her emotional reserves—her disappointment, her regrets. She let the warmth melt away her worries. This was exactly what she’d needed.

As the attendant rubbed Sofia’s back, she pushed the loofah around her ribs and toward her breasts, using long, gentle strokes, occasionally grazing her nipples. The heat that had started in the waiting room sparked. Sofia settled back into the image of the two women hooking up, building toward their first time having sex. Sofia’s mind was going everywhere, and she let it. She was here to relax, not to control.   

Margaux’s voice rose above the gurgling water. “Thank you,” Sofia heard her say, a dreamy quality to her words, feeling them cross over into her fantasy as her own attendant rose, letting Sofia know she’d be back in twenty minutes. 

Sofia nodded, not wanting to break this trance, feeling deeply calm yet so alive, the water bubbling around her, the women in her mind expanding, taking up more and more space, morphing with the addition of Margaux’s voice, into new characters: herself and Margaux now, careening toward each other, fulfilling a long-restrained dream. Sofia couldn’t help herself, her defenses had been massaged down, her aches and pains soothed as much by the springs as by Margaux’s presence, not just today but throughout their entire friendship, she realized.

She looked over at Margaux’s bath and sucked in a breath. When the attendants had left, they hadn’t closed the curtain all the way. Through the gap, Sofia saw Margaux’s chest framed perfectly, the tops of her breasts floating in the bubbling water, the blurred outline of her ribs just below the surface. Sofia’s heart quickened. 

Her clit began to throb, aching to be touched again. Sofia tried to resist by distracting her hands with her breasts, cupping one in each palm, but hardly a minute passed before her fingers found her nipples. She squeezed them, feeling the pleasure pump its way through her body. Her eyes didn’t leave Margaux’s body. Before yesterday, she’d seen Margaux in swimsuits and changing in bras, but the bare cream skin of her breasts, perplexingly heavy yet buoyant in the bath, had been new to Sofia. Touching herself she imagined touching Margaux, then spun the tables, thinking of Margaux touching her. How the strength of her hands would play with Sofia’s ass, her waist, her nipples between her fingers.

And before Sofia knew it, her hands were drawing down, toward her navel, her hips, her throbbing clit calling to her—she couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t take herself away from her inner thighs, both hands between her legs, the water all around her, the sense that she was floating, Margaux’s chest squared perfectly in sight.

Sofia looked at the clock—she had fifteen minutes before the attendant would return. She dared herself to touch her clit. Yes, that’s exactly what she wanted. The urgency was growing into something severe, mixing with all her fantasies, the days of build-up. She started to move herself in circles, gently at first, testing her nerves, but she knew she wanted it.

Her nipples were hard, peaking out of the water as she arched her lower back. She picked up the intensity of her circles, two fingers directly on the ball of her clitoris. She was swelling, growing, more and more alive.

Images from the last few days flashed through her head. Danny in the street, in his bed; Max at the overlook, his whiskers on her cheek; the open road, a sense of freedom, Margaux’s curls flying out of her bun, her gold anklet, that calf. She kept returning to Margaux—the curve of Margaux’s body beneath the white sheet. Her hands on the steering wheel. Her dancing at the campsite bonfire. Sofia felt surge after surge, a driving desire to stay there, fixed on Margaux’s body. What would it be like to touch her? Her hunger deepend. The scraps she’d devoured recently felt like nothing.

Sofia pushed her pelvis into her own hand. She knew this was dangerous. She had to be quiet, couldn’t make a sound. As she moved her hips in small circles, she conjured the softness of Margaux’s skin beneath her palms as she’d applied the lavender and tea tree oil. Then Margaux’s hands on her. That flushing sensation. This flushing now, Sofia’s insides growing hotter—she couldn’t deny it, and didn’t care because all she wanted was to keep going, follow this feeling to its edge, where the anticipation of an orgasm arrived, and she knew it would release itself and run her wild.

Shhh, she reminded herself. She bit her bottom lip and sunk deeper into the tub, releasing a groan from her throat into the water, thankful for the dozens of faucets that were helping drown out anything that came from her stall. 

Nothing was worth resisting anymore. There was no stopping. A glance at the clock told her five minutes were left, and Sofia gave in, past the point of return, letting Margaux take over her mind, liquid as the water around her. She was simply responding to the currents, and oh, how good it all felt, more pressure mounting. Sofia pushed and found the edge, shut her eyes and submerged her mouth, blowing out a stream of bubbles as she came, orgasming the length of her body, moaning into the bath. Her body convulsed, abs tightening and releasing, pleasure pulsing through. She came up gasping for breath, chest heaving, the bath nearly overflowing with her waves.

Slowly the waters calmed and she blinked the shock from her eyes. Then she let out a massive sigh and resisted the urge to laugh, her body deflating, spine slowly sinking to rest on the tub’s porcelain floor.

The attendant drew the curtain open. “Hello again,” she said cheerily. “Ready for the hot towel treatment?”

Sofia smiled weakly, suddenly exhausted. “Yes, of course.”

As the attendant helped her out of the bath, Sofia thought about what their arrival tomorrow in Nashville would bring. She still didn’t want to think about the goodbye. On the table with steaming hot towels covering every square inch of her skin, she closed her eyes, deciding to soak this moment in.

Part IV

The bar was loud and packed, air sticky with sweat and the smell of beer. Wood-paneled walls lent everything an old-timey feel, but the stage at the front of the dark-lit room was decked with the latest tech. Sofia couldn’t wait to hear what the band at this random bar they’d stumbled into would be playing that night… only she couldn’t find Margaux. 

Sofia had left her just a few minutes earlier, to get them both beers, and Margaux had been beneath one of the big neon signs advertising Coors along the wall. Now Sofia turned around in circles, surveying the crowd, looking for Margaux’s blonde curls and the green silky tank top she’d put on that night. There was still some tension between them from the previous days.

Finally, she spotted her. Sofia snaked her way through the crowd and handed her a beer. “Sorry I moved,” Margaux said, raising her beer and clinking the glass against Sofia’s. “The view of the stage is better from here.”

Sofia looked over the platform, thirty feet in front of them. “You’re right,” she said after she took her first sip. The stage was busy with techies setting up the instruments. A large banner read “Duet Night” above the stage.

The band took its position: a female singer in metallic silver bell-bottoms and a black halter top was at the helm, and a guitarist, drummer, and bass player, all male, fanned out behind her. “Nashville! How we doin’ tonight?” the singer crooned, stomping her black cowgirl boots. “I’m Cherry, and we are The Pickers.” The crowd roared. “Welcome to Duet Night! If you don’t already know, after every few songs tonight, we invite one of y’all to come up on stage and sing along.”

“Oh my god,” Margaux whispered. “This is so American.”

Cherry pointed down to a cowboy hat mouth-up on the edge of the stage. “Put your nominees in this here hat, and we’ll draw people’s names at random—just do us a favor, and make sure they can sing, y’all!” She winked at the crowd.

Margaux gave Sofia one of her mischievous looks, then beelined for the stage. 

It took Sofia a few seconds to process. She rushed behind, grabbing Margaux’s arm before it was too late. “Margaux! Fuck no.” 

But Margaux had already gotten hold of a pen and slip of paper. “And how are you going to stop me?” Her voice was teasing, but there was also an edge. Before Sofia could protest further, Margaux spun around, boxing Sofia out with her hips so she could use the stage as a surface to write. 

Sofia couldn’t fully calculate what was happening. This was their last night together before Margaux got on a plane and flew back to Denver. Was Margaux going to be charged like this all night? When Margaux turned back around, Sofia said, “Come on, you know I don’t sing in public.” 

“Exactly—isn’t that what this move is all about? A new start?” Margaux raised her eyebrows. “Reclaiming yourself?” 

Sofia sighed, wondering when whatever was happening between them would break. Or if it would at all. She’d apologized yesterday afternoon. She was sorry she’d chosen a fuckboy over her friend (yet again), and sorry she’d subjected her to another load of emotional drama. “Yes,” she said. “But odds are they won’t call me anyway.”

Margaux decided they should stay near the front of the stage, deep in the crowd. As the band picked its first few songs, everyone began to sway. The group was uptempo, mostly playing cover songs, more country-rock than folk. Sofia liked it, and her hips responded, easily flirting with the rhythms. She tried not to think about being called up on stage. It’d been years since she’d sung in public. 

Margaux was right, though. They’d arrived in Nashville. There were no more excuses for not acting in accordance with her highest self. She loved to sing, it was true. Who cared whether or not she was that good… right?

As the third song ended, Cherry announced it was time for the first duet. “Gary Loving!” she called out. Despite her own pep-talk, Sofia sighed with relief. A middle-aged man stepped onstage and took a microphone from Cherry. He was a head shorter than she, and had to squint at a karaoke teleprompter someone had placed on the floor. As “Thunder Road” began pouring from the instruments, he lifted his chest and belted the Bruce Springsteen oldie, the crowd responded positively, egging him on. The sense that she was going to love this new city flushed through Sofia.

After “Thunder Road,” the band started a slower song that Sofia didn’t recognize. She closed her eyes, letting the music move through her. Cherry’s low voice was rich and velvety. The drums precise, the bass hearty. The guitar drawing out the ballad’s chords. Then they picked the tempo back up again, and Sofia and Margaux moved with unabashed joy, shaking off the long hours in the car, reveling in the delight of this country music haven.

The next duet was called: “Sofia Garibaldi!”

Wide-eyed, Sofia turned to Margaux. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yes!” Margaux let out a prankish laugh. “Get your ass up there! You got this.” 

Sofia pushed her way to the stage stairs, and as she ascended, she felt everyone’s eyes zooming in on her. She concentrated on taking deep breaths. This wasn’t so different from talking on-air, right? It was just a crowd of people. No harm, no foul. She wished Margaux was up there by her side. Cherry handed her a microphone and leaned over, whispering in Sofia’s ear. “Our song is ’II MOST WANTED,’ by Beyonce and Miley, do you know it?” 

Sofia nodded. “I’m Beyonce or Miley?”

“You’re Miley, got it?” 

Sofia nodded again and took a deep breath. Thank god I know this one, she thought, swallowing to clear her throat. Still, her heart was beating out of control. She searched for Margaux in the crowd and quickly found her, standing near the front. They locked eyes, Margaux smiled encouragingly now, casting a calming effect across Sofia’s body. As Margaux blew her a kiss, Sofia took a deep breath. 

The guitarist began to pluck the first notes. It was a bit twangier than the band’s other covers, but soon the other instrumentals came in and everything softened. A sea of smiles stared up at her, all expectant. Sofia knew she had no choice but to jump into the song. What else could she do? Her lyrics came first. 

“Know we're jumpin' the gun, but we're both still young / One day, we won't be…” she’d come in a half-measure late, but quickly she found her stride on track.

Cherry gave a wallop of praise before beginning her own part, and as the song went on, Sofia relaxed into the music. Around the third chorus, she found herself having fun. Cherry was easy to sing with, and this crowd wasn’t hard to please.

Together, Sofia’s voice a little high and Cherry’s a little low, they repeated: “I'll be your shotgun rider 'til the day I die / Smoke out the window flyin' down the 405 / And I'll be your backseat baby / Drivin' you crazy anytime you like…” and again Sofia’s eyes found Margaux—which wasn’t hard at all, was it? Sofia’s eyes had never really left Margaux—all night she’d been aware of her —not only of Margaux’s body and how her silky green top shimmered as she danced—but of both their bodies, their proximity to one another at all times. It was as though in the hot springs, a new sense had developed within her. A sense she couldn’t let go of. 

Sofia was magnetized and the current was strong. Margaux’s hips moved in smooth figure-eights. It wasn’t deja vu but something else washing through Sofia, the feeling of yesterday rising inside her, the excruciating pleasure she’d felt as she touched herself while looking at Margaux. She’d imagined scenes just like this: Margaux sensual, Margaux sweating, Margaux alive, aroused, all within arms reach.

When Margaux looked up, there was no avoiding eye contact. She held Sofia’s gaze, and the fluid movement of her body intensified, as though the current were growing stronger, now passing through her, too.

Cherry rescued her, momentarily, placing an arm around her shoulder and shocking Sofia back to her presence on the stage. This physical contact grounded her, and she wrapped her arm around Cherry’s waist. They leaned their temples against each other for the final lines, and Sofia closed her eyes, not wanting to risk the inevitable draw back to Margaux. 

She diffused the pressure inside herself by using the entirety of her voice, drawing out the note until every last molecule of air had been released.

When the instruments had quieted, too, the crowd roared, and Sofia swelled with pride, or whatever that warm feeling was when Margaux had looked at her, something beyond happy, beyond proud. As she made her way back to Margaux on the dancefloor, people slapped her on the back, congratulating her, but she rushed through them. Margaux was waiting for her with open arms. Sofia accelerated into the hug, her arms wrapping around Margaux’s waist, Margaux’s arms high around Sofia’s neck. She was so relieved to have her friend back.

“You looked so hot up there,” Margaux said into Sofia’s ear, leaning fully in with her body and squeezing.

Sofia smelled Margaux’s coconut conditioner, seasoned with the salt of her sweat. Her silk top was soft, but she zeroed in on the feeling of Margaux’s hips, hard and unyielding, pushing into hers. Sofia didn’t want to let go, but didn’t know where to go from here. So she stepped back. “Merci, Margaux,” she teased.

“Je t’en prie,” Margaux playfully batted her eyes. “Seriously, you looked so hot, so natural up there.” 

Sofia was grateful the lighting was dim because she flushed now, a desire began radiating that she couldn’t control. She felt like she had her friend back, and more. “Yeah, well, you look hot tonight, too.” 

Margaux smiled, turned toward the stage, and with how the crowd had compacted, Sofia was suddenly directly behind her. Sofia exhaled, glad to have a few moments to compose herself without Margaux watching. But then the band started a new Maren Morris song, and Margaux’s ass grazed against Sofia, and she felt a lick of fire rise through her core. 

Sofia didn’t back up, she stayed, heart pumping again, hips moving, as Margaux’s back pockets skimmed again over the front button of her own black denim skirt. Sofia kept dancing, she wasn’t going to make the move, but she wasn’t going to resist either.

This wouldn’t be just a hook-up, Sofia knew that much. The strength of the desire building in her core was coming from a place too deep, too honest to be anything but casual. 

Sofia lifted her arms in the air. Just be yourself, she told herself. Margaux’s ass tilted back, centering perfectly in Sofia’s hips. This is what she’d been craving all along. Meaningful connection. Marguax’s hips rotating more and more until each circle, each rotation had fused perfectly, precisely, with Sofia. Margaux leaned further back, into Sofia’s hips, her belly, and, finally, her chest. Her movements were confident, almost authoritative. And when Sofia brought down her hands, in part to steady herself against Margaux’s force, she brought them to Margaux’s waist.

Margaux released a breath of pleasure, taking Sofia’s hands and sliding them onto her hip flexors, digging Sofia’s fingers in, together feeling every muscular shift of Margaux’s waist, them both revolving, gyrating, breathing life into things new and old, all that had been deep was now able to rise.

Sofia surrendered to the moment. This wasn’t a time to overthink. She leaned forward, pressing the side of her face into Margaux’s curls, their entire bodies, tailbone to neck were fused, synced, fluent in movement, together through song after song.

They danced without separating their bodies until the next duet, when Margaux turned around in the moment of quiet and the next singer to the stage, and looked directly at Sofia. Her eyes were soft, curious, then commanding. She lifted her head and softly, so softly kissed Sofia’s lips. Her lips were insanely full, shocking Sofia until the tip of her tongue teased at her lips, and she opened them, reaching for her, everything about her. Sofia pushed herself into Margaux, and Margaux responded with the same fervor before pulling herself away. Without missing a beat, she took Sofia’s hand and led them off the dance floor, into the hallway, where the cool air from an overhead fan rushed at them, conferring the great heat that had been radiating between them. Sofia wanted to follow Margaux anywhere she’d go.

Margaux slipped into the large bathroom, neatly kept like those in an old-timey speakeasy. She locked the door behind them before she pressed Sofia against the cool burgundy wall. “So, you finally realized,” Margaux’s words were raspy, urgent. Her gaze fierce, locked on Sofia.

“I just—I never—you’re so fucking cool,” Sofia started, struggling to vocalize how she never could’ve imagined Margaux would be into her—Margaux the smart, hot, creative light of her damn life these last two years. Sofia ditched the words and instead responded in earnest with her body, desperate to let Margaux know how deeply she felt this, desperate to taste her again. Those lips! They were everything she’d let herself imagine and more. 

Margaux’s hands found Sofia’s hips and didn’t leave, running around their perimeter again and again. Sofia pushed a knee between Margaux’s legs, feeling her shudder as her thigh rose in between her legs. Margaux began grinding, and Sofia wrapped her hands in Margaux’s curls, her tongue uncontrollable, absolutely delirious with want for everything between them, now like never before.

Margaux’s hands found the hem of Sofia’s skirt. As she slid her fingers up the back of Sofia’s tanned thighs, Margaux’s breathing grew shorter, hungrier. She dug her hands into the flesh of Sofia’s bare ass, and Sofia remembered the thong she had chosen, a flimsy G-string, sheer and now soaked. She wanted Margaux to feel more, do more, so much more.

Sofia sunk her hand into the hair at the base of Margaux’s skull, pulled her head aside, and put her mouth to her neck, kissing open-mouthed, consuming the softness of her skin from her jaw to her ear. She curled her tongue around Margaux’s earlobe.

Margaux responded, reaching her hand further, following the line of Sofia’s thong down, between her thighs, where Sofia felt suddenly weak, all-consumed. She didn’t think twice about being in a bathroom—they could’ve been anywhere, this energy was running its own course and neither of them could stop it, didn’t want to either.

“You’re insanely wet,” Margaux breathed, both of them shuddering as she reached the fabric of Sofia’s gusset and felt around her dripping desire. There was nothing more to hide, nowhere else to go, Sofia realized, hands zooming to the front of Margaux’s jeans. She undid the button, the zipper fluidly, and dropped her hand inside, past the cotton of her underwear, toward the bare heat Sofia sensed beneath.

The response from Margaux was positive: her grinding intensifying, stance widening without releasing any of its pressure, inviting Sofia in, and at the same time, entering Sofia with her own fingers, slipping past the fabric of Sofia’s thong and sliding two fingers into her, all warm, throbbing, perfect.

Sofia gasped, overcome, beginning to writhe. The feeling of Margaux inside her drove tremors through every limb. She channeled the feeling into her own fingers, now exploring Margaux, her thumb finding its place around her clit. The two women synced again, as effortless as it had been on the dance floor, grinding into each other, each with fingers working, responding, feeding the flame, the fire billowing between them.

Margaux’s mouth was back on Sofia’s, their tongues wild yet harmonious, too, their chests pumping, breaths heavy, growing shorter and shorter. The sounds emanating from their throats turned Sofia on more.

“I’m going to cum,” Margaux gasped. “Sofia, you’re going to make me cum.”

Her words sent Sofia past the point of no return, the warmth inside her swelling, then breaking, pouring out as Margaux rocked and every fiber inside her pussy convulsed, pulsing like waves crashing in Sofia’s hand. They shook together against the wall.

“Oh my god,” Sofia uttered, still breathless, a silence settling over them. “You… that was insanely wonderful.”

Margaux kissed Sofia hard. “I don’t want to leave you here,” she said after she pulled away.

Sofia’s heart swelled as much as it could post-annihilation. “Well, we’d better get back to the hotel,” she whispered in Margaux’s ear, pulling her back in close. “We have a lot to talk about.”