PHOEBE

Life is good.

Phoebe is buzzed. And high. And currently has the arm of a sweet-as-candy woman around her waist. A woman who’s just promised to take care of her and escort her home if she goes a little too far. Which, to Phoebe, is an excuse to take things a little too far.

So she takes things a little too far.

She orders another rum and coke for herself and a vodka cranberry for Rhia. She takes a hit from her vape after every other ball and somehow still manages a score of 130 mil on the Addams Family machine. Rhia pulls her up onto the roof and they dance to Ghost Data and Skrillex and She and Anamanaguchi. Phoebe bites her lip as they close in tight, skin on skin, and god she hopes this night will never end.

But time is a fickle bitch, and mixing weed and alcohol catches up to her fast. It’s not long before Phoebe has to excuse herself to run to the bathroom. Rhia accompanies her to the sinks outside the stalls and waits as Phoebe goes in alone. She staggers into a stall and resists the urge to vomit. The world is blurry, spinning. She barely remembers how she got here. How did she get here?

She practically collapses onto the toilet, the walls and ceiling dancing around her. She feels afloat, like her head is heavier than the rest of her body. Her mind is aflutter, her memories a garbled mess. She’s finally numb. Numb to all of it; the pain, the excitement, the thrill. She tries to remember what Rhia’s skin feels like and gets nothing, touches the wall where a phone number is scrawled and feels the same.

How did she get here again? No, really. She barely remembers leaving her apartment. Everything is fuzzy. The world is fuzzy.

RHIA

It’s been too long. Rhia has adjusted her outfit in the mirror several times now, checked her phone, gotten stared at by one too many people exiting the bathroom. She steps into the room and calls out Phoebe’s name. “You all right?”

There is a mumbled response from one of the stalls. It reminds Rhia of a complaining cat. 

“Are you decent?” she asks.

A dress ruffling, and then another mumbled yes. She knocks, then opens the unlocked stall.

It’s definitely time for Phoebe to go home. She looks like a mess. She’s leaned up against the side of the stall like it’s her lifeline. Her teal-gray eyes are no longer wide and bright, but dark, bloodshot. She grins when she sees Rhia standing at the door. “God you’re pretty,” she slurs.

Rhia smirks and raises her eyebrows. “So are you, hot stuff, but it’s time to go.”

“Noooooo,” Phoebe protests, then stifles a yawn. “I can keep going.”

“No you can’t. You promised you’d let me take you home when it was time. Well, it’s time,” Rhia says firmly. “You can barely stand. Come here.”

Phoebe inches forward and trips, falling into Rhia’s arms. “Did you do that on purpose?” Rhia suspects aloud.

The blonde lets out a laugh that is more of a snort. It shouldn’t be adorable. It’s absolutely adorable. “Nuh uh.”

“Yeah, sure,” Rhia says, pulling her back onto her feet and grabbing her hands. “Come on, dear. Time to go home.”

“Home,” Phoebe repeats. “Hoooome. That’s a funny word. It’s spelled like h-o m-e. Ho me.”

This is not at all funny, and yet Phoebe giggles like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

“Yeah, well, you’re stoned,” Rhia says.

“Stoned,” Phoebe giggles. “Sto ned. English is weird.”

PHOEBE

heh. ned sto. me ho. hehehe. why isnt rhia laughing this shit is hilarious

oooo, shes touching me!

RHIA

Rhia takes Phoebe by the wrist and guides her out of the bathroom. Together they stride past Centipede and Dig Dug, past BurgerTime, Donkey Kong, Pac-Man, Street Fighter II, Mortal Kombat.

“Oooo, fight me!” Phoebe says as they pass Darkstalkers. “I’ll be the hot succubus and you can be the hot catgirl.”

As much as Rhia would love to be a hot catgirl, it’s definitely time to go. “Come on, you can be a hot succubus at home.” She closes out her tab and Phoebe somehow does as well. Out into the brisk autumn air they go. Rhia closes her coat tightly over her chest and regrets not wearing legwarmers. Phoebe scrambles to put her coat on as well, finding that to be a lot more difficult than it should be.

It’s a gorgeous night out. A nearly full moon hangs in the sky, bathing the streets in moonlight. The difference in temperature was startling at first, with GLHF as crowded and sweaty as it was, but now it just feels nice. The clamor of the arcade machines fades the moment they’re outdoors, all of the sounds replaced with gentle quiet. Just the occasional car driving down streets still wet from last night’s rain. All in all, it’s soothing. The perfect city night.

“Where do you live?” Rhia asks.

“A couple blocks thattaway,” Phoebe points to their left, past a tequila bar with several rain-drenched outdoor tables. Mariachi music drifts out from the open door. “Just around the corner.”

Rhia offers her arm to the beautiful blonde and grins as the woman grabs hold with both hands. It’s interesting having somebody a foot taller than you gripping your arm like it’s a lifeline. She walks slowly and carefully down the sidewalk, so Phoebe doesn’t trip or fall. “Doing okay?” she asks.

“I’m more than fine,” Phoebe says. “I’m taking a beautiful girl home with me.”

Rhia’s face flushes. “You’re drunk,” she says.

“And you’re gorgeous.”

Phoebe clearly has no inhibitions at the moment. “I’m just escorting you home,” Rhia says with a smile. “And I’ll stick around to make sure you’re okay.”

They round the corner and Phoebe points to a building about a block away, slightly taller than the surrounding restaurants. It’s a quiet, peaceful walk. They lock eyes once or twice along the way, laugh, and say nothing. No words need to be exchanged. They both know what the other is thinking. This night is magical.

Before long, they’re in front of the front door to Phoebe’s apartment. She fumbles through her clutch for her keys and lets them both in. Up three flights of stairs—there’s no elevator in this old building—and down a winding hallway they go, before finally they stand in front of Phoebe’s door. A few stuffies sit outside, flanking a doormat that reads: 

Welcome!-ish. 
(Depends on who you are.)

Rhia chuckles as she reads it. “Am I welcome?”

Phoebe wraps an arms around Rhia’s waist as she takes out her key. “What do you think?”

Okay, if Rhia wasn’t blushing furiously before, she certainly is now. Phoebe unlocks the door and stumbles in. Her apartment is about as much of a mess as she is. It’s small—just a kitchen with a small island, a living room composed of a two-cushion couch and a tiny flatscreen TV, a bathroom the size of a closet, and an open sliding door leading into Phoebe’s bedroom. Her bedsheets are an ocean-blue that remind Rhia of Phoebe’s gorgeous eyes. It is absolutely lousy with stuffed animals of all kinds. There’s also an assortment of old school video game paraphernalia covering one of her two bookshelves, including an NES, an old lightgun, and a glove covered in buttons that looks like something from out of Tron.

“Oh, so you’re kind of a dork, huh,” Rhia says with a grin. The grin vanishes from her face immediately when Phoebe trips on a stray laptop bag and nearly falls into the kitchen island. “Oop, okay, c’mere,” Rhia says, grabbing a hold of the tall blonde and leading her onto her couch. The woman lounges against her armrest, finally relaxing.

“Make yourself at home,” Phoebe says, noticeably nervous. 

Rhia lets her gaze drift about, taking in her surroundings with her usual calm demeanor. She explores the room, taking in the sights and stopping in front of each poster on Phoebe’s wall like it’s a piece of art hanging in a museum. “Hmm,” she hums softly. “I expected more…girly stuff, to be honest. But I like it. It’s very…you.” The truth was, she didn’t know much about Phoebe, but she was starting to—a vast tapestry being woven thread by thread over a long night filled with drinks, pinball, and more.

“It’s not much, I know,” Phoebe says. “Just a bunch of random stuff I’ve collected over the years.”

“I like it,” Rhia says. She slides over to the couch and sits next to Phoebe. “How are you feeling? Do you need me to get you anything? Another glass of water, maybe?” She’d forced Phoebe to drink a few glasses throughout the night, but more couldn’t hurt.

“I’m okay. Just need to wait for the world to stop, um, spinning,” Phoebe admits. “Do you want to watch TV or something? Or—ooooh, I could make us some brownies!” Her eyes and her smile both light up like Christmas as she watches Rhia’s reaction.

Rhia feels like saying something, but her mind is frozen solid. Somehow, in a single night, she’s already started to fall for this woman, this beautiful, drunken mess of a woman. “Brownies sound sweet. Not as sweet as you, but still tasty.” 

That last word lingers between them like an unspoken promise. Rhia imagines capturing those lips with her own, tasting her lip gloss, measuring her sweetness. Phoebe’s cheeks turned a deep red. Clearly she was imagining the same. “Maybe I could, um…make us some brownies, and then…you can compare,” she says.

“Once you sober up,” Rhia promises. “You’re a bit too far gone right now.”

Phoebe seems to hesitate for a moment before her grin grows even wider. “Well, I’m not too high that I can’t whip up some brownies. Shall we?”

“In fact, I think you’re exactly high enough to want to whip up some brownies,” Rhia replies with a chuckle. “Let’s do it.”

PHOEBE

So, there’s an adorable girl in Phoebe’s kitchen, and they’re making brownie batter together. This is certainly not how she thought this night would go. She figured the night would end in one of two ways: either she’d go home alone, flop into bed and maybe take care of how horny she was with the use of her favorite little battery-operated girlfriend, or Rhia would take her to bed in a drunken whirlwind. She didn’t expect Rhia to be so caring, so gentle.

She didn’t expect Rhia to be…Rhia.

She didn’t expect to feel anything tonight. In fact, she didn’t want to. The whole point of tonight was supposed to be shutting all of that shit down. Yet here they are, mixing ingredients together, joking around, having fun, licking batter off of Phoebe’s whisk one at a time. And Phoebe can’t help but wonder what that wonderful tongue might feel like in other places.

She’s still pretty stoned—and it’s making her hungrier and hungrier with every second she spends mixing batter—but it’s finally starting to wear down by the time they pour the batter onto her baking pan and stick it into her oven. Rhia stands behind her with her arm on Phoebe’s waist, as she has been for most of the night. Phoebe giggles and shudders with pleasure every single time she feels Rhia’s fingers along her lower back. She wishes for nothing more than for Rhia’s hand to slide lower, lower, lower…

“All right, brownies are baking,” Phoebe says. “What now?”

“How are you feeling?” Rhia asks, a grin dancing on her lips. Her eyes are bright with desire. One thing is clear: she wants the answer to be “perfectly sober.” Phoebe wonders what exactly might happen if she answered that way.

“I’m feeling much better,” she says. She’s no longer slurring her words or stumbling about. “Still a little tipsy.”

“Hmmm…” Rhia hums, then bites her lip. “...and…how are you feeling about me?”

Phoebe reaches over, plays with the hem of Rhia’s mesh shirt. “I think…” she leans in closer, their noses practically touching. Her heart must thumping loud enough for her neighbors to hear. “I think I don’t want to wait until I’m fully sober to kiss you.”

Rhia puts a finger on Phoebe’s lips. “Tempting, but I want to make sure this is what you really, really want.”

Phoebe practically whimpers. Is there such a thing as being too nice? “Trust me, Rhia, I want this. I’ve wanted this since the moment you sat next to me. High, drunk, sober, I don’t care, I want you. My consent is very enthusiastic.”

Rhia leans into Phoebe with a little sigh. “Oh, wow…well…maybe…we can, um…take it slow…” she whispers, removing her finger and leaning close enough to brush her nose against Phoebe’s. 

“Slow…right…” Phoebe says. “We have time before the brownies are done, anyway.”

“Right. Until the brownies are done,” Rhia agrees.

Then Rhia crashes into her, lips pressing together, their embrace growing tighter. Rhia’s fingernails dig gently into Phoebe’s back as the kiss deepened. God, this is what Phoebe wanted all night. Forget brownies. Rhia’s hands slide up and into Phoebe’s long hair, tugging it out of her ponytail so her fingers could explore fully. Her hair cascades around her face as the ponytail came undone. Phoebe takes the opportunity to caress up and down Rhia’s back before finally settling over her butt cheeks, squeezing gently over the fabric of the woman’s skirt. The whole time, their kisses became more fervent, more urgent.

“How about we—move this party to—the couch?” Rhia whispers in between heated kisses.

“Keep this up and I’ll be too distracted to take the brownies out of the oven,” Phoebe says in response.

“Nothing too serious until you’re sobered up,” Rhia commands, and Phoebe nods furiously.

“N–nothing too serious,” she repeats.

Thankfully, Phoebe is just starting to sober up, and the night is only just getting started.