Gemma’s stomach turns velvet a bit, seeing Ava react this way. She has a growing feeling that Ava might like her, and it feels nice. Gemma winks. “I’m glad I came down.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” Ava says. She’s wide-eyed, looking into her beer. “I got nervous when you texted me. I thought, ‘Jeez, there’s no way this smoking hot girl would actually come down to Nowheresville, would she?’”

“Please, bitch”—Gemma’s eyes twinkle—“I grew up in this town.” “Proving my point!” Ava says happily. “Why would you come down here, times infinity?”

“Because you’re hot, you fucking slut.”

Ava downs her beer and stands. “Gonna offer that tequila one last time.”

They sit together on the couch with Gemma’s fist on the bottle, cuddling and bullshitting. Like they’ve known each other forever. Did you ever watch The Cable Guy? It’s so weird; it was, like, dark and smart, but it wasn’t meant to be. Talk like that, stuff like that. Half an hour passes. Gemma is getting actually drunk now, the kind of drunk where her head feels like a machine. They kiss and Gemma puts her hand on Ava’s skirt and strokes her clit and Ava’s nails press into her skin; they leave body imprints of sweat on the couch when they go to the bedroom. The tequila comes with them. Ava unzips her skirt and Gemma lowers her body onto the carpet. Gemma sucks her and Ava takes Gemma’s hair in her hands and undoes her pigtail buns and Gemma’s brown hair falls down her back. She hears Ava take something from her nightstand. And then she feels something on her head. It’s a brush. Ava brushes Gemma’s hair as Gemma sucks Ava on her knees. “Good,” Ava says quietly, her free hand resting on Gemma’s head. “Good, good, good.”

Eventually, they end up at the head of the bed with Gemma’s fingers in Ava’s mouth while Gemma jerks Ava off. Gemma reaches over once to take a long hit of the tequila. She doesn’t spill. Gemma has always had an excellent sense of her body. Ava vibrates. Ava gasps. Ava knocks Gemma’s hand away to take over, and then she is coming all over herself as she lies in Gemma’s arms and Gemma kisses her, God, this woman is truly fucking beautiful, she’s so beautiful, she—

2

Gemma wakes. It’s morning. When had it become morning? She opens her eyes to see dawn through the shades and Ava snoring in a sleep mask, her feet hanging off the edge of the bed.

Gemma sits up. The clock reads 4:54. She is still drunk.

Ordinarily, Gemma would try to go back to sleep. But then she’d toss and turn; she might wake Ava.

She rises delicately, changes into her sleep clothes, and quietly moves into the living room, which is even more of a mess from last night.

She’ll clean and make coffee. That’s what she’ll do. It is good to make herself useful.

Gemma bags cans. She returns pillows to the chair and couch. She returns her dress to her bag and hangs up her coat. She washes glasses. And she does it all very slowly. Her still-drunk is of a grade that makes it painful to move, everything happening three seconds behind itself. But this doesn’t bother Gemma. She knows what’s what.