Lulu’s body has always been easy for her, this one way: She doesn’t usually need to be in any particular headspace to come. It’s not an emotional experience for her, the way it seems like it might be for some girls. It’s just a matter of friction and rhythm, someone who’s willing to be a little bit patient. She’s been patient for enough boys to know that she doesn’t actually take all that long.

Tonight, though, she seems to have climbed to the top of some plateau. Everything Sloane does feels good but she stays restless, in her own skin, unable to find a build to anything, a way to open the door to true mindless abandon.

“You don’t have to,” she says at some point.

“Are you not going to?” Sloane says. “Because if you aren’t, I’ll stop, but I don’t mind. I know sometimes—”

“I don’t think,” Lulu says, and shyness flashes through her, which is so ridiculous, when Sloane has two fingers hooked inside of her. “Um. I don’t think I can right now. I’m sorry. Can we—I might need a sec to—”

“Don’t be sorry,” Sloane says. She kisses Lulu once, quick, and rolls off of her. Another thing Lulu is still trying to get used to, with girls. Owen would have been nudging his dick against her, saying “Can I still?” and she would have said yes. It’s not like she would have minded. She liked having sex with him, whether or not it was, like, going anywhere for her.

It’s just weird to have sex where someone getting her off is a much bigger part of the point.

“This isn’t about feelings,” Lulu says. “I’m just drunk.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not—” Lulu says, and then stops, because she’s being defensive, and that’s never a good look.

“Even if you were,” Sloane says, “it would be okay, you know. Breakups aren’t rational. Feelings aren’t rational. It takes a while for your body to get over someone, sometimes. Even when your mind is like, I’m ready to be ready, you know?”

“That’s not what’s going on.”

“What is?”

Lulu doesn’t say anything.

“I won’t tell.”

Lulu is teetering on the edge between the spin of being drunk and the toxic, pinching flush of her hangover. She wants a glass of water. She sits up and pulls her dress on, realizes her bra is still on the floor somewhere. She puts her head between her knees.

Sloane puts a hand on her back.

That’s what does it. Lulu says the words into the curl of her body, but Sloane seems to hear them. Lulu tells her the story. She tells her what Ryan did. All of it. The pictures. And the tape.