Heidi collapsed backward and the snow accepted her with cold, wet arms. Kim pounced on her and stuffed her leg between Heidi’s, mashing her crotch.

“I’m going to beat you,” Kim said.

Heidi gasped, willing herself to ignore the burn between her legs, the sweetness of the friction. They wrestled all the time under Kim’s black light posters: wild, grasping fights that led to a pop of pleasure so deep it hurt. Tonight the snow made the whole world private. Even the air was white, so bright that the snowflakes danced gray against it.

Heidi hooked her chin over Kim’s shoulder to avoid eye contact. Together, they pressed the snow down with their weight, sinking their platform, until rocks and the trash of summer poked Heidi’s spine.

“Pretend I’m Greg Luce,” Kim said.

Heidi pretended Kim was the black-haired woman laminated on the shelter wall, with a sharp nose and crow’s-feet, passing kibble to a Pekingese. The woman’s hands stroked Heidi’s hips as she spoke in low, firm tones, Heidi raging all over.

As Heidi pressed closer to Kim, her thighs and butt numbing against the cold, the woman on the poster blurring into peach and black and green, even the Pekingese becoming erotic, with its long, fleshy body, they were hit with floodlights.

Heidi pushed Kim off so hard that she crashed onto her side, her mouth filling with snow.

“Chill out,” Kim said, spitting slush. “Why else would we be here?”

As the bus pulled up, Heidi leaped onboard. But when she faced the driver—bearded, raw-eyed—it was obvious he’d seen her grappling with Kim. His chin was set. “Girls?” he said.

She couldn’t tell what he was asking, so she paid and took her seat. As the bus lurched forward, she studied the strip of greenish skin and shiny eyes in the rearview. Had he thought she and Kim were fighting, as they always claimed they were? Kim’s mom, Nancy, might know she and Kim messed around. “Kim’s lucky to have you,” she’d said once.

The driver’s eyelids sagged over his pupils. Heidi turned and squashed her face against the freezing window.

The coffee shop where they’d arranged to meet LisaParsonsTwo was a sandstone block of a building on a hill above Boston Common. A metalwork sign, PECULIAR TREATS, wrought in cursive, hung over the door. With a trembling hand, Kim squeezed a roll of belly and jammed it into her jeans. She smeared cola-flavored ChapStick throughout her hair, lifting her bangs to expose the confetti of whiteheads on her forehead. She claimed the smell of cola made girls horny, that cocktail of tang, caramel, and caffeine.

“Ready?” Heidi bounced on her heels, eager to get inside. “Do you know your first come-ons?”