Mid-terms came and went like a bad dream for most of the gang. Much to the consternation of the gang, Bharath and Sarah couldn’t even pretend to have been bothered while the others huffed and puffed their way through the course material. What made things a lot better was that thanks to their tutoring, the gang was well prepared for their exams as well.

  As usual, they all gathered at Sarah’s pce to celebrate the end of mid-terms with a house party. Laughter echoed off the walls of Sarah’s living room, mingling with the faint hum of music from the stereo and the clinking of empty Solo cups. Ravi was dramatically reciting the lyrics to “Livin’ Vida Loca” from atop a kitchen chair, while Jorge tried (and failed) to coax Cami into dancing with him again.

  Bharath was curled up on the floor with Marisol tucked under one arm and a bag of Doritos under the other, looking like the only sober chaperone at a very undisciplined summer camp.

  Sarah was flushed and radiant, her hair spilling over her shoulders as she lounged in the recliner with a mischievous smile that could only mean one thing.

  “Let’s py truth or dare,” she decred.

  “Oh no,” Bharath groaned immediately. “Absolutely not.”

  “Yessss,” Cami drawled from the couch, throwing her legs over Jorge’s p. “This is what we need.”

  “I agree,” Marisol purred, eyes wicked. “It’s been a stressful few weeks. We’ve earned some bad decisions.”

  Ravi raised his pstic cup. “To bad decisions!”

  They all cheered.

  Bharath sighed. “Guys, this is how cults start.”

  “Oh please,” Sarah said, sliding off the recliner and onto the floor. “You’re just scared someone’s going to dare you to take your shirt off.”

  “He’s been shirtless like ten times already,” Marisol muttered. “All of them for reasons that involve me.”

  “Then we’re all winners,” Cami quipped.

  “Alright, alright,” Bharath relented, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll be referee. But if anyone throws up on the rug, I’m not cleaning it.”

  “You’re such a dad,” Ravi snorted, reaching for the half-empty beer can on the floor beside him.

  “Papi,” Marisol corrected, with a slow, wicked grin as she slinked into Bharath’s side. Her arm curled possessively around his waist, and her lips brushed the edge of his jaw. “Say it with me. Pa-pi.”

  The way she drawled it - sultry, reverent, like she was naming something sacred and profane at once - made Sarah nearly choke on her drink. She coughed once, setting her cup down with exaggerated care and wiping at her lips, trying not to combust.

  “He’s a papi alright,” Ravi muttered, shaking his head as he took another sip. “You know that means sinner in Hindi, right?”

  “No!” Marisol’s eyes lit up as she leaned forward, voice gleeful. “Does it really? Oh my God, that’s perfect!”

  She turned to Bharath with mock-scandalized delight, cupping his face between both hands. “You hear that, mi amor? No wonder you’re so good at making me do all those naughty things. It’s in your heritage!”

  Bharath’s cheeks exploded into a deep shade of crimson as everyone howled with ughter. Tyrel nearly fell backward off the beanbag, clutching his stomach, and even Jorge let out an uncharacteristic snort that turned into a wheeze.

  “I- That’s not what- ” Bharath tried to protest, but Marisol was already peppering his cheek with loud, smacking kisses, chanting, “Sinner! Sinner! My beautiful brown sinner!”

  “I hate all of you,” Bharath groaned, burying his face in her neck to escape the teasing. But his arms pulled her tighter, holding her like he never wanted to let go.

  Sarah ughed with the rest of them - but there was a flutter in her chest, too. Something bittersweet. Watching them was like watching fire and wind find each other - elemental, chaotic, and perfectly paired.

  And yet Marisol’s hand reached behind Bharath’s back, fingers brushing Sarah’s lightly where she sat just inches away. A tiny touch. A reminder.

  You're here too. We haven’t forgotten you.

  Sarah looked down at their hands. Then up at Bharath, who was still blushing, eyes full of pyful exasperation. He caught her gaze. And smiled.

  As the game began, things escated quickly - Ravi was dared to do twenty pushups while singing Genie in a bottle which devolved into a lot of groaning and filing. Jorge got tricked into revealing his middle school crush (Miss Hernandez, his Chemistry teacher). Cami admitted she once got banned from her dorm for setting off a fire arm trying to cook ramen with a curling iron.

  And then it was Sarah’s turn.

  “Truth or dare?” Marisol asked, eyes glinting.

  Sarah hesitated, then lifted her chin defiantly. “Dare.”

  Marisol smirked. “Kiss the hottest person in the room.”

  The boys’ eyes widened. Tyrel spritzed a little mouth freshener while Ravi popped in 10 tic tacs.

  Cami made an exaggerated “ooh” sound and fanned herself.

  Sarah gnced around, savoring the attention for a beat too long - then leaned forward and kissed Marisol square on the lips.

  It was slow. Teasing. Gentle.

  And it sted just long enough for Bharath’s breath to catch.

  Sarah pulled back slowly, lips still tingling, her gaze lingering on Marisol’s eyes. Everyone had gone a bit too quiet. Even Cami had stopped mid-snort, mouth frozen in a perfect O.

  Marisol’s grin was slow and zy, her eyes hooded. “Not what I expected.”

  “Not what I expected either,” Sarah murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she sat back into her spot on the rug - very aware of how everyone was staring at her.

  Tyrel was the first to break the silence. “Okay, I was gonna say I was the hottest, but I might need to revise.”

  Ravi fake-fainted onto the couch. “This game is amazing.”

  Jorge lifted his cup. “God bless truth or dare.”

  Bharath, for his part, was doing an admirable job of staying composed. His arm around Marisol didn’t tighten, didn’t scken. But Marisol felt the tension in his thigh where their legs touched, the quickened breath he tried to hide. Sarah noticed too. And the way her eyes dropped- just for a second- to the bulge forming beneath his jeans wasn’t missed by anyone looking closely.

  She flushed, more from triumph than shame, and tucked her legs underneath herself. “Alright. My turn to ask.”

  Her gaze swept over the room, half-lidded and gleaming.

  “Tyrel,” she said, her voice sweet and lethal. “Truth or dare?”

  Tyrel sat up straighter. “Dare, baby. Always.”

  She grinned. “I dare you to strip to your boxers and do a slow dance with Jorge.”

  Jorge’s eyes widened. “Wait- what?”

  But Tyrel was already on his feet, tearing off his shirt with fir. “You heard the woman.”

  “Why am I always the victim?” Jorge muttered as Tyrel grabbed his hands and began a sultry, awkward sway.

  “You love it,” Cami cackled, cpping offbeat to the music as Ravi filmed the entire disaster.

  Even Bharath ughed, shaking his head. “This is crazy.”

  Marisol leaned closer to Sarah, her voice low. “You pnned that?”

  Sarah smiled, her tone innocent. “I’m just creative under pressure.”

  “You're dangerous.”

  “So are you,” Sarah said, letting the moment hang between them.

  Tyrel finished with a dramatic twirl and dipped Jorge backward like they were in a dance finale. Jorge, to his credit, managed not to colpse - barely.

  As the group erupted into appuse and howls of ughter, Ravi wiped tears from his eyes. “Okay, Sarah’s a genius. We’re keeping her forever.”

  “Your turn, Tyrel,” Sarah said, voice sweet as sugar.

  Tyrle sat up, his dignity only slightly singed. “Aight, aight. I’m coming for blood. Marisol. Truth or dare?”

  Marisol gave a wicked grin. “Dare.”

  Jorge leaned forward. “I dare you to give Bharath a p dance.”

  Ravi spat his drink.

  Bharath choked.

  Cami let out a whoop. “Okay, this just turned X-rated.”

  Sarah tilted her head. “This I gotta see.”

  Marisol didn’t blink. She stood up, sauntered over to Bharath, who looked like he was preparing for both heaven and death, and straddled him slowly.

  “You good?” she whispered against his ear.

  He muttered something in Tamil that only made her ugh harder.

  Then the music shifted - some low, pulsing beat from Ravi’s mixtape - and she began to move.

  The moment the bass dropped and Marisol began to move, the entire room shifted.

  At first, the ughter hadn’t died - it had simply faded, like the st notes of a song no one dared talk over. Marisol’s hips rolled in time with the slow, pulsing beat, her hands sliding sensually up her sides as she straddled Bharath with zy, practiced grace.

  But it wasn’t performance for performance’s sake.

  It was intimate.

  Every motion was made for him. Every sway, every arch, every flick of her hair was calibrated to press his buttons - and she knew exactly where they were. She teased the air between them before slowly grinding her hips into his, letting the heat build in yers: flicker, burn, wildfire.

  Bharath couldn’t breathe.

  His hands hovered at his sides, tense fists clenching and unclenching as if touching her would snap the thin thread of restraint he was barely clinging to. His jaw clenched, a vein in his neck visibly pulsing. At one point, he muttered something in Tamil - guttural, low, almost reverent - and the sound made Marisol ugh softly, grinding deeper.

  The gang couldn’t look away.

  Tyrel’s mouth was open in open-mouthed awe, eyes darting between the couple and the rest of the group as if silently asking Are we actually witnessing this?

  Ravi was frozen mid-sip, beer sloshing at the edge of his can, one eye twitching like he was trying to memorize every second.

  Cami had both hands over her heart, squealing softly into Jorge’s shoulder, who in turn was mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.

  But no one was more affected than Sarah.

  She was sitting on the floor, legs curled under her, one arm draped over the couch - and she could feel the tremor in her fingertips.

  Marisol's movements weren’t vulgar - they were deliberate. Confident. Sensual in a way that was far more dangerous than nudity or overt sexuality. It was the trust between them. The unspoken nguage. The fact that Bharath’s eyes had never left Marisol's - not even once.

  And the way Marisol watched him watch her?

  It wasn’t just hot.

  It was unfair.

  Sarah’s breath caught as Marisol leaned in to whisper something against Bharath’s ear - lips brushing skin, thighs snug against his hips - and Bharath groaned, low and broken.

  Heat flooded Sarah’s stomach, pooling between her thighs in an ache she didn’t know how to name. Her own body betrayed her - breath shallowing, heart stuttering. She clenched her fists against the rug, trying to ground herself, but it was no use.

  By the time Marisol ended the dance with a kiss to Bharath’s forehead, the air in the room felt thick. Like something sacred had happened. Something personal that everyone else had been allowed to witness - barely.

  By the time she finished - ending with a mock kiss to his forehead and a wink - the room was a mixture of howls, ughter, and appuse.

  “Okay,” Ravi said, breathless. “No one’s topping that. Game over.”

  “No chance,” Jorge agreed.

  Tyrel tossed a pillow onto his p with a meaningful grunt. “Nope. Not safe to stand.”

  Sarah was flushed again - but this time, quietly.

  Her eyes met Bharath’s. Then Marisol’s.

  Neither of them looked embarrassed. Or smug.

  Just... open.

  Marisol winked knowingly at Sarah.

  Sarah’s pulse thudded in her ears.

  She’d made her decision. But after tonight, it was going to be much, much harder to wait.