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Woonsocket, 2037

Carina Marie Delvecchio had been in this godforsaken corporate conference room for forty minutes, and already she wanted to set herself on fire.

The presentation droned on--a powerfully uninspired man in a suit clicking through holograms that might as well have been a CIA torture device. On her iRIS, she watched cat videos and lesbian porn clips.

integrated Retinal Interface System.

iRIS said she was in a good mood.

She wasn't.

It was just reading her heart rate from watching some girl sit on a washing machine.

Spies in your eyes, more like it, but necessary if you wanted to live in 2037 and keep up.

"At CVS, our mission is to synergize operational efficiencies by leveraging cross-departmental collaboration--"

Carrie slouched in her chair, one elbow on the table, chewing gum aggressively. She side-eyed the attendees--every single one of them nodding like they'd just heard the fucking Sermon on the Mount.

Jesus Christ.

"--through seamless integration of workflow solutions, we can enhance the consumer experience while simultaneously maximizing revenue streams--"

Carrie's eye twitched.

She turned to the guy next to her--a balding dude from Rhode Island whose AR Tag said Jeff Something. "Hey, uh, Jeff. What the fuck did he just say?"

Jeff whispered back, "I think he means 'sell more drugs.'"

Carrie nodded. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

She checked the time. Still a half-hour left of this capitalist circle jerk. She was dying.

Then, across the room, movement caught her eye.

Oh.

Somewhere in the endless sea of corporate drones, one person actually looked like a real human being.

Jessica Lee Calloway. Info scrolled across her iRIS. 29, unmarried. 10 years of service. Perfect record.

A store manager from outsidenot her district. Crisp white blouse tucked into a sleek skirt, not a hair out of place. Small breasts, tight abs. Toned thighs. Dark hair up in a neat ponytail.

Shaved or lasered? She wondered.

The kind of employee that actually made a store run well, instead of bullshitting their way to a quarterly bonus.

And more importantly?

She looked just as miserable as Carrie.

Carrie smirked, sitting up, suddenly interested in something other than plotting a workplace coup.

Jess caught her staring.

Carrie winked.

Jess immediately looked away, ears turning pink. But she toyed with her top button.

Carrie grinned. Oh, this was gonna be fun.

Carrie nursed a whiskey sour, sitting at the far end of the bar, watching as the after-conference crowd trickled in. The real ones--the ones who actually wanted to unwind, not the tight-ass execs pretending to enjoy a "team-building networking event" at the official hotel lounge.

And sure enough, in walked Jess Calloway. 29, unmarried. 10 years of service. Perfect record.

Carrie didn't move at first, just watched.

Jess hesitated by the door, scanning the crowd. Her blouse was untucked just enough to soften the edges, but she still held herself like someone who scheduled her orgasms.

Top two buttons undone. Deliberate.

For her.

Carrie smirked. Well, well, well.

She lifted her glass. "Didn't take you for the rebellious type, babe."

Jess turned, eyes widening slightly as she spotted her. "I--um--"

Carrie patted the empty stool next to her. "C'mon. You survived the buzzword apocalypse. You earned a drink."

Jess hesitated for a second--then slid onto the stool.

Carrie flagged the bartender. "Whatever she's having, put it on CVS's dime."

Jess blinked. "I don't think that's how expenses work."

Carrie grinned. "Babe, I've been expensing drinks for years."

Jess laughed, relaxing just a fraction. "That... does not surprise me."

Carrie took a slow sip, eyes dragging over her. "What does surprise you?"

Jess tilted her head, considering. "Honestly? That you made it this far in corporate without getting fired."

Carrie snorted. "Babe, HR's been tryin' to fire me for twenty goddamn years. I'm still here."

Jess smiled. "Yeah. I get the feeling you're hard to get rid of."

Carrie smirked. "You have no idea."

It was going too well. Jess was loosening up, Carrie was charming as fuck, and then--

Then came the motherfucker.

"Carina Marie Delvecchio!"

Carrie sighed before she even turned around. She already knew the voice--the smug, corporate-lifer tone that only came from someone who had never worked a goddamn day in an actual store.

And there he was. iRIS detected his face, displayed a few facts she already knew.

David Allen fuckin' Laskin.

Regional Director. Fake tan. Too-white teeth. Expensive suit that he probably thought made up for his deeply punchable personality.

"Jesus Christ," Carrie muttered. "What do you want, Laskin?"

Laskin grinned, sliding up beside her like he belonged there. "I want to know how my favorite South Philly firecracker is doing."

Carrie took a long sip of her drink, not looking at him. "Still here, still underpaid, still not fuckin' you. That answer your question?"

Jess choked on her drink.

Laskin laughed--fake as shit. "Ahh, Carrie. Always with the sharp tongue."

"Yeah? And you always with the limp dick energy. Ain't life funny?"

Jess froze.

Laskin's grin twitched. "Now, now," he purred, "let's not be hostile. We're all just here to network, aren't we?"

Carrie could already feel it. The shift. The way his eyes flicked--not at her, but at Jess.

Oh, hell no.

"Who's your friend?" Laskin asked, way too interested now.

Jess straightened. "Jess Calloway. Store Manager."

Bullshit. He wore iRIS, too. Fucker knew exactly who Jess was.

Laskin smirked. "Ohhh, a store manager. Ambitious, huh?"

Carrie's hackles went up.

She knew that tone. That condescending, I could make or break your career, babe tone.

Jess just nodded, polite. "I just try to do a good job."

Laskin leaned in. "That's good. Really good. Y'know, a manager with your... dedication could go far. Especially with the right mentorship."

Carrie saw red.

Jess shifted, uncomfortable, but still trying to be professional. "I appreciate that."

Carrie had enough.

She leaned back in her stool, stretching her legs out, letting her smirk go downright feral. "Hey, Laskin?"

He barely looked at her. "Hmm?"

Carrie's grin sharpened. "How's your wife?"

Jess went rigid.

Laskin's eye twitched. "Excuse me?"

Carrie took another sip of her drink, slow as hell. "Y'know. Your wife. The one you got three kids with. The one who probably wouldn't love the way you're hovering over my girl here like a fuckin' used car salesman tryin' to close a deal."

Laskin's face dropped.

Jess looked stunned.

The bartender looked entertained.

Carrie just smirked. "Go ahead, babe. Tell me how 'ambitious' Jess is again."

Laskin clenched his jaw, eyes flicking toward Jess--who now looked like she wanted to melt into the floor.

Carrie didn't budge. Didn't blink. Just let the silence sit.

Laskin's mouth opened--then shut. Then opened again.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "Well. It was... nice to meet you, Jess."

And then he walked the fuck away.

Carrie watched him go, smiling to herself. "Fucker."

Jess exhaled. "Oh my God."

Carrie turned back, smirking. "What?"

Jess just stared at her, wide-eyed. "You... you just torpedoed your career in five seconds flat."

Carrie laughed. "Babe, my career's been on fire for twenty years. One more match ain't gonna make a difference."

Jess just shook her head, equal parts shocked and impressed.

Carrie grinned. "Now, how 'bout another drink, sweetheart? I think you just got your first real lesson in corporate survival."

And Jess?

She nodded.

Because fuck if she wasn't a little obsessed.

Carrie didn't know what she expected when she slid the keycard into the door of her hotel room and heard Jess step in behind her.

She wasn't even sure if she expected anything at all.

But now? Now she was standing there, watching Jess drop her bag onto the little chair by the window, smoothing a hand over her skirt like she was trying to find something to do with her hands.

Carrie exhaled. She blinked rapidly twice, then once more to shut iRIS off. No calls, no data. Her family had the override. If Zach or little Anna Grace had trouble, the lenses would reactivate.

She was tired.

Not in the I need sleep way. In the I used to do this differently way.

Used to be, she'd have already had Jess pressed against the door, hands in her hair, making her fall apart in minutes. She'd have taken what she wanted, left bruises, left marks, made sure the woman leaving her room in the morning felt owned.

But this? This wasn't that.

Jess wasn't some easy conquest. She wasn't a rough fuck in an alley, she wasn't someone Carrie had to prove something to, she wasn't the kind of girl who wanted to be ruined.

She was just here.

And that meant something.

Carrie rolled her shoulders, stepping forward, closing the space slow.

Jess watched her, lips parted slightly, breath just a little uneven.

Not nervous. Not hesitant.

Just waiting.

The top button of her blouse was still undone. The second, too.

Carrie reached up, slow, and brushed her fingers against the third.

"Still rebelling?" she murmured.

Jess's breath hitched. "Maybe."

Carrie grinned. "Good."

And then she kissed her.

Jess watched her, lips parted slightly, breath just a little uneven.

Not nervous. Not hesitant.

Just waiting.

So Carrie did what she never used to do.

She kissed her soft.

Not desperate, not trying to break her open--just pressing against her, warm, firm, giving her the chance to meet her in it.

And Jess did.

She sighed into it, tilting her head just enough, parting her lips just slightly, hands brushing up against Carrie's waist like she wasn't sure if she should be touching yet.

Carrie reached up, took her wrists gently, set them on her hips.

"You can touch me, babe," she murmured, lips barely apart from Jess's.

Jess exhaled through her nose, smiling slightly, pressing back in.

And fuck.

Carrie felt that one.

Because this wasn't taking.

This wasn't her usual mess of dominance and claiming and wrecking shit just because she could.

It was something else.

Something she wasn't used to.

Jess pulled back just slightly, just enough to look up at her, to search her face.

"You good?" Jess asked, voice soft, barely above a whisper.

Carrie blinked.

When the fuck was the last time someone had asked her that before anything even started?

She swallowed. "Yeah, babe."

Jess watched her for another second, like she was making sure, before kissing her again.

And this time, it was slower.

They moved in tandem--clothes not torn away, but unbuttoned, unfastened, peeled off with unhurried hands.

Carrie let herself be touched.

Let Jess run her fingers over her arms, her back, the curve of her waist--like she was trying to learn her instead of just take her. Small breasts, tight abs. Toned thighs. Shaved or lasered. Nice.

And when Carrie finally got her onto the bed, when she settled over her, when she slid a hand up her thigh, she went slow.

Carrie had her now--completely. Jess was stretched out beneath her, bare, breathing hard, eyes still wide like she couldn't believe this was actually happening.

And fuck, she was pretty.

Small tits, tight stomach, toned fucking thighs--exactly what Carrie had guessed. But now? Now she had her answer.

Not shaved. Lasered.

Smooth. Permanently. No stubble, no shadow, just soft, warm, fucking perfect.

"Jesus Christ, babe," Carrie muttered, brushing her fingers up the inside of Jess's thigh, grinning when she shivered. "You planned ahead or what?"

Jess squirmed, face going pink. "It--it's just maintenance--"

"Mmm," Carrie hummed, pressing a little closer. "Yeah. And I bet you look real fuckin' good in a bikini."

Jess made a wrecked little sound.

Carrie grinned.

Fuckin' lasered. Nice.

Jess exhaled, parting her legs without Carrie having to push, without resistance.

It wasn't about control.

It wasn't about winning.

It was about this.

Right now.

Carrie took her time.

She moved over her, against her, into her--not with practiced dominance, not with the goal of owning her, but just to be there. To feel her.

Jess's hands never stopped moving--over Carrie's back, her shoulders, her hips, dragging her closer, sighing into every motion.

It wasn't slow because it had to be.

It was slow because it could be.

Because Carrie wanted it to be.

Because for the first time in a long fucking time, she didn't want to prove anything.

Didn't want to ruin someone just to feel like she won.

She just wanted to be here.

And fuck, she was.

Jess sighed beneath her, back arching slightly, gripping at her, breath catching as Carrie moved against her, with her.

And when Jess came, when her breath hitched and her hands tightened and her thighs shook, Carrie wasn't watching it like a victory.

She was feeling it.

Letting it roll through her.

Letting it mean something.

And when Jess pulled her down after, kissed her slow, warm, grateful, Carrie let her.

Because maybe she wasn't just fucking someone tonight.

Maybe she wasn't even having sex.

Maybe she was just here.

And for once?

That was enough.

The room was warm, the sheets kicked halfway down the bed, Jess's bare skin pressed against Carrie's back, soft but solid, her arm draped lazily over Carrie's waist.

Carrie wasn't used to this.

Not just the way they'd fucked--slow, deliberate, something different--but this part.

The after.

Jess sighed, warm against the back of her neck, fingers tracing absentminded circles over Carrie's stomach. Content. Unrushed. Still here.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, she murmured:

"I could get used to this."

Carrie's eyes snapped open.

Fuck.

Morning.

The room was too quiet.

Not the kind of quiet Carrie was used to--hungover motel silence after a blackout hookup, where she'd wake up alone, half-dressed, phone dead, probably with someone else's earring digging into her thigh.

This was intentional quiet. Soft, filtered daylight leaking in through blackout curtains someone had deliberately left cracked. The hum of the climate control. A faint whirr from the minibar fridge. Jess's fucking breathing.

Still here.

Carrie kept her eyes shut, barely breathing, like if she didn't move, she could freeze the moment. Stop it before it became something with weight.

Jess was warm and tucked behind her again, same as last night, one leg draped over hers, an arm loose across her ribs. Casual. Familiar. Dangerous. She'd murmured that line--I could get used to this--and then actually stayed. Fell asleep. Didn't run.

And Carrie hadn't pushed her out.

Hadn't done the usual post-fuck self-sabotage routine--hadn't grabbed her pants, made a joke about not catching feelings, faked a call from her kid. Hadn't even panicked properly.

What the fuck.

She opened one eye, just enough to catch a glimpse of the room. Clothes folded--not strewn. Two drinks still half-full on the nightstand. Jess's flats lined up neatly by the chair like they weren't just in some generic hotel room, but home. Fucking home.

Nope.

Carrie slipped out from under Jess's arm with a kind of slow, silent efficiency she hadn't used since high school sneak-outs. She padded to the bathroom, locked the door, and leaned both hands on the sink, staring at her reflection.

Hair wild. Lip bitten. Light bruise on her shoulder where Jess had sucked a little too hard--not enough to mark, but enough to remember. Her eyes were sharp, red-rimmed, shadowed like always.

She looked like herself.

Which was exactly the problem.

She'd been here before--but it had never gone like this.

Not like the hotel room in Cincinnati. That fucking disaster. The girl--Maritza? Melina?--had started crying mid-breakfast, told her she was "tired of being the experiment," and stormed off before the pancakes came.

Not like Dallas. Oh fuck, Dallas--where that sweet little pharmacy tech had pulled her into bed like they were soulmates, then ghosted her within twelve hours because Carrie didn't text fast enough. Too rough, too much, too her.

And not like Bridgeport. Not like Bridgette. The one she'd actually tried for.

Carrie swallowed hard.

This felt different. Not better. Not safer. Just... different.

The bathroom door clicked. She froze.

Jess stood there in just one of the hotel's white robes, hair mussed, sleepy and flushed. No makeup. No armor. Barefoot.

She looked like a dream Carrie didn't know how to wake up from.

"Hey," Jess said softly. She leaned in the doorway, thumb tracing the edge of the robe belt. "You okay?"

Carrie nodded. Too quick. "Yeah. Just... needed a minute."

Jess tilted her head. "Coffee?"

Carrie blinked. "Huh?"

"I ordered some. Should be here in ten." Jess smiled, shy but sure. "Figured you'd want some before you ghosted me."

Carrie blinked. "I wasn't gonna ghost you."

Jess raised one eyebrow.

Carrie opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked down at the sink again.

"Okay, maybe I was gonna ghost you."

Jess smiled wider--just a little.

Carrie sighed. "It's not you, babe. I just don't usually... do this."

"Stay over?"

"Let people stay over." Carrie looked up, met her eyes. "You slept in my bed, Jess. Like a whole person. With breathing and snuggling and a fucking foot on my calf--you touched my leg while unconscious. That's serious."

Jess laughed. "Sorry. I'm a cuddler."

Carrie shook her head. "You're terrifying."

Jess stepped into the bathroom, slow, deliberate, and placed both hands on the edge of the sink beside Carrie's. Not touching her. Just close.

"That's okay," Jess said. "I think you kind of like being scared."

Carrie stared at her. And in that moment, she hated how right Jess was. How calm. How she hadn't flinched last night, hadn't run this morning. How she didn't act like this was some shameful mistake.

And how part of Carrie wanted her to stay.

Even more terrifying?

She wanted to be good enough for it.

The knock at the door saved her from answering that feeling. Jess gave her a wink and padded off to get the coffee.

Carrie stared at the mirror a beat longer. Ran her hands down her face.

Then she whispered to her reflection:

"Don't fuck this one up, Delvecchio."

She walked out barefoot.

Because fuck it.

Maybe she could get used to this.

Carrie sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on her boots. The room still smelled like sex and minibar whiskey, stale air and something warmer--Jess's skin, probably. The sheets were wrecked, twisted down near the foot of the bed. Her badge lanyard lay on the floor like it had tried to escape sometime in the night.

The bathroom door creaked open.

Jess stepped out, blouse from last night rebuttoned, smoothed down with practiced efficiency. Top buttons fastened. Collar neat. Tuck sharp.

Back to being Store Manager Jess Calloway.

Carrie clocked it all in half a second--the shift, the retreat, the click of corporate mask sliding back into place.

But her hair was still messy.

No makeup.

And she was still here.

So Carrie didn't panic. Yet.

Jess caught her watching. Paused. Her fingers lingered near the third button--hovered. Like she was debating it.

Carrie stood, adjusted her blazer, and crossed the room slow. Close, but not touching. She let their reflections meet in the mirror behind Jess.

"Don't button up on my account," she said, voice low.

Jess looked down at the blouse, then back up, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "I didn't want to be... obvious."

Carrie shrugged. "Babe, you walked into that bar last night with your top buttons undone. I already knew."