Chapter Text
The cranberry cosmo was a sticky, syrupy mess in Beatrice’s hand. The ice cubes had long since melted, diluting the once potent drink to a sugary slush. Around her, the strobing disco ball cast a fragmented kaleidoscope of colours across the room, highlighting the sweat-slicked faces and pulsating bodies on the dance floor. The air hung heavy with the stale scent of spilled drinks and cheap perfume, a far cry from the “unbridled holiday cheer” advertised by the club’s flyers.
This “jingle mingle” night out, as Camila had christened it, was supposed to be a pre-holiday escape from the year’s relentless pressure cooker. Beatrice, however, preferred the sanctuary of her own apartment to the sensory overload of nightclubs. Thankfully, Ava’s connection to the owner had secured them a secluded cosy booth, tucked away from the dance floor and the glare of the club.
The group of friends occupied a plush black leather couch that gracefully curved around a round table. Empty cocktail glasses, some still adorned with colourful straws and umbrellas, were scattered across the tabletop, their rims glistening with condensation. Discarded napkins, bearing traces of lipstick or sauce, were crumpled against a half-eaten plate of appetisers, predominantly nachos and chicken wings.
The faint thump of music, emanating from the DJ’s booth, lingered in the air. A remix of Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Party for One” played, its beats creating a subtle backdrop to the group’s animated conversations.
“Teleportation,” Lilith declared, her voice cutting through the din, “Obviously.” The question had been Camila’s: teleport anywhere or read minds? While Beatrice found the ability to vanish appealing, particularly in such a confined space, she held her tongue.
Next to Lilith, Mary let out a scoff. “Teleportation? Seriously? Mind-reading would be way cooler.”
Camila, nodded vigorously beside Beatrice, a mischievous glint in her eye. “ And you’d always know what people were thinking!”
Caught between Mary and Camila, Lilith raised an eyebrow and turned her head, shooting a piercing look to either side. “And you two think that’s a blessing? I don’t need the burden of knowing everyone’s thoughts.”
Ignorance is bliss , Beatrice thought while finding herself nodding, a silent agreement forming between them. “Especially Mary’s,” Lilith added, a playful smirk flickering on her lips. Mary swatted her arm playfully, the tension easing.
“Think about it, Lil,” Ava interjected, leaning across the table, her voice a low drawl. “With mind-reading, you could navigate any social situation, close any deal, and always be two steps ahead. Untouchable.” Ava’s eyes sparkling with a different kind of energy.
Beatrice doubted Ava (or any of her friends for that matter) needed telepathy for such feats. As Ava once described herself, she was a “charge in first, ask questions later” kind of girl. Bold, smart, and undeniably attractive. Beatrice caught herself chuckling at the last thought, quickly shaking her head to dismiss it.
Her laughter drew the group’s attention. “Something you want to share with the rest of us, Bea?” Camila grinned mischievously, nudging her arm playfully.
Beatrice’s cheeks flushed. “Uh... not really.” She forced a smile, hoping to redirect the conversation away from her unbidden thoughts about Ava.
“Oh!” Ava slightly jumped from her seat and tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Why don’t we ask the boss?” Her voice held a playful tease, the use of the nickname sending a tingle down Beatrice’s spine. Back when Ava was a bartender, Beatrice had been Ava’s manager, and the nickname ‘boss’ had become a playful reminder of that time.
Beatrice cleared her throat, momentarily flustered. “Me?”
“Teleportation or mind-reading?” Camila prodded, eager for an answer.
“Well,” Beatrice began, hesitant. She wished Camila hadn’t brought up the question. It had ignited a spirited debate that seemed to consume everyone’s attention.
It was also Camila who had originally proposed the game of truth or dare. While others seemed to relish the risk and uncertainty, Beatrice found it unnerving. It brought back memories of a younger, more vulnerable version of herself, a closeted kid who felt constantly on the edge. The thought of revealing secrets or participating in potentially embarrassing dares sent a wave of anxiety through her.
Thankfully, they were no longer those awkward teenagers. She wished all questions could be as straightforward as this one, offering a chance for genuine reflection rather than forced confessions. Questions that made her think, that challenged her perspective, that didn’t require her to expose any part of herself she wasn’t ready to share.
Beatrice contemplated the question, a furrow forming between her brows. “Well, telepathy is undeniably powerful,” she conceded, “but the thought of it feels...overwhelming. Imagine the constant barrage of everyone’s thoughts, the invasion of privacy, the potential manipulation.” She shuddered at the image. “With gas prices and traffic the way they are, teleportation would be a dream come true. Imagine being anywhere in the world in an instant, without the hassle of airports or traffic jams.” She spoke with conviction, her voice rising in excitement.
Mary responded with a playful eye roll, while Camila and Ava exchanged snickers. Lilith, however, raised her glass in a silent toast. “Exactly,” she declared, a hint of satisfaction in her voice.
Beatrice grinned, catching Lilith’s eye. “And besides, Lilith,” she added playfully, “aren’t you always fashionably late? Teleportation would save you some excuses.”
A wave of laughter washed over the table, momentarily drowning out the music’s pulsing rhythm. Lilith choked on her drink, sputtering indignantly. “Shut up, Beatrice,” she hissed, followed by her laughter blending with the others’.
As they delved into another round of truth or dare, Beatrice pushed her cocktail aside, opting for a fiery shot of tequila. It burned a satisfying path down her throat, a stark contrast to the sugary sweetness of the cosmo.
Truth or dare, they’d called it. A harmless game.
Or so she’d thought.
***
Somewhere between the third and fourth round of tequila shots, the playful atmosphere of the game had morphed into something bolder, more intense. The bottle landed on Mary, and all eyes turned to the woman beside her, Lilith, awaiting her dare. As the group’s inhibitions loosened with each drink, the dares became more provocative, much to Beatrice’s growing discomfort.
“I dare you,” Lilith announced, her voice mischievous, “to dance with a stranger for the next two songs.”
Mary’s eyes widened briefly, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. Then, with a shrug and a determined glint in her eyes, she exclaimed, “Fuck it, why not?" Downing the remaining tequila in a single gulp, she sashayed towards the pulsing dance floor, quickly attracting the attention of a willing participant.
Beatrice watched from the sidelines, an unsettling feeling brewing in her stomach. While the others cheered Mary on, her own anxieties amplified with each passing dare.
With Mary gone, a momentary lull settled over the table. Camila, ever the social butterfly, saw this as an opportunity to refill their glasses. With a playful wink and the click of her heels against the polished floor, she vanished into the sea of bodies towards the bar.
Beatrice was about to take a sip from her drink when the DJ transitioned into Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Cut To The Feeling.” They must really love Carly here , she thought. The familiar beat, remixed for the occasion, resonated through the club, prompting cheers and energetic singing from the crowd.
Across the table, Ava gasped, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Oh my gosh, Bea! Remember this one?” she asked, tapping the table. Beatrice smiled. It was their song—the first one they’d ever sung together at a karaoke night out. The memory of Ava’s face lighting up with glee upon discovering Beatrice’s secret Carly Rae Jepsen devotion sparked a warmth within her.
As the first verse hit, the energy in the club crackled with anticipation.
(I had a dream it wasn’t real
We crossed the line and it was—)
The bass dropped, and the crowd erupted in a collective roar. Ava enthusiastically sang along with the crowd. Much to her own surprise, Beatrice found herself joining in, emphasising every word with a fervour she hadn’t expected. Ava pointed her index fingers at Beatrice, her smile wide and infectious.
“—on. We. Crossed. The line. It. Was. On. This time.”
Caught up in the moment, they burst into laughter. Warm and genuine. The first of many that flowed freely throughout the night. Lilith, with a playful roll of her eyes, excused herself to the bathroom, leaving Beatrice and Ava alone in their little world.
Their gazes locked, and a comfortable silence settled between them. Ava leaned forward, her chin resting on her palm, her flushed cheeks catching Beatrice’s peripheral attention. Though her smile was small, it held a lingering warmth that captivated Beatrice. She tried to convince herself it was just the few drinks they had consumed, but a part of her knew it was more than that.
The question of when and how it had happened eluded her, but whenever they were in the same room, their eyes always seemed to find each other. An invisible thread seemed to connect them, pulling them closer even when surrounded by the chaos of the club.
The silence stretched between them, the music and the crowd now a faint hum in the background. The song continued.
(I wanna play where you play with the angels)
Ava’s once-soft, dark brown eyes now held a different glint.
“I wanna wake up with you all in tangles, oh,” Ava crooned, her voice low and just a breath away.
The sultry resonance of Ava’s voice, coupled with the intense gaze she fixed on Beatrice while singing those words, sent a shiver down her spine. Her hands began to sweat, and a blush crept across her cheeks, heat extending to the back of her neck. The music played on.
(I wanna cut to the feeling, oh yeah)
In these moments of their own private world, where eyes spoke louder than words, Beatrice had always been the first to look away. This time, however, she couldn’t —no.
(I wanna cut to the feeling, oh yeah)
She didn’t want to break the connection . Not now. Not ever.
“Y’okay, Bea?” Ava finally broke the silence, her voice softer than before, causing Beatrice’s heart to jump in her chest. Despite the slight intoxication in Ava’s eyes, Beatrice could see genuine concern. It made her smile, a warm feeling spreading through her chest.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper. “You?”
Ava mirrored her smile, toying with the ice cubes in her drink. “Never been better,” she said, her voice matching the softness of Beatrice’s.
Still, neither of them looked away. The world around them seemed to further fade away, the music and chatter dissolving into a distant hum.
(A chemical reaction, take me in your arms
And make me (hey) ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah)
Though she had listened to this song a hundred times before, it didn’t feel as magical as it did in that moment. And that moment stretched. Measured in seconds but felt like an eternity in Beatrice’s mind. She held her breath, captivated by the intensity of the shared gaze.
Suddenly, their phones buzzed simultaneously, breaking the spell and ending their silent staring contest. A shared laugh erupted from them, a release from the tension that had built between them, before they both lowered their gazes to their respective screens. Beatrice reached for hers, a chuckle escaping her lips as she read the new message in their group chat. It was from Shannon, the eldest and self-proclaimed “mom” of their group.
@shannonymous: You losers better not be having too much fun without me! 😣
She could almost hear the mock-glare in Shannon’s voice as she typed the message. Though Shannon couldn’t join their night out due to a work emergency, it didn’t stop her from keeping tabs on their fun.
Another buzz, and this time a selfie from @silvalining (Ava) appeared on the screen. It showed Ava in the foreground, her tongue playfully sticking out and her nose scrunched up in a silly expression. In the background, Beatrice could be seen smiling down at her phone, seemingly oblivious to Ava’s antics.
Beatrice’s smile widened at the sight, and she quickly tapped on the screen to reply.
@beatrizz: We miss you, Shannon. Next round’s on Mary when you’re free!
Across the table, Ava giggled. “I love that you haven’t changed the nickname I gave you.”
Beatrice had to admit, Ava possessed an uncanny talent for coining witty and often hilarious nicknames within their group chat. The day she bestowed the moniker @beatrizz upon Beatrice was the same day she discovered the slang term “rizz,” a word Camila claimed had gained popularity on TikTok. At Ava’s request, Beatrice had refrained from Googling the term. When she had inquired about the choice of nickname, Ava had simply responded with a mischievous grin, “Cause you have rizz,” a statement that continued to puzzle Beatrice to this day.
“You haven’t changed the one I gave you either,” Beatrice replied, a playful smile dancing on her lips. “By the way, I still don’t know what mine means.”
Ava’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “That’s for you to figure out, Beatrizz .”
Beatrice glanced up from Ava’s direction as Lilith’s voice broke through the chatter. The tall woman approached the table with Camila, their arrival punctuated by the clinking of bottles against the tabletop.
“Mary not back yet?” Lilith inquired, her gaze sweeping across the two.
Beatrice shook her head, her eyes searching the dance floor for a glimpse of their missing friend. “Not that I can see,” she replied.
Ava, a playful twinkle in her eyes, leaned across the table. “Think she’s found herself a private dance party in one of those back rooms?”
Camila, her laughter bubbling over, chimed in. “Oh God, that reminds me of that night! Remember when she disappeared for like, an entire hour? I swear I thought I’d lost her for good. Turns out, she was just getting busy…”
Their laughter echoed through the table. As it subsided, Beatrice noticed Mary approaching their table, her flushed cheeks and slightly dishevelled hair a testament to her recent exploits.
“Speaking of the devil,” Ava remarked, rising from her seat to allow Mary to slide in.
“So, who’s up next?” Mary declared as soon as she sat, grabbing her glass. “Ready for another dare?”
The game continued for a few more rounds and this time, the bottle pointed directly at Beatrice. A hush fell over the table. A wave of nervous energy washed over her, the alcohol providing little relief from the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She wasn’t sure how many times the bottle had landed on her this evening, but secretly, she wished it would be the last.
She saw Ava’s eyes sparkle like the disco ball above, reflecting a mischievous glint that sent a thrill down her spine.
“So, Bea,” Ava purred, her voice a seductive whisper, “truth or dare?” Her body swayed in her seat, a cute little wobble that seemed to happen whenever she was excited. Beatrice couldn’t help but find it utterly adorable.
Beatrice, ever the cautious one, clutched her cranberry cosmo a little tighter. “Truth,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, already anticipating the interrogation that would follow.
Beside her, Camila seized her arm and gently shook her, wearing the most adorable puppy eyes she could muster. "Come on, Bea! You've got to pick dare next time, okay? No more truths for the night."
Attempting to remain unfazed, Beatrice faced Camila’s persistent plea. “Please?” Camila drew out the words, now adding a pout for emphasis.
Beatrice sighed in surrender. “Fine!” Anticipating Camila’s little happy dance, she added, “But only if it’s the last round for me.” Camila nodded vigorously, her radiant smile almost blinding Beatrice. “Deal!”
Camila faced the group and gave them a wink.
Ava was about to speak when Mary interjected by holding a hand in front of her. “Hold on, kid. Let the grown-ups ask the questions this time.”
“Yeah, we’re tired of your lame ass questions,” Lilith added, making a face. Camila stifled a giggle behind her drink.
Ava, momentarily offended, puffed out her cheeks. “Lame questions? They’re good questions! You get to know someone better.”
Mary snorted. “More like you’re trying to hit on her on Tinder! ‘ Favourite movie?’ ‘Ideal Saturday night?’ ‘Cats or dogs?’ It’s like a list of dating app conversation starters.”
Laughter erupted around the table, the playful banter momentarily easing the tension. Beatrice joined in the laughter, realising with a jolt that Ava’s questions, though unconventional, had felt different. Instead of the usual prying and personal inquiries, Ava’s questions had been... genuine . They seemed to come from a genuine desire to get to know her. It was a refreshing departure from the invasive questions she used to endure in her younger years, a stark contrast to the hurtful whispers and taunts that once haunted her.
Ava, her cheeks flushed with a hint of embarrassment, conceded. “Geez, fine,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes playfully as she took another sip of her drink.
As Mary, Lilith, and Camila huddled in a whispered conversation, Beatrice found her gaze drifting towards the woman across the table. Ava swirled the last remnants of her cocktail, a self-amused smile playing on her lips. The alcohol was clearly taking hold , Beatrice thought, a smile playing on her own lips as memories of a different night surfaced.
Four years ago, at Mary’s birthday party, Ava had been in a particularly spirited mood. Upon hearing Beatrice’s voice for the first time, she had teased the celebrant, “Gosh, Mary! Where’d you find this British royalty?” Then, in a playful move that sent shivers down her spine, Ava had bowed her head and gently raised Beatrice’s hand to her lips. A feather-light kiss, almost teasingly avoiding direct contact, had been followed by a mischievous grin (that would soon be too familiar) and a whisper, “Ava Silva, at your service.”
Beatrice had been hit on plenty of times, by both men and women, but none of them had possessed Ava’s charm. She was confident, but not cocky. She was playful, but not pushy. Needless to say, they had hit it off right away.
“Okay, Bea, here’s our question for you.” Camila’s voice yanked Beatrice back to the present. A sly grin stretched across her face, mirrored by the other two. It was as if they had caught her staring at Ava, cheeks burning with a blush she couldn’t explain. Feeling nervous, Beatrice took a shot, hoping the tequila would steady her nerves. “Go ahead,” she managed, her voice betraying a slight tremor.
The air crackled with anticipation as Camila finally posed the question, her grin widening as she saw the blush creep up Beatrice’s neck. “Imagine this: you’re getting a sexy lap dance from someone at this table. Who would it be?”
Beatrice’s heart leaped into her throat, her cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. The idea of a lap dance, even hypothetical, was both scandalous and thrilling, sending shivers down her spine.
Her eyes darted across the table, taking in the amused expressions of her friends. Camila bit her lip to stifle a giggle, Lilith’s eyebrows danced cheekily, and Mary’s smirk stretched further.
Then, her gaze landed on Ava. Unlike the others, Ava maintained her usual nonchalant demeanour, swirling the last remnants of her drink with an unreadable expression. Yet, beneath the surface, Beatrice sensed a shift, a subtle change in her posture that betrayed the anticipation flickering in her eyes.
Memories of their first meeting flooded back, vivid and intoxicating.
The playful brush of lips against her hand.
The intoxicating scent of Ava’s perfume.
The way Ava’s laughter filled the room like a symphony.
In that moment, Beatrice realised the object of her desire wasn’t the hypothetical lap dance itself. It was Ava. With her intoxicating blend of confidence and vulnerability. With her playful spirit and unexpected tenderness. It was Ava straddling her lap and moving her body in a way that could only be described as a prayer.
Taking a deep breath to steady her heart, Beatrice redirected her gaze from Ava to the table.
“Fine!” she declared, her voice was surprisingly steady, despite the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. The music, now a thumping remix of a 90s classic, blared louder, creating a pulsing rhythm that echoed the beat of her heart. “Ava.”
The air crackled with electricity as the name left her lips. A collective gasp rippled around the table, followed by an eruption of cheers and squeals of excitement. Mary whooped with approval, Camila’s delighted shrieks filled the air, and even Lilith’s stoic facade cracked, a silent celebration reflected in the widening of her eyes. She could only roll her eyes as she took a sip from another glass of her drink.
Then she saw that Ava remained unfazed, her expression a curious mix of confusion and amusement. “Wait, who?” the woman she just imagined getting a lap dance from asked, her voice barely audible over the music. Leaning in with both hands extended over the table, she sought to capture Camila’s attention. “Who did she choose?”
Camila dissolved into a fit of giggles, shaking her head while Lilith took a sip from her drink, a small knowing smirk playing on her lips. Both women evaded Ava’s gaze, their silence adding to the intrigue.
Mary bumped Ava’s shoulder and teased, “Nope, baby girl. You should’ve been paying attention.”
Ava’s brow furrowed further. “I was listening!” she protested, her voice rising slightly. “But the freaking DJ cranked up the music right then.” She turned to Beatrice, her eyes searching for an answer. Beatrice, however, quickly averted her gaze, the heat of the moment making her feel flustered.
Ava leaned back and pouted, crossing her arms in a mock display of childishness. “Fine,” she huffed. “Don’t tell me. But you know I won’t rest until I find out.”
Beatrice felt a playful thrill at Ava’s sulking. She’s impressed at how effortlessly the younger woman can transition from a confident, seductive demeanour to a pouting child in the blink of an eye.
Mary leaned forward to Ava with a suggestive grin. “Oh, you’ll find out,” she teased, her voice dripping with implication. “The night’s not over yet.”
Beatrice, her cheeks burning a fiery crimson, turned to Mary with a playful scowl. “You wouldn’t dare.” That woman was always up to something, and Beatrice knew a devious dare was brewing in her mind.
Camila’s laughter filled the cosy booth, and Lilith, her eyes sparkling with mischief like a switch had flipped in her head, joined in, “Oh, yes. She would.”
Beatrice turned to Lilith, her gaze stern. “Don’t push it, Lilith,” she warned, the heat in her cheeks deepening.
***
The pulsating beat of the music throbbed through the dimly lit room. Beatrice, sitting on a leather loveseat, glanced around, a nervous knot forming in her stomach. The weight of the dare was pressing down on her. A small table, its surface reflecting the subdued glow of a concealed light source, stood between her and the entrance.
Beatrice’s heart hammered against her ribs. This wasn’t how the night was supposed to unfold. She’d envisioned sipping expensive cocktails, singing carols off-key, maybe even slow-dancing with a charming stranger—not whatever this was.
The door creaked open, and a mysterious figure emerged from the shadows.
A sudden, fleeting thought crossed her mind: And there you have it, people. This is precisely why teleportation would be far superior to mind-reading.
Hidden in darkness, the dancer moved with an alluring grace. The figure wore what seemed to be a very, very short dress that hugged every curve, and the soft tapping of boots echoed against the marble floor. As soon as she looked away, the air was thick with the intoxicating scent of peppermint and alcohol, a familiar combination that sent shivers down Beatrice’s spine.
“Look,” she finally blurted out, “I was dared to come in here, but I’m not interested in a private…dance from a stranger. Here, take this extra then you can leave.” She placed several paper bills on the glass table in front of her.
The figure remained silent, but a familiar Christmas song played in the background.
(Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom—)
A sultry voice echoed from the shadows, “Oh Bea, I’m no stranger.” The figure stepped into the light. Beatrice looked up at the familiar voice and her breath caught in her throat. Standing before her in a sassy red Santa dress that left little to the imagination was none other than Ava, a cheeky grin playing on her lips as their eyes met.
With a slow, almost hypnotic movement, Ava sat down on the edge of the table, her crimson dress cascading around her like a pool of molten lava. Her eyes, the colour of rich chocolate, locked onto Beatrice’s with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.
The music reverberating from what appeared to be a phone tucked into Ava’s chest continued.
(Ba-boom, ba-boom ba-boom, ba-boom boom boom)
Beatrice’s brain, usually a well-oiled machine, sputtered like a rusty car engine. Her carefully rehearsed protestations about strangers and inappropriate dares flew out the window, replaced by a jumbled mix of confusion, excitement ( really, Beatrice? ), and a healthy dose of trepidation.
“And I’m not going anywhere, baby,” Ava continued, her voice laced with an alluring edge. Leaning slightly forward while still looking directly at Beatrice, she placed her phone on top of the paper bills.
To say Beatrice was stunned at the unexpected use of endearment would be an understatement. She felt like she had died and gone to hell. She was certain that her face, neck, and probably her entire body were glowing from the fire in her veins.
(Santa Baby, just slip a sable under the tree—)
Ava rested her hand on Beatrice’s shoulder, her thumb gently brushing against the fabric of her white shirt. She then moved it down slowly to the top button of Beatrice’s shirt collar, where her eyes focused, and her free hand reached to assist in unbuttoning.
(—for me)
“I’ve been an awful good girl,” Ava sang along to the song, coinciding with the warmth of her skin lightly grazing Beatrice’s collarbone, sending shivers down her spine.
(Santa Baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight)
Ava met her gaze once more and flashed a small, sly smile, causing Beatrice to gulp. “I have a show to put on.”