Deals On Ice

ARIA'S POV I turned in front of the full-length mirror in Brielle’s bedroom, the soft glow of her LED lights catching on the thin straps. The matching panties and bra felt ridiculous. “This pant and this bra…” I turned sideways, then front again. “What do you think about the combination?” Brielle was sprawled across her bed in an oversized hoodie and fuzzy socks, scrolling on her phone like she had all the time in the world. She glanced up, took one long look, and rolled her eyes so hard I almost heard it. “Trust me,” she said, voice dry, “those don’t change anything. You can’t hide the fact that you’re bad at s*x with a pant and bra.” Heat shot straight up my neck. “I’m not bad at it.” I tugged the bra strap higher, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m just new to it.” “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” She tossed her phone aside and sat up, crossing her legs. The teasing stayed in her voice, but her eyes sharpened a little. “But then again… are you sure you’re ready for this?” The girl in the mirror looked determined. Soft brown hair falling over one shoulder, cheeks still flushed from the shower, mouth set in that stubborn line Mom always said I got from Dad. I had waited, months of almosts and maybes and Blake’s patient hands stopping every time I whispered not yet. Tonight felt different, tonight felt like the moment the waiting finally made sense. “I am,” I said, quieter than I meant to. Then I turned fully toward her, forcing a grin. “Just tell me if it’s nice and give me tips on how I’m supposed to f**k good.” Brielle’s eyebrows shot up. “What the hell?” “C’mon.” I dropped onto the edge of the bed, the lace scratching lightly against my thighs. “We both know you’re such a slut. There is no need to hide it.” She barked out a laugh, the kind that always made the room feel warmer. “Excuse you. I prefer the term ‘experienced.’” “Experienced. Slut. Same difference.” She shook her head, but the corner of her mouth curved. “Okay, fine. First tip—breathe. You’re already looking like you’re about to take a final exam. Second, stop thinking so hard. Third…” She leaned forward, voice dropping into something almost gentle. “If it doesn’t feel right halfway through, you still get to say stop. Even if you’re already naked and he’s already—” “I know.” I cut her off before the image could fully form. Brielle studied me for a second longer than felt comfortable. “You really like him, huh?” The answer sat warm and solid behind my ribs. “Yeah. I do.” She reached over and flicked the edge of the bra strap. “Then the combo is fine. He’ll lose his mind, just… don’t overthink. Move when it feels good, make noise if you want to. And for the love of God, don’t apologize if it’s awkward the first time. It’s supposed to be a little awkward.” I huffed a laugh and stood again, smoothing the panties. “You’re weirdly good at this pep talk.” “Years of practice.” She flopped back against the pillows. “Now go finish getting ready before you psych yourself out. Text me after. Or don’t. Whatever. Just don’t ghost me for three days because you’re floating on post-s*x hormones.” I rolled my eyes, but the smile stayed. “Deal.” Thirty minutes later I was dressed, soft black jeans, the bra and pant still hidden underneath a simple cream sweater that dipped just low enough to feel intentional. “You’ve got this,” Brielle said and for once there was no teasing in it. I hugged her tighter than usual. “Thanks for the… technical advice.” “Anytime, virgin.” “Not after tonight,” I shot back, and her laughter followed me down the hall. The night air bit cooler than I expected. Southridge’s campus glowed under the string lights that never seemed to come down, students drifting between buildings in groups, music leaking from open windows. Blake’s apartment sat on the quieter part of the residential side. I had been there a dozen times but tonight the walk felt longer. I cut across the small courtyard behind the hockey house because it shaved five minutes off the route. Laughter spilled from one of the open second-floor windows, male voices overlapping, the kind of noise that came from people who had already had a few drinks. I kept walking then a familiar voice snagged my attention. “…I’m telling you, it was the easiest dare of my life.” I slowed. The voice was low, amused, a little rough around the edges the way it got when someone was showing off. Something about the rhythm tugged at me—half-remembered, half-dismissed. I stopped beneath the window, the brick wall cool against my back, and tilted my head up. Another guy laughed. “No way she still doesn’t know.” “She has no idea.” The familiar voice again, warmer now, almost fond. “Months of this and she still thinks it’s real. Keeps talking about ‘us’ like we’re actually together.” My stomach tightened, but not with recognition yet. Just that vague, floating unease of overhearing someone else conversation. I stayed still, listening harder. “You’re actually dating her though,” someone else said. “That’s commitment to the bit.” “It’s not dating.” The familiar voice sharpened, playful and cutting at the same time. “It’s a long-term dare. Make the quiet one fall for you, prove you can do it and I did. She was so ready to give it up tonight, too, sent me that little ‘I’m coming over’ text.” Laughter rolled out of the window, someone clapped and someone else whooped. My fingers curled against the brick. The voice kept going on and on. “And the best part? I’ve had a real girlfriend the whole time. This other girl? She’s just the long game. Once the bet’s settled, I’m done. She’ll cry, whatever, but it’s not like I ever promised her forever.” A third voice cut in, half-laughing. “You’re cold, man.” “I’m firm.” The familiar voice said again, smooth and certain. Something cold and precise slid under my ribs. I didn’t move. The words kept stacking, each one landing heavier than the last, and still the voice stayed just out of full recognition—close enough to itch, far enough that my brain refused to name it. I took one step closer to the wall, then another, until the window frame sat just above my eye line. Warm light spilled out and shadows moved across the glass. I rose onto my toes, slow, careful, the lingerie under my sweater suddenly feeling foolish and thin. I lifted higher. The familiar voice was still talking, softer now, almost private even with an audience. “She’s on her way over right now, actually. Thinks tonight’s the night. Cute, right? I’m supposed to look surprised. Act like it’s special. Then tomorrow—” I peeped over the sill. The room came into focus in pieces. Three guys on a couch with beer bottles. One of them was mid-laugh, head thrown back and in the center, phone in hand, the same soft smile he always gave me when he said my name— Blake. My boyfriend.