I guess it’s safe to say that I never imagined my first year out of college would start like this. I’m Evelyn — 24, just moved to Boston, nervous and excited about my first “actual” job as a junior editor at a publishing firm. I still feel like I’ve got one foot stuck back in my dorm room days, and the adult part of me is being dragged into the new world kicking and screaming. I needed a roommate, because rent is ridiculous, and that’s how I met Chloe. She’s quick-witted, a year older, works in graphic design, the kind of girl who seems to have everything together but makes you feel relaxed just by being around her.
Our apartment, a tiny thing with creaky wood floors and windows too big for their own good, became our little universe. That first week, we collided in the messy ballet of moving boxes, takeout, and figuring out who was better at assembling IKEA furniture. Sometimes, I’d catch her watching me — a flicker in her blue eyes as I struggled with an Allen key, or maybe that was just my imagination.
It sort of crept up on me: how much I noticed Chloe. The tattoos she kept hidden under her sweater sleeves. The way she ran her tongue over her teeth after sipping wine. Once I found myself reapplying lipstick before we watched a movie, edgy with anticipation I tried to write off as ordinary. It wasn’t.
One night, we were sitting on our old secondhand couch, takeout containers strewn across the coffee table, a bottle of pinot halfway gone. Our knees touched, and I felt a spark, like static, race from her leg into mine. She looked at me, curious, smiling a little.
“So, you dating anyone?” she asked, her voice light but her gaze so direct that I felt caught.
I shrugged, wishing my cheeks didn’t flush so easily. “Not really. I guess it’s hard to meet anyone when you’re working late and living off ramen.”
She leaned closer. “That’s bullshit, Ev. You’re gorgeous.”
My heart stuttered. No one had said it like that, so simply, like it was just a fact. I tried to laugh it off, but nerves tangled everything up.
“It’s not like I haven’t thought about it,” I said, fiddling with my hair, “But new city, new job… dating feels kind of overwhelming.” I didn’t say that the only person I could imagine kissing lately was, well, her.
Her thigh pressed more firmly to mine, deliberate now. “You know, it’d be a shame to waste all that potential.”
For half a second, I was caught between familiar fear and a sudden, sharper urge. The possibility of something happening — something I wanted — hung between us. She didn’t look away. The room shifted.
That was the first moment when the sexual tension wasn’t subtle anymore. I felt feverish, the air thick with charged silence. But I hesitated, uncertainty thrumming inside me. What if I’d read her wrong? What if whatever happened between us made our home awkward, ruined the easy friendship we’d fallen into?
I got up, mumbling something about dessert, the kitchen suddenly the safest place in Boston. For maybe a week after that night, there was an edge to everything. She’d brush against me in the hallway. Our looks would linger. I caught myself replaying her voice in my head, her lips. I’d shiver when we hugged goodnight, not trusting myself to let go.
There were a few fits and starts — moments where I thought she’d make a move, and then she’d just laugh and change the subject, which drove me insane. I started craving her attention: the way she teased me, the lazy way she’d drop onto the couch beside me in just a t-shirt and shorts. I got turned on by the way she smelled after the shower, fresh but dark somehow, and I hated myself for how badly I wanted to duck my face into her hair and breathe her in.
One Friday night, we came home a little tipsy from the bar. It was raining outside, and we both shook water off our hair as we stumbled through the door. I looked at her, and for the first time, didn’t look away.
She grinned, knowing. “You keep looking at my mouth.” I almost denied it, but she was right. I nodded, feeling my chest ache with want.
Chloe took a step closer, her hands on my waist. I trembled, goosebumps rising all over my skin. “You want to kiss me, Evelyn?”
It wasn’t really a question, but when I nodded, she slipped her fingers under the hem of my shirt and pulled me flush against her. The kiss undid me. She tasted like cheap whiskey and heat. Her tongue flicked against mine; she bit my lip, gentle but possessive. I whimpered — not cute, a raw sound I’d never made before but didn’t care to hide. Everything about her was suddenly urgent and magnetic.
“Fuck, Ev,” she whispered, tugging me toward her bedroom. “I’ve wanted this for so fucking long.”
We tumbled onto her bed, all laughter and tangled legs. She kissed down my neck, her tongue flicking at the sensitive spot behind my ear. My hands slid under her shirt, nails grazing her soft skin, and she groaned, pushing against me. Her hands were everywhere — under my bra, kneading my breasts, pinching my nipples until I gasped.
I tugged her shirt off; her body was hotter than mine, skin flushed, tattoos twisting over her shoulders and chest. I traced the ink with my fingers, loving how she shivered with each touch. She rolled us over, straddling my hips, her kiss deepening as she ground her thigh between my legs. My panties were already soaked.
“I want to taste you,” she breathed, sliding down, her mouth leaving a hot trail of kisses across my stomach. When her tongue flicked over me through my panties, I bucked up, moaning. She slid them down, grinning wickedly as she spread my legs.
“Jesus, you’re wet,” she muttered, more to herself than to me, but it sent a bolt of shame-tinged excitement through me. She licked me slow, then harder, tongue swirling around my clit as her fingers slid into me, fucking me hard and deep. I grabbed her hair, riding her mouth, shame and nerves gone, just pure, pulsing need.
I came for her, hard, my whole body arching. She didn’t stop until I begged, then crawled up, kissing me, her face slick with my wetness. I could taste myself on her tongue.
“My turn,” I said, flipping her over, thrilling at how her pupils went wide. I kissed my way down, biting her hip, loving the way she gasped my name. She was so wet, desperate for me. I licked her, rolling my tongue around her clit, fingers plunging in and out of her. She sobbed and pulled my hair, cursing me, shaking and coming in my mouth.
After, we lay tangled together, her head on my chest, stroking my hair. She laughed softly, almost shy.
“Why did it take us so long?” she asked.
I smiled, tracing circles on her skin. “Guess I was scared. Or stupid.”
She kissed me again, gentle this time. “Don’t be. You’re right where you belong.”
So that’s how it happened — how my best friend, my roommate, turned into so much more. And now, every time we pass in the hallway, every look and touch is charged all over again. No more hiding, no more pretending. Just wanting, and finally having.