Paige’s grip tightened around Embry’s hand as she led her out of the closet and through the crowd. She didn’t bother looking back—didn’t need to. She could feel the girl’s energy trailing after her, practically buzzing with anticipation. And god, Paige lived for that feeling. That high of being wanted. Craved. Owned, but only in the ways she allowed.
Getting out of there and back to her place happened in no time—but perhaps it felt like that because Paige’s lips were on the girl’s the entire time. Wait, what was this girl’s name again? Oh, who cares. Anyways…
The elevator ride up to the penthouse was brief, but Paige made sure to keep it interesting. A few teasing glances, fingers dancing along Embry’s thighs, lips brushing her neck just enough to make her squirm. By the time the doors dinged open, Paige was practically dragging her inside, not bothering to turn the lights on.
She led her straight to the balcony, where the glow of the city lights bounced off the rippling water of the hot tub. Without missing a beat, Paige slipped her shirt off first, making a show of it before her fingers moved to the button of her jeans. She glanced over at Embry, her lips curling into a smirk that was anything but innocent.
“Coming?” she asked, raising a brow as she shimmied out of her pants, letting them pool at her feet before stepping out of them entirely. Her words dripped with innuendo, and Paige didn’t even try to hide it. She sank into the water, stretching her arms out along the edge like she owned the place—because, well, she did. And with that, her bra slipped off too—tossed behind Embry without so much as a second thought.
Hours later 
Paige’s fingers lazily traced circles against Embry’s bare thigh as they sat in the bubbling water, her lips pressed against the girl’s neck. The tension from earlier hadn’t faded—it had only simmered, low and steady, like the heat of the hot tub. Paige wasn’t done with her yet. Not by a long shot.
But then Embry moved, standing up just enough to grab the bottle of tequila from the side, and Paige saw it.
That stupid, fcking, unmistakable birthmark.
A perfect swirl just below her left shoulder blade, like someone had painted it there with careful strokes. Paige had made fun of it the first time she saw it—called it a cinnamon roll, of all things. She’d teased her mercilessly about it, only to kiss it later like it was her favorite spot in the world. And god, it had been. It had been until it fcking wasn’t
Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her heart slammed against her ribs, the sound of blood rushing in her ears drowning out everything else. No. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.
Flashback
Fourteen years old. Sneaking out of the house to meet her. Her—Embry. They weren’t even supposed to be friends, let alone…whatever the hell that night had turned them into. Paige still remembered how nervous she’d been. Her hands were shaking when she pushed Embry down onto her bed, trying so hard to play it cool even though her brain was screaming don’t fck this up.
She’d only noticed the birthmark when Embry’s shirt came off, and instead of focusing on literally anything else, Paige had laughed.
“What the hell is that?” She’d asked, running her thumb over it, ignoring the way Embry squirmed under her touch.
“It’s a birthmark, dummy.”
“No, it’s a fcking cinnamon roll,” Paige had teased before leaning down and kissing it, dragging her tongue over the spot until Embry’s breath hitched.
And then it had happened. Clumsy, messy, but perfect in the way firsts always were. And Paige? She’d thought it meant something. That they meant something. Until Embry left. No warning. No explanation. Just gone.
Paige’s stomach twisted as the memory hit her like a freight train. Fourteen years old, tangled up with a girl who had disappeared before she could even make sense of what they were. Before she could even ask. She’d spent months wondering, hurting, hating herself for caring so damn much about someone who clearly didn’t give a fck about her.
And now? Now she was sitting in a hot tub with her? Kissing her? Fcking her?
“You have to be fcking kidding me.”
The words were out before Paige could stop them, sharp and cutting. She pushed off the edge of the tub, standing up and grabbing the nearest towel like it might somehow protect her from the absolute clusterfck she’d just found herself in.
“How could I be so fcking stupid? No—no, you know what? It’s not that I’m stupid. It’s that I was drunk. That’s it. Fcking drunk and—”
She cut herself off, her chest heaving as she pointed a shaking finger at Embry.
“Get the fck out.”
The words burned as they left her mouth, but she didn’t take them back. Couldn’t.
“Right now. Get the fck out, Embry.”
Paige didn’t cry. No, fck that. She grabbed the empty tequila bottle off the side of the hot tub and chucked it—hard. It hit the balcony railing with a deafening crack before falling onto the patio below.
“Screw you, bitch.”
Her voice was shaking, her breath uneven, but her eyes? Her eyes were fire. Furious. Betrayed. And under it all, if anyone looked closely enough—hurt.
She turned away, hands bracing against the edge of the balcony as her knuckles turned white. Because Paige didn’t cry. Not for anyone. And definitely not for the girl who had left her all those years ago without a second thought.