I tried not to slam the door as I made it back to my apartment, but Bree had been sitting on the couch watching One Piece, and the door was on the same wall as our TV, so I was sure I'd given her little anime characters a shake.

"Bad day?" she asked, not looking away from the TV as she lazily dug through a bowl of kettle corn.

"I don't even want to talk about it," I sighed as I slipped my Vans off underneath our coat rack beside the door.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, you have a package from Free People." Bree gestured to our long wooden dinner table that occupied the space between the kitchen and the living room. We rarely actually ate at it  - instead, it served as more of a loading zone for things like mail, laptops, school projects, and 85 beaded friendship bracelets for stupid football players. We'd be using it for the first time all year for Derek's party on Saturday.

"Ah yes, nothing like conveniently timed retail therapy payoff to set my universe right," I grinned as I lifted the bag off the table before retreating to my room.

With the chaos of preseason starting, I'd basically just been in my apartment to shower and sleep and not much else. My bed had been unmade for most of the week, and the snake plants that lined the windowsill beside my bed needed a serious drink. The glow of the setting sun hit the little disco balls hanging from the top of my window, sending little squares of warm light splattering across my carpet like confetti.

Despite the steam still swirling around in my head, I had enough sense to gently place my camera bag and backpack down on the floor beside my desk before flopping down on my bed with a deep sigh. I held my Free People package to my chest for a moment, trying to squander a small win out of my decidedly frustrating afternoon.

Eventually I ripped the package open and started to unpack my therapeutic retail purchases. I'd been eying a pair of gray cargo pants for a while that had finally gone on sale, and I needed to replenish a few Youth to the People products. The last thing I bought was more of a spontaneous add to my order, and in my head I'd justified it as a way to meet that always elusive free shipping amount.

As a perpetual sucker for sleek but colorful marketing, buying a vibrator should not have been as enticing as it was, and yet there the box was, in all of its sleek and colorful glory. By now I'd also come to accept that I was currently too busy to proactively go out and try to get laid, so what was the harm in splurging? Anything in the name of self care.

As I unpackaged it, I took a cautionary glance towards my door, as if I was waiting for someone to come bursting through it to catch me in the act, despite the fact that that had never happened in the two years I'd lived there. There was a first time for everything, and that first time was usually inopportune.

It was compact enough to mostly fit in my palm, and it already came preloaded with a battery. Smile Makers is on a mission to normalize the perception of female sexuality by offering a line of premium sexual wellness products, the small pamphlet in the box read. These award-winning products are made for the woman who takes control.

I was so frustrated after my encounter with Reid that it almost made sense to try and relieve it, and as the box said, take control.

I lowered the shades of my window, making all of the light confetti disappear, then quickly slid my leggings off and laid back on my bed.

Taking a deep inhale, I switched it on and eased my eyes shut, beginning to move it gently around and explore all the most sensitive parts of myself. I felt myself sink a little further into my bed as my hips arched into it, reaching out for whatever was making my insides start to tangle up in a web of buzzing electricity, when suddenly his face appeared. Almost in slow motion, he raked a hand through his sweat-drenched hair, smiled at me with that toothy smile of his, and I shot my eyes open.

"For fucks sake," I grumbled as I shifted in bed. "Go away, you smug asshole."

I refused to let Reid Thoughts™ invade my self-care time. I switched on some music to recenter myself, settling on a 311 mix. There was something about 311 that always felt kind of sensual. I settled back into my bed and started to move the vibrator around again, delicately grazing my clit, testing my limits.

When I closed my eyes again, he was on me almost immediately, and I cursed that first day of preseason practice he strutted around all sweaty without a shirt. That image had seared itself into the deep recesses of mind, just waiting for a time like this to reappear. He leaned over me, his chest slick with sweat, or rain, or just something wet and vague, but whatever image my brain was trying to conjure, I tried to fight off again. I switched the setting up and started teasing it in and out of me, trying to focus on the pulsating between my thighs.

But he wouldn't go away. His movements had too much delicate grace for a man of his size as he gently trailed his fingers down my stomach, meeting me in between my thighs and wrapping his hand around mine to encase it completely. As my body grasped for the warm feeling building in my stomach, my thoughts betrayed me as I imagined what it would be like to feel his fingers inside me.

"Go on," he leaned down closer to whisper in my ear. "Think of me when you finish."

"Fuck off, Reid Donahue," I breathed out, refusing to let go when I was getting so close. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, feeling my thighs shudder as I settled on the perfect spot. I bit down on my lip as I reached my climax, forcing myself to swallow down his name as it danced on the tip of my tongue.

When my eyes shot open again, it was just my ceiling above me, and Amber by 311 playing faintly in the background.

That night, I dreamt about him too, with his sweaty, swoopy hair and bare muscular chest.

━━━━━━

I had a lot of prep work for Derek's party that weekend, but I didn't mind - anything to recenter myself after the weirdest couple of days.

Our sophomore year of college, Derek had an unhealthy obsession with Chipotle after one opened down the street in town, so I decided to make our own version of a Chipotle burrito bar. I'd had the assembly line of rice, chicken, steak, beans, salsa, and all the other accouterments planned out to go in a circle around our kitchen island, and while some of the things like the rice could be made ahead of time, I'd be tending to the carne asada on the stove when the party was getting started. Buffet style was always easier when there was a larger group of people, and it made things feel a little more casual.

My mother and I didn't always see eye-to-eye on things (such as my desire to go to school far away and my future career choices) but my love of hosting came from her. When I was younger, she'd throw fun little "dinner parties" for her group of girlfriends, and being the eager, littlest sibling, I wanted to help her set the table up and organize the cheese board - tasks my sisters were too grown up and cool for. As I got older, the organization and execution just came easily to me because of that.

"Is white rice actually less healthy for you than brown rice?" Bree asked as she dumped the contents of our rice cooker onto a pan for me.

"I don't know," I shrugged as I juiced another lime. "What I do know is that you can taste the cilantro lime flavor better in white rice, so that's what we're doing."

"Hey, you cook, I taste." Bree held her hands up in surrender. "We have a very symbiotic relationship."

I sighed as I took a step back to survey the food splayed out on the kitchen island. "Do you think we need more rice?"

"How many people are coming again?"

I quickly did some mental math, accounting for our usual suspects plus some of Derek's closer football friends from special teams, like Coach Riley's son Johnny, who was Derek's roommate as well as his placeholder. Unfortunately, I'd invited Reid before our argument, but I also considered the fact that even without our fight, there was only a 50/50 shot he'd come. Now, the thought of him showing up made my stomach roll.

"17, if everyone does in fact show up," I replied, hoping Bree would just accept the answer and move on without further prodding.

Bree handed me a bowl of chopped cilantro, and the beat of silence felt too intentional. "I guess that means you went ahead and invited Reid."

I hadn't told Bree about mine and Reid's latest falling out, mostly out of embarrassment. I didn't like giving other people the satisfaction of being able to say to me, I told you so, and it wasn't exactly a secret that Bree wasn't a card-carrying member of the Reid Donahue fan club.

"I did just to be nice, but I doubt he'll come," I shrugged, keeping my focus down on mixing the rice.

"I thought you used to hate Reid. What happened?"

I sighed. "Picking my career and my future over petty opinions happened."

"I see."

"Don't." I stopped mixing, lifting my gaze up at her to give her a pointed glare. "I know what I see means in Bree Language."

Bree shrugged and handed me a sheet of tinfoil for the bowl of rice. "Make more food, and if you make too much, force people to take home leftovers."

And just like that, we'd moved on. I chuckled as I took the foil from her. "This is why I keep you around."

My phone buzzed in my back pocket, and for a moment my heart stopped, but it was just Derek.

"I can't do this Jo," he said as soon as I answered.

"Derek, I'm asking you for some music suggestions, not your left foot," I told him. "Don't you want me to play music you like at your party?" 

Derek huffed out a sigh on the other line. "If you're asking me for permission to just play your music at my party, you have it."

"Lovely," I cooed. "Thank you."

When I hung up, Bree was laughing.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing." She shook her head with a faint smirk. "Sometimes you have a funny way of showing it, but you're a good friend, Jo."

━━━━━━

there's a first time for everything as jo said, including the first time i've written a smut type scene even remotely like this. pls have mercy on me, i'm new here. i'm not a fan of being explicit with overly crude language, but i still want to get out of my comfort zone and write some type of spicier scenes in my own way.

that being said, normalize female solo sex! but also normalize fantasizing about the frustratingly hot quarterback.