Sneaking In After Curfew

Avi slips through the dark living room, heels dangling from her fingers. Her face glows with triumph, yet she steps lightly, careful not to wake anyone. The lamp flares on. Reagan sits motionless in the armchair, eyes locked on her stepdaughter. Avi startles, then stammers excuses that crumble the second Reagan’s gaze drops to the short skirt and smeared lipstick. Caught, Avi admits the truth—another party. Reagan sighs, more worried than angry, and pats the couch beside her. Avi sinks down, still tense. Talk drifts. Avi blurts it out: she went hoping to lose her virginity and left disappointed. Reagan listens, then slides closer. Her palm settles on Avi’s bare knee, thumb tracing slow circles. Heat blooms under that touch. Avi’s reluctance melts into soft, startled breaths. Reagan leans in, voice low, and the night that began with sneaking turns into something far hotter.