CHAMPAGNE AND CARDS

Topanga came into the kitchen on Saturday carrying a tote bag that clinked with bottles and held what appeared to be a velvet jewelry box underneath a deck of cards. She called out to Maya and Riley. Maya was standing in an oversized NYU shirt and nothing else, eating cereal directly from the box. Riley was on the couch in a sports bra and boy shorts, legs crossed, scrolling through her phone with the focused intensity of someone avoiding the fact that she'd spent the night replaying a specific strip card game in her head every time she closed her eyes.

"Nobody got dressed for the rematch," Topanga observed, setting the tote on the counter. "It's noon on a holiday weekend," Maya said through a mouthful of Cheerios. "This is formal." "I wore a shirt," Riley offered, not looking up from her phone. "You're wearing underwear and a bra. That's not a shirt. That's structural engineering." Riley finally looked up. "Did you bring the cards?"

Topanga pulled the deck from the tote and set it on the counter with a deliberate click. She also produced three bottles of champagne — the good kind, the kind that came in bottles heavy enough to use as a weapon — and the velvet box, which she placed beside the cards without explanation.
"What's in the box?" Maya asked.

"Later." Topanga uncorked the first bottle with the practiced ease of someone who'd been doing this long enough to make it look like a magic trick. She poured three glasses and distributed them, then raised her own. "To the rematch." "To losing," Maya said, clinking her glass. "To losing with style," Riley added. They drank. The champagne was cold and sharp and immediately loosened something in the room that had been wound tight all night. Maya could feel it — the way all three of them had been circling this moment since Topanga had gone to bed.

Topanga settled into the armchair across from the couch and crossed her legs. She was wearing an actual outfit — dark jeans, a cream blouse, boots — like she'd come from somewhere important, like she hadn't spent forty-five minutes that morning choosing between three different bras based on how quickly they could be removed. "So before we get to the cards," Topanga said, swirling her champagne, "I have a question." "Just one?" Maya leaned against the counter.

"Today, just one. But it's a big one." Topanga looked at Riley, then at Maya, then back at Riley. "How long have you two been sleeping together?" The question landed in the room like a dropped glass. Riley's phone went face-down on the cushion. Maya stopped chewing. "It's not a judgment," Topanga added. "It's not a trap. I'm asking because I spent the last night thinking about what happened here, and I realized I don't actually know the full picture. And I'd like to."

Riley looked at Maya. Maya looked at Riley. Some silent negotiation passed between them in the span of two seconds — the kind of shorthand that only exists between people who've been tangled up long enough to communicate in glances. "Since college," Riley said. "Junior year." "Like we told you yesterday." "Specifically since the night of the AIT Gazette naked dare shoot," Maya added. "We were already half-dressed and half-drunk and one thing led to — well. A very specific thing."
"And it just kept going?" "It never really stopped," Maya said. "We just got better at hiding it. And then we stopped hiding it. And then we stopped stopping."

Topanga nodded slowly, processing this with the same measured focus she applied to everything — legal briefs, blackjack strategy, the decision to take off her clothes in her apartment. "And last night. Was that — was that a one-time thing for you two, or were you hoping it would continue to go somewhere?" Another glance between Maya and Riley. This one lasted longer. "We were hoping," Riley said quietly. "If you were."

Topanga took a slow sip of champagne. "I bought three bottles and a deck of cards and I wore the CFM boots that zip all the way down in one pull. What do you think I was hoping?" Maya laughed — a real one, sudden and bright. "I think you came to play." "I came to win," Topanga corrected. "There's a difference. And I came to find out something else." She leaned forward. "I want to know what you two want. Not what you tried last night. Not what felt good in the moment. I want to know what you actually want — with me, with this, with whatever this is becoming."

Maya set the cereal box down. She'd lost the appetite for it about thirty seconds ago and gained an appetite for something else entirely. "I want you to stop asking questions and deal the cards."
"She wants you to join us," Riley said, cutting through Maya's deflection with the kind of directness that had always been her most devastating weapon. "Not just the sex. All of it. The weekends, the champagne, the whatever this is. She's been thinking about you for months. We both have."

Topanga's expression didn't change, but something shifted behind her eyes, a heat that hadn't been there a moment ago, a recognition that this was real and not just champagne talking. "Then let's play." She dealt the first hand of blackjack on the coffee table with the precision of a casino dealer. Maya picked up her cards and immediately had nineteen. Riley had twelve and hit to twenty-two, busting with a king. Topanga had twenty and took the hand with a small, satisfied smile. "Loser removes one item," Topanga said.

"I'm wearing a shirt and underwear," Maya said. "That's two items. This game is going to be very short for me." "Then maybe don't lose." Maya lost the next hand. She pulled the NYU shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor. Underneath she was bare. She hadn't bothered with a bra, and the cool air from the open window touched her skin and raised goosebumps across her chest. And Topanga's eyes moved over her with a focus that was clinical and hungry at the same time.

Riley lost the hand after that. She unhooked her sports bra and let it fall, her breasts settling softly against her ribs, her nipples tightening in the draft. She didn't try to cover herself. She just sat there and let Topanga look. "You're staring," Riley said. "I'm assessing the competition," Topanga replied. "Assess away."

The next three hands went fast. Topanga won two of them, she was counting cards, Maya was sure of it, and Riley lost her boy shorts, sitting back on the couch completely naked, her legs folded beneath her, one hand resting casually on her thigh. Maya lost her underwear on the fourth hand and kicked them across the hardwood toward Topanga's boots. "Two naked, one dressed," Maya said. "That feels backwards."

Topanga stood and unbuttoned her blouse without being asked. She folded it and set it on the armchair. Her bra was ivory lace, simple and elegant, and her breasts filled it with a fullness that made Riley's mouth go dry. She unzipped the boots, one pull each, as advertised and stepped out of them. Then she unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them down, revealing matching underwear that hugged her hips and the dark shadow visible through the fabric. "Still one item up on you both," Topanga said. "That's because you're a strategist," Maya said. She'd moved to the couch beside Riley, and her hand had found Riley's knee without either of them acknowledging it.

"You always have a plan." "My plan right now is to win this hand, take off my bra, and then see what happens." She dealt. Maya hit to eighteen and stayed. Riley busted at twenty-two. Topanga had twenty. Riley stood up from the couch, naked, and walked to the kitchen. She came back with the champagne bottle and refilled all three glasses, moving between them with the kind of ease that suggested she'd forgotten she was supposed to feel exposed. Or maybe she'd never felt exposed at all. Maybe she'd been waiting for this. All of it for long enough that being naked in front of Topanga felt like coming home.

"New game," Riley said, sitting back down. "I'm tired of losing at blackjack." "You can't change the game just because you're losing," Topanga said. "I absolutely can. House rules." "But this isn't your house." Maya watched this exchange with the warm, amused feeling of someone who knew exactly what was about to happen. Riley was doing the thing she did when she wanted something. Arguing playfully, pushing boundaries, creating enough chaos that the rules would bend in her direction.
"Fine," Topanga said. "What game?"

"Charades. Strip charades. You lose a round, you lose an item. You win, you get to dare someone."
"That's not how charades works," Maya pointed out. "It's how strip charades works. I just invented it." Topanga considered this. "Acceptable. But I go first." She stood, thought for a moment, and began miming. Her movements were precise and theatrical. She held up two fingers, then mimed something with her hands that could have been a bird or a plane or a very specific hand gesture that made Maya snort into her champagne.

"Two words," Maya said. "First word — flying?" Topanga shook her head. She mimed again, slower this time, her hands making a shape that was unmistakably a book opening. "Book!" Riley shouted.
Topanga pointed at Riley and then at herself, then mimed putting something on her head. "Book... hat? Book hat. Book hat. That's not a thing."

Topanga groaned and dropped her hands. "Book club. It was book club. You two are terrible at this." "That's because you're too literal," Maya said. "Charades is supposed to be abstract."
"Charades is supposed to be guessable. There's a difference." She reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting it fall. Her breasts were fuller than either of theirs, heavier, with wide dark nipples that tightened as the air hit them. She didn't cover herself. She just stood there with her hands on her hips and said, "Your turn, Maya."

Maya's turn was a disaster. She tried to mime "jumping the shark" and Riley guessed "drowning fish" and Topanga guessed "something wrong with your hip" and Maya lost her nonexistent remaining clothes, which meant she had to do a dare instead. "I dare you to kiss Riley," Topanga said immediately, like she'd been waiting for this. "On the mouth?" "Wherever you think a kiss belongs when you're naked in front of someone you've been sleeping with for nine years."

Maya turned to Riley and kissed her. Not a performance kiss, not something done for an audience — a real one, slow and deep, her hand coming up to Riley's jaw, her mouth open against Riley's mouth. Riley made a sound into it, soft and involuntary, and her hand found Maya's hip and gripped. When they separated, Topanga was watching with her lips parted and her breathing visibly changed. "Again," Topanga said. "Slower."

Maya kissed Riley again, slower, one hand sliding into Riley's hair, the other tracing down her neck to her collarbone. Riley's mouth opened under hers and their tongues touched and Maya could feel Riley's pulse hammering under her fingers. When she pulled back, Riley's eyes were half-closed and her lips were wet and swollen. "Your turn, Topanga," Riley said, and her voice had gone rough.

Topanga stood and mimed. She held up one finger, then pointed to herself, then made a motion that was unmistakably dancing. "Dance," Maya said. Topanga pointed at Maya. Then she mimed something with her hands. A fighting motion, a competition. "Dance... battle?" Riley guessed.
Topanga clapped once. "Dance battle. Strip dance battle. Right now. Me versus both of you." "You want to dance battle us," Maya said flatly. "While we're naked." "While you're naked. I still have my underwear. If I lose, I lose them. If you lose —" she paused, calculating. "You owe me whatever I want."

"Whatever you want is a broad category." "I'm aware." The music came from Riley's phone, connected to the kitchen speaker, something with a heavy bass line and a slow, dirty rhythm that filled the apartment like smoke. Topanga moved first, and Maya realized with a jolt that Topanga could actually dance. Not the careful, appropriate swaying she did at events. This was different. This was hips and rhythm and the kind of body confidence that came from knowing exactly what she looked like and using every inch of it. She rolled her body in a wave that started at her shoulders and moved through her chest, her stomach, her hips, and the motion made her breasts sway and her curves shift in a way that was aggressively, devastatingly sexual.

"Fuck," Maya said, because it was the only word that applied. Riley stood up and started dancing too, and where Topanga was controlled and deliberate, Riley was fluid and shameless. She moved her hips in tight circles, ran her hands up her own body, through her hair, down her sides. She turned around and bent forward slightly, rolling her hips, and Maya could see everything, the lean lines of her body, the way her thighs parted, the glistening evidence that this was affecting her as much as it was affecting everyone else in the room.

Maya joined them, and the three of them danced in the living room with the bass shaking the floorboards, naked and half-naked and sweating and laughing. Topanga's underwear was the last barrier, and when the song changed to something slower and filthier, Maya moved behind her and pressed her body against Topanga's back. Her breasts flattened against Topanga's shoulder blades, her hands found Topanga's hips, and she moved with her, grinding, swaying, her mouth close to Topanga's ear. "You're still overdressed," Maya whispered.

Topanga turned in her arms. They were face to face, chest to chest, and Topanga's eyes were dark and steady. "Take them off, then." Maya hooked her fingers in the waistband and pushed them down over Topanga's hips, over the curve of her ass, down to the floor. Topanga stepped out of them and now all three of them were naked and the music was still playing and nobody was dancing anymore. Topanga kissed Maya. It was different from last night, less cautious, more certain, her mouth open and her tongue sliding against Maya's with a confidence that hadn't been there before. Her hands found Maya's waist and pulled her closer, and their bodies just pressed together, breasts against breasts, stomach against stomach, the heat between them building to something unbearable.

Then Riley was behind Topanga, her hands sliding around Topanga's ribs from behind, her mouth on Topanga's shoulder, her body pressed against Topanga's back the way Maya had been a moment ago. Topanga gasped into Maya's mouth. A sound that was half surprise and half arousal — and Maya swallowed it and deepened the kiss. "Bedroom," Riley said against Topanga's skin. "Living room," Topanga countered, pulling back from Maya just enough to speak. "Right here. I didn't bring cards and champagne to waste time walking."

The couch was wide enough. Topanga sat down first, then pulled Riley onto her lap so Riley was straddling her, their breasts pressed together, Riley's hands in Topanga's hair. Maya watched for a moment — watched Riley's back arch, watched Topanga's hands grip Riley's ass, watched their mouths meet in a kiss that was messy and open and desperate, and then she knelt beside them and ran her hand down Topanga's stomach.

Topanga spread her legs wider and Maya's hand found what it was looking for. She was soaked, a genuinely, dripping wet, the slick heat of her almost shocking against Maya's fingers. Maya stroked her slowly, feeling the swollen shape of her, the way her hips jerked when Maya's fingers found the right spot. "Right there," Topanga said, breaking the kiss with Riley. "Fuck right there." Maya pressed harder, slid two fingers inside her, and Topanga's head fell back against the couch.

Riley took the opportunity to lower her mouth to Topanga's breast, sucking one nipple in while her hand found the other, and Topanga was pinned between them. Maya's fingers inside her, Riley's mouth on her chest and the sounds she was making were nothing like the composed woman who'd walked into the kitchen an hour ago. "Don't stop — both of you — don't —" Maya fucked her with a steady rhythm, curving her fingers upward on each stroke, her thumb working in tight circles. She could feel Topanga getting close, the clenching around her fingers, the trembling in her thighs, the way her breathing had gone ragged and shallow.

Riley shifted, moving from Topanga's breasts to her mouth again, kissing her deep and hard, and Topanga came against Maya's hand with a muffled cry that Riley swallowed. Her whole body went rigid and then released in waves, her hips bucking twice against Maya's fingers, her hands gripping Riley's hips hard enough to leave marks. Maya slowed her hand gradually, easing Topanga through it, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder. When Topanga's breathing steadied, Riley climbed off her lap and sat beside her, and Maya sat on Topanga's other side, and the three of them were pressed together on the couch with the music still playing and the champagne getting warm on the counter.

"My turn," Riley said. "Your turn for what?" Maya asked. "Everything." Riley stood, turned, and straddled Maya this time facing her, knees on either side of Maya's hips, her wet pussy pressed against Maya's thigh. She started moving, grinding against Maya's skin, her head tipped back, her hands braced on the back of the couch behind Maya's head. Topanga watched. She didn't touch herself, but her eyes were everywhere, on Riley's hips, on Maya's hands where they gripped Riley's waist, on the place where Riley's body met Maya's thigh where everything was slick and glistening.

"She's beautiful when she does that," Topanga said. "She's beautiful all the time," Maya said, and Riley laughed breathlessly and ground down harder. Maya could feel Riley's wetness spreading against her skin, could feel the heat and the movement and the desperation in it. She slipped her hand between them and pressed her fingers against Riley's clit, and Riley's rhythm stuttered and then resumed, faster, grinding against Maya's hand now instead of her thigh. "Inside," Riley said. "Please."

Maya slid three fingers in and Riley made a sound that was almost a sob. She rode Maya's hand with her eyes closed, her mouth open, her breasts swaying with each movement. Topanga moved closer because she was beside Maya now, her hand reaching out to touch Riley's stomach, her fingers trailing down through the sweat that had gathered there. "Can I —" Topanga started. "Yes," Riley said, "yes, touch me, please —" Topanga's hand joined Maya's. Her fingers found Riley's clit while Maya's fingers worked inside her, and Riley was shaking between them, held up by nothing but their hands and her own determination.

"Come for us," Maya said, and Riley did hard, clenching around Maya's fingers, her whole body going tight and then loose, her cry filling the apartment. Topanga kept her fingers moving through it, gentle now, easing Riley down until Riley collapsed forward against Maya's chest, breathing in ragged gulps. They stayed like that for a long moment. Riley draped over Maya, Maya's arms around her, Topanga's hand still resting on Riley's hip. The music had shifted to something slower, and the afternoon light through the windows had gone amber and thick.

"I still haven't —" Maya started. "We know," Topanga and Riley said at the same time, and then looked at each other and laughed. Riley climbed off Maya and Topanga took her place, but differently. She knelt between Maya's legs on the couch and pushed them apart with both hands. She looked at Maya with those brown eyes and said, "I've been thinking about this specific thing for exactly six days." Then she lowered her mouth. Topanga's tongue was different from Riley's, firmer, more deliberate, with a patience that was almost cruel. She licked Maya in long, slow strokes that covered everything but touched nothing hard enough, and Maya's hips lifted off the couch trying to increase the pressure.

"You're a tease," Maya said through her teeth. "I'm thorough," Topanga corrected. "There's a difference." Riley appeared beside Maya, kneeling on the couch, her mouth finding Maya's nipple, her hand finding the other breast. Maya was pinned again. Topanga's mouth between her legs, Riley's mouth on her chest and the dual sensation was so overwhelming that she couldn't think, couldn't strategize, couldn't do anything except feel. Topanga found her rhythm. The tongue that had been teasing found its target and pressed, firm and steady, and Maya's hips bucked. Topanga held them down with one hand and kept going, and the pressure was building in waves that got bigger each time.

Riley bit gently down on Maya's nipple and Maya cried out. Her hand found Riley's hair and gripped, and Riley made a pleased sound and did it again. "I'm going to —" "Do it," Topanga said against her, and the vibration of the words was the thing that pushed Maya over. She came with a full-body convulsion, her thighs clamping around Topanga's head, her back arching off the couch, Riley's name and Topanga's name and a word that wasn't a word all coming out of her mouth at once. Topanga didn't stop, she kept licking, kept pressing, extending the orgasm until Maya was shaking and pushing her head away.

They collapsed into a heap on the couch. The music had stopped. The champagne was warm. The cards were still on the counter, untouched for hours. "I won," Topanga said into the silence. "You won what?" Maya asked, her voice wrecked. "Everything. I won everything." She paused. "Also, I was counting cards." "I knew it," Maya said. Riley laughed against Maya's shoulder. "She absolutely was."

Topanga reached for the velvet box she'd brought, which had been sitting unopened on the counter all afternoon. She popped it open and inside were three simple silver rings, not engagement rings, not promise rings, just rings, smooth and clean. "What are those?" Riley asked.