HOLIDAY BUBBLES

The cork came out with a satisfying pop that echoed through the Matthews apartment like a tiny celebration all its own. Topanga Matthews held the bottle at arm's length, watching the foam bubble up and spill over her fingers before she caught it with a kitchen towel draped over her wrist like she'd been doing this her whole life. Which, honestly, she had.

"To a long weekend with nowhere to be and no one expecting anything from us," Topanga announced, pouring three generous flutes without waiting for glasses to be offered. She had that look on her face — the one Maya Matthews-Hunter recognized from years of holiday dinners and impromptu gatherings — the look that said Topanga had decided something and the rest of them were just along for the ride. Cory was attending a weekend teachers conference as the three were alone for the weekend.

Maya grabbed her glass from the counter and took a long sip before even pretending to toast. The champagne was good — better than what they usually splurged on — and she could feel the bubbles tickle the back of her throat. Riley Amy Matthews-Hunter appeared from the hallway carrying a tray of cheese and grapes that nobody had asked for, looking like she'd stepped out of a magazine spread about effortless entertaining. "Did you just pair cheese with champagne?" Maya asked, raising an eyebrow.

"There are literally websites dedicated to it, Maya. It's a whole thing." Riley set the tray on the coffee table and settled cross-legged on the floor beside the couch, her brunette hair spilling over one shoulder. She was wearing an oversized NYU sweatshirt that kept slipping off her collarbone, and every time she tugged it back up, Maya's eyes followed the movement maybe a beat too long.

Topanga lowered herself onto the couch with the kind of graceful collapse that suggested she'd been on her feet all day. She was wearing a silk blouse the color of deep wine and dark leggings, her short frame propped up by throw pillows she'd arranged with unconscious precision. She kicked off her flats and tucked her feet underneath her. "So," Topanga said, and the word carried weight. Maya recognized that tone. It was the tone Topanga used when she was about to ask a question she already knew the answer to. "So," Maya echoed, draining more champagne.

"How long have you two been sleeping together?" Riley's hand froze mid-reach for a brie wedge. Maya's champagne went down the wrong pipe and she coughed hard enough to make her eyes water. The apartment suddenly felt very quiet except for the ambient hum of the refrigerator and the distant wail of a siren somewhere over the East River. "What?" Riley managed, her voice climbing half an octave. "Oh, come on." Topanga sipped her champagne with magnificent calm. "I've watched you two for months. The way you look at each other. The way you touch each other when you think nobody's paying attention. The way Maya watches you fix your hair, Riley. It's not subtle."

Maya set her glass down. Her face was flushed and she knew it wasn't from the champagne. She looked at Riley, and Riley looked back at her, and there was a long, charged second where they both seemed to be running calculations behind their eyes. "It's — we —" Riley started. "Riley. Maya. I'm not mad. I'm not scandalized." Topanga leaned forward, brown eyes warm and curious. "I'm genuinely asking. And I'm also asking because I think there's something else you two haven't said yet. Something you want to ask me." The silence stretched. Maya felt her pulse in her throat. She'd had this conversation in her head a dozen times — sometimes late at night with Riley's body warm against hers, sometimes in the shower, sometimes standing in this very kitchen staring at the toaster like it might give her courage. She'd never imagined Topanga would be the one to kick the door open.

"We've been together about eight months," Maya said quietly. She reached over and found Riley's hand, threading their fingers together. Riley squeezed back. "And yeah. We've talked about you." "Talked about me how, exactly?" Topanga's lips curved. "Don't make me say it while I'm still on my first glass," Maya said. Topanga refilled all three flutes without being asked. "There. Second glass. Now say it." Riley laughed — a short, breathless sound that broke some of the tension. "We think about you, Topanga. When we're together. We think about what it would be like if you were there with us."

"To be clear," Maya added, "we think about you being there in a very specific, very naked capacity." Topanga didn't flinch. She studied them both for a long moment, then took a slow, deliberate sip of champagne. "I've had my suspicions. I've also had my own thoughts about the two of you that I probably shouldn't have been having." "What kind of thoughts?" Riley asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "The kind that made me buy this champagne instead of the cheap stuff, because I had a feeling tonight was going to go somewhere interesting." Topanga set her glass down and reached behind the couch cushion. She produced a deck of cards with a theatrical flourish that was completely at odds with her usual practical demeanor.

"I propose we make this interesting. Strip blackjack. Loser of each hand removes something. Winner asks a question the others have to answer honestly. And we keep playing until either everyone's honest or everyone's naked. Whichever comes first." "You brought cards to a champagne night?" Maya said, but she was already grinning. "I always bring cards to champagne night. You just never noticed because you're usually too busy stealing the good cheese."

Riley was still holding Maya's hand. Her palm was damp. She looked at Maya with an expression that was equal parts terror and excitement, and Maya recognized it because she felt the same way — like standing at the edge of a high dive and knowing you were going to jump regardless of how your stomach felt. "Deal," Maya said.

Topanga cleared the coffee table with one sweep of her arm, cheese and grapes be damned, and shuffled the cards with practiced hands. The apartment felt different now — charged, the air thick with something that made Maya's skin prickle. She could smell Riley's perfume mixed with the sharp sweetness of the champagne, and underneath it all, something warm and clean that was just Topanga.

The first hand went to Riley. Maya lost. She pulled off her socks and tossed them at the couch with exaggerated flair. "Not what I had in mind when I imagined you taking your clothes off," Topanga said dryly. "Patience. It's a virtue." Maya resettled herself, tucking her legs under her.

The second hand went to Topanga. Riley lost. She pulled the oversized sweatshirt over her head in one fluid motion, revealing a thin white tank top underneath that left very little to imagine. Her nipples pressed against the fabric, visibly hard, and Maya watched Topanga's eyes drop to Riley's chest and then carefully, deliberately, look away. "Question from the winner," Topanga said, collecting the cards. "Maya — when did you first realize you wanted Riley?"

Maya took a breath. "College. Junior year. She fell asleep on my shoulder during a movie and I spent the whole rest of the film thinking about what it would feel like to kiss her neck. I went home that night and couldn't stop thinking about it. I didn't do anything about it for another two years because I was an idiot." Riley turned to look at her. "Junior year? You never told me that." "There are a lot of things I haven't told you yet. That's what this game is for, right?"

Third hand. Topanga won again. Maya lost. She stood up and unbuttoned her jeans, stepping out of them with more grace than the maneuver probably deserved. She was wearing black underwear that hugged her hips, and she made no effort to sit back down quickly, letting Topanga get a full look. "Question," Topanga said, and her voice had changed — lower, more careful. "Riley — what's the thing you want most that you haven't asked for?" Riley's brown eyes were huge. She looked at Maya, then at Topanga, then at her own hands twisted in her lap. "I want Maya to watch while someone else touches me. I want to see her face while it happens. I've thought about it more times than I can count, and the person in the fantasy is always —" She stopped. Swallowed. "It's always you, Topanga."

The room went still. Topanga's expression didn't change, but something shifted behind her eyes — a door opening. Maya felt a rush of heat move through her body that had nothing to do with the champagne. She reached for Riley's hand again and found it trembling. "Deal the next hand," Maya said softly. Topanga dealt. Maya won. Topanga lost. She unbuttoned her silk blouse with steady fingers and let it slide off her shoulders, revealing a lacy bra the same deep wine color as the shirt she'd just removed. Her breasts were full and soft above the lace edge, and the sight of her — half-undressed in the warm light of the apartment — made Maya's mouth go dry. "Question from the winner," Maya said. "Topanga — have you ever been with a woman before?"

"Once. In college. A friend. It was brief and clumsy and I spent twenty years thinking it was a one-time thing that got out of hand." Topanga paused. "And then I started paying attention to the two of you, and I started thinking maybe it wasn't a one-time thing at all. Maybe I just hadn't met the right women to want it again." Riley made a sound that was almost a whimper. Maya squeezed her hand.

Next hand. Riley won. Topanga lost. She reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting it fall forward off her shoulders. Her breasts settled heavily, nipples dark and already tight, and she set the bra aside without any self-consciousness at all. She was comfortable in her body in a way that made Maya ache with something between admiration and desire. "Question," Riley said, her voice rough. "Topanga — if I kissed you right now, would you let me?" "I'd be disappointed if you didn't." Riley moved. She unfolded herself from the floor and crossed the short distance to the couch in two quick movements, kneeling in front of Topanga and reaching up to frame her face with both hands. She kissed her slowly, carefully, and Topanga responded by sliding one hand into Riley's hair and pulling her closer. The kiss deepened.

Maya watched Riley's tongue brush Topanga's lower lip and saw Topanga's mouth open to it, and the sound that came from Riley's throat was raw and hungry. Maya's own breathing had gone shallow. She watched the two of them — Riley's slim frame pressed against Topanga's fuller curves, their mouths moving together with increasing urgency — and felt heat building between her legs that was becoming impossible to ignore. She pressed her thighs together and let the pressure build.

When they finally separated, Topanga's lips were swollen and her breathing was uneven. She looked past Riley at Maya. "Your turn." Maya didn't lose the next hand. She didn't even really play it. She just set her cards down, stood up, and pulled her shirt over her head. Her bra was black and simple and her breasts pressed against it with each rapid breath. She unclasped it and let it drop, then hooked her thumbs in her underwear and pushed them down, stepping out of them barefoot on the cool hardwood. "Fuck the game," Maya said.

Riley was already pulling off her tank top, her sports bra, her leggings, everything, stripping with the kind of desperate efficiency that made Maya smile. In seconds she was naked too, her body lean and tanned, the line of her hips drawing Maya's eyes like a magnet. She turned to Topanga, who was still on the couch, topless and watching them both with dark, focused eyes. "You're overdressed," Riley said.

Topanga stood. She pushed her leggings down, then her underwear, and stepped out of them. She was shorter than both of them, her body softer and more curved, with a dark triangle of hair between her thighs and a belly that rounded gently. She didn't pose or try to make herself look different. She just stood there, naked and unapologetic, and Maya thought she had never been more attracted to anyone in her life.

"Bedroom," Maya said. "Now." They moved together through the hallway — Maya leading, Riley's hand on her lower back, Topanga close behind. The bedroom was warm and dim, the afternoon light filtering through curtains in golden bands across the bed. Maya turned and kissed Riley first, hard and deep, one hand gripping the back of her neck. Then she turned to Topanga and kissed her too, and Topanga's mouth was softer, slower, more deliberate, like she was memorizing the shape of Maya's lips.

They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. Riley ended up in the middle, Maya on her left, Topanga on her right. Maya ran her hand down Riley's body — over the curve of her breast, across her flat stomach, between her legs where she was already slick and hot. Riley gasped and arched into the touch, and Topanga leaned over Riley's body to take one nipple in her mouth, sucking gently while her hand found Riley's other breast. "Oh god," Riley said, and her voice broke on the second word.

Maya slid two fingers inside Riley while her thumb worked in slow circles above them. She knew Riley's body — knew the rhythm she liked, the pressure, the angle — and she used all of it now while Topanga's mouth moved across Riley's chest. Riley was writhing between them, her hands reaching for both of them, grabbing fistfuls of hair and sheets and whatever she could hold. "Watch her face," Riley whispered, and Maya understood. She looked down at Riley while she fucked her, watched her eyes go hazy and her mouth fall open, watched the flush spread down her neck and across her chest. Topanga raised her head to watch too, and the three of them were connected in that moment by something electric and shared.

Riley came with a shudder that moved through her whole body, clenching around Maya's fingers and crying out against Topanga's shoulder. Maya held her through it, slowing her hand gradually, pressing soft kisses to Riley's jaw. When Riley's breathing steadied, she reached for Topanga. "Your turn." "I've been waiting," Topanga said, and there was something playful in it that made Maya laugh. Riley pushed Topanga back against the pillows and spread her thighs with both hands. She lowered her mouth and Maya watched Topanga's body react — the sudden tension in her stomach, the way her hips lifted off the bed, the sharp intake of breath that turned into a low, sustained moan. Riley's tongue moved with deliberate patience, and Maya could see the wetness glistening on Riley's chin as she worked.

Maya straddled Topanga's face without asking permission. Topanga looked up at her with those brown eyes — surprised for half a second, then hungry — and then Topanga's tongue was on her, inside her, and Maya braced herself against the headboard and let the sensation wash through her in waves. She looked down and saw Riley between Topanga's legs, Topanga's mouth between her legs, and the triangle of it — the three of them connected, mouths and hands and bodies — was so overwhelmingly erotic that Maya felt her orgasm building almost immediately. "Don't stop," Maya said, and she wasn't sure who she was talking to.

Topanga's tongue moved faster, pressing against Maya's clit with a rhythm that was different from Riley's — firmer, more methodical — and the difference was its own kind of thrill. Maya rocked her hips, grinding against Topanga's mouth, chasing the feeling. Below her, Topanga was moaning into her pussy, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation, and the sounds Riley was making between Topanga's legs were wet and obscene and perfect. Maya came first. The orgasm hit her like a wave breaking, rolling through her body in pulses that made her thighs shake and her vision blur. She ground down hard against Topanga's face and Topanga held her hips steady and kept licking until Maya couldn't take it anymore and lifted herself away, gasping.

She rolled to the side and watched Riley finish Topanga off. Riley's fingers were inside her now, curling upward, while her tongue worked Topanga's clit in tight, fast strokes. Topanga's hands were in Riley's hair, pulling, and her back was arched off the bed, her breasts pointing upward, nipples tight and dark. "Fuck — right there — don't stop —" Topanga's voice was nothing like her normal composed tone. It was raw and fractured and honest, and Maya thought it was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard.

Topanga came with a full-body shudder, her thighs clamping around Riley's head, her hips bucking twice before she fell back against the pillows, breathing hard. Riley crawled up between them, her face wet, her grin enormous, and Maya pulled her down into a kiss that tasted like Topanga and champagne and something that was purely Riley. They lay there in a pile, breathing, touching idly, not speaking. The afternoon light had shifted, casting longer shadows across the bed. Maya traced patterns on Topanga's stomach while Riley played with Maya's hair, and the silence was very comfortable in a way that surprised her — like they'd been doing this for years instead of minutes.

"So," Topanga said eventually. "That happened." "That happened," Riley confirmed. "I believe I owe both of you an honest answer to a question each, based on the rules of the game we just abandoned." Topanga propped herself up on one elbow. "Ask away." Maya thought for a moment. "Will you do this again? Not just the sex. All of it. The champagne, the cards, the talking, the — being here with us." Topanga looked at her with those warm brown eyes and smiled — not the polite smile she wore at dinners, but a real one, crooked and soft. "Maya, I bought the good champagne. I brought the cards. I've been thinking about this for six months. What do you think?"

Riley laughed and pressed her face into the pillow. "I think we should have played strip blackjack a lot sooner." "You two were too busy pretending you weren't staring at each other in the kitchen every morning," Topanga said. "I had to practically draw you a diagram." "Is that what tonight was? A diagram?" Maya asked. "Tonight was a very detailed, very naked diagram with footnotes." Topanga reached for her champagne glass on the nightstand, found it empty, and frowned. "And now I need more champagne."

"We have three more bottles," Riley said. "Good. Because I'm not done with either of you." Then Topanga swung her legs off the bed and stood, naked and unbothered, walking toward the kitchen with the kind of confidence that comes from having nothing left to hide. She paused in the doorway and looked back. "And next time, I'm winning at blackjack." Maya looked at Riley. Riley looked at Maya. They both started laughing at the same time, the kind of helpless, giddy laughter that comes from joy and relief and the absurdity of finding exactly what you wanted in the last place you just expected to look.

"She's going to win, isn't she?" Riley said. "She's absolutely going to win," Maya said. "And I'm going to let her." They followed Topanga to the kitchen, all three of them still bare and flushed and unconcerned about it, and the cork popped again, and the evening stretched ahead of them like a promise with no fine print.