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Reese turns to me slowly. Her mouth curls into the smuggest grin I’ve ever seen.

“So,” she says.

I blink. “So?”

“You finally got some.”

I gape. “Would you not?”

She eyes me up and down, from my bare legs in Fletch’s oversized T-shirt to my hair—which is doing its best impression of post-orgasm static. “You’re glowing. You look like you just had the kind of sex that changes your zodiac sign.”

I roll my eyes. “It was not that dramatic.”

Except, she has a point. Not that I’m willing to concede it.

“Babe,” she snorts. “I saw the walk of shame you did from the bedroom to the door. That wasn’t a stroll, it was a wobble. Your knees are mad at you. Your hair’s got that ‘I was just fisted through emotional healing’ vibe.”

“Reese!”

“What?” She takes a sip from her iced coffee and shrugs. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’m proud of you. He looked like he wanted to skin anyone who touched you. Now he looks like he climbed Everest and planted his flag.”

My face is full-on crimson now. “Can we not talk about the flag?”

She cackles, then softens a little as she leans against the counter. “Seriously. You okay?”

I pause. Swallow. Nod once. “Yeah. I think I am.”

A beat of quiet stretches between us. The kind that says she knows I mean it—but also that she’s waiting for me to fall apart if I need to.

“I’m not saying everything’s fixed,” I add. “But… it felt like something good. Real.”

Reese smiles. “So when’s round three?”

I arch a brow, unable to stop the slow, smug grin that spreads across my face. “You mean round four?”

Her jaw drops. “Shut. Up.”

I shrug, biting my lip. “He has… stamina.”

She fans herself with the cookie container. “Jesus, Mya. Leave some serotonin for the rest of us. Also, who knew rockstars had that kind of stamina, right?”

“Don’t look at me. Talk to your sex Yeti of a friend out there playing peekaboo with our kids like he didn’t just rail me through a headboard.”

Reese snorts so hard she chokes on her coffee. “You’re disgusting and I love it. I also hate how smug you are right now. You’ve got that ‘freshly wrecked by a rockstar’ glow.”

I roll my eyes but don’t deny it. Can’t. My legs are jelly, my lips are sore, and I’m still a little dizzy in the best way possible.

She wiggles her brows. “So are we saying the dry spell is officially over?”

“Oh, it’s not just over.” I pull her into a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s been drowned. Buried. Given a memorial and a jazz band sendoff.”

Reese cackles. “God, I’ve missed this version of you.”

I blink. “What version?”

“The one that smiles like she just got her world tilted on its axis in the best way. The one who lets herself have things, even messy ones.”

Her voice is softer now. Real.