After her last lesson of the day, Willa showered in a rush, made a phone call, and then hopped in the Subaru, returning half an hour later with a giant, greasy cheese pizza. It was Van’s night to pick a movie, which meant Star Wars, pizza, more Star Wars, snack food, more Star Wars, ice cream, and finally, more Star Wars.

Good thing they both had the day off tomorrow because Willa was going to need it—both to sleep in after such a marathon session and possibly run an actual marathon after that much food.

Other than being concerned for her health, though, she was in a fantastic mood as she climbed out of the car with the finest pizza to be found in Briarsted—which wasn’t saying much. Still.

She jogged up the steps to their cabin, and when she opened the door, she was bowled over by what was inside. It was dark, but stars spun on the ceiling, projected from a gadget on the floor; there were cardboard cutout figures of half a dozen characters she recognized from the movies; not to mention she almost walked into some sort of spacecraft that appeared to be suspended in midair. Was it a TIE fighter or an X-wing? She always got them confused. That and R2-D2 and C-3PO. She would not be mentioning that to Van, though, no sir.

Van climbed down from her bed, which she appeared to have been standing on in order to attach an inflatable Death Star to the corner. “What do you think?”

“I think…” You’re such a geek and I love you for it? I could listen to you talk about Star Wars for the rest of my life and tease me when I can’t tell the difference between a Wookie and an Ewok? “I think…you must have been keeping Amazon super-busy delivering all this stuff. How did I not notice all the boxes?”

Even in the darkened room, Van managed to look sheepish. “I didn’t have to order any of this.”

Willa looked around at all the memorabilia on display, seeing even more things than she had before, like a BB-8 pillow and the fact Van was wearing…

“Are you supposed to be Han Solo?”

A broad grin spread across Van’s face. “I wasn’t sure you’d notice. How could you tell?”

It was true if she’d dressed up as one of the more obscure characters, Willa never would’ve gotten it, but with the fitted black pants, the cream shirt with the open neckline, the black vest slung over it, and a utility belt wrapped around her hips, it was unmistakable. Plus, even as a kid she’d had a crush on Harrison Ford and things hadn’t changed all that much. Damn did Van look fine.

“I may not be a Star Wars aficionado like you, but I remember Han Solo. Do I get a costume too?”

She meant it as a joke, but Van’s gaze slid from hers over to her bed. On top of her duvet, there was a white…something.

“Oh my god, I get to be Princess Leia?”

“Only if you want, I wasn’t sure if you’d—”

Willa crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed ahold of Van, pulling her into a full-contact hug. “I want. This is awesome. I’m so excited about it. Did you have this just lying around too?” Releasing Van, who’d gone stiff as a board in her arms, Willa took a step back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…well, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s not that I don’t like hugs, it just takes me a while to get used to them. I don’t…touch people much. Not like you and Nate and your parents. I guess I’m out of practice. To answer your question, though, no, I didn’t have that before. That I had to order.”

Willa’s heart melted into a puddle. Van had gotten her a costume? She wanted to share this with Willa—and not only share it by decorating their cabin, but include her? She stepped forward again, settling the toes of her sneakers in between the tips of Van’s black boots.

“I’m going to hug you now. Just FYI. You can tell me not to and I won’t, but I’d like to. And I’ll try to give you time to get used to it, okay?”

Van bit her bottom lip and released it on a sigh, as though she was preparing to go into some epic battle. “Okay. I’m ready.”

So Willa put her arms around Van again and held her, their chests pressing against each other. After a second, Van’s arms reached tentatively around Willa’s waist, her hand eventually coming to rest between Willa’s shoulder blades. Hell if that didn’t feel good. She could almost imagine pulling apart enough to press her mouth to Van’s, to run her tongue along where Van’s teeth had sunk into her bottom lip, but she didn’t want to freak her out. Plus, she wanted to wear her outfit.

Willa counted to a hundred twenty, enjoying the gradual softening of Van’s body against her, as well as the feel of Van’s breath against her shoulder and the smell of her. Slightly musty because god knew where she’d been keeping her secret stash of Star Wars clothes, but also warm and smelling like the ocean. A warm salty body Willa wanted to lick. Instead, she let go of Van and stepped back, regretting it the second their bodies were no longer pressed together.

It was possible Van’s cheeks were pink, but it was hard to tell in the low light. Willa wasn’t so sure she wasn’t sporting a flush herself.

“Uh, I guess I should get dressed?”

“Yeah, I’ll get stuff set up.”

Van turned away from Willa, and she couldn’t help but admire how the black pants hugged Van’s hips, her butt. Han Solo was a good look for her. Willa grabbed the pile of white fabric from off her own bed and toted it into the bathroom, shutting the door and trying not to swoon like a schoolgirl after she’d closed it. But why the hell not? It’s not as though Van could see her if she did. So full-on schoolgirl, hand-on-forehead, back-against-the-door, little-squeal swoon it was.

* * *

While Willa was in the bathroom, getting naked to change into the Princess Leia dress Van had ordered for her, Van distracted herself by cracking the pizza open and digging in. Meg did a great job with the food, especially considering she had to cook for so many people and deal with a different set of dietary restrictions every week, but pizza was not her specialty. Or maybe it was and Van couldn’t appreciate it. Too fancy for her taste—Meg was always trying to put figs or some shit on it. Cheese. That was what was supposed to be on pizza. Maybe pepperoni, but not figs for god’s sake.

Van was about halfway through her slice when the bathroom door opened, and Willa stepped out, a vision in white. It made Van wish she’d gone for the slave girl bikini set…almost. Truthfully, while she’d love to see Willa’s muscular arms and taut stomach, the thing that killed her most was the look of raw delight on Willa’s face.

“Do I look okay?”

“Yeah.” Van had to clear her throat and refrain from stuffing the rest of her slice into her mouth to keep her from saying something far too honest. Keep it simple, stupid. “You look great.”

Willa twirled, and Van’s heart exploded like the Death Star. Why did she love making Willa happy so goddamn much? But she did. Made her feel like Emperor of the entire galaxy, except not in an evil way. Well, not super-evil, though she definitely wanted to do some naughty things to Willa.

“Except my hair. It’s all wrong.” Willa picked up a honey lock and looked at it disapprovingly. “Even I know Leia is not blonde, and there’s no way I can do those fancy cinnamon roll things she’s got on the sides of her head.”

“I could help you with that if you want. After we finish the pizza. Don’t want to get your hair all…” Van held up her hand, fingers slick with grease.

“Can you really?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You don’t seem like a hair expert. No offense.”

Right. Her own close-cropped ‘do wouldn’t inspire confidence. “Well, not on myself, but when I go to a comic con or something, it’s nice to be able to help the people I’m cosplaying with. So I picked up a trick or two.”

She shrugged, hoping against hope Willa wouldn’t see how much Van wanted to sink her fingers into Willa’s hair, twist and pin it into Leia’s trademark buns. Who cared if Willa was blonde? It was the spirit that mattered, right? Willa had the perfect mix of badass and beauty that Leia did. Also that regal bearing. Yep.

“That’s awesome. And yes, after pizza, because I’m starving.”

Then Willa was standing next to her, reaching into the box and pulling out a slice and bringing it to her mouth. Van couldn’t stop staring. When Willa looked at her after taking a bite, Van tore her gaze away so her cabinmate wouldn’t be able to tell all the filthy ideas shooting through her head like hits from a blaster. Fuck, she was in trouble.

To cover up her unacceptable feelings toward Willa, Van set up the movie and got everything settled, putting the pizza box in between them on a beach towel on her bed. Good. The threat of getting cheese and tomato sauce on her vintage Star Wars comforter should be enough to stop her from accosting Willa, whose eyes were focused on the screen as if she hadn’t watched the opening credits to Star Wars well over a hundred times. Or maybe that was Van.

They decimated the pizza in pretty short order, and while Van wouldn’t have mentioned it again, Willa wiped her fingers thoroughly on some napkins and reached forward to pause the movie on Van’s laptop before turning to her. “Pizza’s gone. Can you do my hair now?”

Can I thread my fingers through your silky blonde hair, let it fall over your sculpted shoulders, and smell it at every opportunity while I make you look like one of film history’s most iconic heroines? “Uh, sure. Lemme wash up.”

Paper napkins were well and good for most intents and purposes, but she wouldn’t chance Willa’s hair to such a careless measure.

When she emerged from the bathroom, hands squeaky clean and practically twitching with the need to touch Willa, she found Willa had set up the laptop on a stack of books on the carpet and positioned herself on the floor before it, leaning up against Van’s bed. And where the pizza box had been were now a brush, a comb, some elastics, and bobby pins. Willa had come prepared.

Despite her heart beating hard against her ribs, Van ambled over as if she had all the time in the world and only passing interest in what they were doing, when in fact this would probably be the most achingly pleasurable thing she’d done in months, if not years. So painful with unrequited desire, but so goddamn delightful with the mere ability to touch the woman she’d been thirsting for.

So she climbed up behind Willa, settling her knees alongside Willa’s shoulders and trying not to imagine what it would be like for Willa to turn around, push her to her back, and yank her pants off, the hunger in her voice unmistakable as she’d say, “I want you.”

Wow, did sex ever make people stupid. No time for her own private Star Wars-themed porno running through her head. Nope, not even a little bit. She was supposed to be putting years of cosplaying hairstyling to good use for her bunkmate who was indulging her.

Willa started the movie again, and when she leaned back, Van took up the brush and began to work it through Willa’s hair. Soft, yes, and smelling of that citrus shampoo she’d like to huff like a middle schooler with a handful of Sharpies.

Willa’s powerful shoulders dropped, and she let out a sigh of what could only be pleasure and tipped her head to give Van easier access to the side she was running the bristles through. It wasn’t hard, not too many knots to be untangled despite its length, but given Willa’s reaction, Van wanted to find an excuse to keep doing this for…forever.

Breathing dreamy sighs and settling until her head was resting on Van’s knee, Willa was clearly enjoying herself. Maybe more than Van, and that was saying something given the pleasantly warm tingle that had set up shop in Van’s chest with satellite locations all along her nervous system. Who knew brushing someone’s hair could be so enchanting?

At some point, Willa’s small sounds became kitten-sleepy, and Van nudged her with a knee. “Don’t fall asleep or we’ll have to start all over.”

“I’m not asleep, just…blissed out. It’s nice to have someone play with your hair, you know? It’s not something that happens often after slumber party days are over. I mean, sure, sometimes people you’re sleeping with will give you the odd pat on the head, but I can’t tell you how long it’s been since someone brushed my hair. It’s nice. Like scalp-massage-at-the-salon nice.”

Right. Slumber parties. A hair salon. Willa was carefully aligning this with other indulgent but strictly platonic experiences and some of Van’s pleasure dimmed. Well, sure. What had she expected? For Willa to suddenly be enamored of her for brushing her hair? For such a smart person, you can be awfully stupid sometimes.

As an act of self-care, a way to guard her heart against further incursion from this clueless woman she had trapped between her legs, Van dropped the brush and picked up the comb. And as she had with so many friends before, cupped Willa’s jaw and tilted her head back. “Chin up.”

That was how you could see their hairlines, to make a straight part. She’d done it probably dozens of times, and never before had she wanted to keep tipping, far enough to lay a kiss on Willa’s parted lips. Particularly when Willa blinked at her, dazed, and smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Van had to close her eyes for a second before she could bring herself to locate the center of Willa’s forehead, at the point of the tiniest widow’s peak, and then she was running the comb through, about halfway back, until she could use it to flip Willa’s hair to the sides. It was a relief to not have to look at her face, but to focus on the back of her head, and then to tip it down to finish making the division along her scalp. All the way until the comb reached to the nape of her neck and then it was a struggle again not to lean down and tease Willa with a brush of her nose and then her lips to the bared skin.

Focus, Thompson. Van made a mental note never to cosplay with Willa again. At least not in anything that would require her assistance. This was torture. Brutal torture. Aiming to get this over with, Van made a tight ponytail over Willa’s ear and then started to twist her blonde hair into a coil which soon started to twist in on itself. Van followed its lead, wrapping it in layers until a perfectly swirled cinnamon bun had shaped itself over Willa’s ear. Not quite as voluminous as Leia’s, but who had hair like that for real?

Carefully, she inserted pins, doing her best to secure the style without digging the metal into Willa’s scalp, because ouch. Not that she had a ton of experience with bobby pins in her own hair—because honestly, what would she need them for?—but she’d heard her sisters shriek in protest during their ballet days when their mother was trying to get their hair into the perfect ballerina bun. It had sounded like cats being murdered.

For all it looked as though it should take hours, the twisty buns were relatively quick to accomplish once you’d had some practice, and Van had had plenty. It was a matter of only about ten minutes before—both thankfully and regretfully—Van was pushing the final pin in.

Once she was finished, she took one bun in each hand and bopped Willa’s head back and forth, from one shoulder to another, and Willa laughed. “I don’t remember Han Solo doing that to Leia in the movies.”

“Yeah, but I bet he wanted to. Super-bad.” Lucky bastard had gotten to kiss—and more—his Leia at some point. “Usually I’d use some transparent nets and a shit ton of hairspray to keep it this way, but since we’re hanging out and not trying to push our way through the hordes at a convention, I figure you’re fine without. So, you know, all done.”

She patted Willa on the shoulder awkwardly because if she touched her more than that, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop. Willa reached forward and paused the movie once more before springing to her feet and spinning around.

“How do I look?”

Hell. Perfect. She looked perfect, but Van managed to choke out only a “fine,” before Willa was jogging to the bathroom—did the woman ever walk anywhere?

“Dude, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I look amazing.”

Yeah, you do.

Willa poked her head out again. “Seriously, I look awesome. I know my coloring is all wrong—” No way, you’re perfect exactly how you are “—but aside from that, I look fan-freaking-tastic. For realsies. This is fun. We’re definitely going to have to do a Star Wars event during the week. I know the first movie technically came out during the seventies, but still.”

Van let Willa chatter excitedly about all the fun things they could do—make your own light sabers, a Death Star piñata, clearly a costume dinner—and tried not to be too depressed. Because surely some hunk of man-meat filling out a Han costume better than she could or maybe some lithe woman dressed up as Rey would hit on Willa, and she’d have to watch her flirt with someone else. If Willa were anyone else but Nate’s little sister…but she wasn’t.

It hurt too much, and she couldn’t bear it. “Can we start the movie again?”

Willa’s excited expression and buzzing ideas all collapsed. “Yeah, sure.”

She climbed back up next to Van and pressed play, and they went back to watching the movie.