If hell is real, Karma decides, then there is a very special level of it just for men like Liam Booker.

Or maybe, she thinks, for men in general.

(Though she does reserve the right to change her mind on that, assuming that is, that she ever meets a man who isn't gay (Shane), her father (Lucas), or a giant dick (Liam 'is a giant dick, sure as hell doesn't have a giant dick' Booker).

'I love you', he'd said. 'You've changed me,' he'd said. 'I'm sorry I fucked your best friend,' he'd said.

Actually, come to think of it, he hadn't said that last one. Come to think of it, Karma can't remember Liam actually apologizing for what he'd done at all. For lying about it, yes. But for actually doing it? For actually having sex with her best friend?

Not a word.

Unless you count putting all the blame squarely on Karma.

(And if Karma thinks that maybe that's how it always works in her life, that she gets the blame for everything? Well, she might not be far off.)

Liam was all about blaming her. Saying it was because she broke his heart. A heart he only knew he had because of her, and so didn't his newfound emotion and love and all that, didn't that just make everything OK?

(Special level, Karma thinks. Special level with extra hellfire. More pitchforks. Extraordinarily ugly women that Liam can't stop fucking for all of eternity.)

(And those ugly women? They cum. Over and over and over. And Liam?)

(Let's be real. Special level, remember?)

It had never been in the plan - and Karma had a plan - to go back to him. Not even after the whole 'I just got out of jail thanks to you, so I'll throw you one last pity fuck' debacle.

Karma barely even remembers him. Mostly, she remembers the dream. The one where Reagan made out with Amy, and Karma made out with Amy.

(And Liam made out with Amy, because Amy is - in Karma's dream - a total slut. But Karma forgets that part.)

(Mostly.)

But, after that, Karma had chalked Liam up as a notch on the bedpost. (She was trying to be macho about it. What's good for the goose and all that.) He was out of her system, she was over him.

(And if, being unable to dream about anything but Reagan and Amy for the next few weeks signaled anything to Karma, it was that she was 100% over Liam Booker.)

(Any other signals? Yeah… what signals?)

The perfect Ferrari of boyfriends image was shattered. The fairy tale of landing the hottest guy in school had turned into the kind of fairy tale the Grimm brothers actually wrote. The ones where the kids really get eaten, the witch always wins, and the dream guy fucks your soulmate while you're crying your eyes out with your mom.

(OK, so maybe the Grimms didn't write that exact story. But, Karma is positive, if they'd ever been teenage girls and had been forced to deal with teenage boys, they most certainly would have.)

(And if the fact that she blames it all on boys says anything to Karma…)

Yeah, let's face it. None of it says anything to Karma like it would to anyone else.

(Not yet.)

So, going back to Liam wasn't in the plan. And the plan, as far as Karma plans go, was very simple.

Step 1: Rebuild friendship with Amy

Step 2: Avoid Liam

Step 3: Become friends with Reagan

Step 3 was totally there to help with step 1. That was it. Only reason.

(Sure it was.)

And then Reagan had to get her that damn catering job.

With the Ashcroft family drug den out of what was, she discovered, a very profitable business, Karma had stepped into pick up some of the slack. First it was a job at an ice cream parlor.

That lasted a week.

Apparently throwing a double-chocolate cone dipped in hot (very fucking hot) fudge at a customer was frowned upon.

Karma's argument that said customer was a best-friend-fucking douche and that throwing hot fudge at his balls was probably doing all of woman-kind a favor?

That didn't help her keep the job.

Then there was the car wash.

And, God, some people were so sensitive about getting their Mercedes accidentally keyed.

And it's tires accidentally slashed.

And it's BookMbile vanity plate accidentally..

Well, let's just say the hot fudge was the least of Liam's ball's trouble after that.

Then along came Reagan. And in a gesture of goodwill that Karma was entirely sure was all Amy's doing, the older girl offered to help.

(And Karma totally wasn't thinking about how Amy might have convinced Reagan to help her.)

(Or what body parts it might have involved.)

(And she was totally not hoping it was tongue-related.)

(Nope. Not at all.)

So, Reagan pulled some strings and Karma was Crown City Catering's newest cater-waiter.

Step 3 was so on.

And, of course, step 3 meant spending more time with Reagan. Cater-waiter training (which was about 1000 times more complicated than Karma had expected). Meeting all her new co-workers. Getting the dirt on who was cool, who to avoid, who couldn't take no for an answer.

Karma discovered, much to her shock, that step 3 was actually somewhat easier than step 1.

Maybe, she thought, it was the lack of history between them.

Maybe it was that she didn't worry about accidentally crossing lines with Reagan. She wasn't constantly watching her every step and thinking twice about her every word.

Maybe, just maybe, it was that Reagan was actually pretty fucking awesome. Maybe it was that Karma was starting to discover exactly why Amy loved the older girl so much.

(But it definitely had nothing to do with the way Karma found herself spending a little too much time staring at Reagan's lips.)

(Or the way Karma's stomach jumped when Reagan ended her pre-Karma's-first-party-pep talk by slapping her ass.)

(You're gonna kill it, she said. Kill it!)

(And it had absolutely nothing to do with the way Karma's fingers lingered just a little too long when she helped Reagan tie her little black cater-waiter tie or how those fingers might have brushed against the soft skin of Reagan's neck or how Karma found herself wondering - without much guilt or but a bit of surprise - what that same soft skin would taste like on her tongue.)

Nope. None of that.

But, all of those things might have had something to do with what happened next…

Next being their next catering gig.

A Squirkle party.

(And. seriously, Karma was totally a Google girl from now on.)

That was where she saw Liam for the first time since the hot fudge and the tires and the unfortunately placed license plate.

And he was nice. And polite. And so obviously smitten with her.

And he was so sorry.

(And if a small frown appeared on Reagan's face when she saw Liam and Karma talking? Or if … was that anger?... flashed in Reagan's eyes when Liam took Karma's hand and asked for forgiveness? For a second chance?)

(Karma didn't notice.) (And she totally didn't notice the tray Reagan dropped - loudly - on a table right after Karma said that 'yes' she would go on a date with Liam.)

Nope. Didn't notice at all.

After all, Liam said he was sorry. He said he wanted another chance.

He said he loved her.

Sure, maybe ever since Amy's jailhouse confession, Karma had been feeling less unloved.

But she was still Karma. And the hottest guy in school had just proclaimed his love.

(And if letting Liam 'love' her was easier for Karma than thinking about Princess Sarcasm? Or Princess Sarcasm's girlfriend?)

(Well, duh.)

But Karma made sure he knew what it was he was getting. She laid down the law:

They were not back together.

They were, at best, 'seeing each other'.

"We are," she said, "free agents. This is an open relationship."

The 'and not a fake open one like I was in with my fake girlfriend - the one you fucked' was left unspoken.

"You," Karma said, "can do whatever you want with whomever you want."

Except Amy.

Again, unspoken.

So, what happened next should have been fucking obvious.

But Karma never did do well with obvious.

Reagan got another gig catering a small Squirkle luncheon. But she wanted to spend time with Amy. So, she offered the gig to Karma, figuring it was yet another olive branch.

Go. Earn money. Spend time with your not-boyfriend.

Step number 3 was killing it. Killing it!

And Karma gratefully accepted, though some small part of her (a bigger part than she was willing to admit) thought Reagan was getting the better end of this deal.

But she took the job anyway.

Which is how Karma, ended up, not even a half hour ago, stumbling into the Squirkle men's washroom and discovering Liam with his face buried between the legs of that Zeta - Zooey - Zippy (like it fucking matters) girl's legs.

(And yes, stumbling is what she's going with and not 'followed the two of them in there because she knew what the douche face was doing, though she didn't actually think he'd be doing it with his face'.)

So, Karma did the only reasonable thing she could do.

(After listening, for probably longer than she should have, to the other girl's moans and watching, probably more intently than she should have, the way the other girl's hands gripped Liam's head, pulling him into her.)

(And if Karma wondered, even for a second, if she was more jealous of her or of him, well that got quickly filed into the 'we'll deal with that later and later means oh fuck no' bin.)

She slapped her. Karma slapped Zeta - Zooey - Zippy right across her slutty little cheek.

Karma slapped her because she sure as fuck wasn't touching Liam - she knew where he'd been -and told Liam to stay the fuck away from her and stormed off in a huff.

She swore off Bookers. She swore off dating. She swore off men.

Maybe, she thought, as she peeled out of the Squirkle parking garage (as much as the Good Karma truck could peel), maybe Reagan and Amy had the right idea.

Maybe, Karma thought, I should just be a lesbian.

And that was the beginning. The beginning of the greatest (or most abso-fucking-lutely insane) plan Karma had ever had.

And all she needed was Reagan. It was foolproof.

(And if there was a giant flashing fucking NEON-lit flaw in Karma's plan?)

(You're not gay, remember? Came out as straight to mom and dad, remember?)

You, Karma Marie Ashcroft, are as straight as it fucking gets.

Well, Karma wasn't thinking about that.

(Much.)

Amy is about to cum.

Well, that's not entirely true.

Amy rolled past 'about to cum' about forty-five minutes ago.

And, she vaguely recalls, it was about forty minutes ago when she went screaming - literally - right on by 'I'm cumming'.

She has a slightly better recollection of visiting that same area - and screaming just as loudly - about twenty minutes ago.

That, Amy knows, was when Reagan added the second finger.

"We're working our way up to three, Shrimps," she'd said. "It's like a marathon, baby. Gotta stretch first."

Amy's not entirely sure - her body is still trembling so bad and her brain is such an orgasm clouded mess - but she thinks she might have pulled something during her stretches.

But, after one more climax fifteen minutes ago, Amy's pretty sure she could've broken her leg and it wouldn't fucking matter.

And if that one didn't feature any screaming? That's fine. Amy knows Reagan prefers her silent 'am I cumming or dying' gasping orgasm to all others.

(It reminds her of their first time. In Amy's room. With her family in the house.)

(Amy remembers that one. She remembers Farrah knocking on the door to wish her good night a little more.)

(It's hard to forget hearing your mother's voice the first time someone - a girl someone - is sucking on your clit and slowly working one finger inside you.)

Amy groans and her back arches against the couch as Reagan slides those two fingers - and sweet Jesus, Amy thinks, three is going to fucking kill me - out slowly, stopping at the edge of her girlfriend's entrance.

Tomorrow, Amy would be so proud of herself for staying still, for not bucking her hips, for not grabbing Reagan's wrist and slamming those fingers back inside.

She would be proud, if not for what happens next..

"Aren't you glad?" Reagan asks and that husky voice almost does Amy in again. She never understood what people said someone sounded like sex.

(After the first time Reagan whispered 'Cum for me Amy. Cum all over me' in her ear while she rubbed her clit, Amy understood.)

"Aren't you glad," Reagan says again, knowing full well that when her girlfriend is in this state, repetition is key. "Aren't you glad I have my shift to her?"

Amy tenses and Reagan feels it and Amy knows she feels it and the blonde can practically hear the smile on her girlfriend's face.

"Aren't you glad I gave my shift to Karma?"

And that's why Amy won't be proud tomorrow. Because her hips do buck, then. And it's all she can do to not grab Reagan's wrist.

But then, she doesn't have to. Because even as the name - the right name - leaves Reagan's lips, she's sliding those fingers back into Amy, curling them as she slips them home, the tips of her fingers rubbing against that spot she knows sends Amy into orbit.

"Fuuuuuck…" Amy feels like the bottom just dropped out of the room and she's in free fall. Her stomach lurches like it does when she rides the Ferris Wheel, that feeling of being totally out of control, almost like she's watching from outside her own body.

(If she was, she might been better prepared for…)

"Fuck Reagan… fuck fuck fuck."

Two fingers wasn't enough. She just had to flick her tongue across Amy's clit. She just had to suck on it and hum as she held it between her lips.

(That's Reagan's move. And it's the same tune every time - Sexual Healing.)

(And if that seemed an odd choice for a DJ, Amy figured it out soon enough.)

(Right around the time she discovered Reagan had changed her ringtone. And Amy realized that, yes Virginia, hearing the song your lover hums while she makes you cum can, in fact, make you soak your panties at the most inopportune times.)

Amy settles back down onto the couch and manages, barely, to pry one eye open and glare at her girlfriend.

Reagan stares up at her. And Amy doesn't - can't - miss the fact that Reagan's chin is resting on her thigh which means she's still in striking distance if she wants to shut Amy up.

(And if Amy notices the slight sheen of… her… all over Reagan's chin and lips?)

(Well, she's amazingly fucking proud of herself for not cumming all over again.)

"I thought," Amy starts, pausing to make sure Reagan doesn't lunge back in or twist those fingers a little - and Amy still can't get used to having a conversation with someone when that someone is inside her. "I thought," she says, convinced Reagan will let her finish, "we agreed you wouldn't do that anymore."

Reagan blinks her eyes and smiles - the picture of perfect innocence.

(A picture that would seem so much more innocent if she wasn't, you know, naked.)

(Or, you know, knuckle deep in her girlfriend.)

"We agreed I wouldn't do what?" Reagan asks.

"You know what," Amy replies, doing her best to leave the snark out of it because she knows what happens when she gets snarky.

(She gets punished.)

(So maybe she should add some snark.)

"No," Reagan says. "Seriously, what?" She smirks and Amy knows she's fucked.

(And yes, Amy sees the irony in that thought.)

"Oh," Reagan says, leaning dangerously close to the one spot Amy both wants her to touch and…

No… come to think of it, there's no 'both'.

Amy just wants her to touch it. Again.

"I remember now," Reagan says. "We agreed I wouldn't say her name." The smirk grows wider and Amy braces herself against the couch.

This is going to hurt.

(Hurt so fucking good.)

"Rea…"

Reagan's not home right now. Please leave a message and she'll call you back as soon as she's done undoing Amy Raudenfeld completely.

"We agreed," Reagan says, leaning even closer. "That I wouldn't say 'Karma'."

(And if Amy's not sure if it's the name of the lash of Reagan's tongue on her clit that sets her off, she can probably be forgiven.)

"Karma." Reagan swipes her tongue down through Amy's folds, meeting her fingers for just a moment.

"Karma." The fingers come out, only to be replaced by Reagan's tongue and Amy has just long enough to wonder how the fuck that little piece of flesh can feel so fucking big before she's exploding again, moaning at the feel of Reagan lapping up every drop.

Reagan tips her head back, the fingers sliding right in again - causing Amy to moan something that sounds like Greek - and the younger girl almost hopes it's over.

(It's not.)

"Karma."

"Karma."

"Karma."

Amy rolls through what, at this point, feels like one never ending orgasm - and she manages to not have her eyes roll back up into her head (this time), but they do flutter shut.

Which totally explains what happens next.

"Karma."

"Karma."

"Karma?"

Amy hardly notices the change in tone. "Reagan…" it comes out almost like a plea, like she's begging, and the still 'with-it' part of Amy's brain recognizes how grateful she is that Reagan's the only one around to hear it.

(And if only that were true…)

"Karma?"

This time, Amy's brain catches up and she recognizes the tone and

(Oh, please. Please let me be wrong. Please let me be wrong.)

then she hears it.

"I need your help."

(Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck.)

Amy knows that voice. Knows it like she knows her own.

She forces her eyes open, sees Reagan first, still nude, still camped out between Amy's spread legs. Still two fingers in, still inches from Amy's clit.

And then Amy's eyes track upward.

(You have to be fucking kidding me. Have. To. Be.)

Karma doesn't smile, doesn't try to joke her way out of it.

She doesn't fucking move.

(Why doesn't she move?)

(And if Amy ignores the better question - why is Karma staring so intently at Reagan and where Reagan's laying and where Reagan's fingers are - well…)

(That might just be self-preservation.)

"I need your help," Karma says again and Amy snaps out of it completely. Her best friend - her soulmate - needs help.

"What do you need?" she asks.

(And how the fuck does she speak when there's Reagan and fingers and a tongue and fucking Karma?)

Karma finally glances at Amy, but then it's right back to Reagan, like she's the only one who can help with this.

"I need…" Karma pauses, swallowing hard and licking her lips.

Finally, she says it.

"I need a lesbian."