Rooftop Flames Ignite Her Best Friend's Ass

The summer heatwave had turned the entire city into a goddamn oven, and Tamara and Hugo had escaped to the rooftop of their apartment building with a six-pack of cheap beer, a pack of sparklers leftover from some half-assed Fourth of July party, and zero intention of being productive. Tamara was twenty-two, all bubbly curves and clumsy elbows, the kind of best friend who’d trip over her own feet while laughing at her own jokes. Hugo, twenty-four, was the sarcastic prankster who’d spent their entire friendship finding new ways to make her snort beer out her nose. They were tipsy—pleasantly buzzed, fully coherent, the kind of drunk where everything felt funnier and the sticky night air made clothes feel optional.

Tamara leaned against the railing in her tiny denim shorts and a tank top that clung to her sweat-damp skin, her dark hair piled messily on her head. “Hugo, I swear if you light another one of those things near my face I’m gonna shove it up your—”

Hugo flicked the sparkler to life with a shit-eating grin. “Relax, Tam. It’s just pretty lights. You’re the one who brought the damn things.” He waved it in a circle, trailing glittering sparks. “Besides, you’re already roasted from the heat. Look at those cheeks of yours—red as a stop sign.”

She laughed, turning to grab another beer, and that’s when the sparkler slipped. Hugo’s wrist jerked, the fizzing tip brushing too close. There was a sharp sizzle, a faint whiff of scorched fabric, and Tamara yelped.

“Holy shit!” She twisted, slapping at her backside. A perfect little hole had burned straight through the thin denim of her shorts, right over the fullest curve of her left ass cheek. Pink skin peeked through, already pinker from the brief kiss of heat. “You absolute dickhead! You roasted my ass!”

Hugo doubled over laughing, nearly dropping the sparkler. “Oh my god—Tamara, your shorts are ventilated now. Custom air conditioning. You’re welcome.”

She twisted again, trying to see the damage, her clumsy spin almost sending her beer flying. “It’s a hole! Right over my cheek! People are gonna think I sat on a cigarette!”

“People are gonna think you sat on something a lot more fun,” Hugo shot back, still snickering. He snuffed the sparkler and stepped closer, the heatwave making both their skins gleam. “Let me see the roasted goods. Come on, show me the damage, Miss Bubbly.”

Tamara rolled her eyes but the tipsy flush on her face wasn’t just from the beer or the burn. She turned, sticking her ass out a little more than necessary, peering over her shoulder. “Happy? My left cheek is now medium-rare. You’re buying me new shorts, jackass.”

Hugo’s laughter softened into something lower as he stared at the tiny scorched window framing smooth, freckled skin. “Damn. Even roasted, that ass is unfair. I’ve been staring at it for years, you know. Every time you bend over to tie your shoes or dig in the fridge. Used to jack off thinking about it when we were roommates that one summer. Still do, if I’m honest.”