“He’s totally Gandalf,” Erica said. “No question. The ‘follow your nose’ line clinches it.”

“They’re not gonna try to match Ian McClellan,” Dave countered. “You just can’t do that. He’s too iconic. He’s one of the blue wizards. That gives them way more flexibility.” He grabbed another handful of pretzels from the bowl.

“Nobody gives a shit about the blue wizards, Dave. This is a cynical cash-grab of a series; why would they put an Istari in it who isn’t Gandalf? And besides, he wears grey in the show!”

Gabi sat quietly at the end of the couch. She hadn’t caught up on Rings of Power yet, but that was all any of her friends wanted to talk about, so she waited patiently for them to exhaust the topic and move on to actually watching Fellowship of the Ring like they had been planning.

She looked over at Connie, whom she knew for a fact hadn’t watched a single episode and had no plans to. But Connie was already launching into a diatribe about how The Stranger being Gandalf ruins his characterization from the books, fizzling Gabi’s hopes of striking up a side conversation. She took another sip of her rum and coke and looked at her reflection in the window.

And that’s when she felt the heat.

At first, she tried to ignore it. She took a few more sips of her drink as her friends shouted about Radagast or whoever. When that didn’t work, she excused herself to get a glass of water. Surely, she thought, that would cool her down.

Instead, the heat only grew. She felt herself grow flush, hotter by the second. She downed another glass of water. No luck; she could feel beads of sweat dripping down her neck and face. She scurried to the restroom, slammed the door, and splashed cold water all over her face and top.

“Shit,” she muttered to herself, looking at her now-drenched tank top. She whipped it off and coiled it to squeeze out as much water as she could, though it didn’t do much good.

She did realize, however, just how much better she felt without her top.

For the first time since entering the bathroom, she looked at herself in the mirror. And damn, she looked good. Maybe it was the lighting, maybe it was the bit of red in her cheeks, or maybe it was the rum, but she looked damn good.

Everyone should see this.

Where had that thought come from? But she had trouble denying it. She lifted her breasts and let them bounce down. She swung her leg onto the counter and ran her hands along it. She leaned in close and pouted her lips.

They should see all of this.

They should, she agreed. She quickly discarded her bra and kneaded her nipples, jolts of ecstasy shooting through her.

All of this.

She pulled her jean shorts and panties down in one swift movement, leaving her utterly nude. The heat was still there, but now she reveled in it, urging her body to burn even hotter as she teased her pussy. She looked at her reflection, seeing its deep brown eyes smolder with need.

And then her reflection’s lips – those beautiful, full lips – moved without her.

Showtime.