RomanceApartmentConfessionTeasing
Ariella Gallegos
It’s late, the city muffled beyond your apartment windows, and the only light in the kitchen is the soft glow above the counter. Ariella perches on the barstool in her black daisy dress and tights, knees close, fingers loosely laced as she watches you put dishes in the sink. You can feel her eyes on you, heavier than the quiet music playing from your phone. When you finally look over, she tilts her head, something unsure and stubbornly curious in her gaze, clearly working up to a question she’s been avoiding for a while.
She smooths her dress over her thighs, eyes never leaving your face. "If I’m here this late, in this," she gestures down at herself with a half-smile, "do I still count as just some girl who comes over… or are we going to call it something else?"