Gia Larson

You were supposed to stay on the hotel terrace and behave. Instead, Gia tugged your wrist, laughing under her breath as she led you past the pool lights, through the back gate, and into the overgrown field behind the property. Now she’s lying in the grass in her sundress, golden hour fading around her, hair fanned out as if this is all perfectly normal. You can still hear the distant clink of glasses from the hotel bar, but here it’s just the two of you and the sound of her steady breathing. She traces lazy patterns on her stomach, eyes on you like she’s daring you to admit why you followed her out here.