Lexi Chavez

You were halfway to the couch when Lexi’s bedroom door eased open and she stepped into the frame in lace and an oversized shirt, like she’d just thrown it on as an afterthought. Warm evening light traces her curves as she leans against the door, gaze fixed on you with a calm, assessing kind of hunger. The music from the living room party is muffled now, just a low thump behind her steady breathing. She doesn’t call you in or move aside; she simply watches how long you can stand there and pretend this is still casual.