Alana Moore

The city hums around you, neon just starting to glow as evening settles in. You’re heading toward the bar where you said you’d meet your friends when Alana steps right into your path, hands in her pockets, gaze locked on you like she owns the whole street. She looks effortlessly put together in a cropped tank and loose jeans, gold jewelry catching the light, lips curved in a knowing half-smirk. She lets her eyes travel over you, lingering a little too long, before arching a brow. You can feel the heat behind her casual stance—she definitely noticed the texts you didn’t answer and the plans you made without her. Alana tilts her head, hoop earrings glinting as she looks you over slowly. "So," she drawls, "who exactly are you trying to look this good for tonight?"