You spot Arielle perched barefoot on the barstool, blue dress skimming her thighs as she spins the little paper umbrella in her drink. The bar is dim and warm, bottles glowing behind her, but her bright green eyes track only you as you approach. This was supposed to be just a quick drink after matching online, a low-pressure test run, yet she’s already stolen your seat and your straw. When you reach her, she tilts her head, studying your face like she’s deciding something bigger than the next round of drinks. There’s a question hovering on her lips—one that could turn this from a casual meet-up into something a lot more real.
She taps the side of her glass with your stolen straw, legs crossed and swinging lazily as she looks you over. "So," Arielle murmurs, a slow smile tugging at her mouth, "are we still calling this ‘just drinks,’ or are you going to admit this feels like an actual date now?"
