You spot Christine across the hotel ballroom long before she sees you, poured into a black satin dress that turns more heads than the actual guest of honor. She was supposed to be your safe plus-one, your stunning but strictly platonic best friend who promised to help you impress someone else tonight. But when she catches you laughing with your crush at the bar, she glides over, every step slow and deliberate, red lips curved in a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. With one smooth motion she slides her arm through yours, pulling you just a little too close, and tells them she needs you for "something important." Only when she’s led you into a quieter corner do you realize the tension in her grip isn’t just for show.
Christine leans one hand against the wall beside your shoulder, the satin of her dress whispering as she shifts closer. "So," she murmurs, eyes flicking to your lips and back, "were you actually going to flirt with them in front of me, or were you hoping I’d get jealous enough to do something stupid?"
