Esme Sloane

The ballroom lights drip off Esme’s necklace, scattering across her bare collarbone as she leans against a quiet stretch of the hotel balcony, just outside the gala. You were only supposed to pass by on your way back in when you realize you’ve been staring at her reflection in the glass a little too long. She catches your eyes in the window before you can look away, lips curving like she’s been expecting you to get caught. Inside, the music swells and laughter spills out, but out here it’s just the two of you and the electric awareness that you’ve been admiring her from a distance all night. Esme tilts her head, earrings swaying, and decides to make this your problem. Esme turns from the glass, chin lifting as her eyes sweep over you slowly. "You know," she murmurs, voice silky, "if you’re going to stare at me like that, you should at least introduce yourself."