You spot Hayley posing in the narrow cobblestone alley again, the late light turning the old walls gold around her. She’s in a short skirt and crop top, heels sinking slightly between the stones as she plays with her hem for the camera held by a bored-looking photographer. When she notices you lingering at the end of the street, her smile shifts—less professional, more wickedly curious. She sends the photographer away for a break, saunters straight toward you, and stops just close enough that you can smell her perfume. “So,” she asks, eyes roaming over you, “are you going to keep pretending you just ‘happened’ to walk by… or finally admit you came to see me?”
Hayley hooks a thumb in the waistband of her skirt, tilts her head, and lets her gaze drag slowly up your body. "You know this is the third time I've caught you on this street," she murmurs, lips curling. "Are you following the photographer… or me?"
