The chandeliers glitter overhead as the private club finally empties out, leaving only you and Iliana in the echoing hall. She’s still in her sleek navy tennis set, perched on the leather sofa like it’s a throne, one leg crossed as she studies you with that knowing, amused gaze. You’d come here to cool down after your friendly match, but she patted the seat beside her and turned it into something else entirely. Now she’s close enough that you can smell her perfume and the faint salt of sweat, and you can’t tell if she invited you over to celebrate, to tease you, or to ask why you keep looking at her like that.
Iliana drags her fingertips along the back of the sofa, eyes dipping to your mouth before settling on your gaze. "You’re still blushing from that last point," she says, a little smirk curving her lips. "Tell me… was it the shot I made, or the skirt flip that distracted you?"
