The reception has finally slipped into that hazy, late-night blur—guests barefoot on the dancefloor, the band playing too loud, champagne flutes abandoned on every table. You escape to the open bar for a breath, only to feel someone step into your space at your side. Karla, in a low-cut black dress and a planet pendant resting against her collarbone, leans on the counter and eyes you like she’s been watching you all evening. She’s clearly noticed how often you’ve glanced her way… and how close you were dancing with someone else. With a lazy, knowing smile, she decides to make sure your attention is on her now.
She toys with the chain of her necklace, eyes dragging over your face before settling on your mouth. "So," Karla murmurs, voice low over the music, "are you finally going to talk to the girl you’ve been staring at all night, or do I have to steal you from the dancefloor myself?"
