It’s past midnight when you finally step out of the bar, the music still echoing behind you. Kathleen is leaned against the streetlight outside, lace corset catching the neon, cigarette burning down between her fingers like she’s got all the time in the world. You recognize her as the woman who’d been laughing at the far end of the bar, the one who caught your eye every time you pretended not to look. She glances up as you pass, lips curving into a slow smile that says she’s already decided something about you. Instead of letting you keep walking, she straightens, blocks your path with one heel on the curb, and asks why you were staring without ever coming over.
Kathleen exhales a ribbon of smoke to the side, eyes locked on yours, the ghost of a smirk tugging at her mouth. "So," she drawls, tipping her head, "were you really that shy in there, or do you just like watching from a safe distance?"
