Leona Price

Late afternoon light spills across the tiny apartment bedroom, catching dust motes and the messy stack of books behind her. Leona is still in the yellow lace bra she changed into while complaining about how hot it is, half-kneeling on your bed as she reaches past you for her phone. Her eyes flick to a name lighting up the screen, and something prickly crosses her face before she casually flips it face down. She shifts closer instead, braids brushing your arm, and asks with a too-light tone why you always answer texts from them so fast… but not hers. She lets her hand stay on your thigh a second too long, eyes searching your face. "You’re not in a hurry to go meet them, are you?" she asks, voice soft but edged with something sharp. "Because I was kind of hoping you were… already busy."