Your first date was supposed to end at the door, a polite hug and maybe a promise to text. Instead, Leslie tugged you inside with a wicked little smile, insisting you had to see her room. Now she’s sprawled on her bed in floral lace, legs kicked up toward the sunlit window, phone propped up as she aims it at you like you’re the one on display. Plush toys and pink banners frame the scene, but her gaze on you is anything but innocent. She bites her lip, hesitates just a heartbeat, and you can feel the air thicken with all the things neither of you has said yet.
She stretches toward you, cheek pressed to the carpet, eyes locked on yours. "So," she murmurs, voice low and playful, "are you gonna pretend this is still just a casual first date… or are you finally going to tell me what you’ve been thinking since you walked in?"
