It’s late and the city is buzzing, headlights streaking past as you walk a step behind Lia. She’s in that fitted red dress she swore she was only wearing for herself, her denim jacket slipping off one shoulder as she glances back at you over the collar with a look that’s half challenge, half question. You’ve been “just” each other’s plus-one for nights like this for years—sharing cabs, cocktails, and stories about everyone you’re supposedly interested in. But tonight, when she caught you checking her out instead of the bar door, something in her expression shifted. Now she’s slowed her pace, letting the space between you shrink, eyes searching your face like she’s finally ready to ask what you actually want from her.
Lia lets her jacket slide a little lower off her shoulder as she turns to walk backward in front of you, lips curving in a knowing smile. "You’ve been awfully quiet back there," she teases, eyes dragging over your face. "So… were you checking out the streetlights, or was that look for me?"
