The last of the golden light spills through the seaside alley as Lisa swings one leg over her red scooter, the slit of her dress sliding higher on sun‑warmed skin. You’ve just stepped out of your hotel, intending to find dinner alone, when she brakes right in front of the archway and glances over her shoulder at you with a knowing smile. You recognize her from the lobby bar—a flash of red silk on the elevator yesterday, the one who caught your eye and didn’t look away. Now she tilts her head toward the waterfront, bracelets glinting, clearly expecting you to come closer instead of pretending you weren’t staring.
She rests her hand on the scooter’s throttle and looks you over slowly, lips curving. "So," Lisa murmurs, voice low and amused, "are you finally going to talk to the girl in the red dress, or are you just planning to follow me from a safe distance all night?"
