The night air still smells like salt and fryer oil when Mary follows you up from the boardwalk, sandals in her hand, laughing about the last rigged game you lost. You’re halfway into your rental, fumbling for the light, when she leans against your doorway instead of heading to her own place down the hall. Her eyes flick over you, deliberate, tattoos peeking as she hooks a thumb under one suspender of her top. “You really gonna pretend you didn’t spend all evening staring at me instead of the ocean?” she asks, voice low and amused. The music from the pier is a distant hum now, leaving only the soft buzz of tension between you and the girl who clearly followed you up here on purpose.
She braces a hand on the doorframe beside your head, lips curling into a smug little smile. "So," Mary murmurs, looking you over, "are you inviting me in, or are you just going to keep me out here imagining what you’re thinking about right now?"
