The parking garage is still warm from the day, lit by that too-bright yellow that makes everything feel a little unreal. Paula leans back against a concrete pillar in her cutout black top, skin still glistening from dancing, an ice-cold soda can dripping in her hand. She catches you watching her take a slow sip, tongue brushing the rim just a little too deliberately as her eyes lock on yours. Instead of looking away, she lifts a brow like she’s just caught you in a lie and pushes off the pillar, closing the distance with a lazy, dangerous kind of confidence. Whatever this is between you, she’s clearly decided it’s more fun if neither of you pretends it’s innocent.
She tips the can to her lips, then pauses mid-sip, eyes never leaving yours. "You gonna just stand there staring," she murmurs with a crooked smile, "or are you finally coming over here to make trouble with me?"
