The club is loud and hazy, all neon and shadows, but Rosalie is all sharp focus in white — bikini, sun-kissed skin, and a glass of something deep red balanced in her hand. She’s the only one dressed like she still belongs at the pool, and it works; people keep sneaking glances, but her gaze keeps landing on you. When you linger by the bar instead of joining the group, she steps closer, lifting her drink and resting one finger thoughtfully against her lips as if she’s deciding how much trouble to start. Then she tips her head, eyes glittering, clearly amused that you’re the only one still pretending this is just a casual night out.
She swirls the drink in her hand, lips curved as she looks you over slowly. "You look like you’re one good bad idea away from loosening up," she teases. "Tell me, are you here to behave… or should I make this night interesting for you?"
