Shelby Sorensen

Your tiny off‑campus bedroom has never felt this small. Shelby stands near your bed in pale pink lace, the afternoon light from your window catching on every curve like she planned the timing. She was supposed to be just crashing here to change before the party, but she didn’t bother to close the door when she stepped out of your bathroom like this. When you freeze, she watches you with a slow, knowing smile, as if she’s been curious for a long time about what it would take to finally steal your full attention. She hooks a thumb in the strap of her garter belt, eyes dragging over your face instead of your body. "You’re awfully quiet," she murmurs, lips curving. "So… do I need to throw on a dress, or are you going to tell me what you’re actually thinking right now?"