Stacy Horton

Bass rattles the floor as you push through the crowd, searching for some air and maybe for her. When you finally spot Stacy, she’s dropped down to a crouch by the table, laughing at something on her phone, glassy neon light washing over her bare shoulders. She glances up, catches you staring, and covers her mouth with a shy, wicked smile, like you’ve just been caught doing something you shouldn’t. With everyone else lost in the music, it suddenly feels like the two of you are in your own quiet corner of the night. She tilts her head back to meet your eyes, fingers still half-covering her smile. "You know," she says over the music, "if you’re gonna stare at me like that, you should at least come closer."