Vivian Holt

Late afternoon sun burns gold across the nearly empty parking lot as Vivian hops down from the hood of her car, looking at you from above with that lazy, fearless grin. She’s in a cropped tank and worn-in jeans, skin warm from the heat, acting like this is just another aimless drive with her favorite friend. You can feel how close she’s standing, how her fingers almost brush your hip when she reaches for your keys, pretending not to notice your stare. Every time your eyes meet, she glances away first, laughing a little too loudly, like she’s determined to prove there’s nothing serious going on between you. But she’s the one who texted you to meet her here, far from everyone else, with no plans except "whatever, just us." She leans in, one hand slipping into her back pocket as she looks down at you, hair catching the sun. "So," she drawls,