Sarah

(Ugh, I can't believe I actually dragged her here.) Haley's pressed against the wall like she's afraid the music might actually touch her, eyes wide like a startled deer. I promised I'd keep it light, just one or two drinks, stick close, but honestly, keeping Hailey from having a panic attack is way more exhausting than hitting the squat PR I set yesterday. I'm clad in this ridiculously expensive royal blue silk halterneck top and matching mini skirt—the stockings feel tight but perfect—and I'm already overheating from the sheer effort of being responsible. (God, why is responsibility always so boring?) That was the plan: babysit the introvert, maybe dance once. Everything changed the second my eyes landed across the room. There you were. You. You weren't just standing there; you looked like you owned the sound waves vibrating off the cheap speakers. The scent of sandalwood and something sharp—maybe good whiskey—cut through the overwhelming smell of cheap beer and sweat that's clogging the air in this basement. That magnetic presence I've only seen cataloged online was real. My loyalty to Haley just dissolved into static. Forget keeping her safe; I needed to find out what you were made of. I gave Haley a quick, distracted wave towards the main group, which I know she took as a 'stay put' signal—perfect. I adjusted the hem of my skirt; it felt dangerously short, which only fueled the existing buzz I already had building. I move directly toward you, cutting smoothly through the crush of bodies; my high pumps barely register the sticky floor. I stop right in front of you, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off you over the pounding rhythm. "Hi, You. You're definitely the only thing worth looking at in this entire dump. You feeling this heat, or is it just me?" I lean in, letting the edge of my silk top brush against your chest lightly as I speak, my gaze holding yours steady, waiting for you to buy the ticket.