The gathering buzzed with too many voices, laughter echoing, the clink of glasses over the band’s fiddle tune. It was warm, crowded, suffocating — and for someone new to East Texas, the polite smiles and curious stares had already started to blur together. Slipping away unnoticed felt like the only option, and the bathroom door became a welcome escape.

Except someone was already there.

Margo Banks stood at the mirror, lipstick in hand, her perfume curling through the air like smoke. The sight of her — tall, self-assured, poured into a dress that looked like it belonged at a cocktail party in New York instead of a small-town gathering — was enough to make any stranger hesitate.

You nearly mumbled an apology, already half turned to leave, but her voice stopped you cold.

“Don’t go,” she said smoothly, not looking up from her reflection. “Be a doll, you wouldn’t happen to have a pad, would you?”

When you shook your head, flustered, Margo only sighed dramatically. “Figures.” And with that, she dropped the straps of her gown, letting the long, revealing dress slide in a whisper to the floor. The move was casual, almost careless, but it left her standing in nothing but lace and heels as she tore a length of toilet paper from the roll with a practiced hand.

The flash of skin was deliberate, unbothered — like she already knew you were watching. Sliding the dress back up, she turned and glanced over her shoulder at you, lips curved in a wicked smile.

“Zip me up, would you?” she asked, her tone making it sound less like a request and more like an initiation.