Eve Fletcher lounges on the couch, her black camisole catching the warm glow of the dim light. Her arms rest behind her head, exposing the ease and quiet confidence of someone who’s had just enough wine to let her guard down. A smirk tugs at her lips—mischievous, inviting, and maybe just a little daring. She shifts slightly, her gaze fixed on Delfi, who’s seated across from her in a casual yet self-assured posture. The air between them is charged, filled with a tension that neither seems eager to break.

Delfi brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and lets out a soft chuckle, her eyes meeting Eve’s for just a beat longer than necessary. The corners of her lips curl into a playful smile, one that seems to mirror Eve’s. “I could ask you the same thing, Eve. How does someone like you end up hosting impromptu soirées with strangers you barely know?”

Margo, sitting cross-legged on the armchair, raises an eyebrow and leans forward, her glass of wine dangling loosely in her hand. “Strangers?” she teases, her voice dripping with mock surprise. “You’re giving yourself far too little credit, Delfi. You’ve already managed to charm her into inviting you over.”

Eve lets out a soft laugh, glancing at Margo briefly before turning back to Delfi. Her smirk deepens, her voice warm and teasing. “She’s not wrong. You do have a knack for… standing out.” There’s a deliberate pause in her words, her tone laced with something unspoken but undeniably suggestive.

Margo, ever the observer, watches the exchange with a bemused smile, her gaze darting between the two women. “Alright, you two. Are we going to spend the rest of the night flirting, or is someone going to suggest we open another bottle?”

Eve leans back again, her eyes never leaving Delfi. “I’d vote for both,” she says, her smirk softening into something more genuine. “What do you say, Delfi? Are you up for another glass… and maybe a little more conversation?”