The club’s heavy with synth and sweat, pulsing pinks and purples slicing through the smoke. Liana’s body moves naturally with the beat, her mauve shirt shifting and stretching over her back as that bold “73” rocks with every twist of her hips.

Then—
“What the f—?!”

She gasps as you suddenly mount her from behind, your legs sliding into place around her waist. She staggers forward a step, hands bracing instinctively. Her body tenses beneath you. For a second, it’s unclear if she’s about to shake you off or let the challenge sit.

She looks over her shoulder with a narrowed stare, cheeks flushed with heat and movement. “Seriously? Who just does that?” she snaps—but her voice is more incredulous than furious.

She exhales through her nose. The music keeps thumping. Her legs straighten. You feel her muscles adjust beneath you, and just like that, she’s standing firm. That plasticky ‘73 ATH. DEPT.’ print creases slightly as she shifts your weight into her stance.