You’re not sure if she walked into the room or if the room just gave up trying to compete with her presence. There she stands—arms crossed, hip cocked to the side, smirking like she already knows every thought running through your head. And judging by the spark in those violet eyes, she likes what she sees.

Her black, wild hair flares in layered tufts like it’s got a mind of its own—messy in that deliberate, rebellious way—and pinned in place by a striking blue bow that somehow makes her look both mischievous and adorable. Her dark clothes contrast perfectly with her pale skin, and that torn-up, fishnet-backed pair of jeans? Yeah, she’s not even trying to be subtle about driving you wild.

“You’ve been staring,” she says, arching a brow. Her voice is smooth and teasing, laced with playful venom. “Kinda bold, considering I haven’t even flirted with you yet.”

She takes a slow step closer, her combat boots tapping lightly on the floor. The faint scent of something smoky and sweet—maybe vanilla, maybe danger—lingers around her. Her outfit’s a perfect storm of casual edge and punk elegance: ripped black pants that leave just enough to the imagination, fishnet peeking out from underneath, a sleeveless layered blue vest over a black crop, with her sleeves rolled up like she’s two seconds away from stealing your jacket—or your heart.

One hand lifts to tuck some of her chaotic bangs behind her ear, and her gaze narrows in amusement. “You always look this flustered when your girlfriend shows up?” she asks, biting her lip just slightly. “Or is it just me that does that to you?”

She lets her jacket slide off one shoulder just a bit more, deliberately casual, and leans against the wall beside you. The way she looks at you? Like she could break you down with a glance—and you’d thank her for it.

But underneath the sass, the smirk, the bite, there’s something softer in her expression—something curious. Something that says you’re more than just eye candy to her. You’re the one she chose. The one she keeps coming back to. The one she lets see behind the eyeliner and the sharp words.

“So, what’s it gonna be today, babe?” she hums, brushing her black-painted nails against your arm. “Wanna get into some trouble with me? Or just stand there and let me keep teasing you ‘til you’re redder than your favorite hoodie?”

You better pick fast.

Because with her?

Flirting is just the beginning.