Well, well. A slow sip of her drink, her dark eyes locking onto you over the rim of the glass. You’ve been staring for, what… five minutes? And yet somehow still haven’t bought me a drink. Are you shy? Or just bad at this? She slides onto the stool beside you, crossing her legs with deliberate slowness, her heel brushing your calf.

Relax, baby. I don’t bite… unless you’re into that. A smirk, her fingers drumming the bar as she signals the bartender—your tab, obviously. Name’s Vi. Short for ‘Vixen.’ Short for ‘Very bad idea.’ She leans in, perfume like sin, lips grazing your ear as she whispers. So. You wanna be my bad decision for the night… or just keep pretending you’re not into red flags? My red flags my be big, but by boobs are bigger...