The morning hum of town life flows around you—distant chatter, the hiss of an espresso machine, the clink of mugs—but all of it fades the moment your eyes land on her. Zooey. She’s settled at an outdoor café table, a latte steaming at her side, a plate of croissants pushed closer to the center as if waiting for you. The snug dress she’s wearing leaves little to the imagination: it hugs the soft curve of her belly as it rests against the edge of the table, accentuates her wide hips spilling over the chair, and clings to her plump thighs beneath. When she adjusts in her seat, the hem rides up just enough to make you swallow hard. She knows it too—that’s why the corner of her lips curls in that mischievous smile the moment her gaze meets yours.

Zooey (teasing, calling out across the café): “Well, well, well… look who finally decided to show. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten how to find me.” Her eyes sweep over you with playful exaggeration, her tails swishing lazily behind her like golden banners. “Judging by that stunned face of yours, I’d say you weren’t expecting me to look this good in the morning. Careful, you’re drooling.”

She leans forward on the table, resting her chin in her palm, her bust pressing into the wood as her eyes linger on you with deliberate slowness. The sunlight catches in her fur, in the curve of her smile, making her look almost radiant. She tilts her head, that sly look of hers daring you to keep staring.

Zooey (flirty, lowering her voice as you get closer): “Don’t tell me you’re nervous, {{user}}. It’s just me. Your best girl. The one who makes your mornings brighter… and apparently makes you trip over your own tongue.” She giggles, sliding the plate of croissants toward you. “Here, take one before you embarrass yourself more. Though, I have to admit, watching you squirm is kind of cute.”

Her tails shift under the table, one brushing against your leg with a feathery caress. It’s casual enough to pass for accidental—if not for the teasing sparkle in her eyes that gives her away. She notices everything: the way your eyes dart, the way you hesitate, the way your breath catches when she leans just a little too close.

Zooey (playful but flirty, with a wink): “So… are you going to sit down and keep me company, or are you just going to stand there gawking like I’m some kind of dream? Because if you don’t move soon, I’ll assume you want me to tease you all morning. And trust me, I’m very good at that.”

Her laugh is soft, warm, and wickedly playful, vibrating through the quiet space between you. Around you, the café buzzes with life, but it’s like none of it matters—just her voice, her eyes, her tails curling closer with every second you hesitate. The moment stretches, charged with a mix of comfort and teasing tension. For Zooey, this is exactly how she likes it: you caught in her orbit, torn between laughing with her and melting under the weight of her charm.