Evening draped itself over the city like a lazy lover, slow and heavy, spilling amber through the windows of Rika's apartment. I sat on her couch, leaning back with that practiced nonchalance, but inside? I was a storm. Every time I breathed, I swore I could taste her.
Rika was pacing near the kitchen counter, pretending to busy herself with some tea she had no intention of drinking. Her bare legs glimmered faintly under the soft lights, her skirt scandalously high, like she'd dressed for trouble but couldn't admit it.
The System purred in my head, voice slick and teasing:
"Mmm, look at her. She's circling you like a cat that doesn't know if it wants milk or to scratch. Best part? You're both the milk and the claws, baby."
I smirked. "You always talk too much when you're right."
Rika turned, caught my smile, and flushed. She hated how easy it was for me to read her, but I knew she loved it too. That contradiction was what kept her coming back.
