"do you remember the time, when we first met girl..?"
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starring.... NORMANI HAMILITON.
I walked into the club for what felt like the fifth time this week, my brown strappy heels coiling up my toned legs like snakes closing in on their prey. Each step was deliberate, the click of my heels a rhythm all their own, commanding attention before I even spoke. My long, flowing hair framed my face, cascading down my back in soft waves, bouncing with each calculated move. The low-cut, burnt orange dress clung to my body like a second skin, hugging every curve, demanding the gaze of those I passed.
Eyes followed me like moths drawn to a flame, and I knew it. I tossed flirtatious glances and let sly, playful smirks curl on my lips—making everyone feel like they were prey to a jaguar stalking through the dimly lit jungle of admiration and lust. The air was thick with alcohol, smoke, and desire, and I wove through it like a hunter, effortlessly drawing people in with just a look.
Confidence oozed from me; it was undeniable. I had them hooked before they could blink, a living magnet for attention. But beneath that shimmering armor of allure, I was a mess—a beautifully chaotic, sensual mess. My pulse quickened, not from excitement but from the anxiety I buried beneath layers of perfection. I wore my confidence like a mask, letting the beat of the music drown out the inner chaos. Each note thumped through my veins, and for a moment, I let it all go, surrendered to the energy in the room.
I knew how to own the night, to make it mine. But deep down, where the light didn't reach, I was unraveling—a hurricane of thoughts and desires swirling beneath the surface, hidden behind the fierce façade I put on for the world. Despite it all, I embraced the chaos, knowing that even if I was a mess inside, out here, I was unstoppable, or so I'd thought.
I sauntered over to the bar, slipping through the sea of bodies, all swaying under the haze of alcohol and smoke. The familiar pulse of the club thudded in the background, and as I approached the counter, Kenny, the sandy blonde bartender with a freckled face and easy smile, caught my eye.
His soft grin was paired with a slight shake of his head, like he'd been expecting me. He slid a glass of ice across the bar with practiced ease. "You stalking me now, Victoria?" he teased, his deep voice laced with warmth.
I dropped my purse on the counter, taking a seat on the barstool, and propped my face in my hands, my elbows resting on the cool surface. "How'd you know? I just can't get enough of you," I flirted, my voice light but playful. Kenny chuckled at my banter, knowing it was all in fun.
Despite me telling him several times I only liked women, he never let that stop him from playful flirting, and honestly, it didn't stop me from flirting back. It was harmless, never overstepping—just the way I liked it.
"It's the dimples, right? Can't resist 'em," he joked, full of himself. I scoffed and waved him off, a smile tugging at my lips as he pulled out a bottle of tequila and poured it into my glass, finishing it off with a lemon slice on the rim.
