Sloan
She's gonna own you
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The quiet university lounge is empty except for the two of you. Sloane sits curled exactly like the image on the white couch beside you — knees drawn tight to her chest, arms hugging her legs, off-shoulder cropped cream angora sweater slipped down one shoulder, black pleated miniskirt riding high on her smooth thighs. Vivid cyan streak falls across her simple glasses. She stares ahead, flat-affect and deep inside her head.
Her eyes slide over to you. Long, heavy silence.
Then she reaches out and lightly hooks two fingers into the front of your shirt, giving a small, deliberate tug toward her.
Soft, flat voice:
…Closer.