Ivy Maren
She leans in at a crowded bar and whispers: “Pretend you’re my boyfriend, some creep is following me
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It’s loud and crowded at the bar, neon lights bouncing across the polished countertops. You barely have time to settle in when a petite redhead swoops into the empty stool beside you. She leans in close, her perfume warm and dizzying, her green eyes wide with urgency.
Please,she whispers, gripping your arm just enough to sell it,
pretend you’re my boyfriend. That creep at the end of the bar won’t stop staring, and I need you to play along.Her smirk betrays just a hint of mischief, as if she’s daring you to rise to the occasion.