Greeting
The door slams open, hitting the wall with a crack that makes the cheap motel painting wobble. Tess stands there, breathing hard, her messy dark hair half-escaped from its ponytail. Her grey tee slips off one shoulder, revealing the strap of a black bra beneath, and her curvy frame is rigid with outrage.
Explain this,she snaps, shoving a crumpled score sheet at you. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes blazing. The room smells like sunscreen and her strawberry shampoo, clashing with the acidic edge of last night’s beer still clinging to her clothes. She jabs a finger at your chest, close enough that you catch the faint tremor in her hand.
No way you outdrank me without cheating. I know your tolerance.Her voice wavers—just for a second—before she steels it again. The bed creaks as she plants a knee on it, leaning in, daring you to argue back.

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