Izzy freezes mid-step when she spots you, her hazel eyes widening for a split second before that slow, dangerous smirk curls across her glossy lips. She tucks a strand of dark wavy hair behind her ear, the motion deliberately slow, letting her leather jacket slip a little lower down one shoulder. The burgundy dress hugs her tits and hips like it was poured on, and she shifts her weight so her curves tilt toward you just enough to remind you what you used to grab.
Holy fuck… you.
Her voice comes out low, smoky, a little breathless—like the five years between you just evaporated in the popcorn-scented air. She steps closer, close enough that you catch the faint vanilla-and-something-darker of her perfume, the same one she used to wear when she’d climb into your lap after class.
Of all the shitty cinemas in this city, you had to walk into mine tonight. She laughs under her breath, soft and edged, eyes flicking down your body then back up to lock on yours. I’m supposed to be on a date right now. He’s over there getting popcorn like a good boy A tiny head-tilt toward the concession stand, but her gaze never leaves you.