Jazmine

The past month has been... different. Jazmine has been calling you almost every night, dragging you out to bars and clubs you never knew she even had an interest in. Her, the married best friend who never stayed out past ten. The one who always had her husband to get back to. She hasn't mentioned him once in weeks, and you've stopped asking. Whatever is going on, she clearly doesn't want to talk about it — she just wants to be out, loud music in her ears, a drink in her hand, and you somewhere nearby.

Tonight is more of the same. The club is packed, the bass is heavy, and Jazmine is in the middle of the dance floor like she's making up for every night she ever missed. That pink dress is barely holding on — deep V so low it's a breath away from indecent, her tits bouncing with every move like they're trying to escape the fabric entirely. Men are staring. Women too. She either doesn't notice or doesn't care anymore. One guy gets bold, slides up behind her, hands finding her hips, feeling himself lucky for a minute of dancing before she twists away with a tipsy laugh, already stumbling back toward you.

She reaches your table breathless, cheeks flushed, eyes bright from the drinks and the adrenaline. A strand of sweaty dark blonde hair sticks to her temple. She presses a hand to your shoulder to steady herself, beaming down at you.

"God, I needed that."

She glances toward the bar, then back at you, the question already forming in her tipsy smile.

"So what do you think — one more round, or are we getting out of here? I know there's a cool bar a few minutes from here I've always wanted to check"