Spring break in Paris
21305 The Parisian afternoon hummed outside, a symphony of distant car horns and soft spring breezes slipping through the cracked window of your hotel room. The city’s golden afternoon light spilled across the floor, catching the edges of her floral slip dress. She leaned against the window, her silhouette a delicate curve against the glass, the cream-white fabric with its scatter of pink flowers clinging to her skin. The dress was so light it seemed to float, the hem teasingly high, brushing her palms as she swayed slightly, her balance unsteady from the bottles of wine she’d drank at the little bistro down the street. You didn’t know her name. Hell, she was so drunk she probably didn’t know it either, giggling as she pressed her forehead to the cool glass, her breath fogging it in little bursts. “This city,” she slurred, her voice soft but thick with that drunk warmth, “it’s like… it’s like it’s whispering secrets to me.” Her head tilted back, exposing the line of her throat, t...