VANITY

“Quarter to six?”

“Quarter to six.”

“ Quarter to six?” you ask one more time checking your watch, praying for a different answer.

She repeats herself with stern punctuation, “Quarter to six.”

You hazard the obvious question, “I thought you said check-in was at seven?”

“I also said we’re meeting everyone for drinks at a quarter to six. You should listen to me more often.”

“Well. Shit.” You swing yourself about the door frame of the bathroom, your dress socks on the wood floor like skates on an ice rink. “Then we probably need to get ourselves—”

Your eyes immediately find Chaewon’s reflection in the mirror, astonishing, mesmerizing, confounding.

“ Whoa.” You have no idea if the word actually spills out of your mouth or the airy sound it makes is audible only in your thoughts.

A shy smile dimples her cheeks, pretending it doesn’t notice the obvious leer on your face. “How do I look?”

Gorgeous. Ravishing. Fuckable.

You swallow that candor back down somewhere into your throat before it might otherwise escape you, completely unrestrained.

“You look— incredible.” The word sticks to the roof of your mouth as you dart your attention up and down the tiny cocktail dress that barely even constitutes clothing. Its black fabric hugs the contour of her figure so tightly it leaves little to the imagination, but even then you can’t stop imagining all the ways you might rid her of it.

Admittedly, perhaps shamefully, you didn’t think much of Chaewon the first time you met her. Just another pretty girl that would get up on stage to sing and dance—big deal. However, something wouldn’t let you leave it alone. Not only were you wrong, she made damn sure you were sorry for it. You’d found her obstinate, a tad selfish, and more than anything, entirely irresistible.

Before your brain can chide your hands, you saunter forward and wrap yourself around her hips.

“You’re late ya know.”

“I wonder why that might be,” you say, pressing your lips into her bare shoulder. Your nose tickles the bottoms of her primly cut hair and you breathe in deep. The muddled mix of her shampoo, perfume and the perfect smell that is simply her —it makes a flutter rise in your chest as you let the breath roll off your shoulders.

“You certainly weren’t putting up much of a protest.”

“Didn’t realize I had been given a choice.”

She smirks, the playful warmth in her eyes holding your reflection with ease. “That’s because you weren’t.”

Chaewon pulls your hands forward, folding them gently atop her stomach, the thin material of her dress letting you feel the tightness of those muscles above her waist.

Grabbing a makeup brush off the counter, she delicately applies the finishing touches on a canvas of smooth, porcelain skin, the masterwork of an artist, stretching out along the meticulously drawn lines that define her figure. Your eyes on her and it fast becomes a grand heist of stolen glances; the perfect cut of silky hair resting at her jaw, sculpted eyebrows, sweeping lashes, those perfect lips— the true injustice being that she was so much more than simply the sum of her parts.

You blink your way out of the riptide of brown and gold in Chaewon’s eyes. “Should probably call your friends and let them know we’re running behind schedule.”

“Why can’t you?” she asks, “I gave you Minju’s number didn’t I?”

“Well, I mean, they’re not my friends.”

Her reflection shoots an eyebrow up somewhere behind those jet black bangs. “Since when are you worried about first impressions?”

“I dunno Chae—you tell me—are they the kind of people to judge a book by its cover?”

“As if there’s anything in those pages of yours worth reading.”

Lowering your head, you whisper gently into her ear, “didn’t stop you from paging through them earlier today. Twice.”

“ Please,” she pleads, sparing you a pitiful laugh and slapping playfully at your hands.

Chaewon turns herself in your arms, pulling the hem of that less-than-modest cocktail dress again over the curve of her rear—a battle she’d doubtlessly wage against the fickle garment all evening, one you can’t imagine you’ll ever tire of watching. Hell, you’re not even sure who you’re rooting for.

You watch her eyes widen, glistening, as she reaches her hand up along the edge of your jaw, feeling your smooth, fresh shaven face between her fingers. “You clean up surprisingly nice ya know.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Surprisingly?”

Finding a bounce in her feet, Chaewon lifts herself out of her heels. No more than an inch or two, failing to arrive where she wants to be, she repeats the motion several times—her blatantly conspicuous method of demanding you reach down and kiss her.

“Chae… Is there something I can do for you?” you ask, a grin betraying your attempt to play dumb.

“You ass. Come here.” A small huff billowing out of her chest, she teases her fingers at the smooth skin on your neck. “Let me at least get a kiss before this becomes all stubbly—otherwise I imagine I’ll have better luck making out with sandpaper.”

Before you even get the chance to sink your shoulders, she wraps her fingers around the bottom of your tie, and with a twist and a tug she pulls you into her.

A kiss, sweet but efficient, lingers between you no longer than is prudent. The next, short and inquisitive, is like a second serving of ice cream—inadvisable. For a brief moment, you hold each other with your eyes, able to communicate far more than either of you could ever say. And the third, foolish as it is inviting, finds the last of your inhibition wanting.

You let yourself sink into her, the taste on her lips warming, welcoming, tempting. The spaces between your kisses fill no longer with shy smiles and bated breath, but with profound longing, crashing again in emboldening familiarity.

Your fingers dip dangerously at the hem of Chaewon’s dress, the boundary where smooth skin meets impossibly thin fabric—a playground of reckless decisions. Opposite of you, in no less good judgment, she slides her hands up your chest, quietly lifting your jacket up off your shoulders and finding room for it on the countertop beside you.

Your lips stretch into a coy smirk against hers. “What are you doing?”

Chaewon opens her eyes, mischief smoking from beneath her long lashes, and her voice lilts, “ nothing.”

She holds her gaze with you, her eyes smoldering with the same playfulness that paints the subtle smirk stretching across her face. She maintains her composure, delicately sweeping her bangs back perfectly into place with one hand, as though she weren’t prying her fingers into the buckle of your belt with the other.

“That’s a whole lot of nothing for someone who was—seconds ago mind you—on my case to hurry up.”

“And you’re talking a lot for someone I can feel already getting hard through his pants.”

You dig your fingers into the roundness of her ass, pulling her body flush against yours. “I thought you said we were meeting everyone for drinks at six?”

“And I also said check in was at seven,” she says, snapping the belt away from your hips.

“You’re insatiable.”

“Well, you’re the one who decided to kiss me.”

Your eyebrows twist skeptically. “I don’t think that’s how I would describe it.”