Julia

Van entered the bathroom of our suite, his emerald stare glistening under the lighting. Leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb with his arms crossed over his wide chest, he scanned me up and down. With each passing second, the golden flecks shimmered as his sly grin grew.

“Don’t make fun of me,” I said, combing my long hair, tying it behind my neck, and staring back in the mirror. “I’m nervous.”

“You’re ...