Transit, 38

Lori stood inside the elevator, her back leaning against the mirrored wall, her eyes shifting between her reflection and the glowing floor numbers as they ticked down slowly. She barely paid attention to the movement of the elevator, her thoughts drifting toward the meeting with the bartender. She caught herself thinking of it as a date, her heart giving a small, involuntary flutter at the idea.

She adjusted her stance, making sure her posture was just right, her curves accentuated by the tight blue bodysuit that hugged her body. Her fingers smoothed over the fabric, checking every line and fold, ensuring she looked as perfect as she felt. The high-cut sides of the bodysuit emphasized her hips, leading down to the worn denim mini-shorts that rode low on her waist. And those white platform boots—each shift of her legs made them gleam under the soft lights of the elevator, adding an extra touch of boldness to her look.

She turned slightly to admire herself in the reflection, tilting her head, letting her blonde hair cascade over one shoulder. A confident smirk curled at her lips as she checked the lipstick she'd applied earlier—still flawless, a bold red that made her smile seem more dangerous, more inviting. The thought of catching the bartender’s gaze, of seeing his reaction, made her pulse quicken.

When the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, she stepped out with a confident stride, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. The hall stretched before her, lined with gold accents and warm lighting. Her reflection followed her in the glass surfaces, each step echoing through the space. She could feel a rush of energy building inside her, a sense of control she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Lori held her head high, walking proudly toward the entrance of the night bar section, every movement purposeful, every glance a reminder that tonight, she was in charge.