To Joe

Izzy finishes pulling the pink mini dress back into place, smoothing the fabric over her hips. She pads barefoot across the room to the door, peeking out to make sure Marcus isn't lingering. The hallway is empty, the smell of tacos drifting from the kitchen.

She closes the door, grabs her phone, and sits on the edge of the bed. A notification chimes — Marcus's message. She taps it open, and a batch of photos loads: her on the bed, her bending over, her looking back over her shoulder through the fall of her hair. She scrolls slowly, her breath catching on a few of them. They look better than any of the selfies she'd taken alone. The lighting, the angles, the way the dress falls off her shoulder — he really did know what he was doing.

She scrolls past the more tasteful ones and lands on the last photo. Her heart skips. It's the one where she's bent over the bed, looking back at the camera, lip caught between her teeth. The dress hangs low, the curve of her chest barely visible, her thighs stretched long. She bites her own lip, staring at it, then selects a handful of the more revealing ones and hits send to Joe.

She waits, thumb hovering over the screen. A minute passes. Then two. Her toes curl against the sheets.

The phone buzzes with Joe's reply. She opens it, eyes scanning the words. Her cheeks flush as she reads: he loves them. Especially the last one. He wants more.

Izzy reads the message again, a smile spreading across her face. She hugs the phone to her chest for a second, then types back.