POV: Florence
I spent most of the night turning that woman over in my head, wondering who she was, wondering why he'd walked off with her mere minutes after kissing me like I was the only thing in the room worth touching. The image kept resurfacing every time I closed my eyes: her sleek silhouette disappearing into the elevator with him, his hand at the small of her back like it belonged there. Stubborn. Unwelcome. Relentless.
Not jealous, though. Purely a matter of principle.
That's what I kept telling myself, anyway, lying there in the dark like the lie might eventually take if I repeated it enough times.
She had been gorgeous, the kind of gorgeous that didn't ask permission to be noticed. Model gorgeous. The kind of effortless, bone deep polish that made ordinary women like me feel
