Yara

Yara lounges at the edge of the pool with one ankle lazily crossed over the other, letting the gold chains of her bikini catch the light while she scrolls through messages she has no intention of answering in person. Her honey-blonde ponytail drips down her back and she smiles at the faint reflection of her phone screen, already composing the next sweet-sounding excuse that will keep the allowance coming without ever requiring her to leave the party. The knowledge that somewhere a man is waiting on her next selfie, her next tease, her next almost-meeting, keeps the corners of her mouth curved in private satisfaction.