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Summary
Nea took a nice, exaggerated and drawn-out drag from her cigarette. She finished off her sort-of-seduction and partially I-don’t-care-what-you-think act by slightly opening her mouth to allow a wall of smoke to creep up her face, inhaling slowly through her nose. The French inhale was a classic, even if it was easy as shit, but Nea could tell from the way Tryhard’s eyes trailed down her face to focus on her bitten lips that it worked. She dropped her accusatory gesture, sliding her thumb underneath her waistband and pulling her pants lower, just ever so slightly.
Bingo.
