Her name was Lila. She was in her twenties and had a rebellious streak that burned beneath her delicate exterior. A cascade of jet-black hair framed her heart-shaped face, the ends curling loosely against her collarbone and streaked with electric blue dye. Her almond-shaped, deep hazel eyes glinted with a mix of defiance and nervous excitement as they darted around to ensure no one noticed her subtle movements. She wore a tight black crop top that clung to her small, pert breasts. The thin cotton revealed the faint outline of her lacy bra beneath. Her denim skirt was scandalously short, barely grazing her mid-thighs; the frayed hem brushed against her smooth, tanned skin. A pair of sheer black panties hugged her hips underneath, the fabric so thin that it left little to the imagination. Her long, lean legs shimmered with a light sheen of sweat. Her calves flexed as she shifted her weight onto her strappy sandals, which exposed her painted toes.

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