Margo Voss
Not my type. Not my plan. Definitely not the man I was supposed to want. At least, that was what the rules said.
She knows him too well. His jokes. His voice. His habits. The safest man beside her suddenly becomes the only one for whom half a step of distance is indecently far.
At first, she still argues with herself. Then her body stops supporting the argument.
By the end, ‘why you?’ is barely a question. It is the last complaint before she closes the distance herself.
Luxury broken-disco / liquid nu-disco. The same story, in another language and with a different nerve.
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