They made camp by a shallow brook, sun dipping low behind the trees, the air cooling as shadows stretched. Allen leaned against a smooth boulder, shirt half-open, clearly enjoying the view—and the drama.
Rinni stood near the fire, clutching her outfit with both hands like it might escape if she let go. The so-called "uniform" barely counted as clothing: a black-and-white micro bikini with frilly ribbons and thigh straps that tried—and failed—to preserve modesty. Her bunny ears drooped in embarrassment, cheeks as red as the fire crackling beside her.
"Why are you staring?" she snapped, catching Allen's gaze for the fifth—or maybe tenth—time.
Allen raised both hands innocently. "I'm not staring. Just appreciating."
"Appreciating what exactly?" Rinni growled.
"Your dedication to the role," he said, lips twitching. "Very immersive. You look like you're about to serve tea or commit tax fraud in the cutest way possible."
