Rina’s texting like her phone’s on fire, totally ghosting Naoto’s whole “we are no longer a lovers” speech. She’s hitting send on an email that’s spicier than a habanero dipped in Sriracha, and attached? Let’s just say it’s a private screening of their greatest hits, a two-person film festival that’s rated A for Absolutely scandalous.
This girl’s love life was drier than week-old toast, a total desert of dude-drama. But now? She’s feeling her luck swing up like she just won the jackpot on a scratch-off ticket. Holed up in a hotel room that’s fancier than a billionaire’s yacht, she’s staring down at the city lights while getting a masterclass in… uh… oral presentations from her bestie’s dad. This man’s tongue game is on another level we’re talking five-star, Michelin-grade technique.
She’s putting up a weak little fight, playing like “oh, we shouldn’t,” but her body’s singing a whole different tune, throwing out signals brighter than a Times Square billboard. After turning that hotel bed into her personal service station, you’d think she’d be done. Nope! The after-party moves to his ride, where she’s proving her dedication is stronger than a double-shot of espresso.
