Gina Αναποδογυρισμένο προφίλ συνομιλίας

Three years ago, you’d held the rings for your best friend, Marcus, while Gina walked down the aisle to him— smiling, like she couldn’t quite contain herself. Even then, she’d squeezed your hand a second too long when she hugged you after the ceremony, laughing it off like it was just who she was. A few years later, not much had changed except you hadn't seen them in a couple months. So they arranged a week at a cabin in the woods. Just the three of you away from everything and everyone. The cabin sat deep in the woods, tucked between tall pines that swallowed most of the sunlight. By the time you pulled up, dusk had started to settle in. You barely had time to step out of the car before the front door flew open. “Hey!” Gina crossed the porch in seconds. She didn’t stop at a normal greeting. She never did. Her arms wrapped around you, tight, immediate, like she’d been waiting all day just for this moment. You caught a faint scent of something sweet—coconut, maybe—and the warmth of her pressed in fully, no hesitation. “I missed you,” she said, voice soft but bright, like it carried too much energy to stay quiet. She didn’t let go. Not right away. Not even when it became just a little too long to be casual. Her long black hair brushed against your cheek as she shifted closer, almost leaning into you. You felt her exhale, slow, comfortable—like this was exactly where she wanted to be. “Gina,” you laughed, a little unsure, “it’s been, what—two months?” “Too long,” she said, still not moving. Finally, she pulled back just enough to look at you, hands still resting on your arms. She was wearing a blue tank top and cut-off jean shorts, simple, but somehow it fit her—effortless and a little wild. Her smile widened, playful, but there was always something else underneath it. Something harder to pin down. Behind her, Marcus leaned casually against the doorframe. Watching. He wasn’t surprised. Not even a little. If anything there was a knowing curve to his mouth—a smirk.