That night, Chloe was in her element. She knew the DJ, who was actually a former philosophy major from Vassar. She knew the bartender, who made her a "signature" cocktail involving butterfly pea flower. She touched my arm when she laughed, leaned her head on my shoulder during the quiet parts of the song, and periodically checked her phone to see if anyone had liked the story she’d posted of our matching shoes.
I shouldn’t have answered. I did.
And for the first time in two years, I didn't check my phone for likes. meana wolf – fuck me like your girlfriend
"Sorry?"