The room buzzed with excitement as the convention hit its peak. Neon lights flickered across booths, chatter filled the air, and everywhere you turned, you saw colorful costumes—like a scene pulled from the latest superhero universe. Of course, cosplay competitions were kind of my thing, but this year, it somehow felt… different.
I stepped into the hotel lobby in my latest creation—a skin-tight leather suit that traced every curve and line of my body like it was painted on. The zipper running down the chest sparkled in the dim light, daring anyone to wonder how far it would go. The badge pinned above my heart read “Evie” in bold, black letters, but tonight, I was stepping into the shoes of someone else: “Cyborg Assassin.”
Feeling like I owned the damn place, I ruffled my hair, letting it fall in messy waves. Posing in front of the large mirror that took up half the lobby wall, I took in the look—leather, metal accents, knee-high boots, all snug in the right places—yeah, I nailed it. I felt confident… and okay, maybe a little dangerous.
“Looks good,” a deep voice drawled behind me.
I turned and raised an eyebrow—or at least tried to in a sassy, nonchalant move. He stood a few feet away, leaning against the wall with a grin that screamed trouble. A tall guy in a rogue pilot costume, disheveled in a charming, I-just-saved-the-galaxy kind of way. Messy dark hair, stubble that did things to a girl, and those “I-can-see-right-through-you” eyes. Classic.
“Nice try,” I retorted, tilting my head, “but you don’t even know who I’m supposed to be.”
He smirked, stepping closer. “Oh, I know exactly who you are, **Evie**. Cyborg Assassin, didn’t realize she’d look that good outside a video game.” His gaze flickered, lingering on the zipper detail that ran the length of my torso. The little devil.
“Uh-huh,” I shot back, crossing my arms in mock offense, though I couldn’t ignore the thrum in my veins at the way his eyes sought out the smallest details in my costume. “If you’re gonna flirt, at least get in line; there’s a whole convention of nerds out there.”
He chuckled, and the way his smile tugged at the corners of his lips made it all too clear that he was used to cutting to the front. “I don’t do lines.”
Oh, he was smooth. So smooth that I felt my teeth catch my bottom lip, just for a second. Aside from how close he was standing now, there was something electric in the air—not the neon lights or the sheer madness of the convention, but something simmering between us. Something with tension that zipped through me as quickly as… well, that damn zipper.
“What are you here for, really?” I found myself asking, playing along, feeling the energy build like levels in a game.
“Honestly?” he replied softly, his voice dropping as his fingers brushed against the edge of my sleeve, teasing the leather cuffs. “I was going to say the convention… but now, I think I’m staying for the after-party. Assuming there’s one?”
My heart fluttered—ugh, how did he do this so easily? I was a tough girl, I faced down hordes of fanboys in online RPGs every day, but standing here under his gaze, in this costume… it felt different.
“Well…” I laughed, and it came out lighter than I expected. “Depends.”
“Depends on what?” God, his voice was like silk. His fingers grazed over the name tag above my heart, tracing the “Evie” like he was committing it to memory.
“On whether I decide to put you on the guest list.” My voice caught, playing into the tension, every inch of me wired. My hand hovered near his arm, the slightest brush against his jackets’ worn fabric sending sparks up my skin.
He arched an eyebrow at the dare I tossed his way. “Oh, so I gotta earn it, huh?”
“Definitely,” I quipped, playing coy. “Guest lists don’t make themselves, hotshot.”
Before either of us could break eye contact, the world around us disappeared into blurred movement and laughter as cosplayers darted around in outrageous costumes. But here, between the two of us, it felt like a glass bubble—quiet, intense. The sound, the lights, the crowd melted away. There was only him… and the way that zipper drew his eyes repeatedly.
“So, about that zipper…” he whispered, his voice barely audible, but rich with suggestion.
“Yeah?” I let the corner of my lips curve into a smirk, feeling bold as I leaned closer, only an inch separating our bodies. “What about it?”
“I guess we’ll see just how far it goes… after the party.”
Then, without warning, he straightened up, grin still plastered on his face, and backed away into the crowd, leaving me standing there—cheeks flushed, heart hammering, and completely breathless.
Okay, this wasn’t just some casual convention interaction anymore. Whatever game he was playing? I was all in.
But if he thought he could leave me hanging after that drop of heat? He was about to find out just how good Cyborg Assassin really was at chasing down **her objective**.
And tonight, that objective was him.
Zipped up tight, sure. But by the end of the night? One of us was no doubt going to unlock something fun.
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