I shouldn’t have answered. I did.
"I like the idea of liking your girlfriend," Meana corrected, setting her glass down with a soft, final click. "I like watching people who are so deeply invested in their own entertainment. The lifestyle as a full-time job. The relentless, cheerful consumption of moments. It’s fascinating. And a little terrifying."
The photo was of her and the DJ. I was cropped out.
She finally turned. Her eyes weren't the dramatic, predatory things her name suggested. They were tired. Knowing. A pale, washed-out green, like sea glass worn smooth by too much salt.