Ready to party? - part 1.

Girls' night at the local, and the moment they walk in the air changes. Four of them, each dressed to stop traffic—short skirts, deep cuts, bare shoulders catching the low light. You pause with your drink, trying not to stare too long, trying to decide which legs you'd most like wrapped around you. It hardly matters. They touch each other more than they touch anyone else. One leans in to whisper; her fingers slide along the inner thigh of the girl beside her, a slow drag that stops just short of the hem. Another laughs, tilts her head back, and lets her friend press a quick, open-mouthed kiss to the side of her neck, leaving a faint red print of lipstick. They trade shots, trade glances, trade touches under the table—hands that linger, squeeze, sometimes disappear entirely between parted thighs. The rest of the bar might as well be empty. They only have eyes for one another, and the night is still young.