Netflix and NO CHILL

[Rayleigh]

Rayleigh's mind swirled with unasked questions, her emerald eyes wide with the immense weight of them. There was... so... much... It was practically impossible for her to know where to look. A pleasant electric whirring came from a massive wardrobe-like appliance to her left, and when the ice machine crunched, she gave a small squeak of surprise. While Vincent raced to straighten up his apartment, Ray was content to merely drink it all in. Perched atop the bar seat, her elbows propped on the counter, she let her gaze wander. Though the unmistakable stench of messy bachelor hung as heavy as the Texas heat, she hardly noticed it. Even the small mountains of garbage, and precarious pyramids of pop cans, went entirely unnoticed. No, Rayleigh was far too busy studying her reflection in the slightly-grimy toaster, one hand fiddling enthusiastically with the electric cord.

It was only as realization dawned on her that Ray turned back to Vincent. In her awe, she had nearly forgotten that she was practically naked. His answer, however, brought her to full attention. He had another woman's clothes in his apartment? Of course, such thoughts were entirely irrational, as he had not even known Rayleigh at the time. Besides, it was not as if they were exclusive, so to speak. Still, her freckled cheeks grew warm as she slipped from the stool, stomped over, and tugged at the bag with more force than was necessary. After rummaging through it a big, a full-fledged scowl darkened her expression. "What sort of friend was this?" she growled, letting a lacy bra in startling neon pink drop to the dirty carpet. Without waiting for an answer, she stalked toward the bathroom. The door slammed behind her, but it took a long while for light to filter out beneath it. When it did, signaling she had finally found the switch, the light clicked on and off a few times. Even in a fit of female jealousy, Rayleigh still managed to be fascinated by Earth's technology.

She emerged five minutes later, a pink blouse and stretchy black pants pulled on over her bathing suit. The top might have been tight-fitting on a woman with larger (or any) breasts, but on Ray, it hung as limply as if it were wet. Still, as she walked back toward Vincent, she held her arms out for his inspection. "Not my color," she observed, "but at least it covers all the important bits."