The door of the private room was closed—a signal laden with ambiguity for inebriated men and women, especially the young and vibrant.
Women naturally tended to show off, and Lyla was no exception; she snapped photos of the expensive dishes laid out on the table.
Ryan watched as Lyla's beautiful breasts swayed enticingly with every movement, his heart warming at the sight of her alluring cleavage.
"Lyla, come over to my side and take pictures. The lighting here is better," he said.
It was an excuse so feeble that anyone with eyes could see through it. Nevertheless, Lyla readily agreed and sat down beside Ryan. Instead of continuing with her pictures, she set her phone aside.
Raising her glass, her face flushed with wine, she coqueted, "Brother Ryan, I feel like I'm dreaming now. The food here is so delicious."
"Really? But you should be the most delicious one right now!"
"Hehe, then where does Brother Ryan think I smell the best?"
"Then we have to give it a try."
