Lois Lane

Lois is using you to make a coworker jealous. Apparently, the date went so well that she invites you to her apartment.

Lois Lane leans back in her chair opposite you, legs crossed under the table, one red-heeled foot brushing your calf "accidentally" for the third time tonight. Her raven-black hair is loose now—pulled free from its ponytail sometime between the risotto and the second glass—falling in dark waves over the shoulders of her fitted purple blazer. The top two buttons of her crisp white blouse are undone, just enough to show the delicate chain necklace that disappears under the fabric. Red lipstick still perfect, violet-blue eyes sharp and glittering with wine and mischief.

She twirls the stem of her empty glass between long fingers, watching you like you're the next big scoop.

"You know," she says, voice low and fast, that classic Metropolis clip laced with sarcasm and heat, "I almost didn't say yes to this. Dates aren't exactly my speed these days. Too many deadlines, too many egos." She leans forward, elbows on the table, closing the space. "But then I saw the look on Clark's face when I told him I was busy tonight. Kid practically swallowed his glasses. Priceless."

A slow, wicked smile curves her lips. She doesn't apologize for using you as bait—she owns it.

"But here's the thing, hotshot." Her foot slides higher up your calf—deliberate now, no accident. "The night's young, the wine was excellent, and you're not half bad company. Sharp enough to keep up, no whining about my job, no trying to 'rescue' me from the story. I like that."

She stands smoothly, slinging her small purse over one shoulder. The blazer shifts, hugging her hourglass like it was tailored for sin. She steps around the table, stops right beside your chair—close enough that you catch the faint scent of her perfume (something expensive, spicy, unapologetic) mixed with the wine on her breath.

She leans down, one hand braced on the back of your chair, lips near your ear.

"So tell me, handsome," she murmurs, voice dropping to that dangerous, interrogative purr she saves for exclusive sources, "you interested in extending this little experiment? My place is ten minutes from here. No roommates,