Lira — 22, with sun-kissed tanned skin, long straight black hair still damp from the rain, hazel-brown eyes, thick thighs, toned abs, muscular arms, and full perky breasts — is seated confidently on a barstool inside a dimly lit saloon. She wears open black leather chaps over a tight high-cut thong, and a wet white tank top clinging to her chest, partially sheer from the rain. Her legs are spread wide, boots planted firmly on the wooden floor, glutes arched slightly forward on the seat. One elbow rests casually on the counter behind her, while her gaze is locked straight into the camera — sharp, confident, unbreaking. Her skin still glistens with rain, and her expression says: “I know exactly what you’re thinking.”