"You're staring," he points out, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Just trying to figure you out."
"What have you come up with...?"
I tilt my head. "Confident. Maybe a little arrogant. Used to getting what you want." I pause, letting my gaze drop to his mouth momentarily. "But there's something else there. Something you're working hard to hide."
He narrows his eyes and his smile falters for just a second before returning. "You're good."
"I know," I say, looking into his eyes before I have to look away.
I normally avoid men like him—too smooth, too sure of themselves. But there's something genuine beneath his practiced charm, something that draws me in despite my better judgment.
He orders a third round and I make yet another bad decision and drink it. Our conversation flows easily, jumping between safe topics—favorite cities (he loves Montreal, I prefer San Diego), worst travel experiences (cancelled flights, lost luggage), best meals we’ve ever had (his was street food in Thailand, mine was a hole-in-the-wall Italian place in North Beach). We dance around personal details without revealing anything concrete.
The tequila makes me feel loose, and softens the sharp edges of my anxiety about tomorrow. I laugh at his jokes, he leans in when he speaks. Our knees touch under the bar. Neither of us moves away.
"You have a great laugh," he says suddenly.
"Do I?"
"Yeah. It's like you're surprised by it." His eyes drop to my lips. "Like you don't do it often enough."
I feel a flush climbing up my neck that has nothing to do with the alcohol. "Maybe I need more reasons to laugh."
"I’m up for the challenge." He grins and I can’t help but smile.
"So what's your story, Nate?" I ask, tracing the rim of my empty shot glass. "Give me something. One true thing."
He considers this, then leans forward. "I like you. And I’m pretty sure you like me too."
My pulse jumps. “You do, do you? What gives you that idea?”
"I don’t know." His voice drops lower. "Maybe it’s the way you keep looking at my mouth, like you’re wondering how it would feel to kiss me.”
Our eyes lock. Our playful flirtation is deepening into something more urgent. His gaze doesn’t leave mine and I finally have to look away. I can feel myself blushing.
"Another round?" he asks, voice slightly rougher than before.
"Actually..." I take a deep breath. "I have a minibar upstairs."
His eyebrows lift slightly. "Is that an invitation?"
"Perhaps." My heart pounds against my ribs. I’ve never done this before—invited a stranger to my room. The thought is both terrifying and exhilarating. "Unless you’re not interested."
He rises in one fluid motion, standing tall over me. "I definitely didn't say that."
For once, I’m not overthinking, not over-analyzing. Just feeling. Just wanting. And it feels damn good.
We walk across the lobby in silence, our shoulders occasionally brushing. The marble floor gleams under the chandeliers. My pulse races as I press the elevator button.
"Having second thoughts?" Nate asks, his voice low.
"No." I surprise myself with my certainty. "You?"
"Not a single one."
The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding. We step inside. I punch the button for the fourteenth floor, watching the doors close agonizingly slow.
