"Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"Why did you have women's underwear in your pocket?"
He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "I told you—they were in my roommate's jacket pocket. I grabbed the wrong jacket."
"And your roommate just carries around women's underwear?" I turn to look at him and raise an eyebrow skeptically.
"My roommate is a bit of a player," he explains with a shrug.
I have a sinking suspicion that Nate is also a player but I push that thought aside. It doesn’t matter—this is a one time thing.
He pulls me closer. His lips brush against my neck in a gesture that feels surprisingly tender after the intensity of our sex.
I should probably feel some regret or uncertainty about what just happened, but all I feel is a pleasant exhaustion and lingering satisfaction. This was nothing like the carefully choreographed, polite sex I've had in the past. This was raw and exhilarating.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks, his fingers playing with a strand of my hair.
"Just that I didn't expect my night to end like this," I admit.
He chuckles. "Makes two of us. But I'm definitely not complaining."
Neither am I, I think as my eyes grow heavy. Neither am I.
Nate's breathing has already slowed beside me, his arm still draped across my waist. The digital clock on the nightstand glows 11:37 PM in harsh red numbers. Less than seven hours until my alarm will shatter this peaceful bubble.
I should say something. Ask if he wants to stay or go. Exchange numbers, maybe. But I don’t want to be the first one to bring it up. And I’m not actually going to see him again, right?
I feel Nate shift beside me, his breathing now deep and rhythmic. He's fallen asleep. Damn, that was quick. I envy his ability to simply turn off, to be present in this moment without worrying about the next.
Maybe I should wake him up, and send him back to his place. That would be the sensible thing to do. No awkward morning-after conversation. No scrambling to get ready while navigating around a stranger in my bathroom.
But his arm is heavy across my waist, and the thought of disturbing this peaceful moment seems wrong somehow. Besides, I'm too tired to navigate that conversation now. Let morning-Elena deal with it.
My mind drifts to the sex we just had. There was something about him, about us together, that broke through my carefully constructed walls. The way he looked at me, touched me, spoke to me—it awakened something I didn't know was sleeping.
I turn slightly, careful not to disturb Nate, and study his profile in the dim light filtering through the curtains. Strong jaw, straight nose, dark lashes resting against his cheeks. In sleep, his confident smirk is gone, replaced by something softer, almost vulnerable.
Who is he, really? Beyond the charm and the incredible skill in bed? I know nothing substantial about him—not his last name, not what he does for a living, not where he's from or where he's going.
And maybe that's okay. Maybe not everything needs to be analyzed and categorized. Maybe some experiences can just be what they are—beautiful moments outside the careful structure of my normal life.
Chapter 3
Nate
Iwake to the gentle sound of Elena's breathing, her body warm against mine in the pre-dawn darkness of her hotel room. The digital clock's red numbers read 5:17 AM. Perfect timing. Early enough to make my escape without the awkward morning-after conversation, late enough that I actually got some decent sleep. I've perfected this routine over the years, but something about her angelic face makes me linger longer than I should.
Her dark hair spills across the white pillowcase. One arm is tucked beneath her cheek, the other stretched toward me, fingers slightly curled. For a fleeting moment, I consider staying, and waiting for her to wake up so I can get just one more kiss.
But that's not what I do. Not who I am.
I ease myself up slowly, careful not to disturb her. Years of practice have made me good at this part—the silent extraction. I slide out from under the sheets with the precision of a surgeon, making sure the warm cocoon around her remains undisturbed. My feet touch the carpet without a sound. I stand naked, watching the gentle rise and fall of her.
Last night was... different. I'm not sure why. I've had plenty of one-night stands before—some good, some forgettable. But something about Elena makes me feel uneasy. The way she responded to me, uninhibited yet somehow still holding something back. The little gasps she made when I hit just the right spot. The way her eyes widened when I asked to blindfold her, a perfect mix of nervousness and excitement.
I shake the thoughts away. This is dangerous territory.
