Page 2

We throw back the shots in unison. The tequila burns a clean path down my throat, warming me from within. I’m not usually a shot-drinker, but something about tonight—about Nate—makes me want to step outside my carefully constructed boundaries.

"So," he says, setting down his empty glass. "Not from here?"

"What makes you say that?" I watch his face, the way his eyes light up with mischief.

"You have that 'just visiting' look." He leans in slightly. "Like you're seeing everything with fresh eyes."

"Maybe I'm just observant."

"Maybe." He signals for another round. "Or maybe you're running from something."

I arch a brow. "Pretty presumptuous for someone I met ten minutes ago."

"Am I wrong?" His confidence should irritate me but, for some reason, it doesn't.

"I'm not running." I accept the second shot when it arrives, knowing that this is a huge mistake. "Returning, actually."

"Ah." He nods as if this confirms a theory.

Our fingers brush as we clink glasses again, and I feel that same spark of electricity. "What about you? Just passing through?"

"Let's say I'm between destinations." He throws back his shot with practiced ease. "Enjoying the journey."

I study him more carefully. Strong jawline, slight stubble, a small scar near his left eyebrow.

He looks vaguely familiar, but I can't place where I might know him from.

Maybe he has one of those faces that reminds me of someone else.

Or maybe the tequila is already blurring my typically sharp memory.

"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.

The moment they shut, Nate's hand cups my face. His lips find mine, urgent and demanding. My back hits the elevator wall. His body presses against mine. One hand slides into my hair while the other grips my hip, anchoring me to him.

I've never been kissed like this before—never with this raw intensity that makes my knees weak and my mind blank.

"God, Elena," he groans, breaking the kiss to trail his lips along my jaw, down my neck.

The elevator chimes. Fourteenth floor. We break apart, breathing hard.

We stumble out of the elevator, his hand on the small of my back. The hallway stretches before us, impossibly long. I need this man in my bed. The sooner the better.