We were just two people, stripped of context. Present tense only.
It was the most seen I'd felt in months.
At some point, the bar started emptying out. The jukebox clicked off. The bartender shot us a look that said, Drink up or get married, either way I'm closing.
Jack glanced around, then back at me. "Looks like they're kicking us out."
"Rude," I said with a pout. "I was enjoying this."
"So was I."
He reached for his wallet, settling the tab before I could object. I decided to let it go. Feminism didn't require me to die on this hill.
And when he turned to face me after, he was so close I could smell his cologne. Close enough that I had to look up through my lashes to make eye contact. It was distracting, intoxicating in a way that made it impossible for me to back away.
"Well," he said, easy. "Thanks for the conversation."
I tilted my head, considering him. Then I sighed theatrically. "I'm going to regret this."
His brow lifted. "Which part?"
"This part." I leaned in just enough to lower my voice. "I have a room at the motel down the road."
Jack stilled. Not in a dramatic way. But in an everything inside him just latched onto that sentence way. "Oh?"
I shrugged. "Yeah, I mean, it's clean-ish. The bed looked sturdy. The artwork is… aggressively floral."
His mouth twitched. "High praise."
I smiled. "This is the bold that I mentioned came later," I said lightly. "Please don't make me nervous."
"I'm not trying to," he said quietly. "Just making sure I heard you right."
"You did." I met his eyes, then grinned, emboldened now. "I'm not drunk. I'm not confused. I'm just… spectacularly done being sensible tonight."
I waited a beat, then leaned in just a fraction and said, bright and unapologetic, "I'm just a girl, standing in a bar, asking you to come back to my hotel room and do very ungentlemanly things to me."
Jack laughed—low, surprised, genuinely delighted. "Jesus," he said, stepping closer. "You don't ease into anything, do you?"
"Why don't you come back to my room and find out?"
"Careful," he murmured, smiling like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. "You keep talking like that, and I'm not going to make it out the door."
"I need you out that door, so—" I ran my fingers across my lips as if I were zipping them shut.
"Message received," he chuckled. "And for the record?"
"Yes?"
He bit his lip, still smiling. “That was incredibly sexy."
I lifted my chin. "Good."
He held my gaze for a second longer, something passing through his eyes—approval, maybe. Definitely interest.
"Okay," he said. Calm. Certain. And placed a hand at the small of my back. "Lead the way."
The motel room was nothing special. Standard bed, standard dresser, standard ugly artwork bolted to the wall like someone might want to steal it. I'd checked in earlier, planning to drivehome in the morning after my meeting, and now I was standing in the doorway with a man I'd known for three hours and a complete absence of common sense.
