I place a hand over his mouth.
It’s involuntary. A move born out of self-preservation, because Ican’tknow what this man does for work. If I let him say it, he’ll ask me what I do, and people react strangely when they hear I produce reality television. Some start telling me about how their job is just their day job, and they’re actually an aspiring content creator, and could I put in a good word for them with casting? Some wrinkle their nose, as if reality television is something contagious and they’reafraid they might catch it. And others, especially in certain circles in L.A., especially my ex, tell me that it’s not a bad starter job, not a bad way to try to find a way into the industry, but surely I don’t want to do it forever. Surely I want to do something else. Something important. Somethingserious.
I don’t want to hear any of that. I don’t want this night to be over, for all the attraction buzzing between us to shrivel away into nothing. I don’t want to think about any of that. Not now.
“I’m a tourist,” I say.
His brows draw together, deep lines forming between them. “I know.”
“No, I mean, I’m leaving. I’m going home in just a few days, so maybe we should keep this simple. No names. No jobs. No…”
“Nothing personal,” he says.
“Yes. Exactly.”
He nods, but the movement’s slightly stiff. He’s no longer looking at me, his gaze hovering somewhere over my right shoulder.
My stomach dips.
There’s been this ease between us since we met, and only now that it’s gone do I realize the equilibrium is off. That I threw it off.
“No,” I say, and his eyes shoot back to mine. “That’s not…I didn’t mean it like that.” I pause. “I don’t want to talk about any of those things, but it’s because all of that stuff, who we are, what we do, it’s all out there.” I nod toward the door of my hotel room. “And tonight, I just want to be here. In this moment.” I stop, finding that the next few words are lodged in my throat. I force myself to swallow, not sure whether I’m trying to get rid of them or clearing the way to allow them out.
I barely know this man, have barely spent any time with him, but none of this has felt impersonal. And it feels important that he knows that. It feels like a lie to say otherwise.
“With you,” I say, the words finally escaping.
And that truth is what he needed, what we both needed, because with it said, that natural ease from before settles back into place, a smooth return to our earlier choreography. It’s an unplanned, but somehow instinctive dance, the way I help him out of his shirt, the way he slides my jeans off my legs. There’s a rhythm to it, a give-and-take. In one moment, I lead, and he follows, and a second later, it’s the other way around.
“Okay,” he says, his breath hot on my ear, when I’m stripped down to the weathered gray sports bra and cotton underwear I wore on the flight. They’re both the most comfortable and least attractive pieces of clothing I own. They don’t even match, but I’m not the slightest bit self-conscious. I can’t be, not with the way he’s looking at me, his eyes roaming down my body, his jaw slack as he takes mein.
Every inch of me feels warm now, the heat on his face transferring to me. Making me desperate for contact, desperate to work out the restless, buzzing sensation beneath my skin. Have I ever felt this desired? This wanted?
It’s intoxicating.
“I’m fine with that,” he says. “No names. No jobs.” His hands settle on the dip of my waist, his thumbs brushing up my rib cage, coming to a stop at the band of my bra. “But tell me something else.”
“Like what?”
His thumb slides underneath, tracing the curve of my breast.
“Something else,” he breathes. “Just one thing. Something about you.Anything,as long as it’s true.”
“I…” My mind is blank, driven to silence by the rhythmic sensation of his skin skating over mine. There’s a patience in his touch. Something sure and confident. Like he’s intending to take his time tonight. Like he’s in no rush.
I take a half step back, the backs of my thighs bumping against the edge of the bed, and I reach for him, pulling him closer.
“I can go first, if you want,” he says, his mouth bending into a gentle smile, and I nod.
“I haven’t left Aberdeen in two years.” He lifts a hand, brushing back a wet strand of hair that had been sticking to my cheek. “Haven’t visited a different pub for longer than I can remember. It’s always the same place, and the same order, and I like it that way. I like the familiarity of having a routine, of knowing what to expect, but tonight…I didn’t mind the change. I didn’t mind breaking out of that, because I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect you.”
The sincerity in his voice, the honesty he’s offering a complete stranger, makes me feel unsteady. Off-balance. A bit in awe.
My hand finds the back of his neck, and I tug at him, my lips finding his, my body relaxing at the now familiar taste, now familiar feel of him. Warm and soft.
“I thought we were going to share something like how many pets we had growing up,” I say, and he laughs.
“You can still do that, if you want.”
