One night stand...

I did not plan to meet him.

That is the lie people tell themselves so they can sleep later.

Truth is I went out looking for noise. For heat. For something loud enough to drown the ache sitting in my chest like unpaid rent.

The club smelled like alcohol and sweat and desperation pretending to be confidence. Lights cut through the dark like knives. Music so loud it shook my ribs. Perfect place to forget my own name.

I was already two drinks in when I felt it. That itch. That awareness that someone was looking at me like I was a decision they were about to regret.

I turned.

He was leaning against the bar like it owed him money. Black shirt. Sleeves rolled up. Veins doing sinful things to his forearms. Eyes dark. Not soft dark. Dangerous dark. The kind that does not ask permission.

We stared. Too long to be polite. Too short to be accidental.

He lifted his glass slightly. A question. Not a greeting.

I should have looked away.

Instead I walked toward him like gravity had filed a complaint against me.

“Buy me a drink?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

He smiled slow. “You already have one.”

“Then buy me a better one.”

He laughed. Low. Like he felt it in his chest first. “Bold.”

“You were staring,” I said. “I’m just being efficient.”

He ordered without asking what I wanted. Red flag. Hot one.

When the glass touched my fingers our hands brushed and my brain fully clocked out.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

I hesitated. That was new. I never hesitated.

“Tonight?” I said. “Or legally?”

His smile sharpened. “Tonight.”

I gave him a fake name. He gave me one too. We both knew. We both did not care.

We talked like people who were never going to meet again. Honest in the laziest way. No future. No stakes. Just fragments. He hated mornings. I hated promises. He was bad at staying. I was worse at asking people to.

At some point the music shifted. Slower. Dirtier. His hand landed on my waist like it had always lived there. I let it. I leaned back into him. The heat of his body was immediate and invasive and oh god comforting.

We did not dance so much as collide.

His mouth was close to my ear. “We should leave.”

Not a question.

I turned my head. Our noses almost touched. I could smell him. Clean and warm and trouble.

“Yeah,” I said. “We should.”

Outside the air was cool and sharp and sobering in the worst way. City lights blurred. My heels clicked against the pavement like they were counting down something dangerous.

We did not talk in the cab. His thigh pressed against mine. Every bump in the road sent sparks up my spine. His fingers traced idle patterns on his knee like he was holding himself back.

The hotel was expensive. Anonymous. The kind with mirrors that know secrets.

The door barely closed before his hands were on my face. His mouth crashed into mine with no warning and no mercy. The kiss was not gentle. It was hungry. It tasted like alcohol and want and every bad idea I had ever defended.

I kissed him back like I was starving.

Hands everywhere. His on my waist. My fingers in his hair. Heat building fast and reckless. We stumbled. Laughed once. Nervous. Breathless.

He pressed his forehead to mine. “We can stop.”

I shook my head. “Do not.”

That was all it took.

Clothes became obstacles. The room felt smaller. Hotter. His mouth traced my jaw. My neck. I gasped. He smiled against my skin like he loved that sound.

I pulled him back up and kissed him again slower this time. Deeper. Like I wanted to remember the shape of his mouth tomorrow when this turned into a mistake.

We moved together until thought dissolved. Until the world narrowed down to touch and breath and the quiet sounds we pretended not to make.

At some point the lights were off. At some point time stopped behaving.

When it was over we lay there staring at the ceiling like survivors of something unnamed.

My heart was still racing. His hand rested on my stomach like it belonged.

This was the part I hated. The quiet. The vulnerability sneaking in uninvited.

“You okay?” he asked.

I laughed softly. “Define okay.”

He turned on his side to face me. Studied my face like he was memorizing it against his will.

“Stay?” he asked. Too casual. Too careful.

I should have said no.

I nodded.

Sleep came heavy and strange. I dreamed of falling.

Morning light was cruel. It showed too much. Reality always does.

He was already awake. Watching me.

“Do not do that,” I said. “That is boyfriend behavior.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Habit.”

That word landed wrong.

We lay there talking about nothing again. Avoiding everything. The clock ticked louder than it should have.

Eventually I sat up. Reality tapping its foot.

“This was fun,” I said. The classic line. The escape hatch.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

He did not reach for his phone. Did not ask for mine.

That hurt more than it should have.

I got dressed. Slower than necessary. He watched. Said nothing.

At the door I hesitated. Again. I was really bad at this.

“Take care,” I said.

He smiled. Small. Real. “You too.”

I left.

In the elevator my chest felt tight. Stupid. It was just a night. Just a body. Just heat.

So why did it feel like I had left something important on that bed.

I told myself it would fade.

It did not.

Some one night stands end in regret.

This one ended in absence.

And somehow that was worse.

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