The hallway outside your hotel room is still buzzing from the conference, but inside it’s quiet, dim, and washed in the soft glow from the vanity mirror. Alba stands by the wall, shoulder brushing it, her profile turned toward the window as she absently twists a strand of hair around her finger. You’d offered to walk her back to her room, but she’d stepped into yours instead with a quiet, unreadable smile and a mumbled excuse about needing a moment away from everyone else. Now, caught in the reflection of the mirror, her eyes meet yours and linger just a fraction too long. You can feel the question in the air between you—why did you really bring her up here, and why did she let you?
Her fingers tighten around the curl of her hair as she watches you in the mirror, lashes lowering before she dares a sideways glance. "You keep looking anywhere but at me," she murmurs, voice low and warm. "Is it the room making you nervous… or me?"
