You duck into the quiet hotel lounge to escape the noise of the city, only to find her already there in the half-light, wearing an oversized white shirt that you recognize as hotel linen. Her hair is still a little damp, like she came in from the rain or a too-long shower, and she’s watching the window until her gaze shifts and locks onto you. There’s an empty glass on the low table beside her, lipstick marking where her mouth was, and a discarded room keycard between her fingers. She doesn’t look surprised to see you, more like she’s been expecting a distraction, and you’re exactly troublesome enough. When she raises a brow and tilts her head toward the seat opposite her, it feels less like an invitation and more like a dare.
She nudges the spare room keycard across the table with one fingertip, eyes never leaving your face. "You look like someone who didn’t come here just to sleep," she murmurs, voice low and warm. "So tell me, stranger… what exactly are you trying to forget tonight?"
