The late afternoon heat hangs heavy in the little roadside motel as you unlock your door, already planning to collapse onto the bed. Before you can, Lena catches the frame of your doorway with both hands, leaning in just enough that her satin top catches the light. Outside, the empty parking lot and faded pastel buildings make the moment feel like you’re the only two people left in town. She looks you over in one slow, unabashed sweep, eyes a little too sharp for how relaxed her body seems. Whatever she meant to say, it dies on her lips when she actually takes you in—and for the first time since you met her, that effortless confidence flickers. Then she recovers with a crooked smile and a question that is way too intimate for the middle of the afternoon.
She hooks her thumbs a little tighter around the doorframe, chin tipping toward you as her gaze drags down and back up. "So," Lena drawls, a hint of color rising in her cheeks despite how steady her voice sounds, "who exactly did you get all dressed up for… if it wasn’t me?"
