“We’re having more fun than you are,” she teased, tilting her chin toward her table. “Come join us.” I raised a brow.
“Are you allowed to hang out with your passengers? Or are we still talking around technicalities?”
“We’re not, and you’re not my passenger anymore. Besides, you’re being invited.” I followed her back, more curious than I wanted to admit. Rose greeted me with a knowing smile, and Sam introduced both pilots, Alexander and Ryan. She looked at me with a spark in her eyes that told me she already knew I was watching her.
We drank, talked, and laughed. The game faded into the background noise. “What are they even saying?” Ryan asked, squinting at the screen. Sam leaned in with a grin. “They just said the guy with the ball looks like a goat wearing cleats.” I blinked. “Seriously?”
She laughed. “No. But you believed me for a second, and that’s concerning.”
“Dangerous combination,” I said, smirking. “Looks and lies.” Rose raised her glass. “To looks andlies.” Alexander chimed in, “To wine and whatever this sport is, Ryan doesn’t seem to get.”
“To not working for twelve hours, until next week,” Sam added. Our glasses clinked. It was easy. Too easy. The kind of effortlessness that makes you forget time.
Every brush of her hand against mine felt intentional, every glance charged. The air between us carried its own current, low and steady like the jazz in the background.
Eventually, the night slowed down. The bartender yawned, Alexander stood to settle their tab, and Rose started gathering her things. “We should call it,” she said, slipping on her coat. I started to stand up too. “I’m actually staying here.” Sam arched a brow. “Oh, so you are fancy like that.”
I shrugged. “I like good room service and short elevator rides.” Then, I leaned in, whispering in her ear, “Can I repeat yesterday’s invitation?”
Her smile curved slowly. “If it includes a bottle of wine, I’ll think about it.” I turned to the bartender. “Bottle of your best red, two glasses. Room 1103.”
As he nodded, I saw how Rose smirked and whispered something to her that sounded close to ‘have fun’. She smiled at me and then walked away with the guys.
Sam picked up her things and then followed me to the elevator. Neither of us said a single word on the entire ride up.
Inside the suite, I flicked on the lamp. Warm lightspread across the room. And the Paris view stretched out in gold beyond the windows. The wine was already there. I poured two glasses and handed her one. She didn’t sit. She just watched me, studying, maybe still deciding. “Did you change your rule about not sleeping with passengers,” I asked, “or why did you accept my invitation tonight?”
She sipped on the wine, eyes steady on mine. “Well, I accepted the invitation to your room tonight,” she said, “but sleeping with you? I’m still debating on that one.” I laughed. “Okay, that’s fair.”
“You said you’re not my passenger anymore, which is technically true,” she added. “Also, the wine might help.”
“Always happy to support informed decision-making.” She finally sat on the edge of the chaise lounge, legs crossing in that effortless way she had. “So,” she teased. “Are you always this good at luring women to fancy hotel rooms with vintage Bordeaux and Eiffel Tower views?”
“Only on Thursdays.” She laughed, soft, more genuine this time. “You give off serious ‘experienced’ vibes.”
“Experienced, huh?” I leaned back in my chair.
“Well, let’s be honest here. You’re twelve years older than me,” she said with a shrug. “I just assume you’ve… studied abroad, so to speak.”
I chuckled. “Well, if you put it that way. Yeah. I have studied abroad, practiced, and even mentored.”
“Oh, mentored,” she echoed, smirking. “That sounds very… educational.”
“I believe in lifelong learning.” Her grin widened. “Any kinks I should know about before we end up making poor life choices?” She is teasing and testing me.
“Define poor choices.”
“I mean questionable. Fun? Memorable? Something that requires a safe word, perhaps?” Now we’re talking.
“I’m not much for theatrics,” I said, sipping my wine. “I like enthusiasm, mutual curiosity. The occasional lack of impulse control.” She looked at me for a long moment while she took a sip of her wine. “You know what’s funny?”
“What?” What could she possibly find funny about this conversation? “You’re very composed. You seem very controlled, and you give businessman vibes. But underneath…” She tilted her head like she was examining me. “I think you like being undone.”
I met her gaze. “And you think you can undo me?” Her grin was quick, sharp. “I don’t know yet, but you’re the one who invited me here.”
“Touché.”
We fell into silence. She is still walking around. Like, she is still thinking about what this might entail. “I haven’t decided what could happen tonight,yet,” she said softly, setting her glass down. “But so far? So far, I’m glad I came up.”
