“I build Lego sets.”
That catches her by surprise. “Well, you have yet again differentiated yourself from any other date. I wasn’t expecting that. How cool. What kind of things do you build?”
She sounds genuinely interested.
“Architecture sets, mostly. Cities, landmarks, skylines. Stuff like that.”
She stares at me for a second. Then, “I love that you got a little nerdyness going on.”
“I prefer strategic hobbyist.”
Her laughter spills out warm, landing somewhere beneath my ribs. The sound does something to me. Something that makes me want to hear it again.
“Do you make the little construction workers wear hard hats?” she asks.
“Of course, I have to keep it OSHA compliant.”
She laughs harder.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m performing a version of myself. I’m just here. Talking. Smiling. Being.
“This is the most relaxed I’ve felt in a long time,” I admit.
“I hope I have something to do with it.”
“Luna,” I say, leaning in, giving her the full truth, “you are entirely the reason.”
Chapter Three
Rayne
Ilove the way he says my name. Well, the name I gave him.Loo-nah.His accent gets more pronounced when he emphasizes a word, the vowels stretching slow and warm. I could listen to him for hours. I just love everything about him so far. His looks, his personality, his Lego hobby, his understated charm. A man who doesn’t try hard for attention, he just silently commands it. What I really love, though, is how he looks at me, like he wants to eat me alive but also learn what makes me tick.
I had to hold myself back from asking about why his life is ‘complicated’ because getting deep isn’t what I’m here for. Instead, we drift through lighter topics: music, movies, and food. While he doesn’t share my obsession for musicals and show tunes, we both love to eat. I tell him about my Aunt Belinda’s southern home cooking and my favorite seafood restaurant on the water, and he tells me about some of the cultural dishes his grandmother makes—like Pap, which I learn is similar to polenta, served with stewed meat and a spicy vegetable relish called Chakalaka.
“I don’t know about you, but now I’m hungry,” I say. “How do appetizers sound?”
“Like a guudidea. Since this is your spot, you choose.”
I’d told him the hotel is my mini retreat, where I come when I can’t take a real vacation. “Anything off limits?”
“No.” He lifts his glasses to scan the menu. “But I could live without foie gras.”
“That works for me.“ I order a spread of finger foods: oysters, ahi tuna on wonton crisps, truffle fries, and lollipop shrimp.
I switch to wine, and he switches to water. I assume because he’s driving… though I’m hoping he might stay the night. It’s not just sex I’ve missed. It’s sharing a bed, being held. And the Gentle Giant, with that solid mass wrapped in teddy-bear softness, looks perfect for cuddling.
When the food arrives, I pick up the breaded shrimp on a stick, aware of his eyes tracking my every move. I dip it into the sweet-chili sauce, then slide the lollipop between my lips, bite off the shrimp, chew slowly, and finish with tongue flicks at the corners of my mouth. Gauntlet thrown, I wait to see what he’ll do.
He breaks eye contact only long enough to squeeze lemon over an oyster and drown it in hot sauce. With his gaze back on mine, he brings the shell to his mouth and slurps the oyster down in one swallow. I swear my entire body blushes. He can’t possibly know this, but the slight raise of his thick eyebrows and curve of his lips says he absolutely does.
I grin back, pleased he’s game for a little foreplay. As the night deepens, the jazz gets smokier, and the heat between usslides up my dress and dampens my very thin, very blinged-out thong.
Through it all—the flirting, the food, the conversation—nothing stalls. No awkward pauses. No dead air. At one point, we land on first dates.
“What was your worst?” I ask.
“There’ve been a few bad ones, but I’d have to pick the baby-talker.”
