four #2
I kept close to the bar, letting the ice of my drink press against the inside of my wrist. Just long enough to cool the heat still humming in my chest. The suite was too warm, too expensive, and too loud—like the kind of place that wanted you drunk before you realized how much it cost to breathe.
Samantha was already deep in conversation with crown-boy, and Tati was curled into one of the leather sectionals, laughing like she meant it. I didn't blame them. A thousand dollars an hour could buy a lot of personality.
I, on the other hand, needed a moment.
"You don't look like you're here."
The voice came from just beside me. Not intrusive. Just close enough to cut through the noise.
I turned. It was him—the quiet one from earlier. Button-down crisp, jacket discarded, collar loose. His tie was still around his neck, but it looked like a formality. His drink sat untouched in his hand.
I raised a brow. "I'm not."
He smiled, but not the usual kind. No leer. No invitation. Just a little tilt of curiosity. "Where are you?"
I sipped my drink, eyes scanning the party. "Probably somewhere with less neon."
He nodded, like that made sense to him. "So why stay?"
"Because the money's good," I said, then met his gaze again. "And I'm good at pretending."
That made him pause.
Not laugh. Not flirt.
Just pause.
"Maybe you shouldn't have to," he said softly, setting his glass down beside mine.
Something about the way he said it made me look away.
Most guys wanted to see you bend. He looked like he wanted to see if you'd break.
His glass clicked softly against the bar as he leaned just enough for me to catch the scent of something expensive and subtle—woodsy, not sweet. I didn't move. Just let the silence sit there between us. Me on one side of the moment, him on the other.
He glanced toward the party. "You ever get tired of this?"
"All the time," I said.
"But you stay."
I gave a half-shrug. "What else is there?"
He looked at me like he had an answer but wasn't ready to give it. Instead, he said, "Step outside with me. Just for a minute."
There was no sleaze in his tone. No urgency. Just a strange kind of stillness. Like he needed the quiet as much as I did.
I hesitated. Not because I was nervous—but because I wasn't. And that made me nervous.
I looked over to where Samantha caught my eye from the couch. She raised her brows, like, you good? I gave a tiny nod.
I turned back to him. "Fine. One minute."
He held the door open for me. No hand at my back. No weird comment. Just... space.
The hallway was colder. The quiet buzzed in my ears.
We stood in it for a second. Breathing.
Then he said, "What's your real name?"
I laughed. "You think I give that out in hotel hallways?"
"Didn't ask for your number," he said. "Just your name."
I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms. "What makes you think you'll get either?"
He smirked. "Because you haven't walked away yet."
I looked at him.
Really looked.
The hallway light caught the edge of his jaw—sharp, clean-shaven. His tie was still on but loosened at the collar, like he couldn't decide whether he wanted to stay composed or let the night unravel him a little. His hands were in his pockets. No flash, no posture. Just still.
"You always this bold with strangers?" I asked.
His gaze held mine. "Only the ones who look like they're miles away from here."
I didn't respond right away. There wasn't anything to say that wouldn't give something away.
The quiet settled again.
I glanced down the hallway. The muffled thump of bass bled under the door. Laughter somewhere behind it. The rest of the world moved on without us, but he didn't seem in a rush to catch up.
"What do you do?" I asked finally. "When you're not playing philosopher in a hotel lobby."
He smiled, a little slower this time. "Finance."
"Of course."
"But don't worry," he said. "I'm not going to pitch you crypto or ask you to invest."
I snorted. "Already better than half the room."
He looked down at his shoes like he didn't know what to do with the compliment.
Then he said, almost like an afterthought, "I don't come to places like that much often."
"Places like that," his tone made it sound like the club was beneath him.
I studied him. "You don't have to explain yourself."
He nodded once, slowly. "Maybe I wanted to."
That quiet was back again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It felt like the edge of something. A hinge in the night.
His drink sat untouched. Mine was half-melted in my hand.
We didn't speak for a long moment. Just stood there, side by side, like two people who accidentally ended up in the same silence.
He was easy to look at. Not in a forced, practiced way—but in that quiet, understated kind of handsome that crept up on you. Strong jaw, full lips, collarbone peeking out just enough to hint at the body underneath. Everything about him looked neat. Except his eyes.
His eyes looked tired.
"You ever get tired of this?" he asked.
"All the time," I said.
"But you stay."
"Habit." I gave a small shrug. "Survival. I don't know."
He didn't push for more. Just nodded, like maybe he understood.
Before either of us could fill the silence again, the suite door creaked open.
"Brooks," someone called—one of the louder ones, red in the face, tie slung over his shoulder like a scarf. "What the hell, man? You out here falling in love?"
Another one stumbled out behind him, already laughing. "If you don't bring your sentimental ass back inside—"
Then they saw me.
One of them grinned. "Oh. Oh. She the one you've been staring at all night?"
Brooks didn't answer.
The other guy held up a folded bill—something fat. "Tell her to give you a dance, man. What are you doing out here, writing poetry?"
I raised an eyebrow. "You want a dance?"
Brooks looked at me, slow and sure. "Only if you want to give one."
The hallway didn't feel so cold anymore.
I smirked. "I'm fine."
The guys made room as we stepped back inside, and suddenly it felt like the whole suite had shifted with us. The volume dropped just a little.
Everyone was so distracted by everything else and conversation no one noticed our return.
I grabbed the remote and changed the music. Something slower. Darker. Intimate. The kind of track that curled under your skin.
Brooks had already taken a seat. Not sprawled out. Not cocky.
Just there.
Waiting.
I walked toward him, heels soft against the marble, pulse steady in my ears.
"I don't dance for free," I said softly, standing between his knees.
Even if I did find him intriguing this was a job at the end of the day.
"I didn't ask you to."
I let my hands graze his shoulders. My movements slow. Deliberate.
For him.
He didn't smile. Didn't smirk. Just watched me like I was reaching inside him and pulling something loose.
I turned away, letting my hips sway to the beat, back arched just enough to tease. His breath changed behind me. I could hear it.
I rolled my body down, palms trailing along my thighs, then up again—fluid, sensual, completely in control. No exaggeration. No routine.
This was for me too.
I stepped back, brushing against his knees. His hands stayed in his lap. No grab. No pressure.
Good.
I straddled him next—not seated, not quite. Just hovering. My hands on his chest. His scent—clean, woodsy—folded around me.
I circled my hips once, slow and intentional.
His jaw flexed.
Still, he didn't touch.
Didn't speak.
Just watched.
So I moved again—lower this time, closer. Let my body speak what I wasn't ready to say. My hands slid up his chest, over his collarbone. My lips near his ear.
"Still think I'm not here?" I whispered.
His voice was low, almost reverent. "I think you're hiding."
I pulled back, just enough to meet his eyes again.
"Maybe," I said.
And then I danced for him—real, slow, like a prayer with no god. Like I wasn't on a clock. Like nothing else in the world was happening.
And he let me.
No interruptions. No hands.
Just his gaze, anchored and full.
Like he saw everything I was trying not to feel.