Eleven
Nathan
I never expected to see her again. That's how nights like ours are supposed to work.
One night.
A few hours of indulgence.
Then we're meant to fade seamlessly back into separate lives, never crossing paths again. Yet here she stands looking as if she's just dropped out of the sky.
For several seconds, neither of us speaks. We're both thrown off balance, clearly struggling to grasp what the fuck is happening.
In a city this big, with flights going everywhere, the fact that she's here, right in front of me, is…impossible.
Sienna leaves out a shaky exhale before she slides onto the stool at the bar with a resigned sigh. “I don't know what kind of joke this is, but I probably owe you a drink. Please,”
she says, gesturing to the stool next to hers but not meeting my eyes. “Have a seat.”
I take the seat beside her, studying her closely. This isn't quite the same woman who approached me last night. That Sienna moved with ease, radiating confidence, completely sure of herself.
This Sienna is just as beautiful—those captivating blue eyes, full lips, and golden skin—but she's visibly thrown.
I lean back, resting my elbow against the bar. “I'll have what you're having.”
Her cheeks instantly flush, eyes widening as realization dawns.
Whiskey.
She clears her throat, gripping her glass tighter, a tiny tell giving her away. She’s remembering last night.
Yeah, so am I.
The bartender slides a glass my way, and Sienna quickly fills the silence. “About last night…”
she starts, laughing nervously. “I don't usually—”
I cock a brow, cutting her off gently. “That makes two of us.”
She scoffs. “Oh, please.”
She downs another sip, placing her glass on the bar with a little more force than necessary. “You seemed very well-practiced in the art of taking a woman home.”
I lean in just enough, lowering my voice. “Knowing how to fuck a woman properly doesn't mean I bring a different one home every night.”
Her mouth parts. I watch, fascinated, as her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip. It takes every ounce of self-control not to let my mind wander back to how good she tasted.
Fuck.
I shift, straightening up and taking a drink of whiskey.
She glances nervously around, as if worried that someone is watching us. They're not, but I get it. Nights like ours don't fade quietly. Especially not when you run into the same person less than twelve hours later.
“So,”
she whispers, eyes narrowing with curiosity, “what the hell are you doing here?”
“I assume it’s the same reason you’re here. To catch a flight.”
“Yes, but why?”
“Business,” I reply.
Her brows knit as she tries to piece together the details she never learned about me last night. Before she can question further, my attention lands on the cardstock resting on the bar in front of her. The wedding invitation she'd dropped.
I pick it up, slowly turning it in my fingers, and suddenly, it clicks. “If last night was your final night of freedom, you might want to rethink marrying him.”
She jerks back, her expression shifting from startled to one of outright horror. She snatches the invitation from my grasp so quickly I almost laugh.
“Oh my God. It's not my wedding!”
“No?”
She grunts, burying her face briefly in her hands before glancing up with a grimace. “My brother's getting married. I'm just going home for it.”
I nod, understanding sinking in. That explains the sudden shift.
Not a bride-to-be.
Just an incredibly awkward coincidence.
She releases another exasperated breath, and I feel an unfamiliar tug of amusement. In some way, this seemingly impossible scenario has made her even more intriguing.
I sip my drink, watching quietly as she regains control of her emotions. Eventually, she glances my way again.
“Do you regularly run into one-night stands at airports?”
My lips quirk upward. “There's a first time for everything.”
She huffs out a small laugh, blue eyes sparkling. “Yeah, apparently.”
I watch her closely—the subtle parting of her lips, the graceful line of her throat as she swallows.
Tempting.
Too damn tempting.
Despite everything, the electricity from last night still hums between us, faint but undeniable.
She knows it.
I certainly fucking know it.
She squares her shoulders, offering her hand with exaggerated formality. “Can we start over and pretend you haven’t seen me naked?”
I stare at her extended hand. There's no chance in hell I'll ever forget that.
But she's determined, eyes bright with challenge, daring me to play along.
Fine, sweetheart. Let’s play.
I grasp her hand firmly, the heat of her skin instantly reminding me of every detail I'd learned last night.
“Nathan.”
A soft blush dusts her cheeks, and her chin tilts defiantly as she recovers. “Nice to meet you, Nathan. I'm Sienna.”
“The pleasure's all mine.”
I let my thumb briefly stroke across the back of her hand before releasing her.
She sucks in a breath. “Where are you headed?”
I lift my glass before I tell her, “California.”
She pauses, eyes closing. “Of course you are.”
“Let me guess. You too?”
She groans, shaking her head and draining her glass before setting it down again.
I chuckle softly, genuinely amused for the first time in ages.
As much as this woman has disrupted my morning, she's somehow managed to make it far more interesting than I ever imagined possible.