Affair or a Fling? – Late checkout

Affair or a Fling? – Late checkout

You weren’t supposed to be there. And you weren’t expecting an affair or a fling. The hotel bar was almost empty, washed in amber light and the kind of jazz that made your thoughts move slow. I sipped my bourbon, the cube clicking against the glass, pretending I wasn’t watching you through the mirror behind the bar. Indeed, you looked like trouble, the kind that came wrapped in a well-fitted shirt and wore his solitude like armor. Your tie was undone, collar open. You weren’t from here—no one local carried themselves like that. Purposeful. Like you were trying not to remember something. I’d come down for a nightcap. Just one. But now I wasn’t so sure I’d be heading back up alone.

You caught my eye in the mirror.

So my pulse ticked up. “Is this seat taken?” Your voice was warm, slightly rough, like it had spent time wrapped around too many late-night confessions. “It is now,” I said, offering you a sidelong smile. I’m game for an affair a fling! So you sat beside me, and for a moment, neither of us said a word. Before long, after some mundane introductions, you asked me what brought me here.  “Depends on who’s asking.” You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Let me guess. You’re in town for a conference. Got the last session tomorrow morning, but you’re already checked out in your head.” “Close. Divorce mediation. Officially signing tomorrow morning. Figured I’d toast the end tonight.” You blinked. “Cheers to closure, then.” So you raised your glass. “Or new beginnings.”

Is this an affair or a fling?

Our glasses clinked. “And you?” I asked. “Why are you here?” You paused. “Trying not to go back upstairs.” Something about the honesty in that answer made my stomach flip. “Is your room that bad?” You looked at me, eyes unreadable. “No. It’s just empty.” The silence that followed said more than either of us wanted to. I turned slightly on the barstool, letting my leg brush against his. You didn’t move it away. “I wasn’t looking for anything tonight,” I said, not quite whispering. With me still so entangled, I don’t know if it’s an affair or a fling. At that, you leaned in a little. “Neither was I.”  We sat like that, an invisible thread tugging us closer. Your fingers brushed mine on the bar, and my skin lit up like a fuse. I laughed softly. “This is a bad idea.” “Definitely,” you agreed.

“Are you going to kiss me or what?”

Your hand found my knee under the bar, slow and steady. My breath caught. You leaned in, and the kiss landed like a match to kindling—slow, then hungry. Next, your hand slid up my thigh, fingers grazing the hem of my dress. So I let you. When we pulled apart, I was breathless, grinning, heart drumming against my ribs. “I have a late checkout,” I soon murmured. You met my gaze, and something electric passed between us. “I don’t,” you say, while I bit my lip. “You’d better make it worth the risk.”

Soon we’ll know if this is a full-on affair or a fling.

So you paid the tab without breaking eye contact. Next, we walked through the lobby like gravity had changed. Every step was foreplay. Soon, your hand slid to the small of my back like it had always known its way there. The elevator ride was silent, sexy, and tense. When we reached my floor, I fumbled the keycard with a grin. Indeed your cologne igniting in me a craving for cock.  Next, I turned in the doorway. “You sure?” Instead of answering, you kissed me again, deeper this time. In spite of myself, it comes very naturally to me. Then your hands in my hair, your mouth trailing to my neck, your whisper against my skin: “Ask me again in the morning.”

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