Author: Tyler R. Letren. Updated February 21, 2025
I step into the restaurant, she’s already seated, swirling a glass of what looks like white wine. The maitre’d barely has to gesture before I’m moving, weaving between tables, heart kicking up a little as I close the distance.
“Hey, I…” My words tumble over themselves. “Sorry, I got caught up. I…”
She waves a hand, dismissing the apology before I can finish. “It’s okay. I just got here.” A smooth, effortless lie.
She stands, just enough to gesture toward the empty seat across from her, waiting. I nod, slipping into the chair, but my fingers tap restlessly against the menu.
We shake hands across the table, a quick press of warmth before she settles back into her seat. I lift the menu, but I’m not reading it. I can’t help glimpsing up at her above the menu staring her forehead…solid, smooth, perfectly framed by the glow of the candlelight. It’s a great forehead, really. Strong. Regal.
I shouldn’t be thinking about her forehead.
She moves to speak, but the words don’t make it out.
“I don’t think this is going to work.” The words are out before I can stop them, my voice steadier than my nerves. I set the menu down beside the empty plate, pushing my chair back as I stand
Her brows lift, a flicker of surprise.
Reaching into my pockets for my wallet I a fifty-dollar bill on the table beside the empty plate as I stood.
Her eyes shift between the me and the fifty.
Muttering, “I’m sorry.” I turn around racing to the door just as fast as I came in.
Outside, the chilled air slaps against my face while waiting for the valet to bring my car around, I hear someone call “Hey!”
I glance over my shoulder and she's in the doorway, one hand on the frame, looking right at me. I pause staring back at her. My chest tightens taking her in tousled hair; her eyes locked onto mine. Unable to speak, I turn toward the street, watching the headlights of passing cars when she steps beside me, close enough that I can feel the air shift between us.
She doesn’t say anything at, just looks at me, waiting.
Folding her arms across her chest she stood there quietly. Until she starts loudly sifting through her bag, pulling out a sleek pink and silver vaporizer. Pursing her lips around the tip, she takes a slow pull, cheeks hollowing slightly before exhaling a thick cloud into the night air. She leans in slightly, her voice softer now.
“Did I do something wrong?
Heat prickles up my neck. My hand finds the bridge of my nose, fingers pressing hard as my chin dips to my chest. The sidewalk blurs under my gaze. “No! I just…” The words tangle in my throat. “I have a lot going on. This isn’t the best time for me to date.”
The silence stretches between us. I swear I can feel her looking at me…something light, almost amused, pressing against my skin.
I force myself to glance up. She’s watching me, head tilted, unreadable. Then, with a small shrug, she exhales a single syllable.
“Hmm.”
Taking another slow hit, she exhales a plume of sweet smelling smoke into the night air before adding, “My only reason for agreeing was to hook up anyway. Do you wanna do that?”
As I’m about to say no to this woman to run back to my hotel to make edit number four hundred and five, to my manuscript.
Just then a midnight blue Aston Martin purrs up to the podium, its sleek exterior catching the glow of the overhead lights as the valet steps out the driver’s side door. He hands her the fob with a nod, gesturing toward the open door.
Without missing a beat, my eyes pop open.“Why not?”
Before I can second guess, I’m already moving and I slip into the seat beside her and the valet shuts the door behind me.
Fastening her seatbelt, she reaches over and drops her bag onto my lap. “Protect my baby with your life,” she says, a smirk tugging at the side of her smile.
I glance down at the bag, then back up catching the glint of mischief in her eyes.
“Your baby’s in good hands,” I say resting a hand on the bag. “But if it bites, I’m tossing it out the window.”
She raises a brow, leaning back into her seat. “Just don’t drop it.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I smirk leaning back into the passenger seat of her Aston Martin as she guides us through the winding roads of Marin, the city lights fading behind us. The Golden Gate Bridge gleams in the distance, and soon, we’re in Sausalito. She turns up a steep driveway pulling into the garage of a striking freshly restored minimalist house perched on the hillside.
The garage door slides shut behind. She kills the engine. “Try not to hit wall getting out.” She says, smirking as she pops the driver’s side door open.
Inside, she slips off her heels as we step through the garage door, holding them loosely with two fingers while her other hand flicks the keys onto the counter. The sharp clink cuts through the silence, swallowed a moment later by the soft hum of the automatic lights flickering on. Barefoot, she tiptoes across the dark oak floors, the faintest whisper of her bare footsteps against wood as she crosses to adjust the thermostat.
The walls stretch high, catching slivers of moonlight from the narrow windows that carve the sky into fragments of deep indigo. The space feels deliberate, every piece placed with quiet precision…plush Roche Bobois sofas circling the fireplace, their leather catching the glow; a sleek Eames lounge chair angled as if waiting for someone to sink into it; a tufted Florence Knoll bench resting beneath the window, its silhouette softened by the ambient light. Every piece chosen with care, every detail effortlessly sophisticated.
Above us, a second-floor balcony looms over the entrance, its silver railing glinting faintly. A smooth, translucent surface tops it, glass. It’s impossible to tell, but something about it, about all of this, makes the house feel more like an exhibit than a home.
Without a word she moves across the room and pulls open the fridge, the low hum filling the silence as she grabs a chilled water and presses it into my hand. Cool glass bottle, warm fingers…a half second brush that lingers just long enough to wonder.
Leaning against the counter, she watches as I crack the can and I smirk. “Did you read just my mind, or am I just that predictable?”
She doesn’t answer right away and I take a slow sip, her expression unreadable.
Taking a step closer, the space between us disappears. Her perfume, something warm, with a hint of vanilla, wraps around me, making it impossible to think about anything else. I hold her gaze, letting the tension build, my grip tightening around the bottle in my hand. “Dangerous game you’re playing,” I murmur, my voice lower now.
She tilts her head further, eyes flicking up to mine before settling back on my lips. “And what happens if I win?”
I smirk, setting the bottle down on the counter behind me. “Then I guess I’d have no choice but to let you collect your prize.”
Her fingers ghost down the length of my tie before she finally lets it go, but she doesn’t step back. Instead, she leans in, her breath warm against my skin.
“Good,” she whispers. “Because I play to win.”
And just like that, she closes the distance. A whisper of warmth, the soft press of her lips against mine…slow, testing. The faintest inhale, like she’s waiting for me to pull away.
I don’t.
She deepens the kiss, pressing in, her mouth molding to mine, slow and deliberate. A slow drag of her tongue against mine; teasing, tasting; before she pulls back just enough to let it linger, her breath mingling with mine. Then just as easily she leans in again, lips parting, drawing me further into her rhythm.
My fingers find her waist pulling her in.
She smiles into the kiss.
Just then, she pulls back biting her lip.
Backing toward the stairs, her eyes never leaving mine. “Coming?” she teases, voice soft but laced with challenge.
I chuckle, letting her pull me forward. “You always this bossy?”
She just grins, stepping onto the first stair, then the next, her fingers lacing through mine. “Only when I know what I want.”
Leading me up the floating staircase to the second floor. At the top of the stairs she turns slightly reaching behind to unzip her dress, letting it slip to the floor pooling at her feet. Eyes wide watching her step aside, as she reaches for my hand. Grasping my fingertips she pulls me into the dark. The house swallows the sound, the hush amplifying everything else, her breath, the subtle rustle of sheets, the shift of fabric against skin.
Sometime later, the soft rise and fall of her breathing fills the room. A warm weight drapes over me, her fingers still curled loosely against my chest… she was a little handsy.
The silent vibration of my Apple Watch nudges me awake. 3 A.M. Gym time.
The air here feels different, heavier, more intimate. Looking around her room, the lighting is low, casting long shadows beside us in this king-sized bed pressed against a paneled accent wall. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch along one side, framing the San Francisco skyline like a living painting.
I exhale, careful not to shift too much as I lift her arm, easing it onto the empty space beside me. The warmth of her lingers for a moment before I slip out of bed. Using the moonlight, to moving through the room, finding my clothing scattered across the floor gathering them piece by piece. I finish my water, the last sip burning cold down my throat.
The soft clink as I set it down on the marble surface echoes too loudly in the quiet.
I move faster now, quickly getting dressed; shirt over my head, jeans up but belt left undone to avoid the sharp jingle of the buckle making noise. Keys in my pocket, cupped in my palm to muffle the sound. Bracing a hand against the bed, I pull on one boot. She shifts, the moonlight tracing the curve of her bare shoulder as she sits up, voice laced with sleep.
“Good morning?” She yawns wiping the sleep from the corners of her eyes.
I press a hand over my mouth, stifling a yawn. “Morning. My Uber’s on the way.”
She nods, using the moment to stretch, Then, she tilts her head. “So, what do you do?” Her voice is easy, and curious, as she slips out of bed, heading toward a door across the room.
Tightening my laces, I grunt through the strain. “I write. And take a lot of photographs.”
A soft “Oh!” from behind the door, her voice carrying over. A pause, then, growing softer as she steps back into view wrapped in a slick red robe. “You’re a writer?” She leans against the doorframe, watching me. “And a photographer? Do you have work anywhere?”
I let out a dry chuckle, adjusting the collar of my shirt, rolling my shoulders before glancing back at her, my gaze catching briefly on the way the robe drapes over her frame.
“Honestly?” I exhale, eyes drifting to the bay beyond her window. “If I did, I probably wouldn’t be here.”
She hums, something amused dancing at the edges of her smirk. Before she can say anything else, headlights sweep up the driveway, reflecting off the glass.
She follows my gaze. “Your car’s here.”
I nod, slipping my jacket on. The bedroom door remains slightly ajar, as if intentionally left that way.
Her eyes follow my gaze as I look out her massive window to the bay. Below, headlights cut through the dark as a silver car rolls up the driveway.
“Your ride’s here,” she says, eyes flicking back to mine.
The bedroom door hangs slightly ajar…