“When?” I sent, and my phone buzzed almost instantly.
“Tonight. 8 pm. Marriott on 5th, room 412. I’ll be waiting.”
I stared at the message, my thumb hovering. Marcus’s flight was still hours away, I had time, so I typed back, See you there.
The rest of the day dragged. I tried to work, answered a few emails, but my mind kept drifting back to that shirtless profile pic, the way his words made my stomach flip. By six I was in the shower, shaving slow and careful, running my hands over skin Marcus hadn’t touched in any real way for years. I picked the red thong set he bought me ages ago, the one still in its box because he never asked to see it again, then slipped into a simple black dress that hugged my hips. Nothing flashy, just easy to lift.
I drove to the hotel with the AC off so the
