One Night, Wrong Man

Chapter 6 — Morning After

*POV Derby*

Sunlight crept through the heavy hotel curtains, painting the room in soft gold. For one blissful second, everything felt warm and safe. Then my eyes opened fully, and reality crashed down like cold water.

I was naked in a stranger’s bed. His arm was still draped heavily over my waist, fingers resting possessively against my skin. My body remembered everything. The small bite mark on my neck throbbed faintly. My muscles felt deliciously sore in places that made heat rush to my face. Flashes from last night hit me hard—his strong hands gripping my hips, the low groan in his throat when I pulled him closer, the intense way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered in that moment. The way he’d held me afterward, like letting go might break something fragile.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Panic took over before my brain could catch up. I had to leave. Now. Before this became something I couldn’t walk away from.

I slipped out from under his arm as carefully as I could, the sheets whispering against my bare skin. The cool air of the room raised goosebumps along my arms. My clothes were scattered across the floor like evidence of my bad decisions. I grabbed them quickly, fingers trembling as I pulled on my top and jeans.

He was already awake.

Jordan sat on the edge of the bed, shirt open, revealing the hard, toned lines of his chest and stomach. Morning light carved sharp shadows across his shoulders. His dark hair was tousled from my fingers running through it last night, but his expression stayed perfectly calm. Those deep eyes watched me dress with the same quiet intensity from the bar, still carrying that hidden fire I couldn’t quite read.

He didn’t reach for me. Didn’t ask me to stay or offer his number. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, giving me the space I clearly needed. No pressure. No smooth words. Just that steady presence that somehow made the silence heavier. I buttoned my top with shaky fingers, avoiding his gaze. “I should go.”

“You okay?” His voice was low and rough from sleep—the same tone he’d used last night when he was moving deep inside me, whispering my name like it meant something.

The sound sent another unwanted spark through my body. I swallowed hard and forced a small nod. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

It was a lie, and we both knew it. My legs still felt unsteady. My skin still tingled everywhere he’d touched me. The memory of his mouth on my neck, his hands sliding over my curves, his body pressed against mine—it all rushed back in vivid detail. I could still smell him on my skin. Feel the ghost of his warmth.

But I couldn’t stay. Not with the way my chest tightened every time I looked at him. Not when last night had been meant to be nothing more than a stupid escape from Rian.

He stood slowly, the movement making his open shirt shift and draw my eyes to the strong lines of his torso again. Damn it. I forced myself to look away and grabbed my bag from the chair.

Before I reached the door, he spoke once more. “Vasquez.”I paused, hand on the handle. “What?”

He said quietly, “My last name, in case you ever need it.”

Vasquez. The name settled in my mind like a seed. Unusual. Heavy. It felt important somehow, even though I knew it shouldn’t. I nodded once, not trusting my voice, and slipped through the door, letting it click shut behind me.

The hallway felt too bright. Too normal after everything. My body still carried the ghost of him—warm hands on my skin, the solid weight of him above me, the way he’d held me afterward like he didn’t want to let go. I pressed the elevator button, trying to steady my breathing. Relief washed over me as the doors opened. It was over. One reckless night to bury the pain. Nothing more.

But as the elevator descended, I couldn’t shake the memory of his eyes. The way he’d respected my choice to leave without a single word of protest. The way something in his gaze had made me feel seen when I’d been falling apart.

I stepped out into the morning air, city noise swirling around me. Cars honked. People rushed past. Rian’s messages were still waiting on my phone, unread. The hurt was still there, sharp and raw beneath the surface, but dulled for now by the lingering warmth in my body and the strange calm Jordan had left behind.

I told myself I was free. That last night didn’t mean anything. I almost believed it.

Back in the room, Jordan stood exactly where I’d left him, staring at the closed door. For a long moment he didn’t move. The sheets on the bed were still rumpled from where we’d been. The faint scent of her skin still lingered in the air. He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight.

Then he reached for his phone.

“Cancel all my morning meetings.”

He ended the call without explanation, eyes still fixed on the door like it might open again. For the first time in years, his focus had slipped completely.

Because of one woman whose name he hadn’t even asked for.

**To be continued...**