One Night, Wrong Man

Chapter 2 — Morning After.

-POV Derby

I woke up first.

My heart was already hammering before my eyes could adjust to the ceiling that wasn’t mine. The room still smelled like him — clean soap, warm skin, something that still clung to me from last night, the same scent that had wrapped around me last night when he paused right before pushing inside me, eyes locked on mine like he was waiting to see if I’d stop him. I didn’t.

My dress was crumpled on the floor. My bag sat by the door. One of my heels had somehow ended up near the window. I had a system for mornings like this: quiet, fast, gone before the awkwardness could start.

I sat up slowly, pulling the sheet against my chest on instinct even though it felt stupid after last night.

“You don’t have to do that.” His voice was low, rough from sleep, and my body reacted to it before I could stop it.

I stopped moving immediately.

Jordan was awake. Lying on his side, one arm tucked under his head, watching me with the same steady look from last night, impossible to read. The sheet had slipped low on his hips. He didn’t even look surprised to find me halfway out the door already.

I clutched the dress tighter to my bare skin. “Do what?”

“The quiet exit.” He didn’t accuse. He just stated it, like a fact he already knew. “You’ve been awake for four minutes.”

Heat flooded my face. “You were watching me.”

“You weren’t exactly subtle about trying to leave.”

My stomach tightened anyway, which annoyed me more than it should’ve. I looked away toward the grey morning light, trying to steady my breathing. My skin still felt too sensitive, like it remembered every place his mouth had been.

“I have work,” I said, even though I knew it was Saturday.

“It’s Saturday.”

I opened my mouth, closed it. I heard how stupid that sounded the second it left my mouth.

“I still have things to do,” I muttered, already reaching for my shoes, keeping my back to him. The room felt too quiet. I could still feel him watching me even with my back turned.

“You don’t have to leave.” His voice was softer this time, but it still wrapped around me and I hated how badly part of me wanted to turn around.

“I know.” I didn’t turn around. “I want to.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Part of me wanted to crawl back under the sheets and feel his hands on me again. Staying suddenly felt way too easy. That scared me.

I stood, bag strap over my shoulder, phone heavy with notifications I refused to check. When I finally faced him, he hadn’t moved. Still lying there, eyes locked on mine with that same still watching me like he had nowhere else to be.

“Last night—” I started, voice thinner than I wanted.

“Was last night,” he finished for me, quiet and certain. That should’ve helped. Somehow it didn’t.

“Right,” I whispered.

Then— “You okay?” The question hit somewhere soft and unexpected. It was not good. Not do you want coffee. Just… you okay? Straight and honest. It made my throat tighten.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

He studied me for a long second, He looked at me long enough that I knew he didn’t buy it, without calling it out. Then he said again, softer, “Okay.”

I turned toward the door. Three steps. The handle felt cold under my palm. The hallway outside promised normalcy — grey carpet, ordinary morning, escape.

“Derby.” Quiet, low, and enough to stop me anyway. My hand tightened. I didn’t turn at first.

“Leaving already?” The same words from last night, but heavier now. I turned around slowly.

He was still in bed, watching me across the room with that waiting without pushing, which somehow made it harder to leave.

“I don’t know your last name,” I said, voice smaller than I liked.

“No,” he answered. “You don’t.”

A thick beat passed.

“Vasquez,” he added, easy. Like it meant nothing.

My heart skipped — hard. My stomach dropped before I even understood why.

Vasquez. I knew that name. I nodded once. Turned back to the door. And walked out.

Only in the elevator, staring at my flushed reflection in the metal doors, did the memory hit me again — the way he’d paused, eyes locked on mine, the way my body had arched into him without hesitation. Heat hit me low in my stomach so suddenly it made me press my legs together.

I pressed my legs together, trying to ignore it.

This was supposed to be one night. One stupid, reckless mistake.

But as the elevator descended, I felt it — that quiet, dangerous pull dragging me backward. Like the night wasn’t finished with me yet.

Jordan Vasquez didn’t feel like the kind of man people walked away from cleanly.

And worse — I wasn’t sure I wanted it to end either. Even though I knew I should.

End of Chapter 2