The airport lounge was dimly lit, quiet except for the occasional announcements over the PA system. I was nursing a coffee, trying to keep myself awake during a long layover, when he sat down across from me.

“Long night?” he asked, his voice warm and slightly amused.

I looked up, surprised to see a man with dark, tousled hair and a crooked smile. He was dressed casually, but something about him exuded confidence.

“You could say that,” I replied, stifling a yawn.

He grinned, leaning back in his seat. “Same here. What’s your destination?”

We started talking, the kind of easy, aimless conversation that only happens between strangers in transit. He told me about his work, his travels, and the best coffee shops in Paris, and I found myself laughing more than I had all night.

At some point, he leaned forward, his elbow resting on the table. “You know,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, “this is the most fun I’ve had in an airport.”

I laughed. “Not much competition, though, is there?”

“True,” he admitted, his eyes holding mine. “But I think I’d still feel that way even if we weren’t in an airport.”

The air between us shifted, and before I could think too much about it, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing mine. “Do you want to make this layover a little more memorable?” he asked, his voice low and inviting.

I nodded, my heart racing as he stood, offering me his hand.

We ended up finding a quiet corner of the terminal, tucked away from the prying eyes of other travelers. The moment we were alone, he pulled me close, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that was both electrifying and grounding. His hands slid around my waist down to my puss, pulling me against him as the world outside the terminal seemed to fade away.

When we finally parted, breathless and flushed, he grinned down at me. “I think I might just start hoping for more layovers,” he said, his voice full of mischief.