You’re not the type of girl to step out of your comfort zone, not the kind to hook up with a stranger. Nevertheless, here you are in your hotel bed with a boy you just met, a hotel attendant with a rumpled uniform and a bored demeanor. Our bodies are pressed together; you feel your hips grinding against mine, as if conorolled by a mind of their own. You let out a gasp of pleasure, embarassingly loud against the muffled sound of the TV.

“Careful,” I whisper in your ear. “The walls here are thin.” My lips begin to trace the skin of your neck. As I kiss you, I moan ever so slightly into your skin.

I pull away right as I feel you react to my kiss, my pretty hazel eyes looming over yours, my shoulder-length black hair hanging over you. I’ve got a look of hunger, and a look that tells you I recognize your own hunger.

It had all happened so fast. You had seen me as you pulled into the parking lot of the hotel. I was leaning against the entrance wall, smoking a cigarette and staring out at the cars. You were tired after a long day of glad-handing, of sitting still and listening. After the purgatory that was your conference, nothing sounded better than retreating into the comfort of your all-expenses-paid hotel room.

Why then, did you spend so much time talking to me? Why did you find yourself laughing at my jokes, even if you were barely listening? Why did you find yourself accepting, right away, when I offered you my number.

“Let me know if you need company,” I had said, in a tone that told me I knew exactly what you really wanted.