Ethel's pov
"Your friends are staring," Louis said, nodding toward the corner where Mia and Sarah were trying to look casual while obviously watching our every move.
I glanced over and caught them pretending to be fascinated by their phones. "They're subtle like a brick through a window. Sorry about that."
"Don't apologize. It's refreshing to meet someone genuine." He finished his whiskey and set the glass down with deliberate precision. "Dance with me."
It wasn't a question, and honestly? I liked that about him. No hedging, no awkward asking permission. Just confident assumption that I'd say yes.
The dance floor was packed with people grinding to some remix I didn't recognize, but Louis led me to a quieter spot near the edge where we could actually move without getting elbowed by drunk twenty-somethings.
His hand settled on the small of my back, warm through the thin fabric of my dress, and I had to resist the urge to melt into him right there.
When was the last time a man had touched me like that? Like he knew exactly what he was doing and wasn't second-guessing himself every five seconds?
"You're a good dancer," I said, letting him guide me through the music.
"You sound surprised."
"Most men our age..." I caught myself. "I mean, most men think dancing means swaying awkwardly and hoping for the best."
"Men our age?" His eyes crinkled with amusement. "How old do you think I am?"
Heat crept up my neck. "I don't know. Older than me, obviously. Does it matter?"
"Not to me." He pulled me closer, close enough that I could feel the solid warmth of his chest. "The question is whether it matters to you."
Looking up at him, taking in the silver threading through his dark hair and the confident way he carried himself, I realized it didn't matter at all. If anything, it made him more attractive.
"Nope," I said, letting my fingers trace the collar of his shirt. "Definitely doesn't matter."
The song shifted to something slower, more sensual, and the way he moved against me sent heat shooting straight through my core.
This was dangerous territory—the kind that led to bad decisions and morning-after regrets.
"I should probably tell you," I said, my voice coming out breathier than intended, "I don't usually do this kind of thing."
"What kind of thing?" He arched a brow.
"Pick up strange men in clubs. Go home with people I just met. Make impulsive decisions that my future self will probably judge me for."
His hand slid up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheek. "And what if I told you I don't usually get picked up by beautiful women on dares?"
"I'd say we're both having an unusual night."
"The question is," he murmured, his mouth close enough to my ear that I could feel his breath, "how unusual are you willing to let it get?"
Every rational thought in my head was screaming warnings about strange men and poor life choices, but my body was having a completely different conversation.
"Your place or mine?" He asked, and i told him mine was like an hour drive from here. Big fat lie!
His smile was slow and devastating. "Mine's closer."
Twenty minutes later, we were in the back of his car speeding through downtown while I tried to remember how to breathe normally.
Louis sat close enough that our thighs touched, his hand resting casually on my knee in a way that felt both possessive and protective.
"Second thoughts?" he asked quietly.
"More like third and fourth thoughts," I admitted. "But I'm still here."
"Good."
His apartment was stunning in an understated way—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, expensive furniture that looked very beautiful.
I barely had time to take it in before he was backing me against the closed door, his mouth finding mine with a hunger that made my knees weak.
This wasn't some fumbling hookup with a guy my age who thought technique was optional. Louis kissed like he did everything else—with complete confidence and attention to detail.
His hands framed my face, then slid into my hair, then traced down my neck in a way that made me gasp against his mouth.
"Tell me what you want," he said against my lips.
The honest answer was everything, but I wasn't quite brave enough to say that yet. Instead, I showed him by pressing closer, by letting my arms explore his chest.
What happened next was everything I'd been missing without realizing it. Louis was attentive in ways that made me forget every disappointing sexual experience I'd ever had.
By the time we made it to his bedroom, I was already half-undone. The city lights streaming through his windows cast everything in silver and shadow, but I barely noticed the view.
I was too busy discovering that some men actually knew what they were doing with their hands, their mouths, their bodies.
He worshipped me like I was something precious, and I came apart in ways I didn't know were possible. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered encouragement sent me higher until I was calling his name and clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in the world.
All I could hear was the sound of skin slapping against another while I shamelessly moaned his name. Well, he was pounding the fuck out of me.
When it was over, we lay tangled in his sheets, both breathing hard and trying to process what had just happened. I felt boneless, satisfied in a way that I hadn't experienced in... honestly, maybe ever.
"That was..." I started, then realized I didn't have words.
"Unexpected," he finished, his arm tightening around me. "In the best possible way." He planted a soft kiss on my cheek, and we stayed like that all night until we both fell asleep.
The next morning.....
I must have dozed off, because when I woke up, I was alone in the bed. For a moment, I wondered if I'd imagined the whole thing, but the lingering soreness in my body and the scent of his cologne on the pillows confirmed that it had been very, very real.
A piece of hotel stationary on the nightstand caught my eye, along with an elegant business card.
'Had to catch an early flight. Last night was incredible. Don't be a stranger. - L'
The business card was simple but expensive—cream colored with just initials: L.R. and a phone number.
I pressed the card to my lips, breathing in the faint scent of his cologne that still clung to the paper.
Louis Romano, maybe? Or Louis Richardson? It could be anything, but at least I had a way to contact him.
As I gathered my clothes and called a cab, I couldn't stop smiling. My friends were going to absolutely lose their minds when I told them about this. What had started as a silly dare had turned into the kind of night that changed everything.
I just hoped it wasn't the kind of change that would complicate my life in ways.