Sierra sat cross-legged on the bed, scrolling her phone while Keyon tugged off his shirt, whistling low.
Her screen lit up. Deon's name. She read the message once. Twice. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"He's not coming by tonight," she said flatly.
Keyon glanced over. "What, Deon? Ah, don't sweat it. Gives us more private time."
She arched a brow. "Private time? We just had private time. Twice."
Keyon only grinned, stretching as he headed toward the other room. "Then you should be warmed up for round three."
Sierra groaned, tossing her phone onto the blankets. She pouted at it for a beat, fingers twitching like she wanted to text Deon back... then sighed and followed after her husband.
⸻
Cutback – Deon's Room
Steam billowed from the bathroom as Deon stepped out, towel slung around his shoulders, skin still damp from the shower. His phone buzzed.
He swiped it up. New message. Amina.
7 o'clock. I'll pick the spot. Wear something that'll make me regret inviting you.
Deon smirked, setting the phone down. The butterflies in his chest kicked up hard.
"Guess it's dinner, then," he muttered, staring at his reflection in the mirror. For the first time in years, Sierra wasn't the one he was getting ready for.
The restaurant was low-lit, tucked into a quiet street off the main drag. Lanterns glowed warm against dark wood, the air humming with soft jazz instead of the chaos of the markets.
Deon sat at the table, fingers drumming against his glass of water. He wasn't nervous. Not exactly. Just... keyed up. Like he'd been waiting for something he couldn't name.
The host approached and gestured. "Your guest has arrived."
Deon looked up. And froze.
For two nights, Amina had been cute in her own way — messy hoodie, blunt voice, shy blush when she laughed. But this...
Her hair was tied back into a sleek ponytail that swung low, nearly brushing the curve of her hips. A few wavy bangs slipped free, falling over her right eye. The form-fitting blue dress hugged her in all the ways her baggy clothes had hidden, a slit climbing high on her thigh to reveal a tattoo: a snake coiled up her skin, its head blooming into a rose.
Her nails caught the light when she lifted her clutch, painted the same deep blue with golden stars and moons scattered across them. Strapped heels wound up her calves, giving her stride a quiet confidence.
Her makeup was light, understated. She didn't need more.
And then Deon saw it. Just above her lip — that beauty mark.
His breath hitched. For a terrifying second, the name on his tongue was Sierra.
But no. He swallowed it down. The mark was on the wrong side. It wasn't her.
Still... her face, her body, the shape of her eyes, the color of them, the wavy black hair — all of it was Sierra. And all of it wasn't.
Amina stopped at the table, tilting her head with a wry little smile. "What? Do I have something on my face?"
Deon blinked, forcing a laugh as he stood to pull her chair out. "Nah. You just... clean up nice."
She arched a brow as she slid into her seat. "That almost sounded like a compliment."
"It was." He smirked, settling back across from her. "Don't get used to it."
Her laugh was softer this time, more controlled than the snort from earlier, but it still sent that same warmth through his chest.
Deon's gaze lingered a moment longer than it should've. She looks like her. Too much like her.
And for the first time, he wasn't sure if that scared him... or thrilled him.
The waiter set down two glasses of wine before slipping away. Amina twirled hers slowly by the stem, lips twitching into a smile as she caught Deon still staring.
"You're looking at me like I pulled a Clark Kent," she said. "One ponytail and a dress, and suddenly I'm unrecognizable?"
Deon smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Nah. More like a Pokémon evolution. Hoodie girl leveled up."
That earned him a laugh — soft at first, then spilling over into a grin that reached her eyes. "Wow. Comparing me to a Pokémon. Bold strategy."
"Hey, don't knock it. That's high praise where I come from."
"Oh yeah?" She leaned forward, chin resting on her palm. "So which one am I? And don't say Jigglypuff."
He pretended to think hard, tapping his chin. "Definitely something dangerous. Cute enough to make you drop your guard, but you'd regret underestimating her. Like... Gardevoir."
Her cheeks went pinker than the wine in her glass. "That's... actually a pretty good answer."
"See? I know what I'm talking about."
Amina laughed again, shaking her head. "You're ridiculous."
"Yeah, but you like it."
She didn't deny it. Instead, she raised her glass toward him. "To ridiculous vacation choices."
He clinked his against hers, that smirk refusing to leave his face. "To not thinking about tomorrow."
For a while, the conversation just flowed — anime, music, half-baked debates over which superhero could actually survive in the real world. Jokes piled on top of jokes, each one sharper, bolder, a little more flirtatious than the last.
At one point, she leaned across the table, brushing his hand as she reached for the salt. Neither of them pulled away immediately.
Deon's chest hummed. This is easy. Too easy.
And for once, he let himself stop overthinking.
The plates had been cleared a while ago, but the conversation hadn't slowed. A new bottle of wine sat between them, half-empty, glasses never staying that way for long.
Amina tilted the bottle, filling his glass until it nearly overflowed. "You're looking kinda thirsty."
Deon smirked, swirling the drink. "In more ways than one."
Her lips curved. "Good drink always needs a good snack."
"True, true. I did have a dessert in mind."
She leaned in, just enough that her neckline dipped, the soft glow of the lanterns catching her skin. "Something sweet, I hope."
His gaze lingered. "Haven't tasted it yet, but yeah. It looks very sweet."
She brushed her bangs aside, eyes flashing. "Mm. I'm in the mood for some chocolate myself."
The words hung heavy, hotter than the wine, and before he could volley back, she pushed her chair back and slid down beside him, close enough their shoulders brushed.
"...Can we stop with the metaphor?" she asked, voice low. "It's exhausting. And I'm a bit too drunk to use my brain for much more than this."
Deon grinned. "Took the words out of my—"
Her finger pressed lightly against his lips. The playful spark was gone, replaced with something hungrier.
"I'm bare under this dress," she whispered. "This conversation is to die for, but I've got a craving for something more... intimate."
His heart kicked. That was it. No hesitation, no overthinking, no Sierra ghosting through his mind. Just this woman, this moment.
"Say less." He snapped his fingers at the waiter. "Check, please!"
Deon woke to sunlight cutting across the room, his head buzzing—not from the wine, but from the memory clinging to him like a second skin.
Last night. The laughter, the heat, the way the world outside the door had disappeared the second it closed behind them.
He rolled over, expecting to see her there. Instead, the sheets beside him were empty. In her place, a folded note that carried her scent, and next to it, the shredded remains of the blue dress he'd torn off her like his life depended on it.
Deon stared at it for a long moment before a crooked grin spread across his face. "I bet the neighbors know my name," he sang under his breath, chuckling.
He sat up, stretching, still half-drunk on the memory. Amina had vanished without a trace—no heels, no clutch, not even a whisper of clothing left behind besides the dress.
"How the hell did she even make it outta here in the buff?" he muttered, shaking his head. The thought lingered for a second, ridiculous enough to make him laugh again. But just as quick, he let it go.
Because whatever magic she pulled to slip out unseen, one truth was certain—he wasn't forgetting her anytime soon.
The buzz of his phone pulled Deon out of his haze. He rubbed at his eyes and checked the screen. Sierra.
Meet me in the lobby? Don't be late this time.
He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He wasn't in the mood for another round of her nagging. But ignoring her outright wasn't an option. Not yet.
He tossed the phone aside and started toward the bathroom, peeling his shirt over his head.
The phone buzzed again. Different tone. Different name.
Amina.
Deon frowned, snatching it up. No words—just a video.
He hit play.
The frame opened low, the camera shaky as it panned upward. Sheets bunched around a bare thigh. Then the snake tattoo, curling across her hip, winding higher into a lush bouquet etched into her skin. His pulse spiked.
The camera climbed slow, too slow, until it finally caught her face. Amina's cheeks were flushed, eyes darting toward the lens. She gave a soft, almost embarrassed smile. "Good morning," she whispered—then the video cut off.
Deon sat there, staring at the screen, his mouth half-open. Then he laughed under his breath, replaying it once. Twice. A third time.
"Tryna make me fall in love or somethin'?" he muttered, shaking his head, though the grin on his face said otherwise.
Can I come over he texted back.
Amina: didn't you "come" plenty last night.
Deon: 😂 touche
It took real effort to drag himself away from the phone and back toward the bathroom. Sierra would blow his phone up if he was late again, and he wasn't about to walk into that lecture.
Still... as the water started running, his mind wasn't on Sierra at all. It was on a snake winding into roses, and a girl with messy hair who somehow kept getting under his skin.
Steam still curled off his skin as Deon leaned against the sink, towel slung low on his hips. The water drops on his chest caught the light, tracing down over muscle he never bothered to show off.
He smirked at his reflection, then lifted his phone. "Two can play this game."
He flipped the camera, angling it low as he hit record. The shot crawled up slowly — towel, abs, chest still slick from the shower, and finally his grin at the lens. He gave a little wink before cutting the video.
Satisfied, he hit send.
"Let's see if you can handle that," he muttered, tossing the phone onto the bed.
He tugged a shirt over his head, scrolling a quick On the way text to Sierra with his free hand. Before the phone even hit the mattress, it buzzed again.
Amina.
Her reply: Wow 👏👏👏 Encore, encore. Can I come over?
Deon: Didn't you "come" plenty last night?
Amina: 😮 touché
Deon laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he pocketed the phone. "Girl's trouble," he said to himself. But his grin stuck around all the same.