Nadia fixed the strap slowly because Thomas had already seen it slip. Pretending otherwise would have been insulting to both of them.
She was thirty-nine, sitting in the far corner of the lounge where the music softened and the mirrors made everything feel private. Thomas stood beside the table with his jacket over one arm, sixty-six and trying hard to look like a man who had only stopped to say goodnight.
The strap had moved while she laughed. Nothing indecent showed. That was not the point. The point was the pause afterward, the little breath of time she let sit between them before she lifted her hand.
Thomas looked away. Too late, but sweetly.
Nadia smiled and adjusted the fabric back into place. You are very polite, she said.
He cleared his throat. I am trying to be.
That answer pleased her more than confidence would have. A confident man might have ruined the moment by grabbing at it. Thomas stood there with want written all over him and manners holding the line. Nadia liked the line. She liked making him feel it.
She asked if he was still looking.
He should have lied. They both knew that. Instead he looked at her face and said yes.
The honesty landed warm in her chest. She leaned back, letting the chair take her weight, and watched him decide what kind of man he wanted to be for the next five minutes.
Nadia did not invite him upstairs. She did not need to. She only picked up her glass and said the night was not over unless he wanted it to be. Thomas looked toward the door, then back at her shoulder, now perfectly covered. That somehow made it worse.
