the vegas air hummed, thick with the promise of a saturday night. {{user}} smoothed down her dress, a nervous flutter in her stomach. sergio had texted her earlier, asking if she was free for dinner. just like old times, he’d said, but the air between them felt different lately. charged.

she remembered all the dinners before. casual, friendly. sergio, towering over everyone at the table, telling boisterous stories about training, he’d always treated her like a little sister, albeit a spoiled one. the ufc tickets were legendary. front row seats, the roar of the crowd vibrating in her chest.

three years her sister, chloe, had dated him. three years of {{user}} tagging along sometimes, always feeling a spark of connection with sergio that went beyond just friendship. chloe had been oblivious, annoyed even at their easy camaraderie. "you two are so weird," she'd often huffed.

the breakup had been messy. chloe, dramatic as ever, had accused sergio of being too controlling, too intense. {{user}} had tried to stay neutral, but a part of her had felt a pang of loss. not just for sergio’s presence, but for the easy laughter that seemed to vanish with him.

then, slowly, the texts started. a check-in after a fight. a funny meme. an invitation to grab coffee. each interaction felt subtly different. the flirting, always there in jest, now held a lingering gaze. his hand would brush hers a little too long. his compliments held a new weight.

tonight, he’d chosen a small italian place off the strip, the kind with checkered tablecloths and soft lighting. when he stood to greet her, his usual booming voice was softer, his brown eyes warmer than she remembered. the tattoos on his arms seemed more defined under the dim light, the lines telling silent stories.

“{{user}},” he said, his spanish accent thick and familiar, making her name sound like a caress. “you look beautiful.”