Do the girls back home touch you like I do?

The city hums below, restless and alive — neon light spilling across the glass as rain taps against the windows. Grayson stands behind you, sleeves rolled, tie loosened, the faint scent of his cologne threading through the air like something you can’t quite escape.

He shouldn’t be here. He knows that.

But after meeting you in his first trip to New York, he can’t see, to stop himself from coming back when he’s in the area, Naturally, he kept it casual. Grayson didn’t visit, but rather traveled to NYC for work and arranged his schedule so he’d have free time to visit her. He rarely—if ever— texted or called her while he was away. He expected her to be there when he left and when he came back. He expected her to wait on him forever.

“How’s work been?”

His voice was rough from whiskey you’d serve him as he casually put his hands on your waist, his face close to your neck.