He carried my mother's machine under one arm like it was a briefcase and walked fast, and I had to jog to keep up.
The streets were wet and the harbor wind cut straight through the borrowed dress.
Rafael: You're shaking.
He stopped at a bar with one light on and a door that stuck.
Rafael: In here. It's quiet, the coffee's bad, and nobody will ask you anything.
That was the nicest thing anyone had said to me all night.
The place was almost empty. Two old men at the end, a radio, and a bartender wiping the same glass.
Rafael put the machine on the bar like it was a tab he was paying.
He sat down and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, and all the power went out of his face.
Up close in that bad light he looked like a man holding himself up with his own hands.
My coffee came and I wrapped both hands around the cup, and my fingers finally stopped shaking.
Rafael: What do I call you?
I could have told him the truth. It was just a name, and his mouth had already been on mine.
Mira: Nina. Call me Nina.
It came out easy. Practice, I guess.
Rafael: Nina.
He said it slow, like he was trying it on to see if it fit.
Rafael: That's a lie. But it's a good one, so I'll take it.
Mira: Why are you still here? You already won. You could be home.
Rafael: Maybe I don't have a home worth going to.
I laughed, and it came out mean.
Mira: That's a fucked thing to say to a stranger.
Rafael: Delphine's a coward who takes a dead woman's machine and calls it business.
Rafael: If she ever puts her hands on that machine again, I'll break her fucking fingers.
He said it flat, like a fact about the weather, and something in my chest turned over.
I believed him. That was the scary part.
The radio played something slow, and he didn't fill the quiet. He just breathed.
Then he looked at me. Really looked, and his eyes were dark and tired, and I could see a crack in him.
Rafael: You're still shaking.
He came around behind me and lifted my coat off my shoulders, slow, like he was asking.
Rafael: Tell me if you want me to stop.
Mira: I don't.
The coat slid down my arms and he hung it on the back of my chair, and his hands stayed a second longer than they needed to.
Then his mouth was on my neck, warm under my ear, and my whole body went loose and stupid.
Rafael: Nina.
He said the fake name against my skin and it felt like a claim anyway.
I turned my head and he caught my mouth with his, and this kiss was slower than the ones before.
No bet. No audience. Just his hand on my jaw and the taste of bad coffee.
His fingers slid along my collarbone, light, following the bone, and stopped at the hollow of my throat.
My pussy went wet and I pressed my knees together under the bar like that would help.
Rafael: You're breathing hard.
Mira: You're the one doing it.
He laughed, low, and the sound went down my spine.
His cock was hard against my hip when he leaned in, and he didn't hide it. He just let me feel it and waited.
Mira: I should go home.
Rafael: You should. But your coffee's not finished.
I stayed. Fuck it, I stayed.
He kissed my hand first. Knuckles, then the inside of my wrist, like he was sorry for something he hadn't done yet.
Rafael: One night. Mine, not Delphine's.
I didn't know who he was. That was the only reason I could say yes.