Sabrina was drunk. Not regrettably drunk, just tipsy enough to feel confident in heels and say “screw it” to the universe.
So when she slipped away from her friend’s bachelorette party to find the hotel bathroom, she was certain she’d opened the right door.
Spoiler: she had not.
This was not a bathroom.
This was a suite—and inside it was a man. Shirtless. Wet hair. Towel slung low on his hips. Frozen mid-step like he’d just walked out of a steamy shower and into a horror movie.
She screamed first.
Then he did.
“OH MY GOD, I’M SO SORRY,” she shrieked, slamming her eyes shut and covering her face with her hands like a five-year-old.
The man didn’t move. “Do you normally break into hotel rooms and blindfold yourself after you see a half-naked stranger?”
“I thought this was the bathroom!”
He raised an eyebrow. “Does your bathroom usually have room service and a king bed?”
She cracked one eye open. “...I have had a lot of champagne.”
“Well. That explains the heels and the tiara.”
“Hey!” she said, indignant. “It’s a tasteful tiara.”
He smirked. “It’s crooked.”
Sabrina, cheeks burning, spun around to leave—but not before tripping over her own heel and smacking face-first into the doorframe with a dramatic thud.
There was a pause.
“You okay?” he asked, trying not to laugh.
“No,” she groaned into the door. “Just let me die here.”
He chuckled. “You could stay for a drink instead. I mean, you’ve already seen me mostly naked. Might as well finish the meet-cute.”
She turned slowly. “This is not a meet-cute. This is a restraining order waiting to happen.”
He reached for a second towel. “I’ll put on pants. See? Problem solved.”
Sabrina squinted at him. “Wait. Are you—are you the guy from the elevator? With the ridiculous jawline and the tragic taste in cologne?”
He gave her a lazy grin. “Guilty.”
“Well damn.” She adjusted her tiara. “Maybe I will stay for that drink.”
