Keira

Score: Paris - Taylor Swift

We walk and walk, the cobblestone streets laid out in front of us like shiny ribbons under the streetlights. We walk past the Museum of Modern Art, stop by the Flame of Liberty, and cross the Seine at the Alma Bridge, heading towards the Eiffel Tower.

"I imagined it bigger, to be honest," he says, as we approach Paris's most visited landmark.

"I think it's beautiful," I sigh, my eyes fixed on the tons upon tons of metal ahead of us. "Did you know there's a restaurant at the top?" I say, cocking my chin in the direction of the tower. "Madame Brasserie."

"I have heard of it," he nods.

"It is my dream to have dinner there."

"Isn't it too crowded with all the tourists and shit?" He asks, crinkling his nose.

"Exactly. My dream is to have dinner there without all the tourists and shit. Like, for the restaurant to be reserved for me and me only. Well," I add, rolling my neck. "For me and a certain special someone. Someone I want there with me. No crowd. No tourists..."

"Is there someone special in your life?" He asks out of the blue and I shake my head slowly.

"No," I say. "No time for that. But, one day, there will be. And we're gonna have dinner up there," I let out a dreamy sigh.

"Wow," the stranger shakes his head. "Now, that's the cheesiest thing I've ever heard!"

I swat at his arm again.

"You are appalling."

"I've been called worse," he shrugs his shoulders.

I laugh and he joins in and that laugh of his is doing weird stuff to my skin. It's making it tingle. Sing.

We walk some more, and I tell him about my favourite places in Paris. I tell him about the little park behind Notre Dame that I first visited when I was fourteen and keep returning to every time I come to Paris. I tell him about my favourite alleyway in Mont Martre and the cafe that has the best tuna baguettes...

I can really talk a lot about Paris.

Lost in conversation, I realize how far we've wandered off only when I see the dome of the Pantheon looming ahead of us.

A chill has settled in the air and soon enough, I am very much aware I'm wearing just shorts and flip flops.

"You are shivering," the stranger says, and I don't deny it. "We should get back." He pulls out his phone and starts typing something on it. "I'm getting us an Uber," he says to my questioning look.

"Oh, come on," I say, rolling my eyes at him. "We can walk back the way we just came from."

"No," he frowns, shaking his head. "You're cold. We're getting an Uber."

I open my mouth with the intention to protest further, but then close it, deciding against it. It is freaking cold and I actually appreciate him calling a car.

"It should be here in four minutes," he says, turning the screen of his phone so that I can see it.

The ride back to the hotel takes us no more than ten minutes, during which I am trying to get him to agree that we split the Uber, to no avail. He's refusing to take cash from me, no matter how many times I try to explain to him that I want to give it to him.

In the end, I give up and just try and relax in the silence that settles in the small space of the car once we stop bickering. It is not a weird, awkward, or uncomfortable silence, though. It's that cozy, sleepy type of silence, when the both of you are utterly exhausted, the heating in the car is on and you can't wait to go to bed.

We walk back through the glass sliding doors into the lobby of the hotel, and he fixes the baseball cap over his forehead. The reception area is completely deserted now, with the exception of the girls, working the night shift. One of them, Anabelle, lifts her eyes from her computer, and, when she sees us, her cheeks flush.

"Good morning, Miss Vough, Mr. Fox," she squeals. I give her a small wave and a smile. I can feel my new aquintance's body tense next to me. He doesn't say anything, but just clears his throat and pulls his hat further down so that his face disappears almost completely under it.

I frown. If he hadn't been so nice about me being cold and calling an Uber, I'd think he's lacking manners, but, since this is clearly not the case, he's just acting...weird.

We step into the elevator and I press the button for my floor, but he doesn't press any other button. My room's on the sixth floor and his is on the tenth...

He's not expecting me to invite him in my room, is he?

The elevator doors open with a soft chime at my floor. I step into the carpeted hallway and turn around to wish him good night, but, to my surprise, he also exits the lift.

My heart starts hammering against my chest. What is he doing?

I start walking down the corridor and he follows me, his footsteps heavy, but soft on the carpet. I stop in front of my room.

"Well, I'm here," I say, my voice breaking a little at the last word. I don't even look at him. "Good night!"

"Thanks for the tour," he says, his voice edged with amusement. Before I can stop them, my eyes shoot up, searching his again. "It was...interesting to see Paris through your eyes."

I clear my throat. "It was no pleasure at all."

He laughs and something inside me melts.

"Good night," he says, but, instead of walking back, he takes a step forward toward me. I look up at him. There's mischief in his eyes, and a flicker of...something else burning there, something that I haven't seen in so long that I doubt whether it's even there, or I am just imagining it out of wishful thinking. He slowly, almost lazily raises his arm and plants the palm of his hand against my bedroom door.

We're so close, I can feel his hot breath on my face, with just a hint of whiskey on it. It sends a wave of electric shocks down my spine. I watch, mesmerised, as his throat works as he swallows...

My eyes move from his throat to his lips in just a split second, and I can feel his whole body tense...

And, before I even realize what's happening, his lips are on mine.

The kiss starts soft, shy, and careful, a bit like tiptoeing around a sleeping animal. But it gets more and more heated, and that heat, which has been coiling behind my sternum finally spreads all over my body. Next thing I know, his tongue is pushing through my lips and they part open, letting him readily in to meet mine.

His tongue sweeps into my mouth, chasing away all drowsiness that was left in me, my body coming alive under his touch, like a match being lit. My hands reach for his hair and the baseball cap topples to the ground, my fingers digging into the soft mess of his curls.

He groans and takes another step forward, pushing me against the door. I welcome the sensation of his firm chest, pressing my body against the door. He reaches with his hand, which is not planted against the door, and cups my cheek almost gently, as he continues to deepen the kiss. My brain has turned into a completely useless pile of mush, as my body triumphs, for the first time in a very long time, giving in to the heat of the moment.

I hear a loud moan, dancing down the long hallway, and it takes me embarassingly long to realize it has come out of my mouth. Frantically, I reach for the back pocket of my shorts, searching for my key card...

The chime of the elevator doors at the far end of the hallway, and the sudden outburst of loud laughter, filling the space, breaks the spell. Mr. Strange Hot Guy instantly drops his hands to his sides and steps swiftly to the side, facing the door. If he wasn't a head taller than me, I'd think he's hiding behind my back...

A group of girls, obviously wasted, wearing all sorts of bachelorette party tokens, from pageant ribbons and flower crowns to temporary face tattoos, spill from the elevator into the hallway and stagger toward us.

"At least someone is getting some tonight..." A tall, blonde girl, whose pageant ribbon gives away that she's the Maid of Honour, shouts, lifting the glass she's carrying in her hand for a greeting, before putting the penis-shaped straw between her lips and sucking viciously. Slurping sounds fill the hallway, followed by a loud belch.

The rest of the party bursts into laughter. They walk to the door two doors down from mine and the bride, I assume, by the skewed veil in her hair, and the inscription "My Last Rodeo", written in black eyeliner across the top of her chest, starts rummaging through her bag, looking for her key card.

The Maid of Honour is still looking intently my way, her eyes narrowing, as she tries to focus on something, or, rather, someone, behind my back. I can feel Mr. Strange Hot Guy shuffling his feet behind me.

What the fuck is going on? Do these two know each other? Has he fucked half of the hotel? The woman in the lobby, and now this girl?

Well, he just had his tongue down your throat, that small treacherous voice at the back of my head says.

The bride finally finds her key card, and the whole party disappears into her room. The maid of honour walks in last, giving me a suspicious glare, before slamming the door shut behind her back.

A beat passes, before I can process what just happened. Feeling movement behind my back, I turn slowly and am immediately met with Mr. Strange Hot Guy's gaze, but the fire in his eyes is not there anymore.

And just like that, the moment's gone.

"Wow, they're slaying that bachelorette party," he says and smiles, almost shily, rubbing his hand over his neck.

"Do you know any of these girls?" I say, and I immediately regret it.

Jeez. I sound like a gealous girlfriend and I just met the guy.

"No," he frowns and shakes his head slowly, and his dark curls fall over his eyes. Heat blossoms on my cheeks from the memory of my fingers, tangled into those soft curls mere minutes ago.

He leans down and picks up his hat from the floor, then puts it back on his head and pulls it down over his eyes. He turns to face me, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Good night, miss Vough," he says in a voice, impersonating Michel from the rooftop bar, and raises his hand to my cheek again. His fingers graze gently over my heated skin, before he drops his hand by his side and starts walking towards the lifts.

I watch as the elevator swallows him, before I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"Good night, Strange Hot Guy," I whisper under my breath.