The night came back to Hermione in murky flashes.
Drinking.
Grey eyes.
A roof and lights.
And, oh mother of Merlin, a kiss.
A kiss like the tide pulling to the shore, salty waves brushing against the sand. Sweet and fresh and endless...
But who did those sea lips belong to?
Hermione shot straight up from the bed she lay in, looking frantically around the room. Plush black carpet. Bright open windows. A kitchen. A grand piano.
Her room had a mini-bar and double sink. This was most definitely not her hotel room.
"Morning, Granger," drawled a cool, familiar voice.
That was... What had she done?
Draco Malfoy stood in the bathroom door, leaning against the frame, smirking. His normally combed hair was messy and wet. He wore nothing but a white hotel towel wrapped around his waist.
Why does he have to have sexy quidditch abs?
"How drunk was I last night?" she suddenly shouted, not really meaning for Draco to answer. She was just sending out a random query to the universe she had apparently offended.
There was no way, no way on this earth, she had done that with Draco Malfoy? None. Whatsoever. Right?
She'd have to enroll in some sort of deep soul-cleansing ritual on top of a mountain in Tibet or something.
Hermione reached down, feeling her red sequined dress still clinging to her body. Best news ever.
"You were pretty drunk."
"So we didn't-"
"I don't sleep with drunk girls." Still in nothing but a towel, Draco grabbed a bottle of water off the table and cracked open the lid, taking a sip. A little drip slipped out of his mouth and ran down his chin.
Why was she staring at – then she remembered. She may not have slept with Draco Malfoy but she most certainly kissed him.
Maybe there was a part-time program at that tibetan soul-cleansing retreat.
Her heart skipped. Today was Ron and Luna's wedding. "What time is it?" she asked, leaping out of bed, searching frantically for her shoes.
"They're by the door," replied Draco. "And it's 10 in the morning."
Hermione grabbed her head, the throbbing from last night's drinking disaster beat against her skull like the tiny fists of a thousand rioting goblins.
I am never drinking again.
"Wait – did you say 10? Dang it. I'm going to be late. The wedding is in half an hour. I'm a bridesmaid."
Draco raised an elegant eyebrow, making Hermione stomach twitch uncomfortably. "You're a bridesmaid at your ex's wedding? Do you at least have a date, Granger."
"No. I don't," she replied, slipping on her heels.
"You could bring one." Draco stretched an arm over his head, flexing his bicep. "I'm free this morning – and who has a morning wedding in Vegas?"
"It's unusual so it's Luna and cheap so it's Ron."
Draco laughed.
Hermione pursed her lips. "I didn't mean – and I'm not taking you."
"Why? Because it will seem desperate and petty?"
"Yeah. You know why?"
"Because it's desperate and petty," replied Draco.
"Where's my purse?" asked Hermione. Still smirking and half-naked, Draco grabbed Hermione's purse which was sitting on the grand piano and handed it to her. "Why was I in your room last night?" she asked.
Draco's cheeks blushed and he bit his lip like he was trying to hold in a laugh. "You couldn't remember what hotel you were staying in."
"Oh. Well, uh, thanks for- oh, never mind." Hermione grabbed the door handle. Draco's hand fell on hers, her mouth becoming suddenly dry at his gentle touch.
"Have dinner with me tonight?" he whispered in her ear. Hot breath played along her earlobe, making her cheek and neck tingle.
"No."
"If you can honestly tell me that last night's kiss wasn't the best of your life, I'll let you walk out that door right now and leave you to your boring bookworm existence with nary a protest."
That kiss was... it was...
She sighed. "Pick me up at eight. And, by the way, I'm staying in this hotel."
Draco licked his bottom lip and nodded. Her face flushed.
Does the floo network connect to Tibet?
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