“I’ll keep your tab open.”
I thanked him and took the glass over to a table in the corner. As I sipped, I scrolled through photos my friends had posted online, shots of them around Boston, having dinner, drinks—things I was missing.
Because I was here.
I wasn’t halfway done with my champagne when I felt Oliver arrive. It was a heat that moved through my body, and my gaze lifted from my phone to search for him.
I didn’t have to look far. He was walking past the bar and tables, heading straight for me. And with each of his steps, I saw the way his jeans hugged his long, lean legs, and when he unzipped his jacket, there was a light-blue button-down underneath that was the identical color of his eyes.
His trimmed beard grazed my cheek as he whispered, “Good evening, Chloe,” right before he kissed the center of it.
“Hi,” was all I could get out.
His scent was filling my nose, and I was taking in the feeling of his lips while my mind was burning with memories from our last kiss.
And it was those same thoughts that continued to haunt me as he moved to the chair across from mine and sat down. His arms leaned over the wood, bringing us closer.
Before either of us could say anything, a waitress appeared.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked.
Oliver ordered a local beer, and I agreed to a refill, mine being close to finished. Then, we were alone again.
Almost instantly, a smile spread over his face. “You know what I was thinking about the other night?” His hand went to his whiskers, brushing them with his fingertips. “The time we were at my family’s cottage and you found that ancient cookbook that was my gran’s.”
I grinned as it all came rolling back. “Oh God, and I picked the recipe I thought was the hardest and bet that you couldn’t make it.”
His hands had expertly moved around that kitchen in a way I found so sexy.
As he laughed, a little bit of redness spread over the tops of his cheeks. “It was fucking dreadful. Worst meal I’ve ever made.”
“It wasn’t your best, I’ll say that.” The heat began to cover my face, and I couldn’t move away from it, especially as his chin pointed down, and he was almost gazing at me through his lashes.
“It was a good semester, wasn’t it?”
“The best,” I whispered.
The waitress came to our table, and I downed the rest of my drink, replacing it with the new one she gave me.
And when she was gone, Oliver held his small beer glass in front of my flute and said, “To the city of hope.”
I took a sip, watching him do the same. “That’s what Amsterdam is to you?”
He set his drink down and leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “Good things have happened to me since I moved here. I have a job I fucking love. I’ve met some really great friends.” He dragged his bottom teeth over his top lip. “You’ve come into my life again.”
There were words I had to say, promises I’d made to myself when I boarded the plane in Boston.
But now that I was here, the thought of speaking them hurt my heart so badly that I didn’t want to open my mouth.
What I wanted was to spend more time with this man. To hold on to his smile for as long as I possibly could. To feel the sensation of Oliver under my fingertips.
“And you know what? I might even have you for a little bit longer if you end up renewing your contract,” he continued.
I circled my hand around the champagne, pulling it to the edge of the table. “No one has said anything to us about that.”
But during the flight over, my entire team had been speculating about whether it would happen and what they would do if it became an option.
“With the way you’re performing, I promise, the in-house lawyer is already drafting a contract.”
The booze was helping, but I could still feel the tightness in my throat. “I don’t know what my life would look like if I stayed for another six months.” My mind was a storm with questions.
“You’d just fall deeper in love with Amsterdam.”
I felt the grin growing over my face, and I chuckled. “You think that’s what would happen?”
His thumb slid down the side of the beer, reminding me of the way he used to rub my face. “You haven’t fallen for it yet, sweet girl?”
That accent.
That gritty, growly voice.
I turned, glancing around the bar as though I would find the answer there, and when my eyes locked with his again, he said, “Outside those doors is the sexiest city in the entire world.”
“You must be talking about the red light district?”
As he paused, I felt a flicker in the base of my stomach. “The red light district is what lights up Amsterdam, but sex is what keeps it on fire.” His gaze dropped to my lips. “Have you seen any of the sex shows?”
“No.” I crossed my legs under the table, the tingling working its way between them as I thought of what might happen during those shows. “I’ve walked through the area, but it was early in the morning during my workout, and there wasn’t much to see at that time.”
He watched me while he swallowed the rest of his beer, his thumb wiping his lips when he was done. “It’s something you have to see.”
“Then, I’ll make sure it happens.”
He moved his beer to the side, so he had enough room to lean on the table when he said, “Go and get your coat.”
My eyes widened. “You’re kidding. Now? But—”
“Chloe,” he said before my thoughts ran wild, “let me show you a part of Amsterdam you’re never going to forget.”
My heart was pounding as I thought about the show and attending it with him and us spending more time together—things I’d never intended when I came to this bar.
“Stop thinking,” he said, nodding toward the elevator. “Get your coat so we can leave.”
Inside my head was the last place I wanted to be, so I pushed myself off the chair and said, “Be right back.”
And there was a whole new energy pulsing through me as I went to my room and slipped on my jacket, adding more lip gloss before going back to meet him. When I reached the table, I saw the receipt was already there with some cash lying across it.
“Tab is closed,” he said. “You ready?”
I didn’t realize how close we were standing until he reached forward and moved a piece of hair off my face.
His touch sent more tingles through me, and I shivered. “Yes.”
What I learned as we entered the notorious red light district was that walking there with Oliver and seeing it at this hour was an entirely different experience.
What was brown and gray during the day was lit with red at night, and the color stretched as far as I could see. It reflected off the water of the canals, shimmered over the black pavement, danced across our faces as we passed the red-lit windows. When the curtains were open, the most beautiful women dressed in lingerie were standing in front of the glass, their bodies speaking a language I understood.
And with every step I took, I smelled lust. It wasn’t Oliver’s cologne; this was from being surrounded by sex. But it wasn’t just the act that I saw; it was also the hints, the whispers.
The secrets that were being left on these streets of Amsterdam.