Naivety World

I found myself naturally gravitating to the man at the center of the room, standing with his hand stretched out to me like it was the most natural thing in the world. The room was alive, full of laughter and clinking glasses. The moment my hand landed in his, I exhaled, finding comfort in the way his long, deft fingers wrapped around mine.

It was a big day for me, and for most of the night I was moving from person to person, networking and reminding myself that I belong in rooms like this because I’ve earned it.

Still, there were moments where I found myself lost in the crowds, and I was pleasantly surprised by how grounding his random act of care felt. Or maybe it wasn’t random. I only allowed myself a minute to entertain the thought when I looked up from our hands to his eyes, dark and hooded beneath his masquerade mask.

And then the minute was gone.

But my hand stayed in his as I scanned the room for the next person to network with. From the corner of my eye, I caught the curve of his smile and I smiled back, disengaging my hand from his and diving back into the torrent.

As the night unfolded, I kept drifting back toward him, and he kept showing up within my orbit in a way that felt effortless. It’s nothing, I told myself, as I listened to yet another networker tell me about his work in CFX. It was fascinating, but I was slightly distracted, my mind choosing to jump from thought to thought like a pingpong ball, right until he joined us and immersed himself in the conversation, saving me from the pressure of responding.

I tried to treat my awareness of him as neutral, and the age gap made it easier to keep it that way. A whole decade was a hard boundary that didn’t require debate. I couldn’t entertain the thought.

People rotated in and out the way they do at nights like this. Names and numbers exchanged, someone pulled someone else aside, conversations broke and reformed, and eventually our little cluster dissolved until it was just the two of us, seated a little too close together, close enough that any knee-jerk movement had me bumping my leg against his.

I should have left then.

Instead, I stayed.

His presence felt too easy, and his gaze too comforting. I wasn’t starved for attention, and I wasn’t lonely, which is how I knew this wasn’t about filling an emptiness. It was about energy. He had that dangerous masculine aura that reminded me of the kinds of men you meet in dark romance novels.

Maybe if he were older. Maybe in a different context.

He shifted in his chair, settling in like he had all the time in the world, his hand twitching like he wanted to reach for me again. And my body reacted faster than logic, heat rising, wayward thoughts forming before I could stop them.

No. No. I’m not entertaining this thought.

It was definitely time to get my Uber home.

It arrived faster than I expected, and he offered to walk me to the car, like I knew he would. On the way out, I was painfully aware of him, his height, his pace, the way he stayed angled toward me.

The Uber pulled up as we reached the lot and he stepped forward to hug me goodbye. I could feel the warmth of his breath against my neck and imagined the havoc his lips would cause if he moved even an inch closer.

My body imagined the rest.

A kiss.
A moment.
A mistake.

Then the boundary returned, firm and immediate, and I pulled back first.

“Goodnight,” I said.

“Goodnight,” he replied, as he held my gaze for one extra beat, before I turned and got into the car.

Relief and disappointment flooded me. Part of me wanted to pretend none of it happened, while another part of me knew I would remember it clearly.