I should've had a drink.

One sip. Half a mimosa. Hell, I would've even settled for a tequila shot served in a dirty heel from the hotel bar floor. Anything to stop my hands from shaking like I'm about to audition for America's Next Top Model.

But no. Here I am. Sober, sweating, and standing in front of a man's hotel room like it's 2007 and I'm auditioning for a rom-com reboot that's about to go horribly wrong.

My finger hesitates just a second before knocking. Once. Twice.

Nothing.

I glance down the hallway. Maybe the receptionist gave me the wrong room. Or maybe the universe is finally cutting me...