Whisper to David that you want to miss the last train home and get a hotel room in Brighton for the night.

As David settles the bill, you lean in close, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. The emerald tips of your nails trace delicate patterns on his forearm, leaving faint pink trails against his skin.

"What if we missed the last train home?" you whisper, your voice honeyed with suggestion. "We could get a hotel room... spend the night here in Brighton."

David's eyes darken immediately, his gaze flicking from your face to your dangerous new nails and back again. "God, yes," he responds without hesitation, his voice rough with desire. "I was hoping you'd suggest that."

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone with one hand while the other settles possessively on your thigh under the table. "I'll find us somewhere nice," he promises, already scrolling through booking options.

Clara catches your eye from across the table, her expression knowing. "Not heading back with us tonight?" she asks, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"We thought we might stay over," David answers before you can, his thumb stroking small circles against your bare skin. "Make the most of being by the sea."

Ryan chuckles, raising his glass in a mock toast. "To spontaneous decisions," he says with a wink.

"I know just the place," Clara offers, leaning forward conspiratorially. "The Sandcastle Hotel on the marina. Ask for a sea-view suite—they're to die for. My sister works reception there; I'll text her to hold their best room."

David raises an eyebrow at you, silently asking for confirmation. You nod, feeling a thrill of excitement at how easily this is unfolding.

"Perfect," he says, putting his phone away. "Thanks for the recommendation."

As you all prepare to leave the restaurant, David pulls you aside for a moment while Clara and Ryan walk ahead. From his pocket, he produces a small velvet box.

"I got you something," he murmurs, opening it to reveal a delicate gold bracelet with tiny emerald stones that match both your bikini and your new nails perfectly. "To remember today by."

"David," you breathe, genuinely touched by the gesture. "It's beautiful."

He fastens it around your wrist, the gold warm against your skin. "Not as beautiful as you," he responds, his fingers lingering on your pulse point.

Outside on the promenade, the evening air has cooled, carrying the salt scent of the sea. Clara hugs you goodbye, whispering, "Have fun, you wild thing," before pulling back with a conspiratorial grin.

"We'll see you back in London tomorrow," Ryan adds, already slipping his arm around Clara's waist as they turn toward the station.

David hails a taxi, giving the driver directions to The Sandcastle Hotel. As you slide into the backseat, his hand finds yours, interlacing your fingers despite the awkward angles created by your stiletto nails.

"I can't wait to get you alone," he whispers against your ear, his free hand sliding dangerously high up your thigh. "And see what other surprises those wicked nails of yours have in store."

19:30 | Monday 4 August 2025 | Taxi, Brighton

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