Ex-Girlfriend on the Sleeper Car

Selena dragged her rolling suitcase down the narrow corridor of the sleeper car, the train already humming beneath her heels as it pulled out of the station. Twenty-eight, marketing executive, freshly dumped in the most public and humiliating way possible—her ex had chosen the company holiday party to announce he was leaving her for the intern. She needed distance, anonymity, the rock of the rails and a private bunk to nurse the wound. The conductor had handed her the keycard for compartment 7B with a tired smile. She swiped it, stepped inside the tiny wood-paneled box, and froze.

Darius was already there.

Thirty now, broader across the shoulders than the last time she’d seen him two years ago, dark hair a little longer, that same mouth that used to ruin her. He looked up from his phone, eyes widening the exact same way hers did. The compartment was barely wide enough for one person to turn around; two made it intimate in the worst way. His duffel sat on the lower bunk. Hers would have to go above or nowhere.

“Selena,” he said, voice low, surprised, already rough around the edges.

“Darius.” She swallowed. The door slid shut behind her with a soft click that sealed them in. The train rocked gently as it gained speed. Memory hit like heat: the way he used to pin her wrists, the filthy things he whispered, how she used to come so hard she saw white. Their chemistry had always been nuclear. The breakup had been mutual exhaustion, not lack of want. The want had never died.

They stood there breathing the same recycled air, neither moving to claim space. She could smell his cologne—something cedar and skin—and it went straight between her legs. He raked a hand through his hair and gave a short, disbelieving laugh.