one-night stand

"So say something in French to me," he says as we lean against the stairway to Gordy Hall, his head turned toward me, a sly smile on his face.
"What do you want me to say?" I ask.
"I don't know, anything. Anything at all."
"J'aime la nuit."
"I love the night," he says, looking up at the sky. I examine him, blue blazer, white t-shirt underneath, dark jeans, holes-free. Nice shoes. I always judge a guy on his shoes; I think you can tell a lot from the style, the color. Josh is wearing faded brown Asics, and I think we'll get along. In front of us, drunken freshmen stumble back to the dorms, oblivious to our presence. "So are you going to seduce me, or what?" Josh asks.
"Seduce you? Right here? I work here." I give him a playful look. "Come on. I know a place."
I take his hand and lead him down the hill toward Emeriti Park, which is illuminated by just one lamp on a concrete path, and he pulls me toward him and kisses me, pressing himself hard against me, he's just tall enough so that I have to lean up slightly. I can hear people approaching the pathway and I pull him further into the darkness of the park, onto a bench by the water, and he kisses me again, anxiously, running his hand up and down my bare legs, it's warm for October, I run my fingers through his hair, I forget who he is, I think about someone else.
"Come to Chicago," he says, softly. "You have that long winter break, right? Just come to Chicago, come live with me over it."
"You don't meant that," I say, kissing him on the cheek.
"I do, I really do. Are you going to forget me on the morning? Are you going to regret this?"
"No...," I say.
"I'm not going to," he says, and kisses me again.

The next morning I wake up, cramped in my small day bed next to him, sun pouring in through the curtainless windows. I study him in the light, his dark beard, messy hair, the short poem tattooed on his arm. Who is this man I poured my dreams out to, with whom I spent the night in his arms? The next morning, he's anyone, he's no one. He's incredible; he's handsome; he's not the one I want to wake up with. I put my head on his chest and he moves restlessly, forcing it off. Later, after he wakes up, we drive mostly in silence to meet his friend, his hand on my thigh. He opens the car door, leans over for a kiss. "Keep in touch," he says, putting on his dark sunglasses. I pull out, drive past him. He doesn't look back at the car.