Alejandro quirks an eyebrow at him. And that smile. Beautiful.

The bitter, rational voice in his head says 'Go back to your hotel', but the other voice says 'Definitely stay for dinner', and that voice is always louder and more enticing. (Does he have a shoulder angel and devil or just a shoulder pantheon of meddlers, honestly.) He abruptly remembers a conversation he had a few weeks ago: that he always knows exactly who's going to turn out to be crazy because he's incapable of sleeping with anyone dull, and yet he never learns. You know what, fuck hindsight and fuck foresight. Remembering your own death does nothing if not instill the terror of skipping an experience.

"I could do dinner. If you don't mind me catching up with my staff and making a few calls while we wait."