“Thanks so much.”

Dread and elation play a boxing match in my guts as I backtrack to the elevator. The fight continues all the way up to the eleventh floor, and by the time I get there dread wins, so I decide to stop in my room first to rally.

Down the hall, a red light next to Richard’s door catches my attention. The words ‘do not disturb’ are spelled clearly underneath the glowing light. Is he sending me a message?

In my room, I pace, trying to decide my next move. Should I really go knock on Richard’s door? To say what? Should I go to bed instead? I wouldn’t sleep. The memory of dancing with Richard is too intoxicating. The feel of his hand clasping mine, his arm around my waist, our bodies pressed together… and his eyes. Oh gosh, even thinking about his stare makes me flush.

I open the window to let some air in, but it’s not the cooling breeze one could expect in New York. Stupid LA heat. This isn’t me. I’m losing my sanity, and I’m not one to lose her head over a guy—especially arrogant, meat-eating, playboy types. I’m also not one to get arrested, adopt a pet, or wear a scandalous dress. This line of thinking suited the old, list abiding me. The new me doesn’t play by the rules.

On impulse, I walk toward the luggage rack, open my suitcase and fish inside for the list. The sorry sheet of paper has never been more crumpled. I lay it out on the desk, trying to flatten the edges with my palms. Pen in hand, I sit at the room’s desk and scan the list. After crossing out never make exceptions and never skinny dip, I search for something that will give me an excuse to ignore Richard’s ‘do not disturb’ sign.

There. Never make the first move. If ever there was a time to ignore that rule, tonight is it.

I kiss the list and get up, trying to smooth the wrinkles in my skirt. Should I change into something less dramatic? A mental vision of Richard undoing my zipper flashes through my head. His hand slowly pulling it down as he stands behind me, his breath hot on my neck. I can almost feel Richard’s hands pulling down the straps of the dress over my shoulders and this once-in-a-lifetime gown falling to the floor, pooling at my feet in silky waves. The dress stays.

Mirror check: makeup still good, but the hair would be sexier loose. I remove all the clips and fluff it, letting the locks cascade down my back. The bobby pins have left it wavy and voluminous and the curls add a bit of wildness to my look. I give myself a wink in the mirror, and go.

Richard’s room is only three doors down from mine. Standing here, I suddenly don’t feel so brave. The gold metal plate with the number 354 engraved in black seems to get bigger as I stare at it. This was stupid. Blair, go back to your room. I take a step back; then stop. No, I’m not going back.