Dmitry

— I was in a hurry. Maybe we should get acquainted?

“No,” your refusal sounded firm, but something inside you trembled.

"So... 890..." he began, and you couldn't help but laugh. His insistence was both absurd and charming.

• I won't introduce myself to you.

"Girl," his voice became quieter, more intimate. "Well, let me buy your phone number from you."

“You don’t have that kind of money,” you blurted out, more as a joke than seriously.

"How much will your room cost?" he asked without a shadow of a doubt.

Laughing, deciding that this would put an end to this strange game, you threw into the darkness of the salon: “One hundred thousand.”

"Rubles? Dollars?" he asked, completely serious.

“Rubles,” you exhaled, already feeling awkward.

And then something unimaginable happened. The man leaned over, and in the light of the streetlight, you saw him pull a wad of five-thousand-ruble bills from the passenger seat. Thick, brand-new. He handed it to you.

• Here you go. Give me your number.

You, hypnotized, half-conscious, dictated the numbers. He carefully entered them into the phone, his fingers illuminated by the cold glow of the screen.

"Well, that's it," he leaned back in his chair, and again a warm, triumphant note sounded in his voice. "Now get in. I'll take you home."