The local bar, Rusty Anchor, was a pulsing beast on a Friday night. The air thrummed with laughter, clinking glasses, and the low bass of a jukebox crooning old rock hits. Neon lights splashed across the crowd, casting a warm, inviting glow over sticky tabletops and flushed faces. Marianne Carter tugged at the hem of her oversized sweater, a drab gray thing that hung off her voluptuous frame like a tent, as she trailed behind her best friend, Tara, who strutted through the bar like she owned the damn place.
“Jesus, Marianne, stop looking like you’re about to bolt for the nearest convent,” Tara barked over her shoulder, her crimson lipstick flashing as she grinned. A statuesque blonde with a penchant for leather pants and plunging necklines, Tara was everything Marianne wasn’t—loud, fearless, and unapologetically sexual. “You’re forty, not dead. Act like it.”
Marianne rolled her eyes, clutching her purse like a lifeline. “I’m here, aren’t I? That’s a start. Can we just get a drink and call it a night?”
“Oh, honey, we’re just getting started,” Tara purred, her hazel eyes glinting with mischief as she scanned the crowd. She dragged Marianne to a high-top table near the bar, her heels clicking with authority. “You’re gonna flirt with someone tonight if it kills me. Or you. Preferably you, because I’m not dying over your sad little wallflower act.”
Marianne groaned, sliding onto a stool. “I don’t even know how to flirt anymore, Tara. The last time I tried, I think I accidentally asked a guy if he needed help with his taxes.”
Tara threw her head back and laughed, a sharp, infectious sound that turned heads. “That’s tragic, babe. But don’t worry, Mama Tara’s got your back. We’re breaking that bashful barrier tonight. You’ve got curves for days under that potato sack you call a sweater. It’s time to use ‘em.”
Before Marianne could protest, a waitress dropped off two martinis, and Tara shoved one into her hand. “Drink. Liquid courage. You’re gonna need it.”
Marianne took a tentative sip, the sharp bite of vodka burning her throat. “I’m not like you, Tara. I can’t just walk up to some guy and… what, bat my eyelashes? I’d probably poke myself in the eye.”
Tara smirked, leaning in conspiratorially. “You don’t have to be me. You just have to be you—only, you know, with a spine. Look, there’s a guy at the bar who’s been stealing glances at you since we walked in. Rugged, scruffy, looks like he could chop wood with his bare hands. Perfect starter material.”
Marianne’s cheeks flushed as she followed Tara’s gaze. There, leaning casually against the bar, was a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a lumberjack fantasy. Broad shoulders, a dark beard framing a mischievous grin, and eyes that seemed to sparkle with trouble. He caught her stare and tipped his beer bottle in her direction, his grin widening.
“Oh no. No, no, no,” Marianne stammered, ducking her head. “He’s not looking at me. He’s probably looking at you.”
Tara snorted. “Please. I’m a walking neon sign. If he wanted me, he’d already be over here begging for my number. That’s all you, sweetheart. Go say hi.”
“Are you insane?” Marianne hissed, her voice climbing an octave. “I can’t just—what would I even say?”
Tara’s grin turned wicked. “How about, ‘Hey, handsome, wanna see what’s under this godawful sweater?’ Or, if you’re feeling tame, just ask him if he comes here often. Classic for a reason.”
Marianne buried her face in her hands. “You’re the worst. I’m not doing this.”
“Oh, you are,” Tara said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “If you don’t get your curvy ass over there in the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna march over and tell him you’ve been fantasizing about him bending you over the bar. Your choice, babe.”
Marianne’s eyes widened in horror. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me,” Tara shot back, folding her arms with a smirk. “Tick-tock, Mar.”
With a groan that bordered on a whimper, Marianne slid off her stool, her heart hammering so hard she thought it might crack a rib. She shuffled toward the bar, each step feeling like a march to the guillotine. The man—Jake, she’d later learn—watched her approach, his grin never faltering.
“Hi,” she squeaked, immediately cursing herself for sounding like a terrified mouse. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Uh, hi. I’m Marianne. Do you, um, come here often?”
Jake’s laugh was low and warm, like honey over gravel. “Hey, Marianne. I’m Jake. And yeah, I’m here most Fridays. Gotta say, though, I’ve never seen you around. I’d remember a face like yours.”
Her cheeks burned, and she fumbled with the sleeve of her sweater. “Oh, I don’t really… go out much. My friend kind of dragged me here. She’s, uh, pushy.”
Jake glanced over at Tara, who was watching them like a hawk with a martini in hand. He chuckled. “I can see that. But I’m glad she did. You’ve got a shy thing going on. It’s cute.”
Marianne blinked, caught off guard. “Cute? Me? I’m pretty sure I’m just a walking disaster right now.”
“Nah,” Jake said, leaning in just enough that she caught the faint scent of his cologne—something woodsy and intoxicating. “You’re nervous, sure, but there’s something about you. Like you’ve got a wild side just waiting to come out. Am I wrong?”
She swallowed hard, her pulse racing. “I… don’t know. Maybe? I’m not exactly the ‘wild’ type.”
Jake’s grin turned playful, a spark of challenge in his eyes. “Bet I could change that. What do you say? Wanna stick around, see if I can prove it?”
Before Marianne could stammer out a response, Tara materialized at her side, her presence as commanding as ever. “Well, well, look at you two getting cozy,” she drawled, draping an arm around Marianne’s shoulders. “I’m Tara, by the way. The brains behind this operation. You’re welcome, handsome.”
Jake laughed, unfazed. “Nice to meet you, Tara. I owe you one for getting her over here.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Tara said with a wink. She turned to Marianne, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was just loud enough for Jake to hear. “Don’t play coy now, Mar. Tell him you’ve been dying to know if those hands of his are as rough as they look. Go on, be a big girl.”
Marianne’s jaw dropped, mortification flooding her system. “Tara! Oh my God, shut up!”
Jake’s eyebrows shot up, his grin turning downright devilish. “Is that so? Well, darlin’, I’m happy to let you find out. All you gotta do is ask.”
Marianne wanted to melt into the floor, but there was no escaping the heat in Jake’s gaze or the way her body responded to it—a slow, unfamiliar ache stirring deep inside. She shot Tara a glare that could’ve melted steel, but her friend just smirked, utterly unrepentant.
As Tara sauntered back to their table, she leaned in one last time, her breath hot against Marianne’s ear. “Don’t chicken out now, babe. Ask him to take you somewhere private. First step to owning your power is owning your desire. Make him beg for it.”
Marianne’s breath hitched, her mind reeling. The bar’s noise faded into a dull roar as she turned back to Jake, his expectant gaze locking with hers. For the first time in years, she felt the flicker of something daring, something alive, burning beneath her skin. Maybe, just maybe, she could do this. Maybe she could be more than the woman hiding behind loose sweaters and safe routines.
“So,” Jake said, breaking the charged silence, his voice a low rumble. “What’s it gonna be, Marianne?”
She didn’t have an answer yet, but as her lips parted, trembling with the weight of possibility, she knew one thing for sure: tonight, she was stepping into uncharted territory. And God help her, she was starting to like the view.
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