The dive bar on the edge of town was a dump, but it was *my* dump tonight. The kind of place where the floors stuck to your boots, the jukebox coughed out scratchy old rock tunes like it was on its last breath, and the air carried the faint, sour tang of stale beer and regret. Dim lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows over the scratched-up bar top where I sat, hunched over my third—or was it fourth?—glass of cheap whiskey. The burn in my throat was the only thing keeping me tethered to the present. My ex, Lila, had ripped my heart out, stomped on it with her stiletto heels, and left me to bleed out. Two years down the drain, and for what? Some slick guy in a suit with a better car and a fatter wallet.
I was halfway through another sip when the door swung open with a creak, letting in a gust of cool night air and the unmistakable sound of heavy boots stomping across the floor. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Only one person walked with that kind of swagger, like she owned every room she stepped into.
“Well, well, well,” came a voice, sharp and dripping with amusement. “If it isn’t the saddest sack of shit this side of town. What’s this, Nate? You auditioning for a country song? ‘My Baby Left Me, So I’m Drownin’ in Whiskey’?”
I groaned, finally lifting my head to meet Stacy’s piercing hazel eyes. She stood there, hands on her hips, looking like she’d just rolled out of a biker gang fantasy—ripped jeans hugging her long legs, a black leather jacket slung over a faded band tee, and her dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She was a tomboy through and through, tough as nails, with a mouth that could cut glass. My best friend since we were kids, and the only person who could get away with talking to me like this.
“Fuck off, Stacy,” I muttered, though there was no heat in it. I took another swig, the whiskey doing little to dull the ache in my chest.
She didn’t fuck off. Instead, she plopped down on the stool next to me, the leather of her jacket creaking as she leaned in, her elbow brushing mine. “Hey, barkeep!” she called out, snapping her fingers with the authority of a drill sergeant. “Gimme a beer. Something cold and cheap. And keep ‘em coming—I’ve got a crybaby to babysit.”
The bartender, a grizzled old guy with a permanent scowl, slid a bottle her way without a word. Stacy popped the cap with a flick of her thumb, took a long pull, and then turned her full attention on me, her gaze like a spotlight I couldn’t escape.
“Alright, spill it,” she said, her tone shifting from mocking to something harder, more demanding. “How long you gonna sit here, moping over that prissy little princess who wouldn’t know a good thing if it bit her on her Botoxed ass?”
I winced, setting my glass down with a clink. “Lila wasn’t that bad—”
“Oh, please!” Stacy cut me off, rolling her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “She was a walking red flag, Nate. A neon sign screaming ‘I’m gonna screw you over!’ And you, dumbass that you are, just kept walking right toward it. I told you from day one she was trouble. Didn’t I? Didn’t I say, ‘Nate, this chick’s gonna chew you up and spit you out’?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled, running a hand through my messy hair. “You’re a goddamn prophet. Happy now?”
“Not even close.” She smirked, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. “But I’ll be happy when you stop acting like your life’s over because some bimbo ditched you for a guy with a bigger credit limit. You’re better than this, and you’re sure as hell better than her.”
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “Doesn’t feel like it right now.”
Stacy’s smirk softened, just for a second, before she masked it with another swig of her beer. She set the bottle down with a decisive thud and turned to face me fully, her knee brushing against mine under the bar. “Listen up, ‘cause I’m only gonna say this once. You’re a catch, Nate. A little rough around the edges, sure, but you’ve got a good heart and a decent face when you’re not sulking like a kicked puppy. Lila didn’t deserve you. Never did. And if you can’t see that, I’m gonna have to knock some sense into you myself.”
Her words hit harder than the whiskey, and for the first time that night, I felt a flicker of something other than misery. I glanced at her, catching the glint of mischief in her eyes, the way her lips quirked up at the corner like she was always one step ahead of me. “Thanks, Stace,” I said quietly. “I needed that.”
“Don’t get all mushy on me now,” she shot back, but there was a warmth in her tone that hadn’t been there before. She leaned back, stretching her arms over her head with a casual grace that drew my eyes despite myself. Then, as if she could read my mind, she dropped her voice to a low, teasing drawl. “But if you’re still feeling sorry for yourself, I’ve got a better idea than drowning in this piss-poor whiskey.”
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite the fog in my head. “Oh? And what’s that?”
Her grin turned wicked, sharp enough to cut through the haze of my breakup blues. She leaned in close, her breath warm against my ear as she whispered, “How ‘bout you take all that pent-up frustration and let it out on me? I’m talkin’ hard, fast, and furious, Nate. No strings, no bullshit. Just you and me, working through every last bit of that anger ‘til you can’t remember Lila’s name.”
My heart stopped, then kicked into overdrive. I pulled back just enough to look at her, searching her face for any sign she was joking. But Stacy didn’t joke about shit like this. Her eyes burned with a challenge, a dare, and something darker, hotter. My mouth went dry, and I fumbled for words. “Stace, I… are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” she said, her voice steady and commanding, leaving no room for doubt. “But let’s get one thing straight—I’m in charge. You wanna play, you play by my rules. I say when, I say how, and I say how hard. Got it?”
I swallowed hard, the heat of her words curling through me like wildfire. “Yeah. Got it.”
“Good boy.” She smirked, patting my cheek with a condescension that somehow made my pulse race even faster. “Finish your drink. We’re not doing this in some sticky-ass bar where half the drunks are probably listening in.”
I downed the last of my whiskey in one gulp, the burn barely registering over the electric tension crackling between us. Stacy slid off her stool, tossing a few bills on the bar before slinging her arm around my shoulder, her grip firm and possessive. As we headed for the door, she leaned in, her lips brushing my ear again. “Hope you’ve got some stamina, Nate. ‘Cause I’m not gonna go easy on you. Think you can keep up?”
I managed a shaky grin, adrenaline and anticipation surging through me. “Guess we’ll find out.”
She laughed, low and throaty, the sound sending a shiver down my spine as we stepped out into the cool night air, the promise of something wild and reckless hanging heavy between us.
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