1 – Alyss
This bourbon tastes like caramel and bad decisions.
Swirling it in my hand, I drain the final dregs and place it down, pushing the glass across the chipped wooden counter. “Same again when you’re ready.”
The bartender eyes me, but nods.
He doesn’t need to worry – not yet, at least. I learned to manage my tolerance for alcohol in a far more dangerous place than this crappy little rundown bar. Paint peels off the neglected walls around me, posters advertising long-passed Battle of the Bands nights faded and curling over at the edges.
The thought of how exactly I learned to hold my liquor… those memories burn the back of my throat far more than any bourbon ever has.
Six months.
Today, in fact.
The dark corner I’m hiding in lights up as my phone buzzes. I glance down at the screen, my lips pressing together.
Chess.
The bartender slides a fresh glass my way and I look up, nodding in thanks before my finger presses down to reject the call.
Sorry, Chess.
I’m not in the mood for a row tonight.
Although if he was less of a lecturing asshole, I might have been in the mood for somethingelse.
I take another sip of the bourbon.
Bad fucking decisions.
My eyes lift, glancing around the bar.
Slim pickings. A few stools up from me, two middle-aged men with weathered faces and wedding rings argue over the game showing on the tiny television on the wall. Across from them is a group of kids who clearly got in on someone else’s ID. They’re looking around nervously, as if they might be swooped on by law enforcement at any second for daring to buy an underage beer.
My throat tightens as I turn.
That’s that, then—
Wait.
I pause.
In the far corner, there’s another man.
And he’s watching me.
My hackles rise, instinctive wariness kicking in as I pick up my glass and take another sip, watching from the corner of my eye.
His arms are bent as he rests them on the battered table, white shirt sleeves pushed up over his elbows to reveal golden, lithe, corded muscle. It flexes as he lifts his own drink, throat working as he downs it.
His face is hidden in the shadows as he sets the glass down, and I find myself suddenly…
Curious.
I take my time finishing my own drink, my eyes flickering to the empty glass that sits in front of him.
But he doesn’t leave. I nod to the skeptical bartender for another refill as I stand and wind my way around the bar. The restrooms are located on the far side – and in rather fortuitous planning, I’ll have to passhimto get to them.
