Then, with the kind of unbothered confidence I wish I possessed, he pulls out his own phone. A few taps later, another notification pops up.
[@RuinsEnd]:I’ll take care of Sable’s legs. You can deal with the fact even Muffin fakes excitement when you come home. And maybe unpack whatever unresolved trauma told you this post needed your opinion.
My jaw drops.
That’s when the floodgates open.
Notifications explode as the patrons of Ruin’s End—at least, that’s what their usernames tell me—come out swinging, each comment funnier and more ruthless than the last.
[@IPAinMyVeins]:@MuffinsMommy just got served harder than the tequila shots on half-price Wednesdays.
[@GinAndChronic]:A moment of silence for @MuffinsMommy’s dignity. Thoughts and prayers.
I slap a hand over my mouth but not before a snort giggle escapes.
[@TequilaMockingbird]:She really thought she could slide in here and not get roasted? Ma’am, you don’t mess around with Ruin's End.
[@MargaritaVillain]:Nothing pairs better with a vicious clapback than a cold beer and @MuffinsMommy’s shattered ego.
[@NeatOrOnTheRocks]:Bartender, get this girl a drink. She’s gonna need something stronger than delusion to recover from that one.
[@HennyThingIsPossible]:Plot twist: @MuffinsMommy is actually just Muffin logging into her account to ask for help. *Bark* Help me. *Bark* My mommy is crazy!
My shoulders start shaking with suppressed laughter.
[@OldFashionedRevenge]:You come for one of ours, you get the whole bar. Hope you brought back up, @MuffinsMommy.
[@DrunkInLoveAndPetty]:Oh, we roast AND serve at Ruin's End. Welcome to the party, sweetheart.
[@CraftBeerComebacks]:@MuffinsMommy really said, "let me embarrass myself publicly" and we said bet.
Full-bodied, belly-clenching laughter bursts out of me, drawing looks from people at nearby tables.
My stomach hurts from laughing at the absolute onslaught happening in real-time.
Hex reclines against the booth’s cushion, unfazed, sipping his coffee, as though he didn’t just end a woman’s entire online existence with a single comment. He glances at me, amused. “Problem handled.”
I wipe at my eyes, still breathless from laughing. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
“Oh, Sable. You’re already on my favorite side.”
In a blink, my face is burning with what I can assume is a bright red blush.
This might be the best first date I’ve ever been on.
Ican’t believe she ate that many pancakes. A shit ton. They sat down twelve fluffy round, buttery and steaming pancakes, each as big as a dinner plate. Her eyes lit with fire like she had something to prove and no patience for anyone who dared doubt she’d own it. Each bite looked effortless, and as the stack briskly dwindled, I caught myself watching her, forgetting my own plate.
I’m not sure what’s hotter: the way she’s putting down pancakes without breaking a sweat, or the fierce, determined look on her face. Most people would be tapping out by pancake four, but not Sable. She powers through pancake eight like a pro.
I try to hide a full smile behind my fork. “You’re actually gonna finish all that?”
She pauses mid-bite, her cheeky smile breaking through. “Hell yeah, I am. I’m not backing down from this.”
The competitive edge she’s got is almost... intoxicating. The way she’s tackled anything I’ve thrown at her today—regardless of what it is or how comfortable she may be—with fullcommitment. Yeah, that’s definitely something that gets my attention.
And she downs every last bite. She’s full but relaxed, looking far too satisfied for someone who inhaled their body weight in carbs without flinching. Impressive. Kinda sexy, if I’m being honest.
When the waitress comes to clear the plates, I lean back in the booth, still staring at her in disbelief. “Damn. You really did it.”
