Chapter 1
Liv
The only thing more relentless than the driving rain outside Bar None tonight is the dude with a man bun who sidles up beside me.
“It sure is coming down out there,” he says, smiling as he perches—uninvited—on the barstool next to mine. He’s already offered to buy me a drink, which I declined. And asked if I’m staying in the hotel attached to this bar, which I also refused to answer.
I glance up from my drink and nod once at his latest attempt—itiscoming down out there.
The sky was only a little gray when I left work, and I needed a drink. So I ducked into Bar None, my favorite neighborhood dive bar, to take the edge off the day I’d had. I was supposed to meet my roommate, Andy, but she was nowhere to be seen. Unsurprisingly, Andy wasn’t very good at planning, keeping track of time, or remembering either.
I was about to finish my two-block walk home when the skies opened up—and Douchey McDouchebag started hitting on me.
Honestly, getting drenched might’ve been preferable to getting drooled on.
I glance over my shoulder at the door, hoping to see Andy bound through and save me from this mess. She could shutthis guy down in two seconds flat and have him crawling out of here with his tail between his legs—without even breaking her smile.
I could almost hear Andy’s voice like Elle Woods.“What? Like it’s hard?”
“Why the face?” the guy asks, not deterred at all by my silence, and his question sounds a lot like ‘smile more.’
I take a long sip of my bourbon and close my eyes. I might fall asleep right on this barstool. Beta launching RootDown’s daily habit loop kept me up for thirty-five hours straight. Our wellness startup’s latest app gamified sleep tracking. Ironic, since I haven’t done it in days. While I usually work from home, I don’t think I’ve set foot in my apartment in weeks. I want to go home, ditch my bra, and binge-watchBridgertonbefore heading back to the RootDown offices in twelve hours.
“Just a long day.” I try to sound pleasant but firm. Andy says I give off grumpy cat vibes in public. She may have also blamed my grumpy cat vibes on my lack of a love life, but I like to think I’m discerning. And this too-close-talker with his whisky breath, is not it.
“We could turn it into a long night.” He winks, swiveling his body closer to mine, sliding his hand onto my thigh. My spine goes rigid, and I look down the bar to catch Frankie, the bartender’s, eye.
What were you supposed to order if you needed an escort out of the bar? An angel shot?
“Button?” a smooth voice calls from my other side.
You’ve got to be kidding me.Two in one night? And did he just call me Button?But I turn my head toward the voice. A man in an impeccably tailored suit, his piercing green eyes locked on me, moves toward me with determined purpose.
“There you are,” he continues, locking eyes with me and nodding once, barely tipping his chin. “Sorry, I’m late.”He slides his hand to the small of my back and kisses my temple delicately. My eyes go wide, but my insides flutter.
The stranger leans around me to my bar companion, who finally has enough sense of self-preservation to remove his hand from my thigh. “Excuse me, do you know my wife?”
Wife?
“Um, no, we were just chatting about the storm,” Douchey stammers, “no harm.”
“Not yet, at least,” my fake husband purrs, closing his hand into a not-subtle fist on the bar.
The man pushes back from his stool and raises both hands in a conciliatory gesture before stumbling away. The stranger lets his hand drop from the small of my back, and I miss the sensation. He rests both elbows on the bar and looks down. Even in the dim light, the faintest blush appears across his cheekbones.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I hope I didn’t overstep, you just seemed…”
I probably should be angry. Who did this guy think he was? What if I liked that guy’s attention? What if he ruined my plans for the night? But as the man squirms a little, shifting his weight and refusing to look at me, I can’t help but smile.
“It’s fine.”
“Okay,” he straightens and pats the bar twice, “well, enjoy your night.” He turns to leave.
“Actually,” I add, “thank you.”
He turns back and nods again. Something about his face, the sharp angle of his jaw, and the way his eyes seemed like they were lit from within made me want to stay, order another bourbon, and see where the night went. Wouldn’t that be ironic? To have this stranger rescue me from one predatory asshole, only for me to turn around and be the overzealous one to proposition him?
Maybe I need my self-preservation to kick in.
