Harleigh sets her stick aside and steps to me.
“Congratulations,” I say.
She smirks. “What do I get for winning?”
I look down at her. She’s close.
Close enough that I can smell the tequila and lime on her breath.
Close enough that the tension between us crackles.
“What do you want?”
She bites down on her bottom lip, and my eyes track the movement.
“Some fresh air,” she finally says.
“Lead the way.”
She drags me through the back hallway of the bar toward a door with a sign readingPatio.
The second it opens, cool night air rushes in.
The outside deck stretches across the back of the building like an old back porch someone keeps adding on to.
It’s dimly lit.
A few torches flicker along the railing, their flames dancing in the breeze and casting long shadows across the weathered wood planks beneath our feet.
The railing itself is rough split timber, worn smooth in places from years of people leaning against it.
Old wooden benches and built-in seating tuck into dark alcoves along the bar’s outer wall, creating little pockets of privacy.
A couple sits in one of them, sharing a cigarette and whispering to each other, oblivious to the rest of the world.
Another pair sits in front of a small gas fire table, speaking quietly.
The rest of the deck is empty.
Harleigh doesn’t stop walking until she reaches the far side.
Away from everyone.
She plants both hands on the railing and leans forward slightly, inhaling deeply.
“God,” she says, drawing out the word. “Fresh air.”
I step up behind her.
She turns slowly and leans her back against the split wood railing.
Her head tips back as she looks up at me.
The torchlight flickers across her face.
She reaches up and runs a finger between my eyebrows. “So serious,” she mutters. “What are you thinking?”
I shove a hand through my hair and glance out into the darkness beyond the deck. “Honestly?”
