“You alone tonight?” His voice came low, rumbling past the music.
I met his stare over the rim of my untouched glass. The noise of the bar dimmed, like the world was waiting to see which one of us would blink.
“Does it matter?” I traced the condensation circle on the counter. “I’m here. With you.”
That earned me a slow tilt of his head. His eyes, dark under the fading neon, warmed—not soft, exactly, more like heat through smoke. “You’re young.”
“You’re old.” I smiled, a sharp curve at the edge of my mouth.
He gave a sound that wasn’t quite laughter. “Experienced.”
“Is that what they call it now?”
His gaze dipped briefly to my hands, resting on the bar, then back to my face. “Experience isn’t always a bad thing.”
“Depends on how you use it.”
He leaned closer, elbows on the counter. “You planning to test that theory?”
I shrugged, heart pounding too hard to keep the movement casual. “You talk like someone who’s failed a lot of tests.”
“Passing’s overrated.” He reached for the bottle between us. “Sometimes the fun’s in the retake.”
I met that heat and didn’t look away. The air between us felt charged, alive in a way that made my skin itch for movement.
Hannah’s laughter rose somewhere behind me, blurred by the music. The bartender shouted an order. Glasses clinked. Everything faded again.
I didn’t say “let’s get out of here.”
I just grabbed my jacket from the stool, knocking the empty glass over as I moved.
His hand caught it before it hit the ground. He didn’t smile—just stood up, tossed cash on the counter, and followed. Quiet. Respectful. No pressure.
Outside, the night air bit cold enough to clear my head. City lights smeared against puddles on the pavement; the smell ofrain and gasoline filled the space between breaths. My boots scuffed against wet concrete as we walked toward the parking lot.
He didn’t ask where I was going. I didn’t slow down.
The silence wasn’t awkward. It was needling, electric. Like language would ruin it.
He stopped by a black truck that had seen better years but started immediately when he hit the fob. The headlights blinked once, bright against the slick asphalt.
He opened the passenger door. Didn’t look at me, just waited.
“This is a bad idea,” I said, voice softer than I expected. "I don't… I don't do this."
He looked up, eyes catching a flash of streetlight. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
I stared at the open door. The seat inside looked clean, leather cracked a little from use. The dashboard smelled faintly like oil and pine air freshener.
Everything in me screamed no—too soon, too raw, too dangerous.
But standing there, with the night humming just outside my skin and that unspoken challenge hanging between us, I stepped forward anyway.
The door shut behind me with a solid thud, sealing the noise ofThe Pour Houseout.
The seatbelt burned cold against my collarbone as the truck rumbled onto the street. City lights flared past, ghosting across his face. I didn't know his name. He didn't know mine. It was better that way.
I tugged out my phone, thumbs clumsy.
