The club isn't the best place to find love
So the bar is where I go...
The lyrics of that old Ed Sheeran song drifted through my mind, a sweet, rhythmic contrast to the heavy silence that had been suffocating me all week.
I swirled the amber liquid in my glass, watching the ice cubes clink softly against the crystal. The first burn of the whiskey hit the back of my throat, instantly blooming into a comforting warmth that spread all the way to my chest. It felt incredibly good.
The atmosphere of this new, luxurious bar was perfect dimly lit, expensive, and filled with a soft, velvet hum of low chatter and jazz.
I should definitely tell Aashi and Meher about this place, I thought to myself, a small smile playing on my lips. Once their hectic shifts are over, they would absolutely love to unwind here.
But before I could take another sip, a voice sliced through the ambient noise.
"I want another."
It was a deep, velvety male voice, rough around the edges and heavy with irritation.
"No, you won't. You've already had three, sir," the bartender replied in a polite but firm tone.
"So what? I want more," the deep voice grumbled back, sounding like a stubborn child refusing to go to bed.
I didn't know what it was, but hearing that voice sent a strange, magnetic pull right through me. Curiosity or maybe the whiskey working its magic made me stand up. I picked up my glass and walked over, sliding onto the empty barstool right next to him.
I turned my head to look at him, and my breath caught.
He had wild, beautiful wavy curly hair that fell messily over his forehead. He was frowning, his lips pouted in a cute, grumpy expression. A light, perfectly trimmed beard framed his sharp jawline, giving him a rugged edge.
He was dressed casually, a snug black tank top with a loose, unbuttoned shirt thrown over it and a pair of dark jeans. He had the vibe of a gorgeous, typical nerd boy, but there was nothing ordinary about him. He was ridiculously handsome, and his childish grumbling was the cutest thing I had seen in a long time.
Amused, relaxed, and feeling bolder than I had in years, I leaned in slightly.
"Is baby boy not able to handle another drink?" I whispered, my voice dripping with playful mockery.
He froze.
Slowly, he turned his head to look at me. His expression was a mix of utter disbelief and sheer amusement, as if he couldn't decide whether to be offended or impressed by my accusation. He looked down, a slow, devastating smirk spreading across his lips as he murmured,
"I can handle a lot more than you can think, lady."
I kept my eyes locked on his, my own mocking smirk firmly in place. "Really? I don't think so."
To prove my point, I raised my glass to my lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip of my whiskey, never breaking eye contact.
Suddenly, my breath hitched.
With one incredibly smooth, effortless motion, he reached down, grabbed the side of my heavy barstool, and dragged my chair closer to him.
Damn.
The sheer friction of the metal on the floor, the sudden, intoxicating closeness of his body, and the warmth radiating off him sent a jolt of pure adrenaline straight down my spine. It was thrilling. I could see his wide, beautiful eyes up close now they were glassy, a little tipsy, and intensely focused on me.
Before I could even process the shock of the physical proximity, his hand shot out.
His fingers brushed against mine as he smoothly took the glass of whiskey right out of my hand. He didn't order his own. Instead, he lifted my glass, turned it slightly, and took a deep, lingering sip, from the exact spot where my lips had just been.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Fuck. He was so hot.
I didn't know what was making this more intoxicating. Was it the delicious contrast of this beautiful, slightly nerdy boy up against my unapologetic "baddie" energy? Or was it the sudden, heat-blooming arousal pooling in my lower stomach?
Damn. This is exactly what happens when you've been celibate for weeks while dealing with a relationship that was dead long before it officially ended.
I let out a soft, self-deprecating huff. No. Surbhi, stop. I had just escaped a massive, life-altering mess with Dev. The last thing I needed was to slide into another one. And a one-night stand? I had never done that in my life. Sex without love? Without a real, emotional connection? No thanks. It just wasn't me.
As if sensing my sudden shift in mood the way the playful spark in my eyes dimmed into something quiet and guarded I turned back to the bar. I grabbed the fresh glass of whiskey the bartender had just slid toward me and took a long, burning gulp.
"Seems like my lady is upset by something," he murmured, his voice incredibly soft now, his head tilting as he studied my profile.
I turned to look at him, and despite my best efforts to stay detached, my eyes softened. Up close, under the amber pendant lights of the bar, there was a certain freshness to him. A lack of the cynical, heavy exhaustion that people my age carried.
"You look young," I said softly, the observation slipping out before I could stop it.
Once again, he looked somewhere between deeply offended and highly amused by my accusation. He scoffed playfully, a casual, breathtaking smile spreading across his face. "I don't just look young, lady. I am young. I'm twenty-two."
I let out a quiet, ironic chuckle, setting my empty glass down onto the dark marble table.
"And I am twenty-seven," I told him, keeping my voice steady, intentionally throwing the age gap between us like a shield. He looked interested. dangerously so, and I needed to nip this in the bud.
"Far older than your taste, baby boy."
I said it because, honestly, I remembered being twenty-two. I remembered the thrill of the chase, the easy excitement. But a younger guy and an older woman? No way. I had enough on my plate; I wasn't looking to play mommy to some kid.
But what he said next made my entire brain short-circuit, freezing me in place for a whole five seconds.
He leaned in closer, the scent of woodsy cologne and expensive alcohol wrapping around me as his dark eyes locked onto mine with devastating intensity.
"𝙄 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙖 𝙨𝙪𝙜𝙖𝙧 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙮 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙠... 𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙡 𝙄 𝙢𝙚𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪."
"W-what?" I gasped.
The syllable was barely out of my mouth before he leaned in even closer. His face was inches from mine, his warm, whiskey-scented breath brushing against my lips. He didn't just force himself on me; he paused right there, his dark, heavy eyes locked onto mine, searching my face as if waiting for my permission.
Fuck Dev. Fuck my ruined career. Fuck the investors, the scandal, and every single problem waiting for me outside those doors.
Right now, I didn't want to think. I didn't want to be the responsible, elegant Surbhi who had spent eleven years shrinking herself for a coward. I just wanted to feel. I wanted to feel desired, consumed, and completely alive.
Reaching out, I grabbed the collar of his unbuttoned shirt and yanked him down, crashing my lips against his.
He didn't hesitate. He met me instantly, and the kiss turned harsh, desperate, and incredibly deep, as if both of us had been starving for years. Around us, the dim, luxurious bar continued its hum, couples laughing in dark booths, ice clinking, people lost in their own worlds. No one cared. But in our tiny pocket of the bar, the air was practically combusting.
My heart was beating so violently against my ribs I thought it might actually burst. My first kiss with a stranger. A younger stranger.
To call it hot was a massive understatement.
He moved like a man who knew exactly what he wanted. One of his hands slid up to grip the back of my neck, firm, possessive, and harsh enough to hold me perfectly in place, yet incredibly soft where his thumb brushed my jawline.
His other hand slid beneath the hem of my shirt, his warm palm pressing against the bare skin of my waist. Even in his desperation, there was a boundary he didn't cross without invitation. He was a gentleman, yet his physical dominance was intoxicating.
For years, I had secretly craved a man who would be hard on me in the bedroom. A man who would take control, who would grip my neck with that raw, primal passion. But I had never wanted a monster who grabbed my neck to threaten me during an argument, the way Dev had done.
The memory of Dev's violent hands flashing in my mind triggered a sudden, fierce spike of anger and desire.
With a low growl in the back of my throat, I bit down lightly on his tongue.
He let out a sharp, muffled groan, the pain only fueling his fire. He deepened the kiss instantly, his tongue tangling with mine in a fierce, breathless French kiss that turned my knees to water right there on the barstool.
And i can feel where it is going.
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