Chapter 1: Tequila and Temptation
The thump of the bass synced perfectly with the dull throb behind Lisa’s temples. Her third glass of mediocre chardonnay sat sweating in her hand, half-empty. She wore faux leather pants that pinched a little across her thighs—a relic from her pre-pregnancy wardrobe she’d squeezed herself into for the night—and a black silk top she’d bought with a secret thrill a month ago. She ran her thumb over the place on her left ring finger. It felt strangely light, exposed.
Across the scuffed wooden table, Sarah brandished a purple pen, leaning towards a bewildered-looking younger guy. “You must be his brother! For every question you can’t answer about my fiancé, you drink!”
Sarah was radiant, a whirlwind of glitter and purpose in this dim place. Lisa smiled. She was happy for her friend. But the noise, the chaos, the sheer required gaiety of it all wrapped around her like an itchy blanket. All day it had been melting-popsicle symphonies and sun-warmed couch cushions. Now it was neon haze and the sticky scent of spilled whiskey and old leather booths sagging beneath drunken laughter.
She wanted to escape the noise. More than that, she felt she needed to, like a panic trapped in her ribcage. Or maybe she was just thirsty.
She told Sarah she was getting water, pushing her way toward the long, lit bar. Her face was warm from the drinks. An empty drink was safe in her hands. You could keep your own thoughts company with an empty glass. She wedged herself between two suited men.
“Busy night,” she said to the tattooed, bored-looking bartender, her voice already lost in the low hum of jazz bleeding through the better speakers behind the bar.
And then she felt it. A gaze. Not a glance or a once-over, but a direct, slow, physical weight.
She met it.
He was leaning against the pillar across the cleared path, not drinking, not with anyone. He had dark hair a little too long, a jaw that looked cut from stone, wore black denim and a grey t-shirt that strained across his chest and shoulders. He was just… looking at her. Not with a polite suggestion, but with an unflinching, assessing stare that arrested her where she stood.
Lisa stood still, forgotten plastic menu underfoot, trying to process this look. He wasn’t hot-boy handsome. Hard was the word. And his eyes, under the moody blue bar lights, didn't suggest drinking daiquiris. They looked like they could see right through her silk top, past her tired milk-stained mother heart, right into the girl buried alive down there who screamed.
His tongue brushed his bottom lip, almost thoughtfully. That simple movement made her stomach drop to her boots. For the longest three seconds of her life, they just looked at each other.
Then, unbidden, utterly on their own, her fingers dipped into the small purse at her hip. They found the heavy, cool circle of her platinum band. A flicker of sensation bloomed in the windstorm in her chest—danger made interesting. Sarah’s friend detached from the group to find Lisa took that beat and laid the ring into the dark fabric of her purse's interior like she was burying a silent treasure in dead hay.
The bartender placed her water with a clink. Lisa didn't pick it up.
The man pushed off the pillar and approached as if through space cleared just for him. Jesus, I guess short wasn’t. Hardly cheery gifts around indoors material. “Water’s good. Should nurse water when this bar fails to keep five real whisky on stock.”
The rough timbre she fantasizes while slathered maybe makes convenient voice skip palpations stars into morning runs. Firstwords fall along stretch township raw whereabouts loud cornrows blending. His gaze pinned her again, mouth slightly arresting rescue laps wrestling Earth Mom day?
“Works perfectly against damn avoid destiny tequila morningish.” The drinking concluded matter. She heard her own laugh not strong B rating represent of crack-fire grading but brief cross August strands come climb? Keep things conversational a happy gruesome pity write so predispose celebrated worldly trembled sonnymagic husband poor full “Live conservatively.” cupcake not fake. “Add.” should "So."