The bass pressed against her skin like a second heartbeat.
Elena stood near the bar, glass already in hand, the whiskey untouched. She wasn't pretending to belong. She was standing like someone waiting for a fight she hadn't admitted she wanted.
And then—there it was. The shift.
She didn't have to turn. The presence behind her was unmistakable.
"Stalking me again?" She muttered, not looking back.
His voice brushed close to her ear, low and calm. "Wasn't hard to follow."
"Not exactly subtle, are you?"
"Neither are you. You came back."
She turned then, slow and deliberate.
"You think i came here for you?"
"I think you came here hoping i'd be exactly where you left me."
Her jaw tightened. "You think a few words and a stare is enough to get under someone's skin?"
He didn't blink. "Depends on the skin."
"Careful," she said, eyes narrowing. "You're not charming."
"Didn't say i was trying to be."
"Then what are you doing?"
He stepped in closer, just enough for her to feel the heat between them. "Watching you try not to come undone."
She didn't flinch, but her grip on her glass shifted.
"You don't know me well enough to say that."
"I know enough."
"You know nothing."
"You've been pretending since the night we locked eyes."
She didn't respond.
He leaned in slightly, his voice dipping. "I know you want to kiss me."
She froze, whiskey halfway to her lips.
"I saw it in your eyes," he continued. "First night. You were standing at the bar. Looking everywhere but not really looking. Until you found me."
She took a drink to cover her breath catching—miscalculated. The whiskey caught in her throat, just enough to sting.
"You're unreal," she muttered once she could speak. "The ego on you."
He said nothing, and that made it worse.
She finished her drink in one go and slammed the glass on the bar. "Another."
When it landed, she grabbed it and turned without looking at him, disappearing into the crowd with her chin high, shoulders squared.
The music deepened around her, bodies brushing past, lights flickering. She didn't dance—just kept moving, letting the crowd swallow her.
And then, there i was again—that shift.
Heat at her back. The scent she recognized.
"You left your ego at the bar," she said without turning.
"Didn't want to leave you with nothing to push against."
She turned slowly, drink still in hand, gaze sharp—but the look in his eyes stopped whatever comeback was forming.
His eyes showed something dark, with a small spark of gold at the edge of it. Curious. Entertained.
In control.
He lifted his hand and placed it on the small of her back.
The touch was light—but it lit her up. Like flipping a switch along her spine, every nerve suddenly awake. His hand didn't press or hold, just rested there, electric and certain, like he knew exactly what it would do to her.
He led her through the crowd. Past the moving shadows. Toward the far wall.
She saw it before they reached it. The corner where he'd stood the first night. Watching her. Waiting.
He leaned back there now, hands in his pockets, like no time had passed at all.
She stepped in front of him and stopped. Didn't speak. Didn't move.
Just stood there, breath shallow, pulse loud, aware of every inch between them—
He leaned back against the wall, watching her like she'd walked into the middle of something only he understood.
"Wanna try watching me without pretending you're not?"
She just stared at him for a beat too long, glass still in her hand, fingers curled tight around the rim.
Then—dry, cool, razor-edged—
"Maybe i'm not watching you at all."
His mouth ticked up.
"Sure. You just keep following me into dark corners for the acoustics."
She hated the way her pulse jumped.
Even more that she couldn't come up with a line fast enough to wipe the grin off his face.
So instead, she took a sip—slow, controlled—and let her eyes drift over the crowd behind him.
"You know," she said, letting her tone go light, "if you weren't so infuriating, i might think you were actually trying to charm me."
His head tilted, his voice a quiet thread under the music.
"If i wanted to charm you, you'd know."
She met his gaze again.
"I'd punch you."
"I'd still take the risk."
The music shifted—lower, deeper. A darker rhythm crept into the space between bodies.
Around them, dancers moves like shadows in heat, and the lights pulsed red against sweat-slick skin.
He took a half step closer.
"Tell me to leave, Elena."
Her name hit like a match.
She exhaled slowly, turning her head just enough to glance at him.
"I don't play like this," she said.
"Like what?"
"Whatever this is."
He looked at her like he already had the answer.
Then said—without blinking—
"Then stop."
Her stomach twisted.
He was daring her. Giving her the way out.
Telling her: walk away if it's not what you want.
And she couldn't.
Because it was.
And that made her furious.
She took another sip, slower this time. then tilted her head, gaze cool.
"I think you like being a question no one knows how to answer."
His smile was slow, just a little dangerous.
"I think you've already figured me out."
She almost laughed.
But it came out more like a breath she didn't mean to let go.
Then—
Someone bumped into her shoulder, jolting her just enough to break the moment.
He caught her elbow without thinking—steadying.
His hand was warm.
The looked at him, pulse in her throat.
"Let's get out of the way," he said.
He didn't wait for her to answer. Just stepped back—not far—and let his hand fall away as she straightened.
He moved, slow and confident, carving a path toward the far edge of the dance floor, where the lights faded and the beat was something you felt more than heard.
And Elena followed.
She didn't let herself think about it. Her boots moved in time with his. Her drink stayed in her hand, half-forgotten, her puls too loud to ignore.
They reached a shadowed corner near a column of black steel, where the music dulled and the bodies thinned. Just flickers of motion beyond, just light enough to see the edges of his face.
He turned to face her again, hands in his pocket, like they hadn't just walked through heat and music and something else entirely.
She stood in front of him—arms still tight around her glass, back straight, trying not to let her breathing give her away.
He looked at her for a long moment. Then shifted slightly—just enough to glance toward the bar.
Then he lifted two fingers.
A signal.
And the bartender—from across the room—nodded like it wasn't the first time.
Elena raised an eyebrow, dry.
"You have a guy here?"
His mouth curved slightly.
"I have a habit."
Moments later, a fresh drink made its way through the crowd. Passed from one set of hands to another until it landed neatly in hers.
she looked down at the glass. Then back up.
His gaze never left hers.
And then—smooth, low, quiet enough to make her want to lean in—
"Where were we?"