>Mallory
I made sure to say it as respectfully as I could, even though my tongue was already starting to feel like it had its own opinions. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, really. It's just that… I can't have a two-eyed, two-nosed, and two-mouthed baby. That's just too many facial features to deal with, and I already have trouble managing my own. No matter how open-minded I try to be, that was not a good idea. Not for me, anyway.
"Then, bye!" I said cheerfully, waving at him with all the sincerity I could gather. I even added my sweetest smile to make sure he knew there were no hard feelings.
I'm a kind rejector.
He looked at me like he wasn't sure if I was serious or delirious, which—fair enough. I wasn't entirely sure myself. To be honest, I don't even know what I'm doing right now.
"Oh, wait. Where am I going again?" I mumbled as I turned away. My mind drew a complete blank. I had been on a mission a minute ago, but the mission had evaporated somewhere between drink number three and the very strange man with a surplus of facial features.
I shrugged. "Oh well, I'll drink more then."
Problem-solving at its finest.
I clambered back up onto the tall barstool, tiptoeing like a ballerina. My skirt caught slightly on the seat and I almost flashed everyone around me, and I had to wriggle into place as dignified as I could, which I did with all the grace of a drunken swan.
The bar light shimmered golden around me, blurry and hazy. The air smelled like citrus, salt, and bad decisions. I shook my head a few times, trying to clear it, and nearly shook myself right off the stool.
Tequila is the answer. I was certain of it. Life, love, heartbreak—tequila can fixed everything. That's what Mara said. She told me I'd never truly lived until I'd had real tequila, and now I understood what she meant.
It was like my brain had been rebooted—if rebooting meant spinning in circles but feeling great about it.
I rested my elbows on the bar for balance, swaying slightly. The world felt pleasantly soft around the edges, like it was padded for my protection.
"One more tequila, please!" I declared, raising my hand like a queen ordering another round of victory.
The young bartender, hesitated. His eyes flicked toward something—or someone—behind me. What is he looking at?
"Did you hear me?" I waved my hand right in front of his face. "Hellooo? Earth to bartender?"
He looked pale. Ghostly pale. I was about to ask if he needed water when a low, husky voice brushed against my ear.
"Didn't you hear the young miss?"
The sound vibrated through me like a bassline, and I nearly jumped off the stool. I turned my head slowly, and time seemed to lag, like the world wanted me to savor this moment.
There he was.
A man with a voice made of smoke and honey, holding a glass bigger than the one with tequila. His lips were plump and pink, glistening with the remnants of whatever brown-golden drink he was having. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and for some reason, I found myself mesmerized. Even his fingers looked deliberate, strong, and—why were his fingers beautiful? That wasn't fair.
My breath hitched.
I found him. My target.
As if he could feel my gaze drilling holes into him, he turned. His eyes locked with mine, and my brain hiccuped.
Wait. No way.
It was the same man. The one from earlier. The one I'd just rejected for being too… extra in the face department.
"Why is it you again, Four Eyes?!" I blurted before I could stop myself.
He smirked, stepping closer. "Why not? You hate how ugly I am?" His voice dropped to a whisper, his breath warm against my ear. The shiver that ran down my spine was completely uninvited.
For a second, all I could do was blink at him. Then, realization hit me like a shot of cold water.
Oh no.
I gasped, slapping my hand over my mouth–probably more dramatic that I initially planned. "Did I… perhaps offend you?"
The look on his face was pure confusion, like I had just confessed to a crime he didn't even know existed.
"I'm sorry!" I blurted, clapping my hands together like I was praying for forgiveness. "I didn't mean to insult you! My mouth sometimes—sometimes it just—says things!"
He raised an eyebrow. "What?"
I could practically see the question marks floating around his head.
"Oh! I'll pay for your drink as an apology! Is that okay?" I said quickly, ready to wave down the bartender like I was settling a royal debt.
He tilted his head, his lips twitching with amusement. "Really? Can you afford it?"
"Of course!" I said with as much dignity as a tipsy person could muster. "How much was it?"
He leaned closer, his smile sharp. "Six hundred dollars. Per glass."
I froze.
My smile faltered. I counted in my finger. Just how many months will it take me to settle the debt to Mara, assuming I won't be receiving for a few months after what was about to happen today. Then, I turned to him and smiled awkwardly holding my finger in the air.
"Just… one glass?"
He chuckled, and the sound rolled through me, smooth and wicked. His face, illuminated by the warm bar light was now clear, and it looked almost unreal.
Strong jawline, those perfectly shaped lips, lashes that were far too long for a man. It wasn't fair how good-looking he was. He looked like he'd stepped out of a fantasy novel—probably the kind where he ruins your life but you thank him for it later.
This was it. The perfect gene pool. I had found it.
My brain, however, was running on tequila logic now, and tequila logic only knows one direction: forward.
I slid closer to him, nearly knocking over my glass. He blinked, surprised, but didn't move away. Good. That meant I had a chance.
I reached for the tequila that had been placed in front of me and threw it back like it was fuel. It burned a trail down my throat, pooling heat in my chest. The world tilted slightly, but I didn't care.
My courage had been reborn, shimmering and loud. 'I can do it!' I cheered internally.
"Hey," I started, my voice steadier than I expected even with my numbing tongue. "I know this might sound a little sudden but…"
He turned toward me, one eyebrow raised. "Hmm?"
My eyes flicked to his lips again. They were still wet with alcohol, gleaming under the dim lights. They looked dangerous. Tempting. Illegal, probably.
Before I could lose my nerve, I grabbed his hand between mine. His skin was warm, his fingers strong, and I swear I felt electricity crawl up my arm.
"Will you sleep with me?" I asked.
There was a beat of silence.
His mouth parted slightly, and for a moment I thought I'd broken him. The bartender froze mid-pour. Somewhere in the background, the soft hum of bar chatter dimmed, like even the universe wanted to hear his answer.
I blinked at him, completely sincere. My cheeks were hot, my heart thudding, but I held his gaze.
Because if tequila had taught me anything tonight, it was this: courage tastes like fire, sounds like regret, and feels absolutely incredible—right until it doesn't.