MIRA

By the time my shift finally crawls toward evening, my feet throb like someone’s driven hot nails into them, and my shoulders ache from lifting trays, cleaning, and mopping.

My brain buzzes with exhaustion, and I have to blink numerous times to keep my vision from going blurry. Then I hissed. Jase is right. I need at least one drink to numb my pain.

Just when I think the day’s over, a man in a cheap suit leans back in his booth with a grin that puts me on edge, like he owns the place, but I see weird faces every day; it’s part of the job.

“Soooo, Mira, huh? You got a boyfriend?”

Hmm. I sigh as I set down his burger without looking at him.

“You got an appetite?”

“Ha!! Feisty, I love that,” he says, laughing out loud, too loud, like he’s trying to impress me.

“Here’s my card. Call me anytime. I’m sure we can make things work,” he whispers and winks.

I slap my forehead with my right hand, my cheeks squeezing as I walk away, his words icks me out.

By the time Hank barks,

“Clock out!”

My whole body aches like it’s been through a meat grinder.

“Finally!”

Jason blows a raspberry. He drops the rag into a bucket and takes it behind.

I head to my bike, which leans on the wall.

“Uh, Nah babe. One drink, you agreed,”

Jason says as he grabs my wrist, tugging me toward the neon lights across the street.

“Come on, you need it.”

“Fine, it better be worth it, Jase.” I sigh

The bar is the usual, the same. I haven’t been in here for a while, but nothing’s changed. Dim lights, sticky floors, and the neon sign buzzing over the karaoke stage.

Locals hunch over their beers with the jukebox wheezing out some old country song. It’s far from glamorous, but it’s ours.

We slid into a booth at the back. Jason orders two beers and a plate of fries “for balance,” he calls it.

I thunk my head against the wall and yawn.

“I’m too tired to drink, Jase.”

“Then let the beer drink you,” he replies and hands me a glass.

I sip, grimace at the taste, but sip on anyway.

Halfway through my glass, Jason freezes, his eyes dart to the bar, and his mouth curls into a wicked grin.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” he whispers.

“What?” I ask tiredly.

“Over there at the counter.” He tilts his chin. “Tall, dark, handsome, and broody with his really hot bodyguard slash friend, I think,” he whispers.

I follow his gaze.

Two men sit at the bar. One is broad-shouldered, jawline so sharp it could cut glass, neat in a suit that looks out of place here, eyes sharp as he talks low to the bartender.

The other, God help me, is a really pleasant sight for sore eyes. He looks like he’s stepped right out of a magazine ad, very model-looking, with tousled dark hair, a strong jaw, and his shirt undone just enough to cause trouble.

But it isn’t the surface-level pretty that catches my attention; it’s the heaviness in his posture and the way his hand wraps around his glass like he’s holding on for dear life. One of his hands had a bandage wrapped around it.

“Just some rich boys slumming it,” Jason whispers.

“That only happens once in a blue moon, on very rare occasions. They’re probably hiding from their wives, tax evasion, the law, or all.”

I roll my eyes, but my pulse starts doing something stupid in my throat. I haven’t felt that way in too long, not since that stupid incident.

“Cute though, right?” Jason presses grinning widely.

“Nope. Too fast. Too sharp. These types always have something up their sleeve; they’re rarely good.” I ended, sipping my beer.

Jason’s grin widens.

“Oh my God, you think he’s cute. Ohhh.”

I scowl into my beer. “He looks miserable.”

“Miserably cute,” Jason sing-songs.

“Uhh! Shut up.”

Jason laughs so hard he nearly spills the fries.

I should look away, I really should. I should finish my beer, drag Jason out, and go home to collapse into my bed after kissing Nora.

But my eyes keep flicking back to the man at the bar. I try so hard not to, but I just can’t stop.

He’s not just drinking. He’s drowning, glass after glass after glass, his gaze fixed on absolutely nothing.

And suddenly, it’s as if he feels the weight of my stare. His eyes lift from his glass as he throws another drink in, and then they meet mine.

The room blurs, just for a heartbeat. The jukebox, the chattering, the people, and Jason crunching his fries all fade into nothingness.

Just his eyes. Dark and intense, but also tired in a way I recognize too well.

“Oh shit!.”

Something flutters low in my stomach.

I quickly jerk my gaze away, heat crawling up my neck so fast I wonder how the human body works. I gulp down the rest of my beer.

Jason leans across the table, smirking.

“Oops, he caught you staring, didn’t he?”

“I wasn’t star...”

“Yes, you were. You think he’s cute, right?”

“No, I don’t. Jase, pleas..”

“You definitely think he’s hot,”

Jason mutters, bursting into laughter as he softly claps his hands.

“Sure, whatever you say.” I hiss, rolling my eyes.

I never win an argument against Jason; he could’ve been a really great lawyer.

I stay longer than usual, even when everything in me is against it. I pretend it’s because Jason won’t shut up. I can deny it all I want, but deep down, I know it’s because I keep watching him.

Watching the way his shoulders slump, his fingers move in slow circles, the way his friend whispers something in his ear, the way his glass keeps emptying and refilling.

Eventually, Jason stretches, yawning dramatically. “Alright, Cinderella, time to get you home before you turn into a pumpkin.”

I groan but slide out of the booth, fishing for my jacket.

“Fine.”

Jason grins as we head for the door.

“You’re totally thinking about him.”

“Nah, I’m thinking about my bed.”

“Mhm.” he mumbles

I shove him lightly, but my eyes betray me one last time. They flick back across the bar to the man with the hollow eyes.

He doesn’t look up this time, but still, I feel that tug in my chest as I push into the night.