The last customer stumbled out at 2:47 a.m., and the bar finally went quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the faint buzz of the neon OPEN sign still glowing red outside.
I wiped down the sticky bar top one last time, the rag moving in slow circles while my eyes kept flicking to the front door. Marcus leaned against the frame like he owned the place, arms crossed over his chest, black t-shirt stretched tight across his shoulders.
He had been watching me all night the same way I had been watching him. Every time I bent to grab a bottle from the low fridge, every time I stretched to reach the top shelf for the good tequila, every time I laughed too loud at some drunk’s bad joke, his stare burned holes through my clothes.
I could still feel the heat of it on my skin.
I flipped
