My name is Riley, and at twenty-four I was drowning in the same boring routine every single week. Dead-end marketing job, endless emails, and a boss who thought “team building” meant forcing us to stay late. By the time Friday rolled around, I needed an escape. That escape was always the same place — The Tipsy Fox, a loud, dimly lit bar downtown that did killer happy hour deals until 8 p.m.
I walked in at 6:15 like clockwork, still wearing my tight black pencil skirt and cream blouse from work. The top two buttons were undone because I was tired of pretending to be professional. My heels clicked across the wooden floor as I headed straight for the bar. The place was already filling up with other tired office workers looking to forget their week.
That’s when I saw him for the first time.
