Alli

She could feel Layla’s eyes on her—sharp, territorial, slicing through the air like knives. That woman didn’t need to say a word to make her presence known. Alli had felt her walk in. Heard the click of her heels. Caught the scent of perfume too strong for a place like The Hollow. And even without turning around, she

knew

Layla was watching now. Watching her pour a drink for the man she couldn’t seem to stay away from.

Johnny.

He was back at the bar, standing right in front of her like he hadn’t just peeled himself out of another woman’s grip minutes earlier. Like he didn’t have a past that wrapped around him like oil and flame. Like he wasn’t the kind of man mothers warned their daughters about.

And God help her, Alli couldn’t stop looking at him.

Everything about him felt dangerous in the best and worst ways. Tall. Broad-shouldered. That tight black t-shirt did little to hide the strength in his arms, the kind that made you imagine what he could do with them. Tattoos peeked out from the edge of his sleeves, ink that told stories he’d never speak out loud. And those eyes—icy blue, burning and wild—landed on her like she was the only thing that had ever caught his attention.

He was devilishly handsome. Clean, cut, built like trouble. No flaws. Not a chipped tooth, not a scar—nothing. Just sharp jawlines and stronger hands, and a mouth that could destroy a girl with a smirk.

Mechanic by trade. He’d told her that once when she finally got brave enough to ask. "I fix things," he’d said, but the look in his eyes said otherwise. He didn’t fix things. He

broke them beautifully.

“You gonna pour that,” he said, voice like gravel laced with velvet, “or keep holding it like it might explode?”

Alli blinked. She was still clutching the bottle like an idiot, halfway through pouring his usual whiskey.

“Sorry,” she muttered, heat rushing to her cheeks.

She filled the glass and slid it across the bar to him without meeting his eyes. Her fingers brushed the rim. His caught the glass. Barely a touch. Not even skin on skin. And yet, a jolt of something—electric, heavy—shot through her veins.

“You okay?” he asked.

It was such a simple question, but when Johnny asked, it didn’t feel simple at all.

Alli looked up, finally meeting his gaze. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He tilted his head slightly, that knowing smirk forming on his lips. “Because Layla’s still trying to set you on fire with her eyes.”

She gave a soft, hollow laugh. “I can handle her.”

His smile deepened. “You’re braver than I thought.”

“No,” she said, voice quiet. “Just better at pretending.”

There was something in his stare that made her stomach twist. Like he could see straight through her. Not just the fake smiles, the polite bartender act—but the loneliness. The way she’d been drifting since graduation. The way she came alive in this bar because it was the only place she didn’t feel invisible.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

Johnny raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure me out.”

He took a sip of his drink, never looking away. “I already did.”

Her breath caught.

“And what did you figure out?”

He leaned closer, elbows resting on the bar, voice low. “That you’re sweet. Too sweet for a place like this. Too sweet for me.”

“I can handle more than you think.”

His grin was lazy, dangerous. “Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Behind him, Layla stood from her stool, said something to one of the guys at the pool table, then strutted out the door like she hadn’t just lost a silent war. But Johnny didn’t even glance her way.

He was still looking at Alli.

And that made her heart thunder.

“You always come here on the weekends,” she said, trying to break the tension curling between them like smoke.

“Not always,” he replied. “Just when I need to breathe.”

“You don’t look like someone who has trouble breathing.”

Johnny shrugged. “That’s the problem with looking the part, Alli. People stop asking if something’s broken under the hood.”

It hit her then—he didn’t just come here for the drinks. He came here because he needed something real. And for some reason she didn’t understand, he saw that in

her.

The thought scared her.

Not because she didn’t want it.

Because she

did.

The bell over the door jingled as another group stumbled in, already loud and rowdy. Alli straightened, the moment breaking. She reached for a new bottle and turned her back to him, letting her breath out slow.

But before she could walk away, she felt him again. Closer.

“Alli.”

She turned.

He was still there, still watching her. This time, his eyes weren’t burning—they were

pleading. Just a flicker of something raw beneath the surface.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said, jaw clenched, like it cost him something to admit it. “But I’m not like her. I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“Maybe not,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t.”

Their eyes locked. Blue to blue. Something unspoken pulsing between them.

Then Johnny stepped back.

He nodded once. Like he was giving her a choice.

And then, he turned and walked away—not out the door, not toward Layla, but to the far end of the bar, drink in hand, giving her space.

But she knew it was only temporary.

Because whatever this was between them?

It wasn’t done.

Not even close.