Chapter 5 ✨Lyra

Standing at the entrance of The Olive Bar alone isn’t how I planned to end my day, especially not before heading home to sleep off the stress of this week. But serena had called last minute to cancel our plans. Apparently, she forgot she already had a date with Lucas.

I should’ve gone straight home after that call.

I almost did.

But I need that alcohol buzz in my system…the kind that quiets my mind enough to let me sleep all weekend. And after the kind of week I’ve had at work? Yeah. I deserve it.

The moment I step inside, the calmness of the bar wraps around me, slow and soothing. Dim lights. Soft music. Low conversations. This..this..is exactly the vibe I’m craving tonight.

I scan the room, looking for somewhere tucked away, and spot a darker corner to the right. Perfect. I make a beeline for it.

I’m just settling into my seat when a familiar scent hits me.

My breath stutters.

I don’t even need to turn to know who it belongs to.

Still, I do.

“Hi, Mr. Blackwell,” I say, forcing a bravery I absolutely do not possess when it comes to this man.

As usual, he replies in that infuriatingly calm, nonchalant tone.

“Lyra… what are you doing here?”

Then, casually, “And please, drop the formality. Call me Soren.”

God.

This man’s voice is going to be the end of me.

I gather myself before replying, even though my brain is already malfunctioning.

“O–okay. I’m just trying to unwind a bit… before going home.”

Why do I sound like I’m being interrogated?

He makes that low rumbling sound he does when he’s thinking, lifting his glass to take a sip—and suddenly, I’m gone. Watching the way he guides the glass to his lips. The slow movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

Damn.

For one reckless second, I wish I were the glass.

Ugh. I definitely need to get laid…by my hands or my vibrator because “what is wrong with me?”

Thank God the waiter shows up right then, dragging my thoughts out of the gutter they’ve happily ventured into.

“Hi, what can I get you?”

I open my mouth to answer when, “A glass of Manhattan ” Soren interjects. That snaps me back instantly.

“I can order for myself, you know,” I say the moment the waiter walks off.

As expected, he replies with his usual, infuriating, unreadable,

“Mmm.”

At this point, I hate..and like…that sound.

I’m not expecting him to say anything else, but then he adds,

“The one you ordered last time had you wobbling on your feet.”

I roll my eyes and turn away, reaching for my drink just as it’s served.

That’s when I realize.

It’s my favorite.

My brows knit together as I face him. “How did you know I like this?”

“I just know,” he replies.

I want to argue. I really do.

But instead, I dismiss it and take a sip.

I need alcohol in my system to survive a conversation with this man.

We fall into a not-so-comfortable silence. It lasts until I’m nearly done with my second glass when he finally speaks again.

“How was your day?”

I know I’m supposed to keep my answer simple. Short. Polite.

Instead, I babble.

About work. About stress. About how my colleague pissed me off. Clearly, the alcohol is kicking in.

Somewhere between my rant, I find the courage to ask,

“Why are you here alone?”

It feels like forever before he replies.

“Same as you.”

“That’s not true,” I say quickly. “serena was supposed to be here, but she cancelled. She has a date with Lucas.”

“Why am I being defensive?”

And since my mouth refuses to shut up tonight, I ask again,

“So… are you single?”

I don’t even know if I’m curious or just asking questions I shouldn’t.

Surprisingly, he mutters, “Yes. And you?”

The question catches me off guard.

“Yes,” I reply, breathless…my own voice sounding unfamiliar to my ears.

Bitch, don’t get hopeful, my mind warns.

“Why?” Soren asks almost immediately. There’s something there in his tone. Interest?

No. I’m imagining it.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I just haven’t met someone that interests me, I think.”

I accidentally snort while trying to sound nonchalant.

He looks surprised—then laughs.

Actually laughs. And that shocks me more than anything else.

Because I hardly ever see this man smile, talk less of laugh.

“Damn. This man is fine.”

After that, conversation flows easily. About everything and nothing. I ask more questions than I answer. Time slips by until it feels like the night has quietly decided to end itself.

I move to stand.

My leg nearly gives out. Before I can react, his hand is on my lower back, steadying me.

This is the second time Soren’s touched me like this—and both times have left me breathless. Needy. Aching in places I don’t want to think about.

I cannot wait to get home and relieve the ache this man is causing.