3

Jasmine

The bass from the speakers thudded against my ribs hard enough to feel like another heartbeat.

Or maybe that was just the alcohol.

I sat hunched over the bar, a half-empty shot glass in my hand, my fifth shot of the night. At that moment, the bar felt like a safe space.

Even though it smelled like whiskey, sweaty bodies, and a mix of different perfumes, it still felt better than going home.

Home meant silence.

It meant my bed.

It meant crying until morning with Jason’s groans trapped in my head and the image of Mia’s hands all over him every time I closed my eyes.

I lifted two fingers toward the bartender.

“Another.”

The glass in front of me disappeared, and another one replaced it almost immediately. I stared at the liquid for a second before lifting it to my lips. The drink went down my throat in one gulp, sharp enough to make my eyes water.

At least this pain made sense.

Because none of the rest of it did.

Three years.

Three years of believing I’d found the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with, while he spent two of them fucking my best friend behind my back.

A bitter laugh nearly escaped me.

How could I have been so stupid?

The bartender reached for another bottle, but I shook my head, stopping him.

“I didn’t ask for another shot,” I said, my words slurring slightly.

“That round is on me,” a voice beside me said.

I barely turned my head.

The stranger sat one stool away, broad shoulders covered by a dark jacket and a black cap that concealed most of his face. I couldn’t make out much except the sharp line of his jaw and the way his fingers tapped softly against his glass.

I took the drink anyway.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

He lifted his glass in acknowledgment.

Then neither of us spoke, which was fine with me.

I didn’t bother looking at him again. I had enough problems tonight without adding a mysterious man to the list.

My phone buzzed against the counter.

I grabbed it too quickly, almost dropping it.

Ari.

Apparently, she was the only friend I had who was respectful enough not to sleep with my boyfriend for two fucking years.

I opened the message.

Hey Jas. I heard what happened. I’m so sorry, girl. I could come over if you want.

My throat tightened unexpectedly.

I typed back before emotion could catch up with me.

No, that’s fine. I’m at a bar. I need to clear my head before I go home.

I hit send and dropped the phone beside my drink.

The glass was empty again, a clear representation of exactly how I felt inside.

My phone buzzed almost immediately.

Translation: getting drunk.

A short laugh escaped me this time, despite how I felt inside.

I dropped my phone, ignoring the message.

The stranger beside me noticed.

“There it is.”

I blinked.

“What?”

He lifted his glass.

“That’s the first smile I’ve seen all night.”

“You’ve been watching me?”

“Hard not to when you look like you’re trying to declare war on that shot glass.”

Another reluctant laugh slipped out.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

Not quite a smile, but just enough to make me curious.

Which was dangerous.

Curiosity was the last thing I needed tonight.

I looked away.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

Strangely enough, it was comfortable.

My phone buzzed again.

Ari.

Remember, the fastest way to get over a man is to get under one. Go find a distraction. A big, nameless, beautiful distraction.

I rolled my eyes.

Then, against my better judgment, I found myself glancing sideways.

The stranger was still nursing his first drink.

Up close, he looked older than me.

Not old.

Just... settled.

Like someone who carried himself with quiet confidence instead of constantly trying to prove something.

As if he sensed my attention, he looked over.

For a moment, our eyes met.

Something in my chest shifted unexpectedly.

The sudden realization that he was attractive.

Annoyingly attractive.

I turned away, sitting up straighter.

“What brings a beautiful girl to a bar on a weekday?” he asked after a moment.

There was no rehearsed charm in the question.

I should have rolled my eyes.

Ignored him.

Done anything sensible, literally.

Instead, the alcohol loosened my tongue.

“Cheating.”

The word slipped out before I could stop it.

His expression didn’t change.

“Yours or theirs?”

“Theirs.”

One dark eyebrow lifted.

I laughed bitterly.

“My boyfriend and my best friend.”

For the first time, something flickered across his face.

Not pity.

Thank God.

I couldn’t survive pity tonight.

It was something closer to disappointment.

“Tough day.”

I barked out a laugh.

“Tough day?”

He shrugged.

“I was trying to be polite.”

That earned another reluctant smile from me—the second one tonight.

Which was two more than Jason deserved.

The stranger took a slow sip of his drink.

“You know,” he said, “if it helps, I don’t think the problem was you.”

I snorted.

“Go tell him that,” I replied, my voice slurring at the edges. “The asshole thinks I pushed him to cheat because I wouldn’t give up my virginity.”

“Well, now it’s definitely not your fault,” he said. “Your boyfriend was just an impatient asshole who doesn’t know what he lost.”

I scoffed.

“You don’t even know me.”

“No.”

His gaze settled on me.

“But people who spend two years lying aren’t usually the victims.”

Something inside my chest shifted unexpectedly.

Tiny.

But it was enough.

Because everyone else would focus on the cheating.

The drama.

The scandal.

But nobody had simply acknowledged the betrayal.

The lie.

The years of it.

I looked down at my glass, suddenly fascinated by the amber liquid.

“Three years,” I corrected, the words coming out quieter than intended.

His gaze remained on me.

“That’s a long time.”

I nodded, the lump in my throat returning.

“Yes, it is.”

He sighed after a moment.

“Well, look on the bright side. At least I got to see a pretty drunk. That counts for something, right?”

I choked out a laugh, shaking my head.

“I guess it does.”

He took a sip of his drink and smiled.

“Well, in case you need a distraction...”

He winked, and heat rushed to my face.

I looked away quickly, but my eyes returned just as fast.

“Are you always this nice to drunk strangers?”

He smirked. “Only the pretty ones.”

“Well, that’s a very dangerous answer.”

“Dangerous question.”

I smiled, leaning forward. “Well, good thing I’m making bad decisions tonight.”

His smile disappeared completely. “Careful, sweetheart.”

My pulse stumbled. “Why?”

He leaned back, studying me. “Because I don’t look like the type of mistake people recover from.”