Page 3 of Challenge Me

“You need anything else?” I asked.

“Do you own this place?”

His voice alone was young, and that was without remembering his ID had told me he was twenty-one. Age gaps weren’t bad, but for me, they only went one way. A man nearly a decade younger made me want to gag.

“I do,” I replied.

“It’s super nice. Like, really nice.”

I smiled. “Thanks, I appreciate it. You want another”—I checked the can I’d picked up—”White Claw?”

“Is it on the house?” his friend asked, winking at him.

Forcing a laugh, I shook my head. “Nope, sorry. Gotta make an honest living out here.”

“Ignore her,” he said quickly. “Another would be cool.”

I dipped my chin, then turned around. My heart thumped strangely in my chest when I saw the stranger at the bar looking at me. Trav said something to him, then they both stood. Trying not to be nosey, I walked into the back and dropped the dishes into the sink, then returned to the front.

There was a hundred-dollar bill where the guys had been, which put a little pep in my step. Too bad I didn’t shoot my shot. Good tippers were an underappreciated gem in the service industry.

I hummed to myself as I dropped the bill into the register. Despite what might’ve been a missed connection, I thought it could be a sign that my luck was turning around.

Maybe I could be one of those weirdos who posted on Craigslist looking for the person they’d seen in the grocery store. It’d be a love story for the ages. Or a documentary about my mutilated corpse.

Either one was fine with me at this point.

Chapter 2

Amir

I looked at myself in the mirror. The muted lighting made it surprisingly comfortable and might have been more flattering than usual. It was the perfect feature to have in a bar. More confidence would no doubt lead to more socializing, which meant more drinking.

It was warm, which made the hair that wouldn’t stay in my bun stick to my neck. I fussed with the strands by my ears, frustrated by their unruly behavior.

I was probably self-conscious because I’d been with Trav. Somehow, the guy always looked perfect despite being messy in other ways. Since he had to catch his flight, I was on my own now, which meant the best course of action was to go home. I’d paid the tab and there was nothing else to do.

Giving up on my hair, I left the bathroom. The dark ambience of the bar was less overwhelming than most places around here. Since it was a college town, it was hard to find somewhere that didn’t expressly cater to that population. Bright lights, loud music, and strange lingo were the norm. Combined with the older, more refined polish of Yale, it created a melting pot that I wasn’t all that fond of.

I rubbed my palms on my jeans as I turned toward the counter. The bartender was wiping down the place Trav and I had been sitting, and his lips moved like he was singing along to something. There was a pair of headphones around his neck, but I hadn’t seen him put them on. Maybe because he liked to listen to people’s conversations.

To be fair, I would listen to people, too, if I had his job. It couldn’t be all that exciting.

Since I didn’t have anything better to do tonight, I walked back to the counter and took my previous seat. He was facing away from me, checking the levels of the liquor bottles meticulously, as if there was a science to it.

I took a second to study him. He was tall, probably an inch or two taller than me. Lean muscle made his body stand out, even in his black flannel, but not in an over-the-top way. He had the physique of a runner, although he didn’t strike me as one. Maybe I was being judgmental, but the hoops in his nose and lip gave him a different edge.

“What can I get you?” he asked without turning around.

I looked behind me, but I was the only one nearby.

“Another whiskey,” I replied.

He set down a bottle, then turned around smoothly, wearing the hint of a smile. “Ah, I thought you’d left. Need your change?”

“I didn’t ask for change.”

“In that case . . .” He produced a glass from beneath the bar, and with a flourish, he grabbed the bottle and tipped it, pouring the whiskey to the halfway point. Exactly to the halfway point. “On the house.”