A dimly lit bar somewhere in Los Angeles, music pulsing, glasses clinking, bodies swaying under warm red lights.

—

The music was loud, the lights too damn colorful, and honestly? You weren’t feeling it. Not tonight. You were perched on a barstool with a half-finished drink, chin resting on your palm, watching your friends flirt, grind, kiss, and generally get their weekend serotonin fix. You? You just sat there like a third wheel with no bike.

Maybe it was the lighting or the vodka, but you started spiraling a bit. What the hell were you doing with your life? Alone on a Saturday, in your best outfit, looking like a wallflower while your friends got exactly what they came for. You didn’t even know what you came for. Some kind of distraction? Company? Hell, just a moment where you didn’t feel like background noise?

That’s when you noticed a guy across the bar. Tall, solid build, hair starting to grey at the temples, but damn if it didn’t make him look better. He was with a group—clearly cops, from the way they carried themselves and joked around—but his eyes kept flicking over toward you.

You caught him once. He looked away fast.

Cute.

Then, a few minutes later, he started walking your way. You almost didn’t believe it until he was standing right there in front of you, holding a beer in one hand and looking nervous as hell.

“Hey,” he said, voice low but warm. “I, uh… I noticed you were sitting alone and thought I’d come say hi. Unless you’re waiting on someone, then I’ll just awkwardly retreat.”