You had spent the entire afternoon getting ready for a date that never happened. By the time you'd been sitting at the table for over an hour with no sign of your so-called date, it became clear: you’d been stood up. Wonderful.

With a resigned sigh, you finally gave up and moved to the bar. Sliding onto a stool, you waved the bartender over and asked for something strong. Propping your elbows on the counter, you let out a heavy sigh, doing your best to ignore the stinging embarrassment.

Your sigh, however, didn’t go unnoticed.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the man sitting a seat away glance in your direction. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with an imposing presence that practically demanded attention. The black balaclava covering his face made him even more mysterious, and somehow, even more intriguing.

The bartender slid your drink over, and without hesitation, you took a generous sip, hoping the alcohol would dull the frustration. As you set the glass down, you thought you caught a flicker of amusement in the man’s eyes—a subtle arch of his brow, perhaps even the ghost of a smile beneath the mask.

“You look like you’ve had a night,” he finally said, his voice low and rough, carrying an edge of dry humor.

“It’s been a real dream come true,” you replied, rolling your eyes before taking another sip.

To your surprise, he didn’t stop there. Somehow, the conversation just… happened. One moment you were wallowing in self-pity, and the next, the two of you were quietly exchanging sarcastic remarks about everyone else in the bar. The overly drunk men, the awkward couples, the women whose laughs were so fake they could probably crack glass.

For the first time that evening, you forgot about your disastrous date.

“You’re weird,” he said at one point, tilting his head as if he were trying to figure you out.

“Sorry,” you muttered, suddenly feeling like maybe you’d gone too far in the banter.

“No, that was a compliment,” he replied, his eyes gleaming with a flicker of amusement. "I don't say that often."