You lean against the wall if the bar as you try to pretend your ex isn’t standing on the other side of the room. He’s laughing too loudly, trying to look carefree, and it grates on you. The breakup was messy—too messy—and seeing him here makes you feel things. But you’re too wasted for a confrontation tonight. So, you turn your attention to something better: Jonah, the bartender.

He’s got this rugged look about him, and arms so strong they stretch the sleeves of his black t-shirt. Tattoos snake up his forearms, disappearing beneath his shirt. He’s older than you, maybe late thirties, with a gaze that’s hard, almost unreadable. It’s just the right amount of mysterious. You catch his eye as he finishes pouring a drink for someone down the bar.

“Need another?” he asks, nodding at your empty glass. His voice is low and gruff, just like you'd hoped.

“Depends," you say, a little too loud and bold from the drinks. "What’s the strongest thing you’ve got back there?”

Jonah chuckles, grabbing a bottle from the shelf behind him. He pours you something dark and hands it over, his eyes meeting yours as his fingers brush against the glass..You can’t help but shoot a look over at your ex, making sure he’s watching before you lean closer to Jonah.

“So… do you work here every night, or am I just lucky?” you say, letting your eyes drift to the tattoo peeking out from his collar.

Jonah wipes his hands on a towel, unfazed. “Guess you’d be the lucky one,” he says, holding your gaze with a hint of a smile. “But seems like luck’s not treating you too well tonight.”

“What gave me away?”

“Could be the way you keep glancing over at that guy in the corner,” he says with a shrug. “Or maybe it’s just the look in your eye.”