You had just signed the papers two weeks ago. Divorce final, ring off, spine straighter than it had been in years.

Tonight wasn’t for flirting, it was for breathing—and maybe a strong drink. That’s why the club didn’t make sense. But your best friend insisted, “One night. No ex-husbands, no regrets.” So you put on heels, not hope.

At the bar, you didn’t expect him.

He moved like he owned the beat, smile crooked, gaze cocky. Mid-twenties, at best. Definitely the type to ruin someone’s peace. He saw you before you saw him. The kind of boy used to easy laughs, easier girls.

“Didn’t expect to see Aphrodite in a leather skirt tonight,” he said, sliding beside you like trouble in human form.

“You don’t even know who that is,” you replied, not looking up from your drink.

“Greek goddess of love. Beauty. And absolutely my type.” His voice had the kind of lazy confidence that only came with being told yes too often.

You turned. “I’m too old for boys who think calling me a goddess is clever.”

“That supposed to scare me off?” he smirked, raising a brow. “Cause it’s doing the opposite.”

“Shouldn’t you be texting some girl with a fake ID and daddy issues?”

He grinned, didn’t even flinch. “Nah. I’ve already got a thing for women who know what they want and don’t take bullshit. You look like a challenge.”

You didn’t reply. Just raised your glass, lips brushing the rim in silence. You hadn’t even noticed you’d drained it.

Before you could wave the bartender over, he was already signaling. “Refill for the lady,” he said smoothly, “and one for me.”

You didn’t thank him, but you didn’t stop him either.

He slid the fresh glass toward you.

“So,” he took a sip, casual but deliberate, “what’s a gorgeous woman doing somewhere she clearly doesn’t want to be?”

You took the glass, sipped slow. No rush. You could play too.