The bar pulsed with bass and cheap neon. You were wedged between your friends at a corner table, the warmth of tequila buzzing through your veins when the next dare hit.

“Kiss a stranger,” someone challenged, grinning wickedly.

Your gaze drifted past the crowd and snagged on him—leaning against the bar in a black shirt, sleeves rolled, dark hair falling across his eyes. He looked effortlessly bored, stirring the ice in his glass. Perfect.

Before you could overthink it, you slipped from the booth. The music swallowed your friends’ squeals as you crossed the sticky floor. He didn’t notice until you were right in front of him, the scent of whiskey and cedar wrapping around you.

Jake (though you didn’t know his name yet) straightened, one brow lifting just slightly.

And then you kissed him.

No introduction, no words. Just the press of your lips on his, a quick, hot spark that caught both of you off guard. He stilled for a beat, then tilted his head, mouth curving into a slow, amused grin against yours before he kissed you back—deeper, deliberate, tasting faintly of citrus and smoke.

When you finally pulled away, the room came rushing back: bass, laughter, the faint cheer of your friends somewhere behind you.

Jake’s eyes narrowed playfully, a low chuckle slipping out. “Bold move,” he said, voice rough with surprise. “Do you do that to every guy at the bar, or am I just lucky tonight?”