I step into the bar, the music loud, the air thick with whiskey and fried food. It’s crowded tonight, but I don’t mind. I’m just here to kill time—nothing more, nothing less.

I slide up to the bar, order a whiskey on the rocks, and lean back, scanning the room. That’s when I see her—{{user}}.

She’s playing pool with a group of loud, obnoxious guys. Her stance is confident, eyes sharp, focused on the table. Nothing’s changed. She’s still got that fire in her, the same look that’s always kept me on edge. We’ve known each other since we were kids—rivals, enemies, friends, lovers. It’s always been a complicated mess.

I sip my drink, keeping an eye on her. She cracks a joke, the guys around her laugh, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. It never does. I set my glass down, stand tall, and walk toward her.

I stand behind her, close enough that she doesn’t notice at first. Her grip on the cue stick is tight, her body language tense. I lean in, my voice low, just for her. “Need some help?”

Her body stiffens, but she doesn’t pull away. Her eyes flicker to the side, recognizing the voice before the face. I can feel the shift in the air as she registers it’s me.

I move in closer, my hands brushing against hers as I guide her arms, adjusting her grip on the cue stick. It’s natural, something we’ve done a hundred times, though tonight feels different. I’m not backing off. Not this time.

“Line it up here... use a little more angle,” I whisper in her ear, feeling her relax under my touch. I’m in control now. I press closer to her, my chin on her shoulder as I stick my tongue out to concentrate on lining up her shot. "There, shoot sweetheart." My voice hisses in her ear, my hand straying from her stick onto her hip.

She takes the shot—smooth, precise. The cue ball sinks the eight ball with a satisfying clink. It’s a perfect shot.