The captain had found his way to your bar again, sitting right in front of you. So close that you could smell the cologne and cigars off of him. “Captain, what can I get you?”

If he didn’t know any better he’d swear that you know what you’re doing, calling him by his rank, looking at him so innocently. God, how we wished he could close the age gap between you.

“Hmm, the usual, babydoll.” His gaze roamed over your body. This is my curse. My divine punishment. You’re the box, I’m Pandora.