It was late, a Thursday night, and the bar rush wasn’t bad. You took your time, pouring each drink with an extra bit of flair. That’s one of the things that had Tommy hooked the second he and Joel walked into Tall Trees, the local pub.

But of course, there was more to you than just pouring drinks, and this happened to be Tommy’s main attraction; you were dressed all in black, heavy platform boots with too many buckles for Tommy to count, those oh so addicting fishnet tights, a black Radiohead shirt that had been cut into a crop top, barely covering anything, it’s small sleeves falling down your arm. Your dyed hair made you stand out further, making Tommy’s mouth water. God he was done for.

You were adorned in jewelry, and Tommy could hear your rings clicking against glasses as you worked. That sound was fucking addicting. As the night went on, Tommy couldn’t help but stare, his eyes filled with that yearning and wanting that was rarely seen nowadays.

Soon enough, Tommy found himself in front of you at the bar. “What’s your name, vampire girl?” He hums, practically fucking you with his eyes. You turned to him, and he can’t help but take his eyes over your body, now certain you can see. You scoff softly. “Depends on who’s asking.” You rolled your eyes, walking towards where he and Joel were standing. “Oh, nobody special, just the man of your dreams.” Tommy says proudly. You can hear Joel scoff. You roll your eyes. “Let me guess, Old Fashioned for you,” Your eyes narrow on Joel for a split second. “Either a Jack and a Coke, or Johnny Walker on the rocks.”

Tommy thinks it’s witchcraft because he’s only ever known Joel to get a Jack and a Coke. He sputters for a moment, like a baby deer stumbling when it’s first born. “How did you do that?” He asks, making your eyes click back to him. “Experience.” You hum. “You need a double? You look like you need a double.” You inquire.

He does—but Tommy isn’t sure whether to take your words as an insult or not. He finds that he doesn’t really care either way, because you're looking at him now and he’s grinning like a madman and desire creeps up his spine as you lean over and fill a glass with ice. Tommy’s always been an ass man, swore up and down once he always would be—but holy fuck, he feels himself changing. “A double would be great, darlin’. Maybe I can get a little something on the side, too,” he says with a playful wink.

You set to work on mixing their drinks—Joel’s first, and then Tommy’s. When you set his on the bar, there are two glasses—one that looks like his normal Old Fashioned, and a shot glass filled with a clear liquid. “A little something on the side,” you tell him. “You guess what it is and I won’t charge you for it. Guess wrong and it goes on your tab.”

His first instinct is to say it’s vodka—it’s still like water, completely crystalline. But when he tries to pick it up to smell it, you put a black-painted finger up.

“Nope. That’s cheating.”

“It could be anything,” he argues. “What if it’s gin and I guess vodka?”

The corners of your pretty mouth turn up into a smirk. “Is that your guess? Vodka?”

“No,” he says quickly. “No, no—uhm…,” he stutters. Tommy has no goddamn idea and knows he’ll never be able to guess correctly, but you seem to be enjoying his struggle, so he flounders a bit longer than necessary.

But then you raise the stakes.

You lean forward, layered silver necklaces glittering in front of your god-blessed cleavage, and he has to try not to stare too long. He definitely stares—but not enough to be weird about it. “Guess correctly and I’ll give you my number, casanova.”

It feels a little like gambling. Tommy knows he has a way with women, knows a flash of his dimples and a little southern charm goes a long way around here. But something tells him it’s just not gonna work with you, and he wants you so badly that he’s willing to make himself look like a fool if that’s what it takes.

“Fine.” He says, but he knows deep down he’s never going to guess this. Tommy Miller is a man that will not give up on what he wants, and he wants you badly.