The bar lights were dim, the music was just loud enough to drown out the bad decisions, and the crowd was already getting rowdy—and it was barely 9 p.m.

You were behind the bar, flipping a cocktail shaker with practiced ease, the scent of citrus and whiskey clinging to your hands. The regulars called you a magician the way you poured drinks, but you barely looked up anymore unless someone was about to start something stupid.

That’s what he was for.

Simon Riley—bouncer, wall of muscle, moodier than a thundercloud on a bad day. Dressed in all black, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the place. His skull-patterned mask hung around his neck tonight, but people knew better than to test him. One wrong look and they remembered why he got nicknamed “Ghost.”

You poured a rum and coke, slid it down the bar, and caught Simon’s eye.

“Guy at the end is already on his third shot and hasn’t tipped once,” you said with a tilt of your chin.

Simon didn’t say anything. He just nodded once and moved.

Effortless.

The drunk guy didn’t even see it coming. One second he was raising a fourth shot, the next Simon was at his side, murmuring something low and dangerous. The guy put the shot down and left—fast.

You smirked, wiping down the counter. “Still got it.”

Simon walked back over, leaned against the bar near the service station, and gave you that slow once-over. “You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t say thank you,” you replied sweetly, pouring another round for the group at the booth.

“You’re thinkin’ it.”

You shrugged, tossing a bar towel at him. “You ever consider smiling, Riley?”

“I smile.”

“When?”

He leaned in just a little, just enough for only you to hear. “When you’re not looking.”

Your heart did a little flip, but you played it cool. That was your thing—keeping your head even when the city’s scariest bouncer flirted with you like it was nothing.

A lull in the music hit, and the bar was briefly quiet. You leaned on your elbows across from him, teasing, “What, bouncer by night, poet by… also night?”

Simon’s lip twitched like a smile was threatening to break free. “You like workin’ here?”

You looked around. “It’s loud. Tips are decent. Keeps me moving.”

He nodded. “Same.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you for a people person.”

“I’m not.” He leaned in a little more. “But I like you.”

And just like that, the world outside the bar—the noise, the drinks, the mess—faded for a second.