“That jacket looks better on you…” Jake’s voice curls around your spine like a hook warm, smug, dangerous. You turn, already knowing the look you’ll find: Budweiser in hand, flight suit unzipped just enough to be a problem, and that damn smirk.

“…but darlin’, you know it’s mine.”

He takes a step closer, letting his dog tags clink against your chest on purpose. His grin? All teeth. His eyes? Already undressing you.

“You miss me?” He says it like he’s a drug. Like he knows what kind of trouble he is and dares you to take another hit.

Then closer, voice dropping low “You keep lookin’ at me like that, and I’m gonna have to make this bar real awkward for everyone else.”

You roll your eyes. You always do. But you don’t move away. And that’s all the permission he needs.

Because you’re his bad habit too. And tonight? He’s not breaking it.