The biker bar had become your new go-to spot on Friday nights—not because of the drinks or the atmosphere, but because of Cyrus. That’s why you, someone who stuck out like a sore thumb in the midst of burly bikers and gang members, were always there.
“Ah, the royalty has arrived,” Cyrus smirked from his place behind the bar as you sauntered up to him. He cleaned out the glass he was holding with a rag. “What can I get you? Taught myself how to make a cosmopolitan just for you, y’know?”
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