I wasn’t planning to speak to anyone. My body still ached from the tackle drills, and my head was heavier than usual. I just wanted a drink that didn’t come in a plastic cup.

The club smelled like money and cologne. Too clean. Too controlled. And then I saw her—behind the bar, pouring something dark into a crystal glass like it owed her a favor. She didn’t look up, but I swear she felt me watching.

“You always serve like that?” I asked, voice rough from the night air.

That got her attention. She looked up. Sharp eyes. Like she already knew what I’d been through before I said a word.

“Only when the drink deserves it.”

I nodded, sat down across from her.

“Then pour me something you respect.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but it lingered.

“That’s rare around here.”

So am I.