A Drunken Kiss

**Elara POV**

The throbbing bass of the club's oversized speakers rattles right through my ribs, shaking the half-empty glasses scattered across the sticky wooden counter. The noise is deafening, a relentless, pulsing beat meant to drown out thoughts and inhibitions alike. But tonight, it does nothing to silence the bitter replay of my spectacularly ruined Valentine’s Day looping in my head. I slump forward, resting my elbows on the questionable surface of the bar, and glare down into the amber depths of my shot glass.

"Technically, I was the other woman," I confess.

My best friend, Tessa, chokes on her drink. She slams her glass down, coughing as she whips her head to stare at me. "What?!"

Her outburst cuts through the heavy dance music, drawing the eyes of a few blurry-faced onlookers near us. I shrink down into my stool, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow me. I run a hand over my face, letting out a long, pathetic sigh. Hoping the eavesdroppers are too drunk to process my humiliation, I tilt my head back and down another harsh shot of tequila. The liquid burns a fiery trail down my throat, settling heavy and warm in my stomach, but it doesn't touch the hollow ache sitting dead center in my chest.

I trace the rim of my empty glass, the memories of last night flashing behind my eyes. Up until the disaster, it had been the perfect Valentine's Day. Sloan had pulled out all the stops. We had a beautiful, romantic dinner at that upscale Italian place downtown, followed by excellent sex back at my apartment. I had spent hours wrapped in his arms, tangled in the sheets, feeling cherished. He was always so busy with work, always traveling or tied up in late-night meetings, so having his undivided attention felt precious. I had laid there in the dark, listening to his steady breathing, foolishly imagining a real future.

It was nice. It was flawless. Right up until he stepped into the shower.

The water had barely started running when his phone buzzed on the nightstand. The screen lit up the dark bedroom. I rolled over and squinted at the caller ID. The name flashed in bright letters: ‘Boss Lady’.

Knowing how much Sloan prioritized his career, I assumed it was a work emergency. He routinely cut our dates short for sudden crises, so I figured I might as well answer it for him and take a message. I swiped the screen, putting the phone to my ear.

"Then I realized it was Sloan’s wife," I tell Tessa, lifting my hands to frame the words with sarcastic air quotes. "He is, apparently, in an open marriage."

Tessa’s jaw drops. She stares at me, rendered temporarily speechless, which is a rare feat for her.

"His wife even knew about me before I knew about her," I continue, the sting of the betrayal making my voice waver. I am summarizing the nightmare to spare whatever dignity I have left. When I answered that phone, the woman on the other end hadn't yelled. She hadn't cursed me out or broken down in tears. Instead, she sounded calm. Chillingly polite. She merely asked, in a refined, measured tone, when he would be done with me so they could properly celebrate their evening together.

"She didn’t even seem phased," I add, dropping my gaze back to the sticky bar. "She actually apologized to me. She said she was sorry he didn't have the decency to tell me about her beforehand."

"What the hell!?" Tessa finally explodes, her protective fury igniting. I feel a small spark of validation warm my chest. If there is one person in the world who will always have my back, it is Tessa. "At least she didn’t blow up at you. But he really never told you about her? Not a single hint?"

"Nope," I say, popping the ‘p’. "When he came out of the shower and saw me holding his phone, he tried to get me to understand. His brilliant excuse? He never told me about his marriage because I am too ‘serious’."

"Is he joking? Oh my god," Tessa remarks, her voice pitching high with disbelief.

The copious amounts of tequila are rapidly blurring my edges. My body feels warm, loose, and heavy. The alcohol softens the sharpest edges of my humiliation, and I don't even care that Tessa is being loud. Hearing her stick up for me, validating my anger, feels good.

"I lost my temper," I tell her, recalling the chaotic blur of the aftermath. "I chewed him out. I grabbed his clothes, his shoes, his stupid expensive watch, and threw them right out of my apartment into the hallway. And even as he stood there, half-naked and clutching his shirts, he still tried to convince me to stay. He stood in the hallway claiming he loved me. Begging to work it out."

"Bullshit!" Tessa spits viciously. "Good freakin’ riddance. What a dick!" She lets out a heavy huff, leaning closer to wrap a comforting arm around my shoulders. "That’s awful, Elara. I know you really liked him."

My shoulders wilt under her touch. The fight drains out of me, replaced by a pathetic, wistful sadness. I really did like Sloan. After a string of dead-end situationships and exhausting dating app disasters, he felt like a breath of fresh air. I genuinely imagined a life with him.

"Yeah. It sucks," I murmur, leaning into her embrace. "I was actually thinking about asking him to move in soon. I thought we could get a place together. Maybe adopt a dog. I don't know."

"Ugh, screw that asshole!" Tessa says, squeezing my shoulder. I manage a weak smile at her fierce loyalty. "I can’t believe he lied about something massive like that. An open marriage! What a slimeball."

"Yeah..." The wistfulness in my voice is impossible to hide. I stare at the neon beer signs reflecting off the liquor bottles behind the bar, feeling small and foolish.

Catching my pathetic tone, Tessa pulls back and points a manicured finger right at my face. She refuses to let me wallow. "Oh no. You are not going to sit here and cry over a manipulating jerk. You are your own woman, Elara! You don’t need any guy to make you feel special."

"Tessa..." I start to protest, but she cuts me off with a wave of her hand.

"No, I refuse to let you be sad about this. You always let these things drag you down. It takes you forever to get over a guy, even when they treat you like garbage." She shakes her head in deep distaste. "You are gorgeous. I bet any guy in this bar would make out with you in a heartbeat if you just asked them."

"Come on, Tessa, don't be silly." I feel heat rush to my cheeks at the sheer thought of grabbing a random stranger.

But Tessa smells blood in the water. I can see the wicked, alcohol-fueled glint sparking in her eyes. "I mean... ugh, I hate to agree with that lying cheating bastard, but you can be a little..." She hesitates, searching for the word, and I raise a skeptical eyebrow at her.

"Serious?" I supply.

"You said it, not me," she mutters, taking a quick sip of her drink.

I let out a frustrated huff. "I just take important things seriously! Is that a crime? That doesn't make me boring. It makes me reliable." The tequila is slurring my thoughts, making it hard to grasp the right defense. "I just don't like spontaneous stuff. And I definitely don't like the idea of kissing some random person in a sweaty dive bar."

"Come on, Elara, live a little!" Tessa smiles, shoving my shoulder playfully. I sway with the motion, my body pliant and uncoordinated. Despite my lingering heartbreak, a genuine smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. "If you just loosened up a bit, I bet you could forget all about Sloan."

"Okay, loosen up how?" I indulge her, raising a hand to signal the bartender for another round.

"I don't know, do something exciting! Go skydiving! Try mountain climbing!"

"That seems like a lot of physical labor," I reply deadpan.

"Okay, fine. How about we start with what I suggested a second ago?" Tessa smirks, turning her body to pin me with a challenging stare.

"I am not kissing anyone at this bar," I say, scanning the dim, crowded room. The neon lights cast harsh shadows over the patrons. A guy in a stained baseball cap burps loudly near the jukebox. Another is passed out in a booth. "There is no one here even remotely my type."

"Okay, then don’t kiss anyone here right now." Tessa pauses, the wicked grin spreading wider across her face as she points toward the heavy wooden entrance door. "You kiss the next person that walks in."

"Oh my god, no. No way." I laugh, shaking my head at the sheer absurdity of the dare. But her gaze remains fixed, daring me to back down.

"Come on! You have to prove that asshole wrong. Prove you aren't just the 'serious' girl."

"What if the next guy that walks in is ugly?" I argue. The multiple shots of tequila are pumping through my veins, whispering seductive, reckless ideas into my ear. Suddenly, throwing caution to the wind doesn't seem like the worst idea in the world. What is one meaningless kiss in the grand scheme of my currently derailed life? The worst that could happen is we get thrown out onto the street.

"That’s part of the thrill!" Tessa cheers. I shoot her a dark, judgmental glare, but she just laughs it off. "Come on. It is just one tiny kiss."

The bartender slides another shot glass in front of me. I stare at the clear liquid, realizing with a jolt of drunken clarity that I am actually considering this. I grab the glass and down the tequila in one swift motion. The burn hits my stomach, fueling my sudden need to be reckless.

"Fine," I concede, slamming the empty glass onto the wooden bar with a heavy thud. "But I retain the right to veto him if he’s ugly."

Tessa pumps her fist in the air, a victorious cheer escaping her lips.

We both swivel our stools around, locking our eyes on the heavy wooden door. The anticipation stretches between us. The seconds tick by, agonizingly slow. Just as the drunken courage begins to wane and I open my mouth to call the whole stupid dare off, the heavy door swings open.

The neon-lit gloom of the bar makes it hard to see clearly. I barely catch a fleeting glimpse of a silhouette stepping out of the shadows. I see the crisp lines of a cleanly pressed, impeccably tailored suit. I see long, striking raven hair brushing against broad shoulders.

Before my brain can process anything else, Tessa’s hands plant firmly on my back, and she violently shoves me off the stool.

"Go!" she hisses loudly. "Do it without thinking!"

Stumbling forward, I catch my balance. Fueled entirely by liquid courage and a desperate, burning need to prove I can be spontaneous, I lift my chin. I keep my head held high and march straight toward the towering, shadowy figure standing near the entrance. I refuse to give myself a single second to hesitate.

I step right into his personal space, ignoring the sheer height difference. I close my eyes, rise up high on my tiptoes, and capture his mouth with mine.

I fully intend for it to be a brief, comical peck. A quick press of lips to win a stupid bar dare. But the moment our lips meet, a jarring, electric shock courses through my entire body. It hits me straight in the chest, stealing the breath from my lungs. His lips are firm, warm, and the contact sends a rush of heat straight to my core.

Instead of pushing me away or stumbling back in confusion, he reacts. He instinctively draws me in. His body shifts, leaning down into the kiss, his presence enveloping me. The connection sparks a sudden, overwhelming surge of desire inside me. My hands twitch with the urge to reach up, to weave my fingers into his dark, silken hair, to pull his broad, solid chest flush against my own. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of sharp mint and something dark and rich that makes my head spin faster than the tequila.

Thankfully, a tiny shred of sanity pierces through the alcohol haze. Alarm bells ring in the back of my mind. I wrench myself away, breaking the contact, my chest heaving as I gasp for air. My face is flushed bright red, burning with sheer disbelief at my own audacity. I cannot believe I just did that.

I open my eyes, a frantic apology sitting on the tip of my tongue, only to freeze.

The man staring back at me is stunningly handsome. Pure, unadulterated shock is written across his sharp, chiseled features. He has a strong jawline, piercing eyes, and an aura of power that feels entirely out of place in this run-down dive bar. Yet, beneath the initial shock, there is something strangely, inexplicably familiar about his striking face. Like a memory lingering just out of reach.

Before my alcohol-addled brain can place him, a stormy-faced blonde man steps aggressively between us. He moves with military precision, his posture radiating hostility as he shoves his way into my line of sight, breaking the spell.

"What the hell are you doing?" the blonde man barks, his voice low and dangerous.

I shrink back, the embarrassment crashing over me in a tidal wave. Suddenly, the bar owner appears out of nowhere, pushing past a group of patrons. He grabs my arm in a vice-like grip, his fingers digging into my skin.

"I’m sorry sir, I didn’t catch up to her in time. You okay?" the owner fawns, his voice dripping with frantic apologies. But he isn't looking at me. He is directing his panic entirely toward the handsome stranger.

Scrutinized by the stranger's piercing, disdainful gaze, my eyes drop. Away from his intense stare, the details of his appearance finally register. I notice the immaculate, outrageously expensive cut of his dark suit. I see the pristine fabric that clearly costs more than my rent. My gaze falls to his wrist, catching the glint of a high-end, custom luxury watch peeking out from his cuff.

The tequila warmth vanishes, replaced by ice water flooding my veins. A cold wave of shame and raw terror washes over me as the horrifying realization sets in.

Did I just make out with some famous VIP?!