Page 5 of Ava After Midnight

“Of course I am. It’s my last night of freedom,” she says, but there’s something in her tone—something sharp, something bitter—like she’s daring herself to believe it.

The world tilts on its axis.

Her gaze cuts clean through the bullshit, yet her expression stays casual—it almost feels like she’s daring me to look away first. It’s the kind of hunger that comes from being restrained too long, from living within boundaries someone else drew.

I recognize it because I’ve felt it—felt that sharp edge, that restless, caged feeling, waiting for the right moment to break free.

And just like that, I have a feeling I’ll like how this night ends.

I pour their shots, letting my fingers brush hers as I slide hers across the bar. The contact is brief, but it’s enough. Enough to send a shocking jolt up my arm, enough to make me wonder if I should pull back—or if I even want to.

“Freedom’s overrated.” My voice is low as I break the silence, composed but edged with something I don’t bother hiding.

“Says the man with no ring on his finger.” Her words slur slightly, the liquor loosening her tongue, but her eyes stay sharp, assessing, like she’s analyzing every response.

“Rings are just pretty cages,princesa.” I shouldn’t say it. She’s not mine to save. But something in her expression cracks open at my words.

“I’m Ava,” she offers, ignoring her friend’s attempt to drag her to the dance floor. “Notprincesa.”

Her tone is firm, but there’s something in the way she says it—like she’s correcting more than just my words, like she needs to hear herself say it out loud.

“Domingo.” I don’t usually give patrons my real name, but her tongue wraps around it like a caress as she repeats it.

“Domingo,” she says again, softer this time, testing it.

I grip the bar edge, fighting the urge to drag my thumb across her bottom lip—to feel what her mouth is doing to me. The way she says my name, like she’s already claimed it, and my cock hardens at the sound.

When Ava licks her lips, it twitches in response—like it recognizes the command before I do. Her friend—golden-brown skin glowing under the club lights, espresso curls bouncing over one shoulder—cuts through my fantasy. Hazel eyes glint with mischief as she tugs Ava away, lips curving into a smirk that promises chaos.

But there’s something else beneath her friend’s smile—like she’s watching a game unfold and already knows the ending.

I serve other customers, but my attention keeps dragging back to her like a compass magnet finding true north—inevitable, unstoppable. She moves with the kind of reckless grace that’s impossible to fake, fluid and untamed, like she’s spent a lifetime being perfect and has finally decided not to.

I can’t tell what gleams more—her skin under the neon lights or the dress clinging to her curves like it was painted on. She’s seduction wrapped in red, moving like a sin I already know I’ll commit.

Every shift of her hips dares me closer. Every roll of her body tests how long I can hold back.

Sorry, Abuela,perothis one’s worth a few extra Hail Marys.

Unfortunately, that ring on her finger stands out against her dark skin as she moves. It halts me, an unwelcome reminder of her engagements outside of this club. The diamond catches the light occasionally—another flash of a warning.

Fortunately, I’ve never been good at following warnings.

***

An hour passes in this exquisite hell. Each glimpse of her is torture, every movement a temptation I have no right to crave. I serve drinks, take orders, force a smirk in half-hearted flirtations. I should be working. Should be anywhere but here, watching.

“Another round?” A woman at the bar leans in, tracing a finger along the rim of her glass. I nod, already pouring without really looking.

My focus is elsewhere. Every time Ava moves, I feel it. Like my body registers her presence before my mind does.

The sound of her laugh cuts through the music, sharp and reckless. My grip tightens around a cocktail shaker. She’s drinking, dancing, losing herself.

I shouldn’t be watching. But I can’t help myself.

Another of Ava’s friends eyes flick toward me from across the room. Her smirk says she’s noticed.

“Tell me something true,” Ava demands as she returns for more, leaning across the bar. Whether she wants more of me or more of my cocktails doesn’t matter. She’s still gorgeous either way, and her breath whispers across my skin, tequila-sweet and charged with rebellion.

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