Page 6 of Ava After Midnight

“You don’t want to marry him.”

The words escape before I can stop them. Her pupils blow wide—dark with something hungrier and more primal alcohol. She’s taken aback.

“You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I?” I’m close enough to see the subtle flutter of her lashes, the way her breath catches for just a second before she steadies herself.

“I know that dress isn’t your style—too desperate to impress. I know that silk press is fresh, probably done yesterday to look ‘appropriate’ for whatever boring country club wedding you’re walking into. I know your friends keep watching you like you’re about to shatter or explode. And I know that ring feels heavier every minute you spend in here.”

She recoils, but there’s relief in her eyes too. Like this is the first time she’s felt seen. I watch as she tentatively plays with the diamond, her french-tipped nails tapping against it impatiently.

“My shift ends in twenty minutes,” I say, just loud enough to hear over the music quietly, giving her an out. Giving myself one too.

Ava doesn’t answer, just melts back into the crowd. From afar, I feel her gaze burning into me as I serve my last customers. Minutes turn into hours as I check my watch in between patrons.

Time needs to move faster.

Midnight arrives, ticking forward like a starting gun, not a finish line. I wipe down the bar, signal my replacement, and exhale slowly, rolling the stiffness from my shoulders.

The routine should be grounding, but it isn’t. I pull my shirt over my head, stretching my neck as tension eases, then tightens again. I keep my breathing controlled, but there’s a weight in my chest, like I’m bracing for impact.

It’s just the end of a shift. Just another night.

That’s the lie I tell myself.

My gaze catches on the mirror across the room, on the scar slashing across my side, pale and unforgiving. A reminder. Of what I lost. Of what I used to be. I drag a hand over it, the skin raised and unfamiliar, a body I barely recognize anymore.

I could leave. I should.

But the weight in my chest isn’t budging, and deep down, I already know why.

I have to see her again.

When I emerge from the back room in street clothes, I’m half-convinced that she’ll be gone. That I imagined the electricity between us. That I’m being a fool chasing fire.

But she’s waiting by the staff exit—minus her entourage. The red dress looks more dangerous in the dim light.

“Tell me another truth,” she whispers as I approach.

I cup her face in my hands, feeling her shudder at the contact. “This is a terrible idea.”

“I know.” She rises onto her toes, breath ghosting across my lips. “Tell me anyway.”

The space between us hums—thick with tequila and desire. I decide she’s the only thing that can satiate this hunger that’s been gnawing at my soul. Her hands fist in my shirt as I back her against the wall, inhaling her scent.

I feel her breath catch against my lips, and I pull back just enough to take her in. Matching brown eyes lock onto mine—dark, searching, daring. But there’s something else beneath it. Not just lust. Not just alcohol.

She wants this. So do I.

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t want it to go any other way.

“Your turn,” I murmur against her throat. “Tell me something true.”

“I think I want you to ruin my reputation.”

Her voice is breathless, and I can see in her eyes that she means it. Dark irises track every twitch of my jaw, every sharp inhale, every flicker of restraint I have left. She’s enjoying this. Testing me.

I bite back a grin.God help us both, because if she doesn’t stop me… I will.

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