Chapter 3 Charlie
Chapter three
Charlie
"Drinks first, dance later," Emily says, grabbing my wrist before I can venture further into the crowd. "I promised I was buying the first round tonight, remember?"
"She's very insistent about getting us drunk don't you think." I say to Lily, who's already being tugged along in Emily's wake as we're being redirected towards the bar.
"Hell yeah I am," Emily tosses over her shoulder.
The bar stretches along the far wall, a gleaming expanse of polished wood and glowing red and green lights alternating from beneath. Three bartenders move with practiced efficiency, mixing, shaking, and pouring. One catches sight of us approaching and gives a quick, appreciative once-over.
"Ladies," he greets as we squeeze into a newly vacated spot. His smile is white against his dark beard. "What can I get you?"
"Three tequila shots please." Emily says decisively. "Dressed."
"Yeah, make it top shelf," I add. "My sister's paying."
The bartender, Marco according to his name tag laughs, a rich sound that somehow cuts through the music. "Coming right up." He reaches for a bottle from the top shelf. "Special occasion?"
"Just celebrating life," Lily answers, her accent making the bartender's eyebrows raise with interest.
"And freedom," I add, surprising myself with the declaration.
"And the fact that my sister is wearing something besides leggings for once," Emily chimes in, giving me a playful nudge.
Marco lines up three dressed shot glasses in front of us. "Well, whatever we're celebrating, it looks good on all of you." He pours with a flourish.
"Are you always this charming, or are we just lucky?" Emily asks, leaning slightly onto the bar.
"I'm afraid it's terminal," Marco sighs dramatically. "Doctor says I've got chronic charm syndrome. No known cure."
We laugh, and I catch Lily's eye, sharing a smile at Emily's immediate flirtation mode. This is what we needed—lighthearted banter, no expectations, just the simple pleasure of being young, dressed up, and appreciated.
"That'll be thirty-six dollars," Marco says, and Emily pulls out her card without hesitation.
As she's paying, I sense a shift in the energy beside me. Two guys have moved up to the bar, filling the space to our right. I catch a glimpse in my peripheral vision. One tall and broad-shouldered, the other slightly shorter but with a friendly face. Both are well-dressed in an effortless way.
"We'll have what they're having," I hear the taller one say to Marco, gesturing toward us.
Marco slides our shots forward. Emily hands me and Lily each a glass, raising hers in a toast.
"To the nights we might not remember with people we'll never forget," she declares.
"That sounds ominous," I laugh, but clink my glass against hers and Lily's anyway.
We lick the salt from the rims of the glass, throw back the shots in synchronicity, and bite into the lime wedges.
"Smooth," Lily says appreciatively, her eyes watering slightly.
"Another?" asks a deep voice to my right.
I turn to find myself looking up into the most absurdly blue eyes I've ever seen. They belong to the taller of the two guys who had moved up beside us, and they're currently fixed on me with an intensity that’s making my skin tingle. Or maybe that's just the tequila.
"That depends," I answer, finding my voice. "Are you offering to buy, or just making conversation?"
His mouth quirks up at one corner, a dimple appearing. "Definitely offering."
The man is unfairly attractive—rich chocolate brown hair just messy enough to look like it hasn’t been styled, broad shoulders filling out a dark button-down rolled to the elbows, and a jawline that could cut glass. He radiates the kind of confidence that should be annoying but somehow isn't.
"What do you think, girls?" I call over my shoulder to Emily and Lily. "Another round?"
"Never say no to free alcohol," Emily says, her eyes darting between me and the handsome stranger with poorly concealed delight.
"When in Rome," Lily agrees with a smile.
The guy's friend steps forward, grinning broadly. "Make it five, Marco."
Marco nods, already reaching for more glasses. "You got it, Tyler."
So, the friend's name is Tyler. He has an easy, boyish face and warm brown eyes.
"I’m Sebastian, by the way," says Mr. Blue Eyes, extending a hand to me. "But my friends call me Bash."
I take his hand, which is warm and envelops mine completely. "Charlotte. But my friends call me Charlie," I mimic back to him.
"Charlie," He rolls my name around like he’s testing its weight on his tongue.
I can feel the heat crawling up my neck and making its way across my collarbone.
Marco lines up five shots, and Bash finally breaks eye contact to pay. Tyler makes quick work of introductions all around while the transaction happens.
"Tyler," he says, shaking each of our hands in turn. "I promise I'm more interesting than I look."
"Emily," my sister replies with a grin. "Charlie's cooler, younger sister."
"Lily," Lily adds. "Roommate and British transplant, as you may have noticed."
"Cool! The accent gave it away," Tyler nods. "That, and the fact that you're not wearing enough clothing for how cold it is outside. You Brits are built different."
Lily laughs, surprised. "Fair point. Though I'd argue that hypothermia is a small price to pay for looking this good."
Bash returns to our circle, handing out shots. "So, what are we drinking to?"
Five shot glasses hover in the air between us.
"To new friends," Tyler suggests.
We each grab a shot and collide our glasses in a chaotic five-way clink, all shouting, “To new friends!”
The tequila still bites, but this time it warms rather than scorches.
"So," Bash says, setting his empty glass on the bar and turning his full attention back to me. "What exactly is the alcohol helping you forget tonight, Charlie?"
I narrow my eyes at him. "Who says I'm forgetting anything?"
That dimple appears again. "You've just got a look."
"What look?" I challenge, crossing my arms.
"The 'I'm here to have a good time and possibly make some questionable decisions' look." His smile grows. "It's a good look on you, by the way."
"You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?" I can't help the smile tugging at my own lips.
"I've been told it's my most annoying quality," he admits cheerfully.
I glance over to where Emily, Lily, and Tyler have already fallen into an animated conversation, Tyler apparently sharing some story that has both of them laughing. The three of them seem to have hit it off immediately, leaving Bash and me in our own little bubble.
"Okay, so what brought you here tonight?" I ask, turning his question back on him.
"Tyler's idea," he shrugs. "Said we needed to check out the new place everyone's been talking about. I think he's just hunting for new material for his socials."
"And what do you do when you're not letting your friend drag you to trendy bars?"
"Sports marketing consultant," he says. "Just started at a new tech company, actually. You?"
"I'm a marketing project manager."
"Oh cool, do you like your job?"
"Most days. I like what I do but sometimes clients make me want to pull my hair out."
He leans in a fraction closer. "Well, I'm glad you haven't gone off the deep end because your hair is gorgeous."
The line is delivered with such blatant confidence that I should roll my eyes, but instead I find myself flushing. Again. Fucking tequila.
"Smooth talker," I accuse.
"Only when inspired," he counters, then glances toward the dance floor. The DJ has transitioned to something with a deeper beat, and the crowd is moving with renewed energy. "So, Charlie from Marketing, what do you say we continue this conversation somewhere with more movement?"
He extends a hand, an invitation. "Dance with me?"
Part of me—the careful, guarded part that's always in control of her surroundings wants to deflect, to make some sarcastic comment. But another part, the part that's currently being fueled by tequila and the genuine interest in those blue eyes, is tired of playing it safe.
"I should warn you," I say, placing my hand in his, "I've been told I'm dangerously good at this."
His smile widens, fingers curling around mine. "Funny coincidence. So am I."
He leads me toward the dance floor, and as I look back I catch Emily's gaze. She gives me an exaggerated thumbs up and mouthing what looks like "FUCK YEAH" with excessive enthusiasm. I shoot her a warning glare, but can't suppress my smile.
The dance floor is crowded but not claustrophobic, bodies moving in the blue-purple haze of lights.
He finds us a spot where we have just enough space, then turns to face me as the beat drops.
For a second, there's that awkward moment of adjustment that happens when you dance with someone new, figuring out the space between you, the rhythm you'll share.
But then he moves, and any worry evaporates.
The man can dance. Not in a showy, look-at-me way, but with a natural rhythm that suggests music translates directly through his body.
His shoulders sway with confident ease, hips moving just enough to show he knows exactly what he's doing without being obnoxious about it.
He stays close enough that I don't lose him in the crowd but not so close that I feel crowded.
The perfect balance of presence without pressure.
I match his energy, letting the music and alcohol carry me.
The tequila has settled into a warm, pleasant buzz that makes my limbs feel loose.
My dress swishes around my thighs as I move, and I catch him watching the motion with appreciation in his eyes.
His gaze isn't leering—just openly appreciative in a way that makes heat climb up my neck.
"You weren't kidding," he says, leaning close so I can hear him over the thumping bass. His breath is warm against my ear, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. "Dangerous is right."