Chapter 2
LILA
I look up as the guy approaches, and holy shit. If "don't fuck with me" had a poster boy, this dude would be it. He's all hard edges and barely contained intensity, like a grenade with the pin halfway out.
"Another whiskey," he says. "And maybe your story, if you're selling."
Yeah, right. Because I'm just dying to spill my guts to some random at the bar.
I give him a quick once-over, trying not to be obvious about it.
Objectively speaking, he's hot in that dangerous, probably-has-a-motorcycle-and-daddy-issues kind of way.
But there's something else there, something that makes my spine tingle in a not entirely unpleasant way.
I grab a bottle of whiskey and a clean glass, buying myself a second to think. He's gotta be, what, early-thirties? Thirty-two? Thirty-three? About seven or eight years older than me. Yep, dangerous.
"Whiskey, coming right up," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "As for the story, I'm fresh out. Left it in my other apron."
He chuckles, a low rumble that does funny things to my insides.
"Fair enough," he says, a pair of steel-gray eyes never leaving mine. "How about a name, then?"
I pour his drink, sliding it across the bar. "Lila. And before you ask, no, it's not short for anything."
"Dane," he offers in return. "And no, it's not short for Daniel."
I can't help but smirk at that. "Well, Dane-not-Daniel, anything else I can get you? Besides my life story, of course."
He takes a sip of his whiskey, considering me over the rim of his glass. "How about you tell me what happened to Joey? He's usually the one doling out sage advice and overpriced booze."
I tense up slightly, hoping he doesn't notice. This man makes me nervous. "He went home early. I'm just filling in."
"Just filling in? Not permanent then?"
I shrug, trying to keep it casual. "Who knows? Maybe I'll stick around, maybe I'll vanish into the night. Keeps things exciting, you know?"
Dane's eyes narrow slightly, like he's trying to read between the lines. Great. A perceptive one. Just what I need.
"Right," he says, taking another sip. "Because nothing says 'excitement' like wiping down sticky bar tops and dealing with drunk idiots."
I snort before I can stop myself. "Hey, don't knock it. You'd be surprised how thrilling it can be to watch frat boys try to open beer bottles with their teeth."
He cracks a smile at that, and I feel a little flutter in my chest. Dammit, Lila.
Men like this are outside your bin diagram.
Stick to what you know. I've been dating NYU students since my freshman year.
Now that I'm in graduate school, I need to stick to the plan.
But there's something about Dane that makes my carefully constructed world feel suddenly small and suffocating.
I catch myself fidgeting with my ear cuff, a nervous habit I thought I'd kicked.
His eyes follow the movement, and I drop my hand, feeling exposed.
It's like he can see right through me, past the careful facade I've built.
I've spent years perfecting the art of blending in, of being unremarkable, but under his gaze, I feel seen in a way that's both terrifying and exhilarating.
The NYU guys I usually date are safe, predictable. They're the devil I know, all skinny jeans and carefully curated playlists. But Dane? He's a whole different league… a league I don't dare mess with. Not again.
Besides the age difference, there's an edge to him, something raw and real that makes my skin prickle with awareness. It's like comparing a match to a wildfire—both can burn you, but only one has the power to consume everything in its path.
I shake my head, trying to clear these crazy thoughts.
Focus, Lila. You're here to make money, not daydream about mysterious strangers with eyes that seem to hold entire universes.
But even as I turn away to serve another customer, I can feel the weight of his gaze on my back, like a physical touch.
And despite every instinct screaming at me to keep my distance, a part of me—a part I thought I'd buried long ago—wants to turn around and meet that gaze head-on. Against my better judgement, I do.
"So, Dane-not-Daniel," I say, leaning on the bar. "You a regular here?"
He nods. "You could say that. It's a good place to... think."
"Ah, one of those brooding, mysterious types," I tease. "Let me guess, you sit in the corner, nursing your whiskey, and contemplate the weight of the world?"
His eyebrows shoot up. "Ouch. Am I that transparent?"
I laugh, surprised by how easy it feels. "Nah, you're not the only one who can read people. It's kind of a requirement in my field." The words slip out before I can stop them, and I mentally kick myself. Way to go, Lila. So much for keeping your guard up.
Dane's eyebrows quirk up, curiosity sparking in those storm-gray eyes. "Your field? And what might that be?"
For a split second, I consider telling him. There's something about Dane that makes me want to spill my guts, which is precisely why I shouldn't. I've learned the hard way that trust is a luxury I can't afford.
Before I can fumble for a response, the universe throws me a lifeline. The door swings open, and a group of guys stumble in, laughing and shoving each other. They're already three sheets to the wind, and I can smell the impending tequila orders from here.
"Duty calls," I say, grateful for the interruption. I straighten up, slipping back into professional bartender mode. "Try not to solve all the world's problems while I'm gone, okay? Leave some for the rest of us mere mortals."
As I move to greet the new arrivals, I feel Dane's eyes following me. It sends a shiver down my spine, not entirely unpleasant, but definitely dangerous.
Get it together. Sling drinks and pay tuition, not play twenty questions with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Definitely Complicated.
I plaster on my best "welcome to the bar" smile and turn to face the rowdy bunch. "What can I get for you gentlemen tonight?"
I mix drinks on autopilot, my hands moving through the familiar motions of pouring, shaking, and garnishing. It's muscle memory at this point—I've bartended in other joints—which is good because my mind is definitely elsewhere.
I finish up with the frat boy brigade, sending off a silent prayer that they don't puke or get into a fight. As I wipe down the bar, my eyes drift back to where Dane was sitting, half-hoping to see those storm-gray eyes watching me again. But nope. He's slunk back to his brooding corner.
Disappointment hits me.
Wait, why do I even care? It's not like I was looking forward to more conversation or anything. Nope. Not me. I'm just... curious. Yeah, that's it. Professional curiosity. Gotta keep tabs on the customers, right?
I snort at my own bullshit. Who am I kidding? There's something about that man that, after one short conversation, has me intrigued. And that's precisely why I should keep my distance.
The night wears on, and I fall into the familiar rhythm of bartending. Pour, shake, serve, repeat. It's mindless work, which is dangerous because it gives my brain too much free time to wander in a very specific, very risky direction.
I glance over at Dane's corner for what feels like the millionth time tonight. Fuck. He's watching me. Those sharp eyes are locked on me like I'm some kind of puzzle he's trying to solve. It sends a shiver down my spine, and I'm not entirely sure if it's fear or... something else.
Okay, I think it's more than fear, but that's exactly why I need to stop exchanging glances with him. I've got enough complications in my life without adding someone like him to the mix.
I catch his gaze again as I'm mixing a cosmo for a giggling woman. There's something predatory in the way he looks at me, like he wants to eat me. It's unnerving as hell, and yet... part of me kind of likes it. Which is all kinds of messed up.
"You!" The woman's voice snaps me back to reality. "Can I get, like, extra cherries in that?"
I plaster on my best customer service smile. "Coming right up."
As I garnish her drink, I steal another glance at Dane. He's still watching, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Great. He totally knows I find him hot.
I hand off the cosmo and decide it's time for a little offensive strategy. Two can play at this game, right? I saunter over to his corner, channeling every ounce of confidence I can muster.
"You know, if you keep staring like that, I'm gonna have to start charging admission," I say, jutting my hip.
What the hell am I doing? I'm supposed to be on the other side of the counter.
Dane's eyebrows shoot up, but that smirk doesn't fade. "Just trying to figure you out, Lila."
"Yeah? And how's that going for you?"
He takes a slow sip of his whiskey, never breaking eye contact. "I'm normally good at this sort of thing, but you seem... complicated."
I snort. "Buddy, you have no idea."
"I'd like to," he says, and there's a heat in his voice that makes my stomach do a little flip.
Danger, Will Robinson. Abort mission.
I straighten up, putting some much-needed distance between us.
You big chicken. You should've stayed put.
"Well, too bad," I say. "I'm an unsolvable mystery. Like crop circles or why people still watch reality TV."
Dane chuckles, that low sound that does funny to women's insides. "I've always enjoyed a challenge."
Oh boy. This is so not good. I need to shut this down before it goes any further. In other words, I need to run. And that's exactly what I do. In under three second, I'm behind the counter again, my gaze schooled, my curiosity under wraps.
For ten whole minutes, I'm the queen of self-control. I mix drinks, wipe down the bar, and even manage to laugh at a few lame jokes without once glancing in Dane's direction. Go me. I should get a freakin' medal for this level of willpower.
But just as I'm mentally patting myself on the back, one of the frat boys from earlier stumbles up to the bar, a lascivious look in his eyes. Great. This should be fun.
"Hey, beautiful," he slurs, leaning way too far into my personal space. "How 'bout another round? And maybe your number while you're at it?"
I plaster on my best 'customer service' smile. "Coming right up on that drink. As for the number, sorry, company policy."
Good job, Lila. That's how you handle these situations. Polite, but firm.
But this guy clearly didn't get the memo on basic human decency. As I turn to grab a bottle, his hand shoots out, clamping around my wrist like a vise.
"Aw, come on," he whines, his grip tightening. "Don't be like that. I'm a nice guy."
Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England.
My heart starts racing, old memories threatening to surface. No. Not here. Not now. I force them down, focusing on the present.
"Let go," I say, my voice low and steady. Inside, I'm screaming. Outside, I'm the picture of calm. "Now."
He doesn't budge. If anything, his grip tightens. The guy's built like a linebacker, all muscle and entitled attitude. For a split second, I'm not in a bar in New York. I'm back in that classroom in New Orleans, feeling small and powerless.
But I'm not that girl anymore. I'm not.
I open my mouth, ready to unleash holy hell on this asshole, when suddenly he's not there anymore. One second he's looming over me, the next he's stumbling backward, looking dazed.
And there's Dane, standing between us like some kind of avenging angel in a leather jacket.
"The lady said let go," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "I suggest you listen."
Frat Boy looks like he's about to argue, but one glance at Dane's face changes his mind. Smart move, buddy.
"Whatever, man," he mutters, backing away. "Bitch probably gives it up for free anyway."
I feel Dane tense, ready to go after him, but I put a hand on his arm. "Don't," I say quietly. "He's not worth it."
Dane turns to me, searching my face. "You okay?"
I nod. "Yeah. Thanks for the assist, but I had it under control."
He raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Sure you did."
I'm about to fire back with some snarky comment about not needing a knight in shining leather when the frat boy's back, and he's brought reinforcements. Two equally large, though less drunk-looking buddies flank him like the world's douchiest bodyguards.
"That's him!" Frat Boy points at Dane, his face red with booze and bruised ego. "We're gonna teach you a lesson, asshole!"
Oh, for fuck's sake. This isn't a bar, it's a kindergarten with alcohol.
I open my mouth to tell them to take their testosterone-fueled pissing contest outside, but before I can get a word out, all hell breaks loose.
The three of them lunge at Dane, and I brace myself for the sound of breaking furniture and shattering glass. But what happens next makes my jaw hit the floor.
Dane moves like a freaking action movie hero. One second he's standing there, looking mildly annoyed, and the next he's a blur of controlled violence.
He sidesteps the first guy's wild swing, grabbing his arm and using the momentum to slam him face-first into the bar. Ouch. That's gonna leave a mark.
The second meathead tries to grab Dane from behind, but Dane drops low, flipping the guy over his shoulder like he weighs nothing. The poor bastard lands with a thud that makes me wince.
Frat Boy, proving he's got more balls than brains, takes a swing at Dane's head. Dane ducks, quick as a cat, and comes up with an uppercut that lifts Frat Boy clean off his feet.
And just like that, it's over. Three oversized frat boys sprawled on the floor, groaning, and Dane standing in the middle of it all, looking like he's barely broken a sweat.
Holy. Shit.
I'm pretty sure my mouth is hanging open, but I can't seem to close it. My brain's stuck on a loop of 'What the actual fuck just happened?'
Dane turns to me, and I swear there's a hint of a smirk on his face. "Still think you had it under control?"
I finally manage to snap my jaw shut. "Okay, first of all, that was insane. Second, where the hell did you learn to fight like that? And third... thank you."
He shrugs, like he didn't just take down three guys under ten seconds. "Marine Corps. And you're welcome."
Well, that explains... a lot, actually. But it also raises about a million more questions. Who is this guy? And why do I suddenly want to know everything about him?
When the shock wears out, it doesn't take long for a barrage of unwanted memories to hit me, then it's all I can do to keep my shit together for the rest of my shift.