2. Holly
2
HOLLY
T he bar was wonderfully heated and dimly lit, with holiday lights strung up around the interior to give everything a pretty, warm glow. The hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled my ears as I stepped farther inside. The door shut the cold out, and although I wasn't looking at him, I felt Stefan right behind me.
I glanced around, taking in the worn leather booths lining either side of the space and a few tables in the center of the room. The faint scent of whiskey filled the air as I scanned the bar that was straight ahead, most of the seats taken aside from two at the far end.
The feeling of Stefan placing his hand on my lower back sent an instant wave of heat through me. I should have shaken him off, but I couldn’t lie and say it didn’t feel great to feel him touching me innocently but also intimately.
This wasn’t a place I usually went to, because I probably never would have looked twice, much less entered this hole-in-the-wall bar. But I regretted that, as I absolutely loved the aesthetic and vibe of this place.
He guided me to the bar, keeping that hand at the small of my back. The touch was light, seemingly casual, but there was something in me that said it was a hell of a lot more than that.
He pulled the barstool out for me, and when he was beside me, he braced his elbows on the counter. He cocked his head and glanced at me.
“Whatcha want, darlin’?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, holding my gaze with his.
I licked my lips and didn’t miss how his focus trailed downward to watch the act. “Vodka and soda,” I said, trying not to overthink how easy it felt to be here with him—a total stranger. Stefan nodded, but I held up a finger, stopping him from ordering. “Top shelf, please. I don’t want to end the night with something that’ll cause a nasty fucking hangover in the morning.”
He tipped his head back and chuckled, and I realized the line of his throat and the scruff that covered the lower half of his face were both hot as hell.
“Tito’s good?”
I nodded. That was my alcohol of choice when I drank.
Stefan signaled to the bartender. “Tito’s and soda for the young lady, and I’ll take a scotch, neat.”
After only a moment, the bartender set our drinks in front of us and left, this comfortable silence filling the space between Stefan and me. He was close, his broad shoulder and thickly muscled arm pressed against my much smaller one. It shouldn't feel so good to have him so close.
It had been ages since I had sex. Too long, if I was being honest. God, I couldn't even remember the last time.
“Saúde,” he said, his lips curling into a small smile while he raised his glass and clinked it against mine.
“Skál,” I murmured, using another word for cheers like he had.
He smiled and shook his head. “You're a trip, and I mean that in the best way possible.”
The first sip warmed me from the inside out, but it wasn’t just the vodka that made me feel this way. It was sitting beside Stefan and sharing a drink with him. We sat quietly for a little as we drank and just enjoyed the comfortable silence between us, the only noise I noticed coming from a jukebox off to the side, the machine glowing from the vibrant lights as the music filled the interior of the bar.
He leaned closer and started speaking to me, telling me a few things about himself. And then my ears zeroed in on the way his voice softened when he asked about my life, my likes, and my dreams. It kind of took me aback, because… no one had ever seemed so genuinely interested in knowing shit about me.
I kept things light during the first drink, but when I was nearly done with my second Tito’s and soda, I opened up more and told him things I hadn’t shared with anyone in years—like how I wanted to travel, because living in the city for so long made me feel stuck in a revolving door of life.
And the whole time, Stefan listened. Like really listened. He didn’t interrupt me as I rambled on, my lips loose from the alcoholic beverages. He just let me talk, and his intense gaze never left mine.
I felt like I’d been talking forever and clamped my lips shut around my straw to finish my drink. Now, it was my turn to ask about him. Where to even start?
He leaned back and took on a relaxed stance. “I had to grow up fast,” he began—to my relief, obviously seeing my struggle—his voice quieter now.
I didn't know what that meant exactly, but I assumed he meant he had to take care of himself well before his time. And that made me sad, because I picked up on a bitter note in his tone that he tried to hide right away. But I said nothing. I just listened, like he did with me.
“Unfortunately, I had a dad who was a bastard on the best of days. Most of the time, I was the parent and not the child. And because of that, I figured things—like everything —out on my own.”
He spoke softly, smoothly, and I hung on to everything he said. But I didn't miss that there was a weight to his words. It was a darkness that someone had because they experienced trauma, that their life wasn’t happy with love and kindness… like my childhood had been.
And that broke my heart.
Time held no meaning right now, as Stefan and I spoke. We had more drinks, laughed, and told silly stories mixed in with serious ones. And it all felt so comfortable and right. And that should have scared me, but no red flags rose, so I justrolled with it and enjoyed my time with him.
I laughed at a story Stefan told about how he lost his first job. It was filled with disaster and embarrassment, and I’m sure he brought it up to make me feel better about what happened to me outside earlier.
“Needless to say, I quit the next day,” he finished with a chuckle.
I laughed again, my cheeks flushed and hot from the vodka. I swirled the last of my drink in my glass just as we were told the bar was closing soon.
The bar hummed with quiet energy, the place where secrets could be shared without the fear of being overheard. I swirled the last of my whiskey sour in my glass, the ice clinking softly as I turned my attention to Stefan.
My gaze caught on the chain around his neck, the medallion resting against the dark fabric of his shirt he had on beneath the Santa coat. It was intricate and delicate, almost out of place on someone like him, who was gritty, rough-edged, and commanding.
“So, what’s up with that?” I asked, nodding toward the Santa suit.
“I dress up every year and volunteer at a youth facility.” He tossed back the rest of his drink. “It’s a charity for kids—especially the ones who’ve had it rough.”
I blinked, surprised. “You volunteer? With kids?”
He nodded, almost shrugging it off like it wasn’t a big deal. “That so hard to believe?”
I shook my head fast, hoping I hadn’t offended him. “No! I?—”
His smile put me at ease. “Kidding. I didn’t exactly have a childhood that anyone would envy, so… I get them. I can connect with them.”
I noticed the way he ran his fingers over his square-cut glass. Was this uncomfortable for him? I was about to tell him we didn’t have to talk about it, but he started speaking again.
“I know what it’s like to grow up feeling like the odds are stacked against you. Like no one has your back, and you’re unwanted.” He shrugged again and glanced over at me. “That no one is there to guide you… and that no one believes in you.” Stefan looked down at his red-and-white jacket and smoothed his hands over the velvety fabric. “This is my way of giving back and hoping that I can be there for at least one kid. I want them to know someone out there wants them to be happy and actually gives a shit.”
My heart squeezed at his words, and I couldn’t stop staring at him. “That’s… incredible, Stefan. You’re a great man.”
“I don’t know about all that, but thanks for being a sweetheart.” He gave me a wink. “But it’s not something I talk about much,” he admitted, his fingers still toying with the glass. “It’s not about me. It’s about them. Especially around the holidays. I know how tough this time of year can be for kids who have so little. So, volunteering with the program gives me a chance to make things a little brighter for them.”
I felt my chest tighten even more when I thought about him giving his time to kids who probably looked up at him like he was their hero.
“I bring a big, red bag of presents and let them vent to me. It’s their way of telling me what they want, I guess. I just… listen.”
This man, who clearly carried so much weight on his shoulders—who was larger than life and a little intimidating—spent his time helping children.
“Why don’t you like to talk about it with people?” I asked softly, leaning toward him.
He shrugged those broad shoulders of his, his dark eyes locking with mine. “I don’t do it for recognition or appreciation. I do it because someone needs to. And if I can make one kid feel like they matter, nothing else matters.”
His raw honesty, the way I heard it deep in his voice, made my heart ache. I reached out without thinking, letting my fingers brush against the back of his hand. “What you’re doing is incredible. You didn’t just survive your childhood. You turned it into something good. That’s not something everyone can do.” I felt myself staring at his mouth—his lips full and a little glossy from the liquor he’d been drinking.
I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to throw myself into the moment and let the vodka lower my inhibitions and the protective wall I always had around myself. But I didn’t. Instead, I leaned back and felt my face heat.
His lips twitched into a faint smile, one that sent a jolt through me. “You’re really fucking beautiful.”
I forced myself to look at him then and willed my face to cool.
He looked at me for a long moment, his gaze softer now, almost vulnerable. Then, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. It was soft and gentle, but God… it set me on fire, and I immediately grew wet.
Stefan pulled back, and I tried to catch my breath. He brushed a strand of my hair away from my cheek, and I almost wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole at my body’s embarrassing overreaction to such a small, intimate gesture.
His smile lingered for a second before fading, replaced by that same unreadable expression. “You’re easy to talk to, you know that?”
I suddenly became shy and glanced down, murmuring, “I feel the same with you.”
When we finally left the bar, the night air was crisp, and I wrapped my jacket more fully around myself, my clothing now dry after getting wet earlier. Stefan walked me to the curb, his fingers brushing the back of my hand, and that light touch had my pulse beating right between my thighs.
We faced each other, his dark eyes searching my face, his expression hidden in partial shadows from the faint glow of the streetlights.
“I can call you a car,” he finally said, his voice low and deep and actually making my pussy wetter. “Or… I can still give you that ride. If you’ll let me?”
I hesitated for half a second, but only because I could feel the weight of the moment. With Stefan, I didn’t feel like this was wrong or that I should be worried.
“I’m sober. Been drinking water for the last hour we were in there.” He grinned, trying to ease my worries, obviously.
I didn’t even realize he hadn’t still been drinking like I had, but I was grateful for it now. I nodded, knowing this was probably the worst idea I could have—or ever had before—but I was buzzed, and I’d learned a lot about Stefan while we chatted, and my gut said this was a good thing. This was okay. So, I listened to my instincts, because they’d never steered me wrong.
Yet.
Shut up , I internally scolded myself, pulling out my phone and typing on it for a second.
When I was done, I looked up at him and slipped it back into my purse. “Okay. Let’s go.”
His smile deepened, and without another word, he opened the passenger door of his beat-up truck, waiting until I slid inside, before he started to shut the door. I placed a hand on it before it closed, and he looked at me, waiting.
“I’ve texted my friend all your details and am sharing my location. I also have a full bottle of pepper spray in my purse and a knife that, although small, is sharp enough to cut off your nuts.” I lifted an eyebrow, and I could see he was trying not to smirk. “So just keep that shit in mind.”
He nodded. “Duly noted.” We stared at each other for long seconds before he added, “Never thought I’d find it hot that a woman threatened to castrate me, but here we are.” He shut the door fully before I could respond.
Not that I would have, because his comeback shocked me.
He climbed in the driver side and cranked the engine. After we pulled onto the quiet street, the city lights blurred while he drove, and I glanced at him out the corner of my eye.
There was something steady, genuinely comforting, about sitting next to him. He was quiet, and with the heat filling the truck and the light music coming from the radio, I relaxed against the seat.
It didn’t hurt that Stefan was by far the hottest, strongest man I’d ever seen in my life. It was also a plus that his personality was awesome and he was funny as fuck.
My night might’ve started out shitty, but it certainly didn't have to end that way.
I’d never had a one-night stand… but maybe tonight was the night to experience a little something special for myself.