1. Skye
Skye
" I feel like a broken vibrator."
Maya nearly snorts her lemon drop martini through her nose. "Jesus, Skye."
I shrug and swirl the straw in my drink, watching the last of the ice melt like my dignity over the past month.
"I mean, think about it. All the pieces are there: looks decent on the outside, made to bring joy, solid performance history… but now? I’m just sputtering along.
Burnt out. Destined for the junk drawer. "
She snorts again. "Okay, now I'm picturing you vibrating down the hallway in a sad little shuffle. Thanks for that."
"Anytime," I mutter and take another sip of my very mediocre vodka cranberry.
Maya had offered to go somewhere closer to her office to celebrate at one of our usual spots near the financial district with overpriced cocktails and familiar faces. But I couldn’t stomach it tonight.
Too many ghosts. Too many people who might ask about my job… or worse, pretend they didn’t know I’d been laid off and I have to go through the entire process of explaining while they give me one of those sympathetic head nods.
So I asked her to meet me here instead. A random dive bar neither of us have ever been to, tucked on a quiet street with nothing but a flickering neon sign and a good happy hour menu.
A place where no one knew my name. Where I could forget, just for a couple of hours, that my life is currently a dumpster fire.
Maya looks like she belongs here, even in a gross dive bar with nicotine-stained windows, legs crossed, posture perfect, her silky blouse tucked into high-waisted slacks that scream "promotion." Which is exactly what we're toasting to. Or pretending to.
"You should be celebrating too, you know," she says gently, clinking her glass against mine. "You're free."
"Free," I echo, lifting my glass like it's a victory banner. "Unemployed. Dumped. Emotionally bankrupt. But yes, very free."
Maya sighs. "You're being dramatic."
"Am I?" I arch a brow. "Let's recap. In the last three weeks, I've lost my job, my boyfriend, and any shred of confidence I had left in my ability to function as a normal adult. Pretty sure the universe is playing Jenga with my life and she just yanked out the bottom row."
The music overhead shifts to something with a throbbing bass line and sultry vocals. I recognize it immediately, “Love on the Brain” by Rihanna. It's been everywhere lately even though it’s been out forever. It feels like it’s starting to haunt me.
"God, this song," I say, gesturing vaguely at the speakers. "I swear it's following me. It was playing at the coffee shop this morning, in my Uber yesterday, and now here. It's like the universe is trying to tell me something."
Maya tilts her head, listening. "Rihanna?"
"Yup. I hadn’t really paid attention to it in the past. It’s something about forbidden attraction and seduction.
” I bounce my eyebrows. “Maybe the universe is sending me a sign that I —” I catch myself getting animated about a song when my life is literally imploding and laugh.
"Listen to me. I'm analyzing pop lyrics like they hold the secrets to my existence. This is how far I've fallen."
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. "You haven't fallen anywhere. You're just… between seasons."
"Like a show canceled on a cliffhanger."
"Exactly. But with better boobs." She flicks her eyes toward my chest pointedly.
"You're not wrong."
Maya laughs again, reaching for the mini dessert menu that we’ve both picked up and set back down half a dozen times tonight.
I lean back in my chair, letting the quiet hum of the bar settle over me like a weighted blanket.
It's busy but not packed—just what I assume is the usual after-work crowd.
A few men in button-downs, a few in construction clothes, and the lingering smell of beer.
It’s the kind of place my ex, Shane, liked taking me to when we first started dating.
When I would suggest a nicer place or maybe a place that didn’t have a sticky residue on the menus, it turned into an argument about how he felt out of place.
Somehow what I felt or wanted never seemed to be a consideration.
Maya's scrolling her phone now, swiping through Hinge like a woman on a mission. "Okay. I'm finding you a rebound."
"Hard pass."
"You need to get laid. It’ll help with your stress.”
"I need a stable job, health insurance, and a reason to wear pants before noon," I tick off.
She snorts. "You're hot. You're smart. You've got a killer ass. You could walk up to any guy in this room and have him back at your place before your drink's empty."
I make a face. "Gross."
"You're just scared."
"I'm emotionally concussed, Maya. There's a difference."
"You're horny and bored and trying to pretend you're not. Classic Skye."
I open my mouth to argue but—okay, she has a point. Still. "I'm not sleeping with some stranger just to prove a point."
"I didn't say stranger. I said rebound. Ideally someone hot, emotionally unavailable, and unlikely to ghost because you never intend to text him again."
"So… A one-night stand?"
"Exactly."
I groan and drop my head to the table with a thunk . "Kill me."
"Nope. I'm going to find you a fantasy."
She straightens, eyes scanning the room like a panther on the prowl. I sit up, mildly concerned about who she's about to point out considering she and I have very different taste in men. She hums thoughtfully, tapping her chin.
“You do realize I showed up here in leggings and an oversized hoodie, right? I’m not exactly giving off on the prowl. ”
"What about the guy at the bar?" she asks, nodding to her left and completely ignoring my comment. "Dark hair, light button-down, sleeves rolled up. Hot in that cocky, finance bro kind of way."
I glance casually. The man she's eyeing is maybe thirty, with a nice jawline and a touch of a smolder, but he looks too perfect. "Too pretty."
Maya wrinkles her nose. "Fair."
“And too young,” I add on.
“Too young?” She crooks a brow. “Skye, we’ve talked about this, your penchant for older men—actually.
” She pauses, her lips curling into a devious little grin.
“This might be the perfect time for you to indulge in that older guy fantasy. Have a hot hookup or a sexy fling for a few weeks and get it out of your system.”
“It’s not a fantasy, it’s a preference. Look, I tried guys my age. Archer broke my heart.” I hold up a finger to keep track. “Mitch, my rebound from Archer, was also my age and he turned out to be dating me to get to you.” I hold up a second finger.
“Ugh, Mitch the bitch.” She scowls, rolling her eyes at the memory.
“Exactly. And the other two between him and Shane aren’t even worth mentioning because one couldn’t manage to wash his clothes more than once a month and the other still insisted on calling his mom… mommy. ” Maya makes a fake gagging sound. “And then there’s Shane.”
“Fine.” She reaches out and swats away the three fingers I’m holding out toward her. “I get it. Plus, the idea of an older experienced man who knows how to please a woman is so fucking sexy.”
“Which is what I’ve been saying the entire time.”
She turns, eyes bright with mischief this time as she scans the bar again. "Okay… Oh… Wow , what about him?”
I almost jump at her reaction. “Who?”
“At the end of the bar. Black blazer. Older. Silver fox. Intense eyes." She nods with her chin.
I laugh under my breath, a slow, sardonic sound as I shake my head.
"Silver fox, huh?" My tone is dismissive, but my gaze follows hers anyway, fully expecting a Santa Claus type man tucked away in a back corner.
I scan the bar lazily, ready to toss out a sarcastic comment about him probably being someone's married boss on a corporate expense tab—until my eyes land on him.
I blink. Once. Twice. My stomach dips like I've missed a step on a staircase.
That posture. The quiet control. The way his fingers cradle his glass… but most of all, it’s the sharp, unforgiving line of his jaw.
My breath stalls. Ice clinks in my glass, but I don't hear anything but the sound of my own pulse.
That's not just some hot older guy.
That's Mr. Blackwood.
My high school sweetheart Archer’s dad. The same high school sweetheart who shattered my heart freshman year of college when I walked into a frat party and found him face-first in some other girl’s tits.
The song overhead swells with its hypnotic chorus about wanting what you can't have, and suddenly it feels like the soundtrack to this moment—this dangerous recognition that's making my skin feel too tight.
"No way," I murmur, leaning in without realizing it.
"What?" Maya's voice cuts through my haze. "Do you recognize him or something?"
I nod, eyes still pinned to the man at the end of the bar. "Yeah. I do."
My voice sounds strange. Low. Shaky. Like even my vocal cords are in shock.
“Well, who the hell is it?”
“You remember that fucker who broke my heart freshman year, Archer?”
“Ugh.” She rolls her eyes in recognition. “Of course I do. I thought you were going to spend the rest of second semester becoming fused to your mattress because you refused to get out of bed for so long.”
“Yeah, well, that,” I say, nodding toward the man, “is his father, Mr. Blackwood," I whisper.
"Holy shit." Maya stares, mouth open slightly. "That's him? Didn’t he become some super billionaire or something?”
I nod again, though I still half expect him to disappear if I blink too hard. Like he's a mirage sent to test my already-fragile mental state.
“What a small world.” She exhales softly.
"Damn. No offense, but if I'd known your ex's dad looked like he stepped out of a billionaire romance novel, I would've forced you to spill every single detail back when we were guzzling boxed wine in our freshman dorm and crying over guys who couldn't even spell clitoris. "