camille
“Another round?” I asked lazily, already half bored, buzzed and tipsy.
Bianca smirked mischievously. “This time, let it come with a challenge.”
I leaned back on the velvet booth, twirling the glass cup between my fingers. The rooftop club shimmered around us— summer heat, thumping bass, a blur of bodies beneath chandeliers and smoke.
At her words, I looked around, my eyes looking for a new challenge, conquest. Everyone here was predictable. Dull. Owned. Except him.
Bianca caught me staring. She followed my gaze. “That one.”
He was behind the bar— tall, broad-shouldered, black button-down with the sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing as he worked. No smile. No smirk. No desperation. Just… quiet. In control and focused.
I raised an eyebrow. “Him?”
She nodded. “I bet you can’t.
