If there’s one thing I’ve learned about women over the years, it’s that they like cheap liquor in copious amounts.

The proof? The horde of drunk, loud, giggling ladies surrounding the bar at Clyde’s that’s rapidly gaining the unwanted attention of many of the more questionable men seated around the establishment—myself excluded on the questionable front.

It’s the first night in months I’ve had off from either of my jobs, and of course the one night I’m looking to relax, the bar is filled with the drunken laughter of a group that’s almost impossible to ignore. My friend and I have been watching them for the last few minutes, trying to figure out the cause for the obnoxious celebration. We can’t see crowns, cheap plastic dick decorations, or veils, so it’s safe to assume it’s no one’s birthday or bachelorette party. They’re just here having a good time.

Normally, I’d be okay with that, but tonight I’m craving the usual laid-back vibe Clyde’s provides every other night of the week. Now I get to watch this circus.

“Damn they’re loud,” says my best friend and coworker Tucker as he takes another swig of his beer. I glance over to where he’s staring, doing nothing to hide my irritation.

“Tell me about it, man. I wasn’t prepared for this tonight.”

Tucker scoffs. “Me either. What the fuck is worth celebrating so loudly?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

One of the women throws her head back, her blonde hair spilling around her shoulders, her laughter carrying through the bar. She’s a gorgeous woman. Her hair is a shade between gold and sunshine, with just a touch of dark highlights throughout. I can’t see her eye color from here, but every time the light catches her gaze, it’s near impossible to look away. If I were here to pick someone up, she’d be first on my list—but that’s not what I’m here to do.

I continue watching the group, intrigued at how they all fit together. It’s an old habit of mine—watching people and creating a scenario for how they met. With this group, the only idea I’m coming up with is work. That must be it, seeing as they range from looking around my age to mid-forties. There’s no way they’re all related; not one of them look alike.

However, one of them does seem familiar. It’s nothing about her appearance—anyone can have light brown hair and green eyes. No, it’s the way she’s holding herself, the lines around her mouth when she smiles, the way she exudes confidence. Although she’s probably the quietest one of the group this evening, her presence is still loud and…felt…and it has nothing to do with how drunk she is.

I’ve been counting how many drinks she’s had because I can’t seem to wrap my mind around how a woman so petite can throw back so many shots and not be facedown on the floor in a pile of vomit. I watch as she wraps her dainty fingers around the shot glass that’s placed in front of her, intrigued by the warm, easy smile she gives the bartender. She turns back to her group of friends, a broad smile gracing her lips. Her eyes scan over the crowd in the bar, curious and searching.

When our eyes meet, there’s a pause before she looks away.

And that’s it. Nothing special, no angels singing from the heavens above, no flicker of familiarity, just a brief connection between my eyes and hers.

Within those few seconds, I still can’t seem to place her, though I know I must have seen her somewhere before. Hell, it might have even been here. She’s friendly enough with the bartender, so it’s a possibility.

“All right, dude,” Tucker says, pulling me from my thoughts. I swing my attention to him. “I’m out. I’m too tired for this stuff tonight, and we have a long day tomorrow. We’re going to need to spend at least an hour in the morning just going over shit with the new guy.”

I scoff. “New guy. Why the fuck did Hudson hire him again? He’s kind of lacking in the brains department.”

Tucker lets out a soft chuckle. “I think it’s just nerves, man. The kid’s young. This may be his first big kid job, ya know. I’m sure your surly attitude doesn’t make him feel any more relaxed.”

“I’m far from surly.”

Tucker raises a brow. “Yeah? Then why do you always walk around looking like someone kicked your puppy?”

“Maybe someone did kick my puppy. Don’t be an ass about it, Tuck. Have some compassion.”

“Right. And on that note”—he throws down a couple bucks for a tip—“I’m gone. You coming?”

I glance around the loud bar again, finding more solace in this place than I do back at my shitty ass apartment. “Nah. I’ll probably stick around for a bit.”

“Suit yourself then. Let me know you make it back home okay.”

“I’m not a toddler, shithead. I can take care of myself.”

He looks at me, unblinking. “Compassion, Gaige. I’m having some compassion.”

I throw my wadded napkin at him but he sidesteps it, brushing past the table on his way to the front door. “I’m not picking that up,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Dick!”

A few patrons give me a look of annoyance but I ignore them, returning my attention to the beer in my hand. I pick at the label wrapped around the bottle, doing my best not to turn back toward the group of girls. Though it’s a hard urge to fight, I don’t want to be that guy—you know, the weirdo who sits alone in a bar just staring at chicks. That’s not usually me, but with this group—particularly that one familiar face—I can’t help it.

“You dropped this.”

The voice reaches my ears like a slow, smooth drop of honey working its way through my veins. It’s sweet, hits the spot, and makes me want more.

I fucking love honey.

I turn my gaze toward the voice, briefly wondering whose eyes I’m going to collide with.

It takes me a moment to gather myself when I meet the same green eyes I held earlier. This close, I can see they’re swirled with various hues; they’re not as cut and dried as I had assumed. It starts with a darker forest green then switches to a grassy green, ending with more of a subdued lime color. They’re a little intimidating, the way she’s staring at me.

Shaking myself from my thoughts, I glance down to her outstretched hand. She’s holding the napkin I threw at Tucker. It’s crumpled and streaked with grease and ketchup from the fries we shared earlier. I’m honestly surprised she’s even touching it.

“I did?”

A smile curves her lips. “You did. Littering is a nasty habit.”

“So is picking trash up off the floor.”

Her eyes laugh at me well before the sound leaves her lips. She sets the napkin down on the table carefully, as if it were something breakable and not just a wadded up piece of garbage. I notice the slight shake to her hands, a little amazed they’re all that’s unsteady after having drunk so much. She’s not even wobbling, though I know for a fact she’s well above the legal driving limit.

“You’re welcome,” she says quietly, turning around to leave.

“You want me to thank you for picking up my trash?”

Turning back to me, her eyes narrow and her lips set into a firm line. “It is customary to thank someone when they make a kind gesture, is it not?”

“Why should I thank someone when I didn’t even ask for it to be done? That shouldn’t require a thank you. It should be done out of the kindness of one’s heart with nothing expected in return.”

One of her brows quirks up, her lips pursing together like she’s thinking. She takes a step closer to my table. “I suppose that’s fair.”

Now, I’ve met enough people in my life to know when you call someone out on their bullshit, you’re likely to get an argument in return, no matter if you’re right or not. I’m surprised when this mystery woman doesn’t argue, and even more shocked when she agrees.

“What’s your name?” The question leaves my lips before I can catch it.

Shock glints in her eyes. “I’m not one to share such information with strangers.”

“You touched my trash. I’d hardly call me a stranger at this point.”

She laughs, and it’s not like her earlier one. This one is…full. Boisterous. Uncontained. And almost…obnoxiously happy.

God. I sound like a total jerk.

“Haley,” she says quietly.

“Haley,” I repeat, testing out how her name sounds. “I like it.”

“And yours?”

“My what?”

“Your name,” she insists.

“I didn’t pick up your trash, Haley. You’re still a stranger.”

When her laughter hits my ears, this time the gleeful sound doesn’t affect me as it did before. It feels a little more natural now…not that I know her well enough to discern her laughs, but I do know women—or so I like to think—and that laugh was pure.

I watch as Haley casually pulls out the stool Tucker recently abandoned and makes herself comfortable, folding her hands together on top of the table. “I don’t think that’s a game I want to play, Mystery Man.”

“Games? Oh, I don’t play games. Not my style.”

“No? Then what do you call this?”

“A conversation between acquaintances.”

“Acquaintances? I think they know one another’s names.”

I study her, unsure if I like her or not. She’s bold, and I like bold, but she also seems presumptuous. I don’t like presumptions.

Her eyes are kind, quiet, and honest—in the right lighting. Up close, mere inches from my own, they’re louder, darker, and seem to hold secrets. I may not be okay with presumptions, but I am on board with secrets. I have an entire closet full of them.

Fuck. That sounds bad.

“Gaige,” I tell her. “Addams.” I don’t know why I supplied my last name, but it felt like I needed to.

“Well, Gaige Addams, it was a semi-pleasure to meet you, but I need to be getting back to my friends.”

A semi-pleasure?

“Is that even a thing?”

“Of course it is.” She responds like it’s wholly logical.

“How so?”

Her eyes smile. Her fucking eyes smile like Tyra Banks’ eyes smile. I’ve never known someone to be able to do that.

“At first it wasn’t pleasurable. You were a little rude and corrective. That’s not necessarily an attractive trait in a stranger.”

“Stranger?”

“Acquaintance.”

“And the pleasurable part?” I push, sitting up straighter.

“Ah. Right. Well it turns out you’re not so bad to talk to. Plus, you have a really cute name.”

I smirk, enjoying the fact that she’s brave enough to say something like that. I wonder if it’s the alcohol or if she’s always so outspoken; either way, I like it.

She leans in closer and I automatically match her movements. Haley tips her head to the side, her eyes narrowing slightly. She does this often and again I wonder if it’s the alcohol causing her to do what she does.

“I really do need to be getting back to my friends.” I have to strain to hear her because her words aren’t more than a whisper.

“Are you sure?” I don’t know why, but this is the second thing I’ve said unintentionally.

She nods. “Sadly, but can I tell you a secret?”

“Acquaintances share secrets?”

Haley leans in closer. I follow her. I glance down at her lips and decide right then they’re kissable.

“They do now.” We’re so close together now I can feel her breath hit my lips as she speaks.

“Share away then.”