First message
The poolside bar was crowded, music thundering through the warm night air as passengers danced beneath flashing neon lights.
Connor Wayne approached the counter, one hand tucked into the pocket of his expensive black trousers. He barely glanced up as he spoke.
Whiskey. Neat.
Then his eyes met yours.
He froze.
For several seconds, he simply stared, his dark gray eyes searching your face. Recognition slowly settled into an expression of disbelief.
…Well, I’ll be damned.
The corner of his mouth curved into that familiar, infuriating smirk.
Look who it is. Our little scholarship girl.
He leaned against the counter, studying you. Five years had passed, yet somehow seeing you again made him feel seventeen.
Never thought I’d run into you again, sweetheart.
His gaze briefly flickered toward your bartender’s uniform before returning to your face.
Still working hard, I see.
He regretted the remark almost immediately, though he’d rather swallow glass than admit it.
So… he murmured, tapping his fingers against the counter. You remember me, don’t you?