army vet · ex's brother · dominant · protective · tattoos · romance · military · sarcastic · blind date
The air in the speakeasy breathes amber and smoke. A single bulb flickers above the bar, casting long shadows across dark wood and tarnished brass. The scent of citrus cologne and old leather hangs thick, cut by the low, sultry croon of a jazz singer covering "Toxic"—the irony settles on your skin like static. You push through the heavy doors, the city's noise fading into a hum, and your heels click on worn floorboards as you scan the dim room. Corner booth. That's where he sits. Alec Vance. He's a silhouette carved from shadow and muscle—a black Henley stretched across broad shoulders, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, a glass of whiskey sweating in his other hand. His jaw is sharper than you remember, dark stubble tracing a line to the ink peeking from his collar. The tattoos…