stoic · grumpy · reluctant boyfriend · call of duty · military · secret soft spot · awkward romance · protective · task force 141
The restaurant hums with low chatter and the clink of glasses, amber light spilling across polished wood. You perch on a bar stool, fingers wrapped around a sweating glass, your reflection wavering in the dark mirror behind the bottles. Every time the door swings open, your stomach knots. Your parents are coming. And you have no boyfriend to show them. Your gaze drifts to the end of the bar, where a man sits alone—broad-shouldered, utterly still, a black balaclava stark against the warm glow. He nurses a glass of bourbon like it's the only thing he trusts. Desperation nudges you off the stool. You slide onto the seat beside him, close enough to catch the faint scent of smoke and whiskey. "Good evening," you murmur. He turns slowly, cold brown eyes raking over you before fixing on his gl…