Author's note: This story is a long slow burn that introduces our characters with what I hope is a decent amount of depth. So while this chapter has sex, later chapters will have more. I didn't set out to write a romance but I wanted this first chapter to be a bit more realistic than pure fantasy. Oh, and it's my first story I've ever written. I want to thank moon_dancer69 for feedback and editing. I hope you enjoy it and I expect more chapters to be published soon.
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The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like anxious insects trapped in glass, counting down the seconds of my corporate sentence. Spreadsheets. Pointless tasks. A boss who barely noticed me. This wasn't the adventure I'd imagined when I moved to New York, wide-eyed and ready to conquer the "city that never sleeps.' I thought I'd find success and excitement--a fast track to the big leagues. Instead, I was stuck in corporate purgatory, too drained by late nights to explore the city I once dreamed about.
"I need an escape," I muttered, stuffing my laptop into my bag. The sterile air of the office felt suffocating, each fluorescent light a glaring reminder of everything I hated about my day. The thought of spending another lonely evening in my tiny apartment tightened my chest.
As I passed my boss's office, he didn't even look up. A week ago, he'd called me "Mark" in a meeting, and I hadn't bothered to correct him. What was the point? In five months, I'd be gone, and they'd slot someone else into my seat without missing a beat.
Enough. The city owed me an escape, and I was going to find it. My thumb hovered over my phone until I remembered what someone at work had mentioned weeks ago--The Dead Rabbit. A place with charm, they said. A place that didn't feel like the Financial District. I grabbed my coat and headed for the door before I could talk myself out of it.
By the time I reached The Dead Rabbit, the cold had sharpened my senses, making the warm glow from inside even more inviting. Nestled in the heart of the Financial District, it stood just a short walk from the glass-and-steel monoliths that defined the skyline. Brick-faced and unassuming, it exuded history. As I pushed open the heavy wooden doors, I was greeted by the warm hum of voices and the faint strains of Irish folk music playing in the background. The scent of whiskey, polished wood, and citrus hit me--a welcome reprieve from the sterile office air I'd been breathing all day
Warm lowlights cast patterns over walls covered with framed pictures of Ireland. A sign advertising their renowned Irish Coffee hung behind the bar, the Victorian-era font as meticulously crafted as the drink itself. Dollar bills and other random currency were tacked onto the shelves holding dozens of bottles of liquor, a chaotic collage of international tender that spoke to the bar's reputation. The murmur of conversation mixed with the rhythmic thud of glasses meeting wood, every sound weaving into a symphony of old-world charm. The bar buzzed with the after-work crowd, clusters forming around tables and stools.
The taproom's weathered floorboards and dark wood paneling gave it the feel of a traditional Irish pub, albeit one that had been elevated through careful attention to historical detail. Vintage-style light fixtures cast a warm glow over the space, their brass fixtures gleaming softly against the shadows. Despite the activity, the space felt intimate, almost as if it had been designed to embrace the chaos rather than drown in it. A steep staircase leading to the upper floors remained mostly ignored by the crowd, who seemed content to stake their claim in this more casual ground-floor sanctuary.
And then I saw her.
Not just saw--felt.
The entire bar hummed with life, but she was the only thing in focus. Something low in my stomach tightened, a sharp pull that had nothing to do with the whiskey I hadn't even ordered yet. The crowded bar, the noise, the hum of conversation--all of it blurred, faded, ceased to exist. She stood behind the counter like she belonged there, like the whole damn place existed just to frame her.
Her black hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, but a few stray strands slipped free, brushing against her cheek. Taunting me. Daring me to imagine how they'd feel between my fingers. The low glow of the lights caught in those rebellious strands, gilding them with a warmth that made me want to reach out, tuck them back into place--just to have an excuse to touch her.
And then there were her eyes--vivid blue, piercing. The kind of gaze that could unravel a man if he wasn't careful. Not just beautiful--dangerous. Like the ocean before a storm--deep, unpredictable, ready to pull you under before you even realized you were drowning.
She reached for a bottle, and my gaze followed. The snug black button-down she wore hugged her in all the right places, the fabric stretching just enough to hint at the soft curves beneath. Her jeans were dark, well-worn, clinging to long, toned legs that I could too easily picture wrapped around me.
I swallowed hard.
Jesus.
I needed to look away. Needed to. But then she turned, and those impossibly blue eyes locked onto mine.
Something hot and electric flickered between us--a charge that sizzled under my skin, settling low and consuming.
Her lips parted slightly, just enough to make my mind go places it had no business going.
And for the first time since stepping into this bar, I didn't feel like an outsider anymore.
Her voice drifted toward me, low and smooth as she called out drink orders. The accent was impossible to place--Northern European, maybe. Soft vowels, crisp consonants, turning each word into music. The kind of voice that made you lean in to hear more, that promised stories from somewhere far across the Atlantic.
And then she looked at me.
Those blue eyes locked onto mine, sharp and unflinching, and suddenly the crowded taproom felt intimate, the murmur of conversation fading to white noise, the air charged with anticipation. The world around us seemed to dissolve into shadows and warm light.
She reached for a bottle on the lower shelf, and the motion pulled her shirt taut. For a moment, I caught a glimpse of the curves beneath--soft, high breasts that made my mouth go dry, fitting her frame in a way that felt almost unfair. A small silver pendant nestled in the hollow of her throat caught the light, drawing attention to the graceful line of her neck.
I looked away. Just for a second. But the damage was already done.
It had been months since I'd felt this kind of immediate, visceral attraction to someone. The kind that made my skin feel too tight, that made me hyper-aware of every movement, every breath.
"First time here?" Her voice had that mysterious lilt to it, low and rich, curling around each word like smoke from a whiskey barrel. Something knowing flickered in those blue eyes, as if she'd caught every stolen glance and was quietly amused by my failed attempt at discretion.
"Yeah." I glanced around. She fits here. The bar, the noise, the hum of something just a little bit electric. I felt like an outsider in a world that already knew itself. "Seemed like the right kind of place to end a soul-crushing day."
Her lips twitched, like she was holding back a full smile. "Sounds dramatic."
