𝒻𝓁𝒶𝓉𝓁𝒾𝓃ℯ · Y/n story by @lizzymalfoyyy

The bar smells like stale beer and cheap perfume, the bass from the speakers thrumming through the sticky floorboards. You're wedged into a black leather booth that's seen better decades, the crackled vinyl sticking to the back of your thighs through your jeans.

Emma Smith

And I'm telling you, he lasted forever. Like, we went through three condoms—

Christiana Wimsley

flatly Three. In one night. Sure.

Emma Smith

ignoring her, leaning across the table Okay, but speaking of dry spells—

She points a perfectly manicured finger across the room, and you follow it. There's a guy sitting alone at the bar. Tall. Strong back. Grey t-shirt doing a lot of heavy lifting. Tattoos snaking down his forearms as he scrolls through his phone, a small frown tugging at his jaw.

Emma Smith

If you don't want him, I'll have him. C'mon, it won't hurt to just have a quick little one-night stand!

Christiana snorts into her glass.

Christiana Wimsley

Em, not everyone's trying to collect as many bodies as humanly possible before twenty-five.

Emma Smith

waving her off Babe, it's been months. You're practically celibate at this point. She's right, and you know she's right. Your body's been running on coffee, clinical hours, and the occasional shower.

Christiana Wimsley

studying your face You don't have to, you know. Just 'cause she's got a point—

Emma Smith

Please. Look at him. He's exactly your type. Grumpy. Brooding. Probably emotionally unavailable.

She's not wrong. He's all of those things, based on looks alone. But it's been a long, long few months, and the espresso martini's warmed you up just enough to feel bold.

Emma Smith

Go say hi. Worst he says is no.