Chapter Text
The crusty old bar is damp, musty, and inconveniently on the opposite side of town from you. The stool you favor creaks when you apply too much pressure to one side. A dartboard in the corner goes unplayed after a group of college students stole the darts a few months back and the owner couldn't be bothered to replace them.
The bathroom you desperately avoid using looks like it hasn't been updated since the 70s, and that's probably because it hasn't. No fancy foods, cocktails, or popular music will ever be served at this dilapidated poor excuse for an establishment.
You would've stopped coming here after your first visit to the grungy bar but there was one thing that kept you coming. One thing that made you leave your comfortable apartment on a Friday evening to sit in the wobbly stool near the sticky bar top located in probably one of the worst rated bars in DC.
Him.
The man you locked eyes with for a few quick seconds 3 months ago and haven't been able to stop thinking about since.
Once you had discovered Friday nights had a high probability of running into him you instinctively started to find yourself getting into your car, driving over, and narrowly avoiding the potholes in the parking lot that hadn't been paved in years.
You couldn't help yourself. Desperate to get a peak of the man sitting at the opposite side of the bar top. Quickly you discovered he always sat at the same spot, a position that you assumed he used because he could scan the entire bar without much effort, as on more than one occasion you saw his eyes flit over the entire room before returning to his drink.
In this spot, thankfully, there was a TV positioned just over his head. It was the perfect cover to pretend to watch TV and simultaneously keep your eyes glued to him.
He was handsome. Fuck he was. Easily the hottest man you ever had the privilege of seeing with your own two eyes. Dark blonde hair with bangs that favored his right eye, piercing blue eyes, a five o'clock shadow that was permanently fixed to his face, and the muscles. God. He had muscles to die for.
The moment you saw him gently sit on his stool, and shrug off his jacket to reveal his muscular body practically begging to break free from his compression tshirt, you almost lost it. Eyes going wide as you choked on your drink.
It was the third week you saw him, the first two he had kept the black leather jacket that he always wore on. It was also the first time he locked eyes with you, calling over the bar to ask if you were okay.
You hadn't spoken to him since. That being your one and only conversation, if you could call it that, with him.
Since then, for the past two and a half months, you've quietly entered the bar, sat down, had a drink or two, and left - all while quietly observing him.
Was it weird? Probably, but you didn't care. It wasn't like you were stalking or harassing the man. If you had slightly more confidence you would've walked up to him, sat down next to him, and started a conversation.
But he didn't seem like a conversation kind of man. He spoke with the bartender occasionally, or at another patron in the bar here or there, but mostly, he kept to himself. His focus was usually on the games page of the newspaper that was delivered to the bar.
He was older than you, probably about 20 years your senior, but you didn't care, age was just a made up construct to you (okay maybe you cared a little, but he was hot enough to not care). You couldn't stop yourself from wanting to get a glimpse of him. One Friday, about a month ago he hadn't shown and you thought maybe he caught on that you were there specifically for him, but he showed up again the following week, a noticeable scar on his neck and his right cheek, just barely covered by bangs.
You longed to reach out and move the hair from his face. He had a luscious healthy head of hair, especially for a man his age. You fantasized what it would feel like to run your hands through it, what kind of shampoo he used, if he moaned when you gripped the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.
So it was on that grossly humid mid August night that you found yourself at this very particular bar, scanning the room for him, but sadly, he was nowhere to be found.
You sunk into your usual spot, the waitress greeting you with a smile as she asked you if you wanted your usual drink, and you nodded in response. Pulling out your phone you had a message from your friend Brianna asking in the group chat if you had signed up for fall classes yet, which you had, so you sent her a screen shot of your schedule.
Brianna and Steph had become your two best friends the past three years of college. You met your sophomore year of your undergrad and now you are entering your final year. You three had bonded over the fact that you took time off after high school, and didn't start college until you were all 23. So now, at the ripe age of 26, your Bachelor's degree was just within reach.
All the other people in your classes were a few years younger than you, and you three just instinctively attracted to each other and stuck ever since.
She sent a picture of her screenshot back. You had two classes together this semester which instantly lifted your mood after discovering your mystery crush from across the bar was absent tonight.
Nursing your drink, and messaging in the group chat, you found yourself obsessively checking the entrance, seeing if he would show up. It was pathetic almost, but you were too far gone now to care. You were in your min 20s, surely there was a better way to find a man? Right?
You were in the process of messaging back when the chair to your right scraped against the tile, jolting you, as a deep sultry voice filled the air, “looking for me?”
You freeze. Eyes glued to your phone, goosebumps on your skin as you recognize the voice.
Him.
The man from across the bar. Who wasn't there just a few moments ago, but was there now.
Next to you.
Talking to you.
And oh how bold he was.
You peel your eyes from your phone to look at him. He was close. Closer than he ever had been before. So close if you leaned over just a smidge to your right, you would definitely hit his shoulder.
His piercing blue eyes stared into you as if they could read your thoughts - see the way your heart was beating faster. You studied his face. Closer up, God.
He was beautiful.
He had slight wrinkles on his face, that much you saw from across the bar, but what you hadn't noticed from the distance was the slight dimple in his chin, how perfectly straight his nose sat, the moles that dusted his cheek and down to his throat like constellations.
His hair had a few gray strands filtered throughout, but you didn't care. He was still easily the most gorgeous man you'd ever seen.
He opened his mouth to speak again. His lips. They looked so soft. His teeth inside of them? Perfectly white and straight.
Fuck. How long had you been staring at him? Surely long enough to make it awkward. Fuck, now he's talking and you can barely focus on anything.
“You okay?” He asked, a slight tease in his voice, as he obviously knew the effect he was currently having on you.
“Me?”
Yes you, who else would he be talking to?
“Yea, sorry, just was in the middle of texting someone”. You lock your phone and tuck it into your pocket.
He leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his drink and then folded his arms, the veins in his arms bulging just slightly. Fuck.
“ S’okay if I sit here?”
Yes, it was okay. You could sit on my face if you need somewhere else to sit.
You nodded your head, it wasn't like you could actually say no, it wasn't your bar, he was free to sit wherever he wanted to. He looked like a gentleman though, like the kind of guy who would respect you if you told him you weren't interested and he would give you space.
“What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?” He asked, shifting in his seat and leaning his weight onto the bar.
You looked around the bar and then down to your outfit. You always made the effort to come here and see him, but the one thing you never did was care about what you wore. It was a gross bar, you weren't wearing your nice clothes to a place like this, even if you wanted to catch the eye of a handsome man.
Today you wore dark jeans, your signature Grey converse, and a low cut tank top that showed just a hint of cleavage. It was average.
“Could say the same thing about you” you replied, ignoring his question and pushing it back to him.
He laughed under his breath, smirking and taking a sip of his drink. “I match the decor” he lowered his gaze and looked you head to toe, “you however, don't”.
“I match the decor” you huffed back, suddenly offended. This elicited a sound that almost sounded like a laugh. You didn't even know what you were saying. The allure of the handsome adonis in front of you had turned your brain into jello.
“It wasn't an insult. You're young, aren't there other bars, with people your age?” He raised an eyebrow at you.
“Maybe, but, I don't know” your finger swirled the rim of your drink, “something draws me to this place” you shoot him what you really hope was a flirtatious look, but honestly you had no fucking idea. You could barely think in the suffocating presence of this man.
“Something?” He lowers his voice an octave and leans slightly closer to you, “or someone?”.
In the process of taking a sip of your drink you choke over his words. The gravely sultryness of his voice vibrating through you, sending shivers down your spine. You cough and tense as his hand comes around and pats on your back firmly.
“You do this a lot huh?” he asks, that smug smirk back on his face. You raise an eyebrow at him, amidst your coughing. What do you do a lot? you thought.
“Choke on your drink?” he responded, reading your mind. He motioned to you, and firmly patted your back as you choked harder from his warm touch on your back.
Fuck, now he was touching you? Call the ambulance. You're going to need it if he keeps this up.
Patting your back a few times, you hold up your hand to signal you were okay.
You needed a way to change the subject. Crap. You never actually thought about what you would say to him if you ever spoke to him, all you knew was you wanted to talk to him - wanted to do a few other things to him also.
Like a sign from heaven the bartender walks over and pulls you out of your spiraling.
“The Usual?” she asks, her eyes flitting between the two of you. He glances over to you and then your empty wine glass and you nod. You need a bit more alcohol in your system if you were going to sit next to him and not melt from his presence.
He nods to the bartender, “Please Natalie, and put her drink on my tab”. He doesn't look at you, but you notice the way his lip curls up to the side, almost a smirk, almost a smile, but not quite. And his voice? Deep and gravely yet smooth as honey.
From across the bar it was hard to make out the sound of his voice, but hearing it next to you, letting it envelope around you like a warm blanket? You wanted it to wrap around you and never leave.
“Sure thing handsome” she winks to him and gets to your drinks. You stare up at him, he didn't need to cover your drink, you were well equipped to pay for it yourself.
“You didn't need to do that, I have money you know”.
He turns to you and locks his eyes onto yours, his gaze flitting down to your lips and back up again.
“S'not about the money, I wanted to”. You blush under his words. There was no way you were going to make it through the night.
“Here you go Leon” the bartender brings over your drinks. So Leon, you got his name rather easily, thank you Natalie for that. Leon. That was an uncommon name, and damn did it suit him.
You each grab your drinks and you stare as he holds up his in front of you. oh right, he wants to cheers with you. You raise your glass and tap it gently to his, before taking a long sip of your wine. How did we end up here? Going from staring at him from across the bar to him buying a drink for you.
“So Leon, short for Leonardo?” you ask him, placing your glass back on the bar.
You swore a lit chuckle escaped from him as he shook his head from side to side,
“That's a first, but no, not short for anything”. You nod your head up and down, acting as if every word he spoke was the most interesting word you have ever heard, and that's probably because it was.
“So, you know my name, may I get yours?” he asked, voice still smooth as hell. He could ask you to strip in front of him in the middle of this bar and fuck you probably would.
You tell him your name and he repeats it, feeling it roll off his tongue. God your name had never sounded so good before. You wanted to record it and play it back over and over again.
You glance at your phone quickly to get the time, 9:02pm, perfect, the night was still young. The group chat was going off, but you would answer them later, you had more pressing matters to attend to currently.
“Got somewhere you need to be?”
“What?” you pocket your phone again, “No sorry, was just checking the time. Don't have anywhere to be”.
He moves his arm in front of you, showing off his watch, no. Not showing off, giving you the time. As he moves the smell of his cologne invades your senses. Sending a shiver down your spine, and making your underwear uncomfortably wet, not like it wasn't the moment he sat down next to you.
You nod at him, “Nice watch”
He moves his arm back to his side and takes a sip of his drink, “Thanks”.
Your finger trails the top of your glass again, that awkward silence once again filling in between you two. Usually you felt pretty confident with your ability to strike up a conversation, but something about this man was making it incredibly difficult. You had to say something though, for the fear of him getting up and leaving. That would be awful, you didn't want him to leave, you wanted him to stay there, next to you, for forever.
“So, do you often talk to younger girls in bars?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at him.
He puffs air from his nose, “Not usually no”.
The second glass of wine was definitely going to your head now, making you feel much more confident than you were just 10 minutes ago.
“So you're saying I'm special then?” you wink at him.
“Yes?” he chokes out, “It was just a heat of the moment decision honestly”.
He took a long sip of his drink and finished it, lifting up his glass and nodding to the bartender, silently asking for another one. He looks over at your half filled wine glass, and you nod at him, as he silently asked you as well. Getting your confirmation he nods his head to you, and the bartender works on making two more drinks.
It was your time to make him feel flustered, and damn if it didn't feel good, score +1 you, +1 him, from making the initial move to talk to you earlier.
He eyes you up and down, his gaze stopping not discreetly to the swell of your breasts and back to your eyes.
“Just noticed you across the bar all these months, thought I'd finally make my move.” He paused from dramatic effort, “Unless you're not interested, then I can leave” he winked at you, accepting the new round of drinks from the bartender.
Fuck, now he was on top again. score +1 you, +2 him.
“No, No, you can stay” you stammer out, not smooth at all, as he chuckles lightly at how flustered you were getting.
The conversation for the rest of the evening flowed freely. The two of you didn't really talk about anything important, just superficial things. He was hesitant to reveal information about himself, but once the alcohol was flowing through your veins, you were finding it surprisingly simple to make conversation with him.
You learned he doesn't like math, he hates the taste of cilantro, and he used to like to go fishing but never has time too anymore. You were about to ask him about what he did for a living, to try to get more information out of him, but were interrupted by his phone ringing.
With a sigh, he reached into his pocket and looked at the caller ID. He cursed under his breath as he looked at the phone, then back to you, “I'll be right back, don't leave okay?” he asked, his eyes searching yours. You nodded. There was no way you were going to leave him now that you've finally got the chance to talk to him.
He shrugged off his seat and answered the phone, his smooth voice turning stoic and firm.
“One sec, let me move to a different location”. He said into the phone as he walked away, glancing back at you before he walked out the front door, instantly missing the slight warmth of him next to you.
Reluctantly you peeled off the creaking bar stool and went to the bathroom, covering the gross toilet bowl with toilet paper. Mid pee the realization that he might've bailed struck you. Fuck, what if he wasn't coming back? What if he got a taste of you and decided he didn’t like it.
Your heart dropped in your chest as you washed your hands. No, no, he was definitely coming back, he told you not to go anywhere, there was no way he would leave you. You stared at your reflection in the dirty mirror.
I mean come on, would it hurt the owner to hire someone to clean up around this place from time to time? It couldn't be that hard. You look yourself up and down, adjusting your hair, and padding a smudge of your makeup near your eye with a paper towel.
Walking back to the bar you half expected him to be sitting in the bar stool again. What you didn't expect was his leather jacket to be missing. Fuck, he did leave you, didn't he.
Sitting back on the stool the bartender returns to you.
“Hey girl, he had to leave but he wanted me to give you this” she held out her hand, and placed a disposable drink coaster in front of you, with his number scribbled on it. You picked it up and held it in your hands, you could barely make out that last number. Was it a 5? A 7?
Your face fell. He did leave, but he came back and left your phone number? The bartender must've noticed the look on your face.
“He's a nice guy really, been coming here for years. Quiet, keeps to himself, tips well”. That last bullet had a soft laugh coming out of her, “Not to mention he's hot as fuck”. Okay, that elicited a snort out of you, not expecting her to be so crass.
“He is, isn't he?” you laughed, nodding at her. You opened your wallet to pay but she stopped you.
“He paid your whole tab also, tip as well, so you're good” she smiled at you and then turned to help the other patrons. You liked her. She didn't hang around too long or make conversation just for the sake of it. If you wanted to talk she would reciprocate, but mostly she was good at reading her customers and what they wanted from her.
Getting into your car you turned the coaster over in your hand. Reading his number over and over, running your fingers over them to feel the grooves etched into the cardboard. You were sober enough to drive, and with him gone you didn't feel like wasting anymore time there.
On the drive home, blasting the TTPD album, you contemplated if you wanted to message him. What did a forty year old man want with a 26 year old like you?
It wasn't lost on you that this was exactly what you wanted from him, to get his number, or sleep with him, or just honestly, stare at his face a little longer.
Taking a quick shower to rinse off the grime of the bar, you slipped into your pajamas and laid in bed, the coaster laying on your nightstand, calling out to you.
Your thoughts were torn, to text him or not to text him, that was the question.
Fuck it.
You pulled out your phone and typed in his number. Shit, is that last number a 5 or a 7? It looks more like a 5 you guessed, finishing typing in his number. If he didn't answer in a few days you could try with the other number instead. You put his contact in your phone with his name, Leon.
Leon, it was a nice name - suiting him perfectly.
What do you even say to him? Hey? Hi? That sounds so juvenile.
The time on the upper right corner of your phone laughs at you, telling you to go to sleep and try again in the morning, but you didn't want to. You typed out a simple message and hit send before you could think about it any further.
You- Hey, it's me from the bar
Okay, breathe, inhale, exhale. That wasn't too hard. It was late and you fell asleep pretty quickly, thoughts of Leon drifting through your head as you slept.
He didn't answer you the next morning, or the morning after that. When he finally responded it was two weeks later.
Two Fridays.
His message lit across your screen as you were eating dinner. After he didn't text you back, or show up at the bar last friday you half expected to never hear from him again.
Your pulse quickened, shivers shooting down your spine as you read his message.
Leon- hey, meet at the bar?
Who does he think he is? Walks out on you, doesn't answer your text for two weeks and then just waltz in thinking you would welcome him with open arms?
And absolutely you were, already grabbing your purse and keys as you shut your apartment door behind you. You texted him back. Of course you would meet him. If he said to jump, you would say how high. He had you wrapped around his finger and he knew it.