Hating You, Loving You (Inked Hearts 4)

I nod. Move to the electronic jukebox. Trade a dollar for a grunge song. Even Flow. Pearl Jam is an obvious choice, but it's not like this thing has any b-sides.

Eddie Vedder's mumbling vocals pour from the speakers. I'm still not sure what he's saying. Only that his pain is spilling into his performance.

He's laying his heart bare, for anyone to see.

It's hard to imagine doing the same.

Earnest expression isn't my forte.

It suits this place and its utilitarian vibe. Concrete floor. Silver furniture. Plain white walls. Dim lighting.

Couples and friends crowd into the booths in the corner.

Singles line the bar. Stare at drinks or phones.

It's quiet tonight. Not empty—there are plenty of people here—but quiet. The grunge jam drowns out every hint of conversation.

That bartender sets a Jack and Coke on the bar. Squeezes her arms against her chest, pushing her tits together. "Long day?"

"Same old, same old." I fish my card from my wallet and hand it over.

"Keep it open?"

"Yeah." The words are a reflex. It's part of my routine. A few drinks. A flirting partner. An offer to go back to her place.

I nod a thanks. Scan the bar.

There's a cute woman on the other side of some tech bro. She's staring at her phone. Tapping a text to her friend.

She takes a long sip. Sighs.

Looks around.

Her eyes catch mine.

Her red lips curl into a smile.

It's an invitation. Usually, that's all I need to get my blood flowing south.

But tonight…

Nothing is happening.

My body is apathetic.

She's hot—red hair, big tits, long legs. I can recognize it, objectively.

But that's it.

I approach her anyway.

Her long fingers curl around her pink cocktail. She looks up at me, her brown eyes wide with surprise. They get fuzzy as she stares.

I slide onto the stool next to hers. "I'm buying your next drink."

"You are?"

"Yeah."