The whiskey burned on the way down, but Callie didn’t wince. She let it sit, warm and heavy in her stomach, like it could drown out the gnawing frustration twisting in her chest.

She shouldn’t be here.

She should be at home, pretending to be the perfect daughter, the way her parents wanted. The way they expected. But instead, she was here, nursing a drink she barely liked in a bar she had no business being in, using a fake ID that had worked a little too easily.

Her mother would lose her mind if she knew.

The thought alone made Callie smirk bitterly, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. The ice clinked against the sides, creating a rhythm that matched the pounding of her heart.

It had been another argument, same as always—her mom picking apart every little thing, treating her like a walking disappointment. Her dad, as usual, was no help. Just sat there in silence, letting it happen. Because that was what he did.

Callie was sick of it. Sick of her life, of her parents, of the expectations that felt like chains around her throat. Sick of pretending to care about the things she was supposed to care about.

So, she’d decided—screw it. If they were going to act like she was some reckless screw-up, maybe she’d become one.

Her gaze drifted across the bar, scanning the room. The dim lighting cast shadows over the faces of patrons. Most were too old, too drunk, too uninteresting. But then—

You.

You sat alone at a corner booth, barely touching your drink, focused on a notebook filled with neat, cramped handwriting. The soft glow of the table lamp illuminated your face, highlighting the concentration in your expression. You didn’t look like you belonged here either—not in the way everyone else did.

Older. At least her mother’s age. A woman.

Callie exhaled sharply through her nose, biting her lip until she tasted the faint metallic tang of blood.

Her mother would hate this.

But as much as she wanted to blame her impulsiveness on rebellion, something else twisted in her gut. Something warm and curious that she wasn’t sure she wanted to name.

Because the truth was, Callie had thought about this before. About women. She’d brushed it off, told herself it wasn’t real, that she was just being weird. But lately... she wasn’t so sure.

And now, looking at you, that curiosity crept in like an itch under her skin.

You weren’t just some random target. There was something about you—your presence, your quiet focus, the way you seemed so completely unbothered by everything around you.

For the first time that night, Callie hesitated. The bar suddenly felt too warm, the air too thick.

What if you shut her down? What if you didn’t even look twice at her? What if this was a mistake?

She downed the rest of her whiskey, ignoring the way it burned all the way to her stomach.

No turning back now.

She slid off the stool, her heart hammering just a little too fast as she made her way over, her boots clicking against the sticky floor.

You barely looked up as she stopped at your table, resting a hand on the back of the booth. “You look way too serious to be drinking alone.”

Your gaze flicked to her, unreadable.

“What’s got you so focused?” she pressed, trying to sound smooth despite the way her voice wavered slightly.

“My book,” you said simply, tapping the notebook.

Callie arched a brow. “You’re a writer?”

You took a slow sip of your drink before answering. “You’re underage.”

The words hit like a slap, and for a second, Callie tensed. Not a question. A fact.

She could still back out. Find some random guy instead.

But something in her refused to back down.

So she smirked. “And you’re observant. I like that.”

Without waiting for permission, she slid into the seat across from you, ignoring the way her pulse picked up.

You sighed, unimpressed. “I don’t have time to entertain bored little girls playing rebellion.”

It should’ve embarrassed her. Maybe it did. But more than that, it made something tighten in her chest. A challenge.

She grabbed your drink, took a slow sip, then set it back down with a tilt of her head. “Guess I’ll have to prove I’m worth your time, then.”