She was maybe, just maybe, a little bit hopeful.
“Yeah,” Leo agreed, a small, defeated smile touching his lips. “He’s the one getting married next month. I’m the best man. He said I needed to… practice.” clubsweethearts molly kit
She wasn't just a regular; she was part of the club’s architecture. Every Saturday night, she claimed the same spot at the end of the bar, the one with the perfect sightline to the DJ booth and the fire exit. Her uniform was a uniform: a vintage band tee (The Cure, tonight), a black leather skirt that had seen better decades, and boots that had kicked open more than a few doors. Her hair was a chemical-bright crimson, and her eyeliner was sharp enough to cut glass. She was maybe, just maybe, a little bit hopeful
Leo didn’t scurry. He stood up, straightened his now-crumpled button-down, and took a card out of his wallet. It wasn’t a pickup line card. It was a business card. Leo Chen, Architectural Lighting Designer. I’m the best man
For the next hour, Leo didn’t leave her side. He didn’t try to buy her a drink (she refused), and he didn’t touch her. He just asked questions. About the DJ’s setlist. About the couple having a silent argument in the corner. About the bouncer, Big Frank, who Molly revealed had a secret passion for watercolor painting and had done the mural in the women’s bathroom.
“Conversation,” he said. “With women who aren’t reading quarterly reports to me.”
He looked at her then, really looked. Past the armor, past the crimson hair. “And do they? Land on you?”