One Night, Wrong Man

Chapter 3 — Stranger

*POV Derby*

The whiskey had taken the edge off the pain, but the ache was still there, sitting stubbornly in the middle of my chest.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the stranger sitting beside me. Either way, I kept talking.. The words came easier than they should have, slipping out before I had the chance to pull them back.

The stranger listened like the rest of the bar didn’t exist. His attention never wandered. Every now and then his gaze drifted to my mouth while I spoke, then quietly returned to my face. I noticed every single time.. Every time they did, warmth curled low in my stomach.

"No names." I said, tracing the rim of my glass with one finger. The cool condensation clung to my fingertips, grounding me more than the whiskey had. “"No life stories, no fake smiles. Just tonight."

A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth before he gave a slow nod. "Works for me," he said simply, like the idea had never sounded strange in the first place.

The conversation kept unfolding with surprising ease. Somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like I was talking to a stranger.. I found myself admitting things I'd spent the whole evening trying not to think about. Five years reduced to a single notification. Every late night I'd excused. Every "I miss you" I'd believed without question. My voice barely rose above the music, but every sentence felt heavier than the last.

He never rushed to fill the silence with advice or empty reassurance. He just listened, elbow on the bar, body angled toward me so our shoulders brushed every time one of us shifted. Neither of us seemed to mind.

The space between us had quietly disappeared warm and solid through my sleeve. His scent—clean soap mixed with something darker, woodsy—wrapped around me every time he leaned closer. It made my pulse beat harder in my throat.

He looked down at the amber liquid in my glass before speaking. "You're not the first person who's walked in here trying to forget someone." he said quietly, voice low enough that it vibrated through me. "Most people try to drown the memories," he continued quietly. "You look like you're trying to fight them."

A quiet laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Bitter enough that it barely sounded like laughter at all.. I hadn't expected to laugh tonight. Neither, apparently, had I. I looked down at my glass. "Five years," I murmured. "It's amazing how something that took years to build can fall apart in a single night." I swallowed hard before adding, "I just... want it out of my head."

He didn't answer immediately. For the first time that night, he seemed to think carefully before saying anything. Something unreadable crossed his face before disappearing just as quickly. He didn’t speak right away. Without saying a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief. Only then did I realize another tear had escaped before I could wipe it away. As he placed the handkerchief in my palm, the back of his fingers brushed mine for the briefest second.. The contact lasted no more than a heartbeat, yet somehow it stayed with me long after he'd already pulled his hand away.

I dabbed at my eyes with the handkerchief, suddenly aware of how close we'd drifted over the last half hour. Our knees still brushed beneath the bar, and when he spoke again, I caught the warmth of his breath near my temple.

He watched me for another second before speaking. "Most people start lying when they're hurting this much." His voice stayed calm. "You haven't lied to me once."

The low rumble of his voice so near my ear made my skin prickle. Heat pooled low in my belly, mixing with the whiskey and the raw ache still sitting in my chest. I turned my head slightly. Our faces were inches apart.I turned toward him without thinking. Only then did I realize how little space separated us, feel the steady warmth of his breath against my cheek.

The question slipped out before I could stop it. "Why is it easier to tell a stranger all of this?"

His gaze dropped to my mouth again, dark and heavy. "Because strangers don't expect you to stay the same person you were yesterday," he said. "They only see the person sitting in front of them."

Neither of us said anything after that. The silence settled comfortably between us instead of feeling awkward. His knee pressed more firmly against mine now, the heat of him bleeding through fabric. I didn’t pull away. Neither did he. The tension hummed, unresolved and dangerous, making every small movement feel electric. My skin felt too sensitive, too aware of every point where we touched—shoulder, knee, the faint brush of his fingers when he took the empty glass from my hand.

By all rights, I should've felt uncomfortable sitting this close to a complete stranger.. Seen. And that scared me more than anything. Instead, I felt oddly... steady. Like someone was finally listening without expecting me to hold myself together. That feeling unsettled me far more than the heartbreak had an hour earlier.

The music kept playing. Glasses kept clinking. People kept laughing. Somehow it all sounded farther away now. He wasn't saying much, but his quiet presence somehow made the chaos around us feel less overwhelming. still. For the first time that night, I wasn't counting the minutes until I could leave. I wasn't ready for this conversation to end.

He never rushed me to keep talking. He seemed perfectly comfortable letting the silence do some of the work. The quiet between us didn't feel empty. Somehow, it carried just as much as the words had.

I stared at the melting ice in someone else's abandoned glass for a while before finding my voice again. "I don’t want to go home tonight. Home doesn't feel like home tonight."

He searched my face for a long second, as if weighing something I couldn't see, eyes searching mine. Then he leaned in until his lips were close to my ear, breath warm against my neck.

His voice was barely above a murmur. "If not home..." He let the words hang for a second before asking, "Where do you want to be?"

The question hung there, low and loaded, sending another shiver racing down my spine. My heartbeat picked up again. Whatever answer was forming in my mind felt like the kind that changed everything after it was spoken.

For the first time that night, I stopped wondering whether I should walk away... and started wondering what would happen if I didn't.

**To be continued...**