I gave Claire the middle finger and drove off, laughing to myself.
The bar was about twenty minutes away, sitting right outside the city near the university district. It was the perfect location—young college kids, tired nine-to-fivers, and travelers all flowed through its doors.
It was just after 8 PM on a Friday. Early enough that only the regulars were in, claiming their favorite stools and arguing over the game before the rush of students flooded in. I parked in the back, grabbed my jacket, and headed inside.
The Last Call was four stories high with a two-level basement. Max and I bought the place years ago and poured a stupid amount of money into it. We had to install an elevator just to keep up with the supply runs between floors.
Each floor had its own identity:
— First floor: sports bar meets arcade.
— Second: full-blown club with DJs and a silent disco section.
— Third: karaoke, line dancing, and a piano lounge.
— Fourth: live music stage with rotating artists, both local and touring.
— First basement: retro-styled party zone, mostly for private events.
— Second basement: storage and Max's office—also known as his man cave.
I technically own half the place, but Max is the one who runs it day to day. It was his dream, and I just happened to have the money and enough sense to let him take charge. Since the farm expanded, I didn't come in often. These days, both the farm and the bar were more like hobbies than jobs—projects to keep me sharp.
As soon as I stepped through the side door, the wave of noise hit me. People shouted at the TV screens like the players could hear them. Game night. Max was drowning behind the bar, and the moment he saw me, relief lit up his face.
"Jaz! Thank god," he yelled. "Could really use the help."
"That's why I'm here," I said, already walking around the counter. "Who's playing?"
"Colts and Daggers. But the real mess starts in an hour—Chuck Long vs. Sidney Davis. Half the town's coming to watch that fight." He handed off a beer without missing a beat. "One bartender's late, the other had an emergency."
"Point me where you want me."
"Stay here for now. Might move you later if I can't get a backup."
I rolled my eyes. "Guess I won't be having fun tonight."
Max grinned. "You can still get laid—just do it while serving drinks."
I shook my head, smirking.
I slipped behind the bar, and immediately the regulars started calling out—asking for drinks, asking about the kids, tossing jokes like it was a reunion. I poured, mixed, cashed out, caught up, and even managed to keep one eye on the game.
Two hours passed fast. By ten, the bar was packed.
"You're finally here. Don't explain—just move," Max barked behind me. I turned to see two flustered employees rushing to their stations.
"Jaz, you're off duty," he added, pulling me into a side hug. "Thanks for covering."
"No problem. Now how about that drink?"
"Your usual or chaos?"
"Surprise me."
I walked around and took a stool at the bar. The game had ended, and the main UFC match was just beginning.
"Here you go—'Kamikaze Special,'" Max said, placing a glowing red drink in front of me.
I raised an eyebrow. "Trying to kill me?"
He shrugged and walked off. I took a sip—sweet with a fiery afterbite—when I felt a presence behind me. Max's eyes widened a split second before an obnoxious cough sounded from a man nearby.
"I'll have a rum and Coke," the man said, motioning to Max, "and she'll have a vodka tonic."
I turned, eyebrow raised.
And that's when I saw her.
Tall—easily 5'9"—with red hair that shimmered like wildfire under the bar lights. Her green eyes locked onto mine with cool disinterest, though the tension in her posture said she was ready to snap someone in half. Her dark green blouse hugged her in all the right places, and her black pants didn't leave much to the imagination. Muscular, but not bulky. More like... carved. Like a warrior who didn't need weapons because she was one.
I looked back at the man.
"Do you know this guy?" I asked her.
She crossed her arms, one brow arching. "No."
That accent—British. Smooth. Almost made me forget what I was doing.
"Stevie, come on," I said, turning toward him. "You can't just order drinks for strangers. At least buy for the whole bar." I turned to the room. "Right, guys?"
"Yeah!" someone shouted. Cheers followed.
"Piss off, Jasmine," Steve muttered.
Our relationship wasn't great. Probably because I undercut his feed store prices with my farm and told his wife he was cheating. Not my fault he was bad at both business and fidelity.
"Oh, don't be a baby," I said. "Should I ask Stacy if it's okay for you to buy strange women drinks?"
His face went pale.
"Stacy! Over here!" I waved wildly, and he whipped around in panic. No wife. Just laughter.
The redhead finally smiled.
"Fuck you," Steve snapped.
"Not my type," I called after him.
"Still playing hero?" Max asked, laughing.
"She didn't need saving. I was just trying to keep Steve from getting decked."
"I could have decked him," the redhead added, her voice honey-smooth. "But thank you anyway. I'm Nicole."
"I'm Jasmine."
Her friend stepped up beside her, petite and quick with a smirk. "And I'm Giselle. Thanks for the entertainment."
Nicole motioned to the group behind them. "These are my friends—Logan, Sloan, Blair, Ren, Sato, Devan, Laney, and Liam."
They all nodded or waved.
— Logan, 6'2", shaggy blond hair and intense blue eyes.
— Sloan, 6'1", solid muscle, brown hair, quiet presence.
— Blair, 5'7", long black hair, lean but strong.
— Ren, 5'3", sleek ponytail, sharp eyes.
— Sato, 5'7", dark-eyed and scarred, a ghost in the crowd.
— Devan, 6'3", red curls, blue-green eyes, looked like he'd walked off a Viking ship.
— Laney, 5'11", black hair, intense stare.
— Liam, 6'2", blonde curls, charming grin.
"So—Captain?" I asked Nicole, sipping my drink.
"Marines," she confirmed.
"Army base is closer. Why this bar?" I gestured around.
Blair jumped in. "Back from deployment. Heard this place was the best in town."
"Bigger than expected," Liam added.
"Lots to explore," Blair grinned.
"Or we could sit, watch the fight, and have a drink," Nicole said dryly.
"She didn't even want to come," Brenden mumbled.
Nicole shot him a glare. Giselle laughed.
"You could use the fun," she teased.
It was obvious—the group dynamic. Nicole was the one they followed. Logan and Devan had that same quiet authority. The rest were the kind of chaos that made missions tolerable.
"If you want music, check out the second or fourth floors," I told them. "Arcade and games are here. Karaoke's upstairs."
They perked up. Giselle, Blair, Sloan, and Liam looked ready to party. Nicole gave me a glance of save me.
"You know this place well," Sato said.
"I should. Max and I own it."
Devan lit up. "Seriously? Did you design it too?"
"I helped build it. Max found the bones, I made it livable."
Devan handed me his phone. "Can I get your number? I'd love to talk about something like this one day."
"Devan—" Nicole warned.
"It's fine," I said, entering my number. "Just don't pitch me a business plan during a funeral."
Nicole laughed softly, eyes still on mine.
"You always like this with strangers?" she asked.
"Only the dangerous ones."
She smiled.