We were celebrating Ed's birthday, and since Shadows was closed on Mondays, the only logical place to go was Alibi—the hottest club in town.

It had everything: the best music, a stunning design, and bartenders who looked like they belonged on the cover of GQ. Getting in was nearly impossible unless you knew someone. Lucky for us, working in nightlife came with connections, and there was an unspoken solidarity among club staff. Alibi was technically our rival, but even they welcomed us with open doors.

No waiting in line. No hassle. A few elegant stools were reserved for us at the bar's edge—VIP treatment at its finest.

Sylvia, the bartender serving us, was insane. Tall, slim, with short bleached hair and piercing green eyes—she was the definition of a walking distraction in her tiny white dress.

"You can close your mouth now," I told Ed, who was practically drooling. Right in front of Chrys. Genius move.

"No, I was just—"

"Yeah, yeah, we got it." I smirked, rescuing him from his own stupidity. Chrys, meanwhile, had already started dancing, letting the music take over. She tugged my hand, urging me to join. Before I knew it, the beats of DJ Seven were in my bloodstream, and we were moving, lost in the rhythm.

Ed's friends trickled in one by one, and soon, the alcohol flowed freely. The club was packed, the music was pumping, and our laughter echoed through the crowd.

"Happy birthday, Ed!" Chrys shouted, downing shots like they were water. She lived for dancing and was damn good at it.

Ed, meanwhile, watched her like she was a clueless antelope, and he was a starving jaguar. Watching him struggle was entertainment in itself.

"Happy birthday, you ginger goofball!" I added, raising my glass. But since I was on designated driver duty, I stuck to just one shot.

"Look—behind the bar!" Nick, one of Ed's buddies, yelled over the music, pointing at something.

And there he was.

Tall, long curly hair, broad shoulders, a chiselled jawline, and lips that looked like they had a job to do.

"That's Harry—the head bartender," Nick explained, but I didn't need an introduction. We all knew Harry. He spent his nights off at Shadows, hanging out with Jimmy, one of our bartenders. Always surrounded by gorgeous girls—a different one each night—and flirting like his life depended on it. But for all his player antics, he was a decent guy. Polite, generous with tips, and respectful to club staff. Not that I knew him or anything. Just... gut feeling.

Then the real show began.

Harry and Sylvia put on a bartender performance straight out of a movie—bottles flying, cocktails being poured in perfect sync, bodies moving to the beat. Sylvia danced up to him, seductively catching bottles as he tossed them, her hands trailing down his chest before stopping just above his waistband. Then, as if choreographed, he grabbed the counter and pulled her in for a deep, heated kiss.

The crowd went wild.

We joined in the cheers as Sylvia spun around, taking a dramatic bow. Harry clapped for her, grinning, before smacking her ass playfully. Then, just like that, they went back to mixing drinks as if none of that had just happened.

"And that is how you make tips," Ed said, looking at me meaningfully.

"What?" I shot him a glare.

"We should try a routine like that! Look at that tip jar—it's overflowing!"

"Uh, hello? Neither of us is a bartender. I only fill in when Jenna's off, and we can't do any of that. Also, there is zero chance I'm letting you shove your tongue down my throat, you ass."

Ed clutched his chest like I had mortally wounded him.

"Unless you look like that," Nick chimed in, nodding toward Harry. We all burst into laughter.

The night went on fabulously. Chrys and Ed even danced together a few times—not that I saw that ship sailing. The others drank enough to make a bar owner proud, and we caught more of Sylvia and Harry's steamy bar routines. But eventually, reality called. I had to drive four very drunk people home.

Before gathering the crew, I headed to the ladies' room for a quick splash of cold water.

Pushing open the heavy metal door, I was surprised to find it nearly empty. It was 3:30 AM on a weekday, after all.

Then, I heard it.

"Oh my God... harder, please... please, Harry."

Moans. Pants.

"Yeah, baby... you want me harder?"

A thick voice. Harry's voice.

"Yesss... yesss..."

I froze. My face burned. Someone was very much enjoying themselves in the stalls. In a public restroom.

I let out a small chuckle—because, seriously?—but they didn't even care. They wanted an audience.

Shaking my head, I quickly splashed water on my face and left them to their, uh... business. Personally, I wouldn't even pee in a club bathroom, let alone do... that.

Returning to our spot, I plopped down next to Chrys. She looked exhausted but was clinging to her Mojito like it was a winning lottery ticket. No way I was getting her out of here until she finished it.

I scanned the crowd for Ed and Nick. That's when I spotted him.

Harry.

Walking back behind the bar, sex hair in full display. He was trailed by a girl with long curls and a very satisfied smile.

As if he sensed my stare, he turned to meet my eyes.

I smiled at him. Innocently. Knowingly.

His lips quirked up slightly before he turned back to his girl, leaning in to whisper something.

I sighed.

Wrangling four drunk people into my car was going to be hell.