Bars are supposed to be fun, right? Neon lights, blasting music, sweaty strangers dancing like their rent depends on it. Not for me. Nope. I was on a rescue mission.
And the person I was supposed to rescue?
None other than my lifelong enemy. The cockroach of my existence. The one person I'd gladly push into a puddle without hesitation—
Park Hanuel.
Behind me, Yuna trailed like my unwilling sidekick, shoving sweaty dancers away with her tiny gremlin arms.
"MOVE AWAY, MFS!!" she screamed into the loud music. Nobody moved. Everyone just twerked harder.
Rude. Absolutely disrespectful.
The waiter had called me, of all people, because this idiot decided to get blackout drunk and pass out in the middle of a bar like a rom-com lead whose script got lost in delivery.
So there I was.
Dragging my bestie Yuna along for emotional support.
Pushing through sweaty bodies.
Immediately regretting my life choices.
