The patio was mostly empty, just a few smokers and a couple making out like they'd just discovered lips. Lana leaned against the railing, her curls catching the last light of the afternoon.
Joren stood beside her, unsure where to put his hands. He settled for the classic pocket tuck.
"You always do that?" she asked.
"Do what?"
"Follow girls outside when they ask."
He shrugged.
"Only when they seem interesting."
She smiled. "Good answer."
A breeze passed. Joren glanced at her, then looked away. She was the kind of pretty that made you forget how sentences worked.
"You're not like most guys here,"
she said.
"That's either a compliment or a warning."
"It's both."
She turned toward him, her voice softer now. "You seem like someone who's used to watching things happen. Not making them happen."
Joren didn't respond right away. She wasn't wrong.
"I'm trying to change that,"
he said.
She stepped closer, just enough to shorten the space between them.
"Then let me help."
Joren blinked. "Help how?"
Lana tilted her head. "You'll see."
Before he could ask what that meant, she reached out and gently tugged the front of his hoodie, just enough to make him step forward.
"You're cute when you're confused," she said.
Joren swallowed. "I'm not confused."
"You're adorable when you lie."
She leaned in, not kissing him—just close enough to make him wonder if she would.
Then she pulled back, smirking.
"Let's go back in. I want another drink."
Joren exhaled, half-relieved, half-disappointed.
"Okay."
She turned and walked toward the door. Joren followed, heart thudding like he'd just passed a test he didn't study for.
The bar hadn't changed in the ten minutes they'd been outside, but it felt different now. Louder. Closer. Like the walls had leaned in while they were gone.
Dale spotted them immediately and raised his eyebrows like a nosy aunt.
"Everything good?"
he asked, sipping something suspiciously neon.
Joren nodded, sliding back onto his stool. "Yeah."
Lana didn't sit. She leaned across the bar, caught the bartender's attention with a flick of her wrist, and ordered something with too many syllables.
Dale leaned toward Joren.
"She's got main character energy."
Joren kept his eyes on her. "She's… intense."
"Intense is good," Dale said.
"Intense gets you stories."
Lana returned with her drink, took a slow sip, then turned to Joren.
"You dance?"
Joren blinked. "Not well."
"That's not a no."
She grabbed his hand before he could protest, pulling him toward the small patch of floor where a few brave souls were moving to the beat. It wasn't a real dance floor—just space between tables—but Lana didn't seem to care.
Joren followed, awkward but willing.
The music was low and slow, something with a lazy bass and lyrics that sounded like secrets. Lana didn't dance like she was showing off. She danced like she was daring him to keep up.
Joren tried. He wasn't smooth, but he wasn't terrible. She smiled at him like he'd passed another test.
"You're better than you think," she said.
"I'm just trying not to step on you."
She leaned in, her lips close to his ear.
"If you do, I'll forgive you."
Joren swallowed hard.
They moved together, not quite touching, but close enough that every shift felt like a decision. Lana's eyes never left his. She didn't look away. She didn't laugh. She just watched.
And Joren, for once, didn't feel like a background character.
The hours slipped by like spilled drinks—quietly, messily, and without anyone really noticing.
Joren and Lana had found a rhythm. Not quite a couple, not quite strangers either. They danced a little, talked a lot, and laughed more than Joren expected. She was sharp, quick with comebacks, and somehow always one step ahead of whatever he was thinking.
Dale drifted in and out of their conversations, occasionally dropping one-liners or refilling drinks. At one point, Dale tried to wingman Joren with a girl who looked like she curated her trauma on Pinterest.
"She's got a podcast about healing and a playlist called 'Men Are Lessons,'"
Dale whispered, nudging Joren toward her. "Major in digital astrology, minor in weaponized self-awareness."
Joren blinked.
"What does that even mean?"
"She reads birth charts like they're criminal records,"
Dale said.
"And she's already decided you'll have commitment issues, since you're a Scorpio."
Joren took one look at her—nose ring, three Iphones, and a tote bag that said 'I'm not toxic, I'm just intense'—and backed away slowly. Lana then intercepted with a casual arm around Joren's shoulder and a look that said, "He's taken—for now."
By evening, the bar had dimmed. The music slowed. The crowd thinned into clusters of people who weren't ready to go home but didn't know where else to be.
Dale checked his phone, then stood up with a stretch.
"Alright, I'm bouncing. Got a group project tomorrow and a group hangover waiting if I stay."
Joren stood too. "I'll head out with you."
Lana looked up from her drink, her expression unreadable. "You don't have to."
Joren hesitated. "I mean, it's getting late."
She leaned in slightly, her voice low but clear. "Let Dale go. I want to talk to you for a bit."
Dale raised an eyebrow, then smirked.
"I'll take that as my cue. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
Joren gave him a look. "That's not helpful."
Dale winked and disappeared into the crowd.
Lana turned to Joren, her gaze softer now. "You okay staying a little longer?"
"Yeah." He nodded.
"So uhh... what did you wanna–"
"Wanna get laid?"
Joren froze.
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her expression calm, almost casual. Like she'd asked if he wanted dessert.
"Are... *Gulp*... are you for real?"
"I'm not playing games,"she said.
"I like you. You're cool. And you're clearly riding a high."
Joren swallowed.
"You're serious."
She smiled.
"I don't say things I don't mean."
The music faded into something slow and sultry. The bartender wiped down glasses like he'd seen this scene a hundred times before.
Joren's heart thudded. Not with panic. Not with fear. Just with possibility... and maybe excitement?