Dangerous Games

"Another tequila. Neat." Blair slammed the empty glass down on the bar, the force of the impact a physical manifestation of the anger, the hurt, the confusion that swirled within her. The amber liquid, a fiery serpent slithering down her throat, offered only a fleeting reprieve, a temporary numbness against the ache in her heart.

"Easy there, beautiful. You've had enough," the bartender said, his voice a smooth baritone that was at odds with the gritty atmosphere of the dive bar. He eyed her with a mix of concern and a professional detachment that made Blair bristle. She wasn't used to being the object of pity, especially not from a stranger who probably saw a dozen heartbroken souls drowning their sorrows in this dimly lit haven every night.

"I'm fine," Blair retorted, her voice sharper than intended, the tequila already loosening her inhibitions, fueling the defiance that was her default defense mechanism. "Just give me another drink. I'm celebrating."