Dear God, if he hadn't been stark naked that day, Liam would've chased after her, pinned her against the nearest tree, and kissed her senseless until neither of them could stand. But no, fate had other plans. His nosy neighbor, Fiona, practically lived on her porch, always eager to catch glimpses of his romantic escapades. He couldn't even step outside without feeling like he was part of her personal reality show.
The memory still haunted him. That girl—mysterious, wild, and gorgeous—had yanked the towel right off his hips and bolted like a thief in the night, leaving him exposed to Fiona's gasping dramatics. But tonight, that moment was the last thing on his mind as he refocused on the scene unfolding before him.
The same girl was now seated at the bar, furiously digging through her tiny clutch, her expression a blend of frustration and determination.
"Miss, I can't serve you alcohol without proper identification," the bartender repeated, his voice as bored as it was firm.
"I have it, I swear," she grumbled, flipping through the contents of her purse, only to come up empty-handed.
"Camille, go get Sienna. I think I left my wallet in her bag," she ordered, motioning toward the friend beside her, who looked equally out of place in her goth-style outfit and oversized glasses.
Camille hesitated for a moment, then gave a resigned sigh and disappeared into the crowd, leaving her friend alone to continue her losing battle with the bartender.
Liam leaned back on his stool, intrigued. There was something about this girl—something almost…familiar. Her long, midnight-black hair shimmered under the neon lights, and her petite frame practically drowned in the oversized barstool. She was undeniably beautiful, her delicate features highlighted by a flush of frustration on her cheeks.
But it wasn't until she spoke again that everything clicked into place.
That voice.
It was her.
The same woman who had stolen his towel—and his sanity—last week.
He hadn't imagined seeing her again, and certainly not like this, arguing over a drink. His lips curled into a slow, mischievous grin as he leaned in closer, his voice low and teasing.
"Hello, gorgeous."
She whipped around so fast her hair fanned out, hitting him gently across the chest. And there she was—those dark eyes, just as wide and furious as the last time he saw her.
"You!" Her face turned an even deeper shade of crimson, and Liam couldn't stop the smug smirk from spreading further across his face.
"Well, well, if it isn't the mystery girl who ran off last week. Did you enjoy the view before you sprinted out like a deer in headlights?"
"This is definitely not my scene," Ava Langley thought as the pounding bass of the club music vibrated through her skull, worsening her already splitting headache. The music wasn't just loud—it was deafening. If she kept this up, she'd need hearing aids before her fortieth birthday.
What on earth was she doing here?
Tonight was supposed to be special. She'd agreed—against her better judgment—to let her friends drag her out to celebrate her birthday. But now, here she was, trapped at a nightclub that smelled like sweat and spilled drinks, fighting with a stubborn bartender who seemed hell-bent on ruining her night.
It was midnight. Her thirtieth birthday.
And all she wanted was "one drink."
Just one small sip of something stronger than the virgin daiquiri she'd been nursing. Was that too much to ask?
Apparently, it was.
The bartender, a stocky man with a crew cut and a scowl, crossed his arms. "I'm sorry, miss, but without a valid ID—"
"I "am" of age!" Ava snapped, her patience unraveling. She tossed her purse onto the bar with an exaggerated huff and gestured wildly. "Do I look like a teenager to you? I'm a "doctor", for crying out loud!"
That didn't seem to impress him either.
She was going to lose her mind. She could already imagine the headlines back at her dental practice: "Top Periodontist Arrested for Threatening a Bartender Over a Margarita."
"Look," she tried again, lowering her voice, "I've spent years working in the medical field. Eight years of schooling, three years of residency, and—"
The bartender raised a skeptical brow, clearly unimpressed with her professional credentials.
"Do you need me to start listing off dental procedures? I can break down a scaling and root planing for you, step by step—"
Still nothing.
Ava clenched her fists at her sides, feeling the heat rise in her face. She was going to combust. Or cry. Probably both.
And then, as if the night couldn't get worse, "he" showed up.
The half-naked, cocky playboy she'd accidentally flashed last week.
She recognized that smooth, deep voice before she even saw his face.
"Hello, gorgeous."
Ava whipped around, her heart plummeting into her stomach.
Oh no.
It was him. The towel guy.
The same guy she'd been trying—and failing—to erase from her memory for the past seven days.
His grin was lazy, smug, and way too confident as he leaned in closer, his elbow resting on the bar like he owned the entire club.
"You!" she sputtered, half in shock, half in mortification.
"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite streaker," he teased, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Tell me, sweetheart, did you miss me?"
Ava opened her mouth to deliver a scathing retort—something along the lines of "arrogant, towel-stealing, infuriatingly hot"—when the bartender's voice cut through her rising panic.
"Miss, I'll give you one last chance. ID, or no drink."
Ava threw her hands in the air, exasperated. "I "left" it with my friend, okay? She'll be back in a minute. I swear, I'm not some underage—"
"Hey," Liam interrupted smoothly, sliding a crisp bill onto the counter. "She's with me. Give her whatever she wants. Put it on my tab."
The bartender hesitated but finally nodded, moving to prepare the drink.
Ava scowled, spinning toward Liam. "I didn't ask for your help!"
He shrugged, flashing that insufferable grin again. "You looked like you needed rescuing. Besides, I owed you. Consider it payback for the towel incident."
She felt her face heat again, but this time it wasn't entirely from anger.
Damn him.
"So, Ava," he continued, his voice dropping into a more serious tone, "why are you really here tonight? Something tells me you're not the clubbing type."
Ava hesitated.
Was it really that obvious?
With a resigned sigh, she muttered, "It's my birthday. And I just wanted one drink to celebrate turning…thirty."
For the first time, Liam's cocky smirk softened.
"Thirty, huh?" he echoed, clinking his own glass against hers as the bartender finally returned with her cocktail. "Happy Birthday, Ava."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Don't think this makes us friends."
Liam only chuckled.
"Oh, sweetheart, I don't make friends in places like this. But I do make unforgettable memories."
And God help her…but for some reason, she didn't hate the sound of that.