Page 17 of Toxic B!tch
I lean back, taking in the surrounding scene. People are dancing, the music thumping through like a heartbeat. It’s almost too loud, too busy, but there’s something about the energy in here that keeps me rooted to my seat.
As I take a sip of water, my eyes drift across the bar, and that’s when I see her.
The other bartender.
She hasn’t served me yet, but damn, she’s stunning. Long legs, a body that commands attention, and a chest piece of ink that peeks out from under her shirt. She’s dressed like something straight out of a pin-up poster—hair done up in these perfect, old-school curls that highlight her sharp features. Her whole look is striking, like she’s walked out of another era and landed in this noisy bar.
I feel my heart skip. Something about her feels familiar, a déjà vu moment creeping up on me. I rack my brain, trying to place her face. Was she here that night with Elle? I can’t be sure, but she’s tugging at some distant memory.
Realizing I’ve been staring too long, I force myself to look away, my eyes flicking to the dance floor instead. I don’t want to come off as some creep. But as much as I try to focus on the people dancing and laughing, my thoughts keep drifting back to her. There’s no doubt in my mind—I know her from somewhere.
And then I hear it—a voice from behind me that sends a shiver down my spine. It’s unmistakable.
Her voice.
The voice I’ve heard every night for weeks, the one I’ve dreamed about, the one that’s kept me company through countless late-night conversations. Indigo.
I freeze, my mind racing. Could it really be her? Here? Now?
Before I can even turn around, I hear it again, closer this time. “Wanna hear a joke?”
“Sure, why not.” A guy a few stools down from me sighs.
“Why isn’t there a pregnant Barbie doll?”
“Why?”
I whip my head around, eyes wide. There’s no way. The universe can’t be this funny. But then I hear the punchline—“Ken came in another box”—and I know.
It’s her.
I’d recognize that voice anywhere, the playful tone, the sharp wit. It’s Indigo.
My heart pounds in my chest. I’ve imagined this moment so many times, but never like this.
What do I do? I should say something, right? But what if she’s disappointed? What if I’m not who she imagined? What if she’s expecting some chiseled Abercrombie model, but instead, she gets… me?
I watch her move, pushing open the little hinged door that separates the bartenders from the rest of the place, and she heads toward the back. My stomach twists into knots. I can’t let this moment slip away. But I don’t want to follow her, don’t want to look like some pervert trying to corner her in a back room.
I stand up, heart racing, and walk to the end of the bar where she just left, hoping to catch her on her way back. My palms are sweaty, and my breath is shaky as I lean against the counter, trying to steady myself. This is it. This is the moment.
When she finally reappears, I step in front of her, heart in my throat.
She smiles at me, her eyes bright. “Excuse me, doll,” she says, brushing past me.
My voice catches in my throat, but I force it out. “Indigo?”
She stops dead in her tracks, her brow furrowing as she turns to face me. “Yeah, that’s me.”
I swallow hard. “It’s me... Malik.”
There’s a split second where I swear my heart stops beating, waiting for her reaction. But then, to my complete surprise, her face breaks into a wide grin. She steps back, her eyes roaming up and down my body, and before I can even register what’s happening, she launches herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist.
“This is so exciting!” she squeals, her voice full of laughter. “My best friend is here, and he’s hot!”
I blink, stunned.
Hot?
