The bass pounded through my chest like a second heartbeat, vibrating in my teeth, shaking something loose inside me.

I hadn’t meant to end up here.

Mia had practically dragged me out the door, insisting I needed to “snap out of it.” Six months post-breakup and I was still cycling through the same pathetic routine—work, couch, wine, sleep, repeat. “This place will wake you up,” she’d promised, that dangerous glint in her eye. “It’s not your average bar.”

Understatement of the fucking century.

The air was thick with sweat and leather and something muskier underneath. Bodies pressed close in outfits that made my plain black dress feel like a nun’s...