Page 18 of His To Erase

Ani

I’m running on fumes. The kind that don’t explode right away, just burn slow and spiteful, waiting to choke you out when you least expect it.

The bar’s a mess tonight—too many laughs, too many glass clinks ricocheting off my skull, and the bass thudding against my ribs like a second heartbeat I never fucking asked for is making my head pound. I move on autopilot. Pour. Smile. Don’t stab anyone. Repeat.

I toss out some sarcasm to the regulars like breadcrumbs, keeping them fed so they don’t look too close. God forbid someone realizes I’m not actually here, just a glorified ghost with a liquor license and unresolved trauma.

The truth is, I haven’t slept. Not really. Not since the nightmares started clawing through whatever peace I had left.

Every time I close my eyes, my brain thinks it’s hilarious to rerun the worst parts of my subconscious like it’s hosting a film festival. Flashes of blood, a crash, a scream that tastes like mine but might not be. Then I wake up soaked in sweat and half a second from vomiting.

Fun.

And of course—guess who hasn’t come back.

Tattoo Man.

Library philosopher. Whiskey menace. Whatever.

I keep telling myself that’s a good thing. No more brooding eyes or cocky smirks that see too much. No more subtle touches that make me forget why I built all these walls in the first place.

Still…every time the door creaks open, I look.

I wish I could stop thinking about him, but my body wants something it shouldn’t. Clearly I’m a glutton for punishment and bad decisions wrapped in tattoos and self-control issues. So instead, I’ve been forcing my brain to focus on something safer. Something mine.

My bookshop.

I haven’t said it out loud to anyone yet, because saying it makes it real and real things get ruined. But I’ve got tomorrow night off, and if the universe doesn’t implode in the next twenty-four hours, I’m going to check out a few locations with Sarah.

It feels far away, like this isn’t for people like me kind of far.

Still, it’s the only thing that keeps me from unraveling when the silence gets too sharp.

My phone buzzes beneath the bar, but I don’t have to check to know who it is. The stupid unknown number that’s been sending me messages for a few weeks now.

I ignore it. Just like the last three. Even though my stomach knots in that too-familiar way, like it’s bracing for something I haven’t figured out yet.

It could be Sloane. Or Sarah. Or some drunk asshole playing games.

I don’t want to know.

A sharp crack cuts through the bar—someone slamming a pool stick like they just lost their pride and I flinch harder than I should.

I take a breath, rolling my shoulders.

I’ve got shit to do and falling apart during happy hour isn’t on the menu.

I’m behind the counter drying glasses that probably weren’t even dirty, when I glance up—and there he is.

Frank.

Parked in the corner like he owns it, with one arm draped over the back of the booth, and a drink already in front of him.

I didn’t even see him come in.

Must’ve been one of the new girls who served him. He’s just smooth enough to make you doubt yourself.

His eyes find me instantly. No nod. Just that slow, deliberate once-over like he’s re-memorizing every inch of me like I’m a fucking painting he commissioned.

I walk over anyway. Hips swaying a little too much on purpose—because if I’m going to play this game, I’m going to win by being petty.

His grin deepens.

“You always this happy to see me?” he asks, like we’re picking up mid-conversation.

I glance down, and there’s a black box on the table tied with a sleek ribbon. The kind of box that screams money and manipulation.

“Are you always this dramatic?” I flick the ribbon with one finger. “Showing up out of nowhere with a mystery box like it’s Valentine’s Day.”

He shrugs, all ease. This man must think the world bends to his timing.

“And yet… you’re still standing here. Looking at me like I’m exactly what you’ve been waiting for.”

It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes, but I don’t give him the satisfaction.

“I was just in the neighborhood,” he says, casually as he lifts his glass to his lips. “Thought I’d stop by. Make sure you haven't forgotten about me.”

I arch a brow. “That sounds like a you problem.”

His smile flashes—all teeth. But there’s something behind it now. Something darker. Something that didn’t used to be there.

He gestures toward the box like it’s a goddamn centerpiece. “You gonna open it, or just keep admiring the bow?”

I flick my gaze between it and his smug face.

“Haven’t decided if it’s for me… or if I’m just the lucky bartender you’re using to hand it off to your actual date.”

His grin doesn’t falter. If anything, it sharpens.

“If it was for someone else, sweetheart…” He leans forward, voice lower now—quieter, but designed to crawl straight under my skin. “You wouldn’t be the one still standing here.”

My eyes drop to the box and I stare at it like it might grow teeth.

“Is it gonna explode?”

He laughs. That smug, low kind of laugh that always means trouble. He’s never bought me a gift before. It’s only been dinner and flirting this whole time. What is he up to now?

“Only if you ask nicely.”

I sit, dropping into the booth across from him like it’s a power move instead of a surrender.

I unwrap the ribbon without looking at him—just to spite the way I can feel his eyes dragging over my every move.

The box creaks open and it’s a bracelet. I can tell just by the box that its designer—matte black, gold lettering I don’t recognize but probably should. The bracelet inside catches the bar light and glitters, with a thin platinum chain and a single diamond at the center.

It’s beautiful.

Which makes me hate it more, because he’s never been this persistent. Hell, I don’t even wear jewelry.

But that’s the thing about men like him. They don’t need permission to decide who you are. They just dress you up like you already belong to them.

I close the lid politely, but not fast enough to be rude.

“Cute,” I say. “But unnecessary.”

His gaze sharpens a fraction. “It made me think of you when I was out of town.”

I lean back, arms crossed, letting one leg slide out under the table.

“I wear boots and sarcasm, Frank. Not diamonds, but thank you.” I pause, then arch a brow. “You think a gift’s gonna make me swoon?”

His mouth curves. “I think you’ve already started to.”

I scoff, but my pulse betrays me. It always does with men like Frank—I know he’s the kind of guy who watches for tells, and feeds off my reactions.

“You’re cocky for someone who comes and goes without warning.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “I told you I was leaving town.”

“I don’t care where you are.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table, voice dipping lower—sharpened into something that could draw blood.

“Then why haven’t you told me to fuck off for good?”

Because you make me feel like I’m being watched even when you’re not here. Because a part of me still wonders what it would feel like to let you win.

But I smirk instead. “Because telling you to fuck off would mean I cared enough to finish the sentence.”

His gaze drags over me—trying to memorize the shape of my defiance.

“You do. You just don’t like admitting it.”

“And you like hearing yourself talk.”

He laughs, rich and dark. “You’ve missed me.”

“I’ve missed my peace and quiet.”

Frank finishes his drink in one swallow, the glass clinking softly as he sets it down. That charming mask—danger wrapped in good tailoring—slides perfectly back into place.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

“No.”

“You didn’t even check your schedule.”

“I didn’t need to.”

That smile of his doesn’t falter—but his jaw ticks.

I turn my back before he can see the satisfaction curl across my mouth, but I feel his stare press between my shoulder blades like a brand. He doesn’t leave for the rest of the night. He just sits there, drinking his water like the bar exists because he allows it to.

It’s not until close that he moves again, sliding up to the bar while I’m stacking glasses and wiping counters like I didn’t just spend the past hour pretending I couldn’t feel his eyes crawling across my skin.

“One more before I hit the road?”

I glance at the clock. “You driving?”

“Wouldn’t be drinking if I was.” His smirk ticks up a notch. “Just figured I’d keep your pretty face company.”

I snort, grabbing a clean glass anyway. “You must be really bored.”

“Only with everyone else.”

He laughs, soft and smug, like this is a game and he’s always three moves ahead.

“Can’t blame a man for trying.”

I set the drink down harder than I need to, watching the amber swirl. “Are you staying until we kick you out?”

He shrugs, taking a long, unbothered sip. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve closed down a place with you.”

“You mean sat in the corner until I told you to leave?”

He grins. “Semantics.”

Across the bar, the new girl throws me a look, mouthing everything okay? I nod once. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either.

Where’s Sarah when I need her? She would’ve clocked this whole thing five minutes ago and started dry-running his obituary.

It’s always like this. It’s been this way since that night in the alley. He’s always been flirty, so it doesn’t really bother me.

I start counting the till and wiping the last stubborn ring of grime off the bar. He stands slow and unrushed, with that same air of entitlement he always wears.

“Come on, Ani. Let me give you a ride.”

I grab my bag without looking at him. “My Uber’s already on the way.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

“You sure?” he asks. Voice dipping just enough in something that doesn’t quite match the charm.

“Positive.” I tap the side of my phone like it’s proof. It’s a lie. I was going to walk, but I’ll be damned if I owe him anything. I’m not giving him any ideas.

The second he steps out the door, I sigh and finally order the damn car. The price climbs with every passing second, mocking me.