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A lice hesitated at the entrance to the gin bar.

Unlike other bars in the area, this one didn’t have a flashy neon sign advertising what it was.

Instead, embossed in fancy gold letters and lit by a soft yellow glow, the words, THE GIN ROOM, invited the customer inside .

The glass windows at either side allowed a distorted glimpse into the interior.

She couldn’t tell if the venue was packed or empty.

Hannah, from whom she’d heard about the place, had sworn that on a Thursday evening it tended to be a light crowd, especially if they had just opened.

She’d told her it was the place to go to if she wanted to unwind after a hard day at work, and practice being around others.

The Gin Room is on the high end of the spectrum and has the best gin variety in town at reasonable prices. You can’t ask for more.

Taking a deep breath, Alice opened the door.

She was greeted with soft jazzy music playing in the background and the scent of sandalwood.

She looked around. The place was empty except for the bartender behind the counter and the waiter lighting the candles on the low round tables, each surrounded by burgundy velvet chairs.

For an instant, she wished she hadn’t come alone, but she shook the thought away.

This was why she was here. Her therapist had told her she had to go alone to places and try to enjoy the moment, regardless of people around her.

While she was there, she could read a book or take some notes on her feelings, but she had to stay for at least thirty minutes.

Swallowing hard, she approached the counter and took a seat at one of the stools.

“Gin and tonic, please,” she said. How many times had she rehearsed what she was going to say?

“Welcome to The Gin Room.” The waiter, a tall lanky guy dressed in a white shirt with a black vest flashed a grin at her, the light hit the flashy earring on his lower lip. “Any specific gin? We’ve got Bombay, Tanqueray, Beefeater—”

“Um, the pink one?” she interrupted him before she became overwhelmed with the options.

“Pink one it is. Gordon’s okay?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, turned his back on her, and set about getting the beverage.

She let out a sigh of relief. She was sure her therapist wouldn’t be pleased about the fact she’d come at the least busy moment, but hey, she was here.

Right? Surely, that had to count for something.

She clasped her hands together to stop from tapping on the counter.

Suddenly, the door banged open. She turned her head, and her jaw dropped.

A man, well over six-feet tall stood at the entrance, two giggling girls at his side, hanging onto each arm.

Alice blinked. She was stunned by the lack of clothing on the women, which was in no way appropriate for a place like this, but she was more stunned by the man ushering them silent with a gaze.

He was handsome. Well-built but not in a brawny way, he wore what she had no doubt was an expensive perfectly tailored suit.

His hair was on the longer side, reaching below his shoulders in reddish-brown salt-pepper waves.

He walked into the venue as if the place belonged to him, his presence seeming to take over the space and squeezing the air out of her lungs as if he were physically holding her.

His gaze fell on her. She hurried to look away, her cheeks burning with shame.

The unwelcome yet familiar ball of anxiety began to form in her belly.

This was why she didn’t go to places alone.

People saw her and she didn’t want to be seen.

She wanted to be invisible. Thankfully at that moment the bartender came back with her drink.

He must have noticed something in her expression because he gave her another goofy grin.

“That’s Axel Sala, he is part owner of the bar, which is why he can come in here with whomever he pleases.

” He leaned forward and lowered his voice.

“If it were up to me, I wouldn’t allow this display, but he’s the boss.

In any case, don’t worry about him because he has a booth and his office at the back, so he won’t bother you. He’s discreet.”

He winked at her, and she managed to make a noncommittal noise at the back of her throat in response. Seemingly satisfied, the waiter walked away. Alice sighed. Her therapist wouldn’t approve. Her voice rang in her head, similar to the voice of her conscience.

You had the chance to start a conversation. Why didn’t you take it?

And say what? Axel Sala was a hunk? That she agreed about the women? That she wished she had the confidence to be one of them? Ugh. She glanced back to where he’d stood. He was gone, which was a good thing. Right?

She picked up the glass and took a sip. Some of it spilled down her chin onto her shirt, making her realize her hands were shaking.

“Fuck.” She sat it down and dabbed at her chest with a napkin. “Easy now,” she murmured.

She shut her eyes and attempted to take slow deep breaths, but the image of Axel kept dancing at the edge of her consciousness.

She absently wondered what color his eyes were.

Blue? Brownish like his hair? She couldn’t quite tell where she was sitting, but the word “fiery” kept popping into her brain.

No one had eyes like flames, though, unless.

.. She bit her lip, opened her eyes, and hurriedly took another shaky sip of her drink.

Unless they were a shifter. She rubbed the groove on the counter. Shifters.

They’d recently come out into the light and apparently had been among them forever, but she didn’t know any and wasn’t sure she wanted to.

There were rumors. Hundreds. Thousands. They were beastly, beyond humanity. They hunted people down. She tried to ignore them, and one couldn’t help but wonder if there was some credence to it all.

If Axel were a shifter, she wouldn’t be surprised.

He was too tall and too good looking for a normal human being.

He was the kind of guy who would never see her, the kind who would bully her—like the ones in school and college.

Her heart picked up its pace and she groaned.

She was supposed to be writing, working on her social anxiety, not musing about some stranger with two dollops at his side and remembering the past.

“Enough,” she scolded herself. “This is the present. Stay here.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out her notebook and pen. Opening it onto a blank page, she began to write.