On Thin Ice

Lost

The pulsing bass of the music reverberated through the dimly lit club, bodies moved in rhythm on the crowded dance floor, bathed in the kaleidoscope of lights that flashed overhead. At the center of it all stood Y/n, perched behind the sleek bar, expertly mixing drinks with a practiced hand.

Her eyes scanned the room with a cool detachment, taking in the eclectic mix of patrons who frequented the club night after night. Some were regulars, seeking refuge from the monotony of their daily lives, while others were newcomers drawn in by the promise of excitement and escape.

Among the throng of revelers, one figure stood out from the rest. Tall and confident, with a mischievous glint in his eye, was Jack Hughes, the famous hockey player whose presence seemed to command attention wherever he went. He was surrounded by his teammates, their laughter mingling with the music as they enjoyed the music.

Y/n watched them from afar, unimpressed by the spectacle they created. To her, they were just another group of entitled athletes looking for a good time. But little did she know, Jack had already set his sights on her, intrigued by the challenge of winning over the one person in the club who seemed immune to his charms.

With a confident stride, she reaches their table and addresses the group with a professional smile. "Good evening, gentlemen. What can I get for you tonight?" she asks, her voice steady despite the loud music.

The other players eagerly place their orders, but Jack remains silent, his gaze fixed elsewhere as if she doesn't even exist. Y/n clears her throat, determined not to let his dismissive attitude get to her. Locking eyes with Jack, she holds his gaze, silently challenging him to acknowledge her presence.

After a moment, Jack finally meets her gaze, his expression guarded. Y/n holds his stare, refusing to back down. She leans in slightly, her voice dropping to a low murmur. "Is there something I can help you with or are you just here to ignore me?" she says, her tone laced with a hint of sarcasm.

The other players begin cracking up amongst themselves, sensing the tension between Y/n and Jack. Jack's lips twitch with the hint of a smirk, intrigued by Y/n's defiance, not expecting her to address him so boldly.

"Surprise me," he finally replies, his voice low and husky.

Y/n raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "Alright then, consider it done," she says, before turning on her heel and heading back to the bar to prepare their drinks without a second glance. Y/n could hear them laughing even from behind the bar.

She steps behind the bar, the familiar rhythm of the club pulses through the wooden counter beneath her hands. She leans in, her movements fluid and practiced as she retrieves the necessary bottles from the shelves. The scent of alcohol and sweat mingles in the air, a constant backdrop to the cacophony of sound that fills the room.

With a steady hand, Y/n pours Jack's drink, the liquid flowing smoothly into the glass as she measures out the perfect amount. Despite the chaos of the club around her, Y/n's movements are precise and deliberate, a testament to her few years of experience behind the bar. She knows this environment like the back of her hand, and she thrives in its fast-paced energy.

As she finishes pouring the drink, she takes a moment to savor the sense of calm that washes over her. Y/n approaches the table once again, carrying the tray of drinks, she can feel the weight of Jack's gaze on her. She sets down the shots for the other players, exchanging friendly nods and smiles with them before finally reaching Jack.

With deliberate care, Y/n places Jack's drink in front of him, her fingers brushing against his hand for the briefest of moments. She meets his eyes, holding his gaze steadily as she waits for his reaction. Jack's expression softens slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before he takes the shot glass in hand.