𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈 everyone knows who she is. Worldwide model, covered in many vogue magazines, walked catwalks, and runaway. But people don't know what happens behind the curtains. Despite the many scandals that have plagued her reputation...
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I slid onto the stool next to Winter, my presence announced by the quiet clink of my watch against the bar. I caught the faint scent of her perfume, mixed with the sharpness of vodka.
"Vodka," I ordered, matching her choice.
Winter turned her head slightly, eyes narrowing as she looked at me. "Copying me now?" she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Just good taste," I replied, my tone as icy as ever. I wasn't here for small talk, but something about Winter always made me linger, even when we both knew we should keep our distance.
She shrugged, taking another sip. "Could've fooled me."
I ignored the jab, but the silence that followed was thick with unspoken tension. The minutes dragged on, each of them stubbornly holding onto their aloofness. Finally, Winter huffed, setting her glass down with a bit more force than necessary.
"You know, you're really good at ruining a perfectly good drink," she said, her voice cutting. Without waiting for a response, she slid off the stool and walked away, leaving her unfinished drink behind.
I watched her go, my expression unchanged, though something in my chest tightened. The bartender came over, collecting Winter's abandoned glass. "She didn't pay," he said, annoyance evident in his tone.
My jaw tightened. "Put it on my tab," I replied, not missing the way the bartender's eyebrows lifted in surprise.
"Sure thing," the bartender said, reaching for the vodka bottle. "Want another?"
I shook his head. "Whiskey. On the rocks."
The bartender paused mid-pour, glancing at Lucas with a smirk. "Didn't think you were the whiskey type. Vodka suits you better, don't you think?"
I didn't respond, my eyes fixed on the rows of bottles behind the bar. The bartender's smirk faded as the realization hit him—I hadn't ordered the vodka because it was my favorite.
Without another word, the bartender turned to grab the whiskey, leaving me alone with the thought that Winter was getting under my skin in ways I hadn't expected.
I lifted the whiskey glass to my lips, the amber liquid burning slightly as it slid down my throat. I let the warmth settle in my chest, but it did little to melt the cold that had been there since Winter walked away.
As I stared into the depths of my glass, memories began to surface, unbidden and unwelcome. I could see us both at fourteen, running along the beach, the sound of our laughter mixing with the crash of the waves. I remembered the way Winter's curly mess of a hair would whip around her face, her smile so bright it made everything else fade away.
Another memory flickered—I used to sneak into the guest bedroom late at night whenever she slept over, just so I could be near her. We'd lie there in the dark, talking about everything and nothing until we both drifted off. I never admitted it, but those nights were some of the best sleep I ever had.
