Trouble, Poured With a Smile
This was requested by @leinablogs
Bo didn’t believe in love at first sight.
He believed in bad whiskey, worse men, and keepin’ his head down long enough to live another year.
So when he walked into the juke joint and saw Grace, he knew immediately that whatever this was, it was gonna cost him something.
She stood near the back, lamplight catching in her hair, sleeves rolled up, hands steady as she counted coins for the owner. Not dressed fancy. Not tryin’ to be seen. And somehow, that made it worse.
Bo slowed without meanin’ to.
“You gonna order,” Stack drawled behind him, “or you plannin’ to stare holes clean through the poor girl?”
Bo snapped back to himself. “Mind your business.”
Smoke chuckled, lighting a cigarette. “That is our business. Man walks in here like he forgot how his feet work.”
Bo shot them a look and stepped forward anyway.
Grace glanced up then eyes sharp, assessing, like she knew exactly what kind of man he was before he said a word.
Bo cleared his throat. Damn thing felt tight. “Uh. Whiskey. Neat.”
She poured without rush, slid the glass across. Their fingers brushed.
It felt like a spark off a live wire.
Grace raised a brow. “You always this quiet?”
Bo huffed a small laugh. “Only when I’m thinkin’.”
“And what’re you thinkin’ now?”
“That I should’ve stayed outside.”
Her lips twitched. Not a smile. Not yet.
“Yeah,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Wouldn’t wanna get myself into trouble.”
Grace leaned in just a little, voice low. “Then you’re already too late.”
From the corner, Stack let out a loud, exaggerated cough. “Lord, Bo. You flirtin’ now?”
Bo didn’t look back. “Drink your damn whiskey.”
Smoke grinned. “Didn’t know you had manners like that.”
Grace glanced past Bo at the men, amused. “They always this polite?”
“They’re worse when sober,” Bo muttered.
She laughed then — soft, real — and Bo felt it hit somewhere deep and stupid.
“Well,” Grace said, resting her elbows on the bar, “you gonna tell me your name, trouble?”
Bo hesitated. Names mattered. Names lingered.
She nodded once. “Grace.”
Outside, thunder rolled low over Clarksdale, thick air pressing in like a warning.
Stack leaned toward Smoke. “Give it a week.”
Smoke shook his head. “Give it three days.”
Bo took his glass, eyes still on Grace, and knew deep down that this wasn’t a beginning.
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