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A night in The Mission

The Mission buzzed around him—tacos sizzling on street vendors’ grills, a bar across the street pulsing with neon lights, and the sounds of laughter drifting down the avenue. He glanced at his phone as he weaved through the crowd, swearing under his breath. It was just after eight, and B had texted half an hour ago saying she was already at the bar.

Perfect.

When he pushed through the heavy wooden door of the bar, his eyes searched the dimly lit space. The sultry mood lighting cast warm shadows across the room, but it wasn’t long before he saw her. She was hard to miss. B was perched on a high stool, legs crossed, fingers casually wrapped around a glass of something dark. Her wild curls framed her face perfectly, and that dress… God damn.

B looked up, catching D’s eye from across the room. She raised a single eyebrow and smirked, clearly amused at his delayed entrance.

“Cutting it close there, D,” she teased when he finally approached.

“Fashionably late,” he grinned, sliding into the seat next to her. “You look… incredible.”

Her smirk deepened. “I know.”

B always had that confident, playful vibe, but tonight, something was different. The playful banter between them crackled with energy. He leaned in closer, feeling the tension build with every inch.

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked, flagging down the bartender.

She let out a low, mischievous laugh. “I figured we’d start with drinks and see where the night takes us.”

Halfway through their second round, they were laughing about bad Tinder dates, random hookups, and the weird quirks that came with living in San Francisco. Their conversation flowed easily—smooth like whiskey, with a kick.

B leaned forward, her leg brushing against his under the bar. She didn’t move away, and neither did he. The air between them had shifted, becoming something heavier.

“I’ve got an idea,” she said, her voice dropping low. “There’s this place… a little hole-in-the-wall dance spot a few blocks from here. It’s low-key, but the music is fire.”

“Lead the way,” D replied, downing the rest of his drink.

Outside, the night had cooled, but the heat between them was palpable. B took his hand, weaving him through the narrow streets like she knew exactly where she was headed. She’d lived here long enough, after all. He didn’t mind being led; not by her.

They reached a nondescript door, and B flashed a knowing smile. Inside, the space was small, packed with bodies swaying to the beat of deep house. The bass thumped through the floor, the rhythm inviting them closer.

Before he could react, B grabbed his wrist and pulled him onto the dance floor. She moved effortlessly, hips swaying to the music, her body in perfect sync with the beat. D tried to keep up, but he couldn’t help but watch her—those curves, the way she bit her lip when she really got into the groove.

He slid in behind her, their bodies close now, almost touching. She arched her back, pressing into him, and he felt her pulse against him. She tilted her head back, lips brushing his ear.

“I hope you can keep up, D.”

He chuckled, his hands finding her waist, fingers grazing the soft fabric of her dress. “Try me.”

The tension had gone from a simmer to a boil. Every touch, every move was deliberate now. The music, the energy, the crowd—it all blurred into the background. It was just the two of them, bodies moving together in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the beat and everything to do with what was building between them.

An hour passed, maybe more. Neither of them cared.

Without warning, B spun around, her face inches from his, the playful smirk gone, replaced by something darker, something hotter. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss—hard, hungry, and filled with the promise of what was coming next.

“I live close by,” she murmured against his lips, her breath hot, her hand sliding lower.

D nodded, his pulse racing.

They barely made it through the door of her place.