❝i will lie awake and lie for fun,
and fake the way i hold you;
let you fall for every empty word i say.❞

❘❘

A DULL ACHE THROBS in the back of my skull. In that vaguely nostalgic feeling of the morning after a party, a hangover lingers; it ebbs and flows with a pulsating headache and a subtle burn in my chest.

Moments of the night tangle together into a web of fantasies and lies lost somewhere within foggy memories.

There were kisses; soft and gentle, trailing down my neck as I twisted my fingers into someone's dress; fleeting and volatile, branding my skin with the singular notes in an endless soundtrack of bliss.

I'd stared out over a balcony past the Puerto Rican flag, mesmerized by the desire to just jump.

I groan, open my eyes to find him beside me—inked knuckles sprawled across blue sheets, seductively still. Soft snores leave his parted lips.

Julian? Was that his name?

As I sit up, a scorching hot string of bile gathers in the back of my throat. It tastes like smoke and something sweet, burning up into my nose.

I need to get out of here.

I stumble to my feet, my knees buckle, my stomach lurches. A hollow feeling swallows me.

I feel empty as I stand, spare him a silent look and then scramble for the window in crumpled clothes. I feel fucking nothing. A nothingness.

It sucks me into a slow-motion track as time passes; it bleeds into the evening with the same transient buzz, fading, as if it never happened and it never would again.

The world feels sluggish. Everything blurs by in some drowsy dreamscape that I watch from the other side of a thick piece of glass. It's disorienting—dizzying—watching hairline cracks splinter a dirty lens.

I blame it on the hangover I'm not sure I even have.

"So you just left him in bed?"

I take a drag and glance at Emmy. "I did."

It's low key and lulling to a dead night, by the turn in our dazed conversation. Between wisps of smoke and wasting as much time away from the bar as we can afford, our smoke breaks always deviate from stolen kisses into rehashing one night stands.

The smoking area is as quiet as New York City can get. Only distant late-night traffic fills the void as Emmy inhales. She twirls a piece of hair around her finger, quirking a brow at me.

With her thick curves and her wild, cotton-candy-colored wigs, I'd always been into Emmy. Not just because she was the first friend I made in New York or that she insisted on keeping her contact in my phone as Big Papi, but because she was the ideal amount of crazy.

"Why?" Smoke billows from her lips like an invitation. "You coulda gotten yourself some hot morning sex."

Maybe it's not like watching the world from the other side of a sheet of glass. Maybe it's like watching it through a thin veil of smoke. It fades with time, and then suddenly, everything is how it used to be.

Nothing has changed.

"You said he had the flag?" Emmy asks innocently, a coy smile playing at her lips.

"Sí, the Puerto Rican flag," I snicker, remembering when I'd been just seconds from trying to fly. "He has it hanging from his balcony."

Emmy giggles, drops her cigarette to the ground and stubs it. Her secretive grin steers back up to me. "He sounds like my kind of man."

"He was...sweet." From what I remember.

"Sweet," she says, "is not a word you use on a man that fucked you like that."

Rolling my eyes, I toss my cigarette and flick a lock of pale-purple hair from her shoulder. "How would you know how he fucked me, Emmy?"

"I can see it in you, mamichula." Emmy wags a finger at me, dark eyes glinting with mischief. "He's got you."

"Cállate, bitch," I say with a grin, and then open the door. As we both slip into the warm bar unnoticed, I take the chance to escape her before she can ask anything else.

In the six months I've worked at AWOL, it's never looked so dim. There's a sleepy haze blanketing the entire bar—a low background track of the Rolling Stones mixed with the subtle chatter of a weeknight.

My gaze skates over the thin crowd, but skids to a stop on the man waving me over. "Hey, ma," he asks as I approach, "can you get me a Modelo?"

I laugh. "You came even on your night off, huh?"

All broad shoulders and dark skin, with tufts of tight curls and a sneaky smile, Antonaccio reels me in with that soft Jamaican drawl, "You know I'm only here for you."

He stands from the booth and engulfs me into a hug. "I'm trying to get away from Emmy," I snicker. "She's a lot tonight."

"When isn't she?" He pulls away, but his dark gaze lingers over my shoulder. I don't even have to turn. I can hear her flirty giggles and raunchy Puerto Rican slang from across the bar. "Got an hour until closing. You wanna smoke a joint?"

"Aww," I coo, plucking at his shirt teasingly. "You came all the way here tonight to offer me a joint?"

Ignoring my comment, Anto slings an arm over my shoulder and whisks me to the front door. "I gotta catch up with my girl. Jesse leave yet?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Then we'll make it quick."

As the door closes behind us, the sounds dissolve into another muted silence, lapsing into nothing but traffic, muffled voices, and Anto's soft breathing. Fresh air caresses my face.

He leans back against the mural beside the bar and casually pulls a joint from his pocket. "What's going on with you, Nev? You find a place?"

"I did," I say as he lights it and takes a pull. "I just nailed a place in Ridgewood. Got a nice, clean roommate. Quiet. Seems like she won't bother me."

Rachel is the least of my concerns. Even if she'd thrown me a cautious look this morning, she didn't say anything. We're not friends.

"That'll be nice," Anto says, "when you start school again."

I smile, but internally, I'm screaming at the thought of my last year of school. "Yeah, I hope it's easier this year."

"You're gonna kill it with your dissertation." As he passes me the joint, his brows furrow. "What are you doing it on?"

"Family separation in the media," I say before inhaling. My chest heaves and my head swims with the impact of those words, but it's nothing compared to the sudden vibration in my pocket.

I know it's Enzo again.

"All about this bullshit zero-tolerance policy on immigration?"

My teeth grind together, but I force a sigh and hand him the joint. "It's only in the news now because of the policy, Anto, but they've been separating families for a long fucking time."

"Sorry," he exhales an apology for a discussion that has barely started.

Back and forth, the joint dwindles slowly. The topic still hangs with some unspoken strain, so we both resort to silence.

Another vibration burns through my thigh, but I don't pull my phone out. Instead, I let it fizzle out into a dull hum as the haze envelops me.

"You better get in there," Anto finally says, "before Jesse notices you're missing."

"He should probably fire me," I giggle, the tension forgotten. "I've spent more time outside than inside tonight."

Anto grins that full, lazy, high grin that I love. "He likes having you around too much to fire you. Finish it. Imma stop in and see Emmy."

"Thanks, babe." I blow him a kiss as he opens the door, but as soon as he's inside, everything crumbles. I fumble for my phone, cursing when his name flashes across the screen.

Two missed calls from Enzo.

Family separation at its finest.

Regret penetrates the weak high and plunges through my lungs until I'm breathless. A million irrational emotions tug at my heart as a voicemail chimes in. He'll never stop leaving fucking voicemails.

My finger hovers over the delete button for what feels like forever. Enzo is states away, but only a phone call away. Before I can process it, I hit the play button and press the phone to my ear.

"Neva, it's me. Again." His voice is soft. Tired. "I know you're ignoring me again and I know you're fucking pissed at mamá, but at least let us know you're okay. When we don't hear from you, we don't even know if you're alive. Her and Vance worry—"

I don't even realize I've deleted the message until the joint falls from my limp fingers. A white screen stares back at me; a list of untouched voicemails from Enzo.

This is why I don't answer. This is why I don't listen to them.

Fuck him. Fuck him for not believing me.

My hands clench into fists as I fight back a wave of self-pity. Why should I be the one that feels sorry?

I whirl around frantically and rush into the safety of the bar. I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry about a—

I stop cold.

With both knees busting out of frayed holes in black jeans and his sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos, he's tapping his Adidas sneakers impatiently. With full lips and dark eyes and a clenched jaw, he's even more handsome than I remember.

Or couldn't remember.

His head raises, and as his hood slips down, his eyes lock with mine.

"Neva," he says, a soft smile toying at his lips. "You snuck out."

Reflex kicks in and I jump to defend myself, snapping, "I didn't sneak out."

"I woke up and you weren't there." Julian shrugs. "You snuck out."

Shoving my phone in my pocket, I glance over his shoulder at Emmy, who is bouncing up and down with a giddy smile. "Is this him?" she mouths.

I barely nod, my throat running dry without a response. What is he doing here?

Julian steps forward casually and rolls his shoulders as his gaze trails down my body. "I thought," he drawls, "that we had a good time."

"So you followed me here?"

A devilish glint in his eyes prepares me for the blow. "I'm actually not here to see you."

"Oh?"

"Muy caliente, papi," Emmy cuts in, tracing a single nail down his shoulder as she circles him. "¿Cómo estás?"

On cue, Jesse drapes an arm over my shoulders. "Julian. You know Neva, huh?"

Julian doesn't say anything at first. His gaze narrows in on the gesture before one brow lifts. Finally, he says, "Sí. Mi nueva vecina."

The bar has cleared out significantly, and I wriggle in Jesse's grasp with all the intent to escape and start cleaning so I can get the fuck out of here.

"Come out back, Julian," Jesse says, releasing me reluctantly. Emmy backs away with an apologetic look. "We can talk there. Neva. You're closing up."

I nod and turn away to find Emmy already wiping down the bar. By the time they've passed through the back door and into the smoking area, my heart catches up to me. "What are they doing?"

Anto sips his drink innocently, sitting at the empty bar. "Jesse is buying a little blow."

"Ah, mierda, is that it? It's snowing in here?" Emmy drawls, her voice low and lilting. "If you ask, Jesse will share the looove."

"Oh shut up, Emmy." Antonaccio rolls his eyes. "We all know what a little bori like you does to get some blow. It's got nothing to do with love."

Her eyes narrow into slits and she sweeps the Modelo away from him. "Fuck off."

My gaze flits between the two of them, and when Anto catches it, he chuckles. "Emmy is too poor for that shit, so she'll suck his dick to pay for it, yeah?"

A murderous blush raises in her cheeks, and her perfectly manicured nails clutch the glass she's holding. "You don't know shit."

"I know that I saw you," he says nonchalantly. "I walked in on it."

"Oh yeah, boo, is that what bothers you?" Emmy taunts as she rounds the bar. "The fact that it wasn't you?"

"You and I both know that we've been there."

"Why do you care if I do a little blow?"

"You're fucking crazy," Antonaccio whistles, shaking his head in disbelief. "Crazy."

Emmy is distant, heels clicking by me as she maintains a flirty tone. "You know I'm crazy, papi."

Maybe I'm too high for their conversation, or maybe I'm distracted by the man that slipped into the smoking area with my boss, but it doesn't matter. My attention strays to the back door as I wait and wait and wait.

Their conversation drags behind me. I start capping the taps and wiping down bottles. Normally, Jesse lingers to make sure I do everything, but tonight, he barely looks at us when he comes back in.

"Make sure you lock up," he warns, and I know he's talking to me before he even clarifies, "Em, you can head out. Anto...you're not even scheduled."

And then he hastily unlocks the front door and leaves.

I blink at Emmy. What the fuck was that? Her gaze flits over my shoulder, and when I whirl around, I tumble into a familiar chest. One that I was pressed against yesterday.

"Mira, mami," he slurs, catching me. Just as husky and gravelly as the night before. Quick. Tempting. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Have you always been his plug?"

"No." Julian smiles. "Funny how the world works, huh. I wanted to see you again."

Biting back a snort, I turn and grab the leftover coasters from the bar. "I'm your neighbor. You were going to see me again."

"That's not true," he argues, his lips finding my ear. "I never see Rachel and she's my neighbor too."

I swat at him playfully and duck behind the bar. "We're closed, Julian."

That doesn't seem to matter to him, and apparently, it hadn't mattered to Jesse. With a chuckle, he reaches for my hand. "Can I stay?"

Emmy sashays behind him, pumping her fist into her cheek with that signature blowjob gesture. "Neva is closing up all alone," she teases, quickly gathering her purse and snatching Anto's arm. "You two take your time."

Another cluck of her tongue, another click of her heels, and then she tosses her hand over her shoulder, sparing me a devilish look. "Let him take you on the bar, mamita, but make him work for it."

I don't.

It only takes one drink before he has me on the bar. In the dim light and hot air, Julian is closing in on me and I know how this is going to end.

As his hands crawl up my bare legs and his fingers inch at the hem of my shorts, I surrender to it. "It's hot," I complain. Julian sweeps my hair from my sticky neck. "It's so hot and I hate it."

His lips trail up my neck in a line of fire. So hot.

I paw at the sleeves of his sweatshirt, gasping, "Why are you wearing this? It's so hot."

"Keep saying that," he slurs in amusement. "You won't be saying that in a few months when winter kicks in."

"I actually love the winter," I admit breathlessly. "I grew up in Florida, so I never really saw snow until I moved to the city."

His laugh is hot and husky against my skin, but then he pulls away to settle between my legs. "How long have you been in the city?"

"A few years." I shrug.

"A few years and I've never run into you?"

"It's not a small world, Julian." I run my fingers along his jaw teasingly. "It's a big, big city."

My hand snakes down to his belt. His eyes zero in on my wandering fingers, glinting with the same bad idea that I can feel stirring between my legs.

"Besides," I breathe, "I lived in Bushwick before."

"What brought you to Ridgewood?"

"Roommate kicked me out," I say brusquely. "She didn't like that I brought men home."

His fingers dig into my bare thighs. "You sleep around a lot?"

"I like sex."

A lazy, knowing type of amusement taints his laughter. "So you like winter and you like sex. What else is there to you?"

"I'm studying journalism." The words come tumbling out without a warning. "Journalism with a minor in documentary studies."

Julian looks pleasantly surprised. His lips twitch. "Sexy and intelligent."

"What about you? What do you do?"

"You don't gotta know what I do," he says simply.

"But I already know."

He laughs. "Yeah, I guess we did this backwards, huh?"

"Did what?"

"The finding out I deal before the date thing."

"This isn't a date."

"Oh, you wanna play hard to get," Julian teases, his fingers finally catching the button on my shorts.

"Not hard to get." As I wriggle to the edge of the bar, I hook a finger into his collar to draw him in. "Just not interested in anything serious."

"But we could have some fun, yeah?"

I press a palm to his chest gently before dragging my nails down to the bulge in his jeans. "I'm a lot of fun, Julian."

"Oh, Neva. What are we going to do with you?"

"We?" I lick my lips. "What are you going to do with me?"

The temperature in the room seems to rise as he stares down at me. A dangerous concoction swirls within those dark eyes—an unfiltered challenge and a trace of lust.

I bite my lip to hide a grin. "Are you going to kiss me?"

Julian chuckles, but it's gruff with a promise that unravels any ounce of self-control I've been pretending to have. "I'm going to do more than kiss you, Neva."

❘❘

**So. For any of my non-US readers, this story does take place right after the Trump administration presented the "zero tolerance" approach to deter immigration at the US-Mexico border. From April to June of 2018, federal authorities separated families if they entered the US. Thousands of children were separated from their families, and officials didn't even have an exact number because the policy never included measures to reunite them. It was horrifying, it was cruel, and it was just WRONG.

There are politics in this story. I should probably add a trigger.

On a better note, Emmy and Anto will be forever immortalized in this story. Some of the best co-workers I had. Emmy was this spicy Puerto Rican that I fell in love with and Antonaccio was a Jamaican babe that was sooooo sweet. *sigh* ❤️