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"I still think whiskey is far superior to your Chardonnay," Ryan asserted with a grin, leaning forward on his elbows. "There's a reason wise men retire to smoky back rooms, not boutique tasting halls."

Charlotte couldn't resist a sly grin as she swirled the glass of merlot, like a master conductor orchestrating a symphony of flavours. With each delicate inhale, she savoured the fruity bouquet. "Given your fondness for both smoking and backrooms, I suppose that says more about you than spirits. For those seeking refinement, the subtle charms of wine will always surpass balls-to-the-wall firewater."

"Oh, oho! Oh, sure! But not all that flames is without depth. The trick is sipping slow to savour each layer, letting notes emerge and intermingle. Not everyone races headlong to get hammered."

"Maybe I've misjudged your taste. There could be more nuance in knocking back shots than meets the eye."

Ryan leaned forward on his elbows, steel grey eyes—those stormy orbs that had captivated and confounded Charlotte for so long—catching the low light with a glint of amusement. They were captivating. She could never quite decide if their colour reflected intrigue or trouble, like liquid mercury poised to spill wreckage with the slightest quiver. Intriguing yet frustratingly complex.

Although his carefree charm suggested Ryan bounced from boom to bust with the insouciance of Leonardo DiCaprio scouring yachts for his next impressionable ingénue, closer inspection hinted at a cunning intelligence lurking beneath the frat boy façade. One got the sense he could talk even the most silver-tongued salesmen into handing over their firstborn, then have them thanking him afterward.

His cleanly-cut dark waves likely never suffered a bad hair day, artfully tousled with that just-rolled-out-of-bed-after-a-torrid-romp style strove for on magazine covers. While tailored separates hugged his frame with precision, she wondered if they served more to impress boardrooms or bedrooms these days.

Ryan cocked a brow, lips quirking into that devilish half-smile she remembered so well. "So, it's been a while—what happened to that Appletini habit?"

Charlotte snorted indelicately into her merlot. "I've been feeling nostalgic tonight. Last I checked, that was a college indulgence, not a lifestyle choice. But somehow I get the sense that pure apple cinnamon isn't your usual poison these days either."

He pretended to mull it over, tapping a finger on chiselled chin stubble. "There was that Mongolian yak butter tea I tried on my last investor trip. And just last week I bellied up to a Smirnoff Ice Tall Boy Flip."

"You sure? Lightweight?" She allowed a disbelieving laugh, in turn hearing his own beautiful chuckle.

"You think I'm that basic? No, these days I'm drawn back to the classic Manhattans. Good bourbon warmed just right with sweet vermouth, a touch of bitters... Complex, but goes down oh so smoothly. You should try one. It will live up to your most discerning tastes."

"My most discerning tastes? Let me guess, you selected the hooch based on reviews from whichever influencer is hot this week."

"This seasoned palate knows quality spirits when it drinks them. If you prefer your drinks like your lifestyles—rigidly controlled and lacking adventure—then by all means, stick to Chardonnay."

"Coming from the man whose tastes change faster than his Instagram bio, I'll take that as a compliment. At least I don't float from fad to fad like a dilettante." She took a delicate sip, savouring the fruity complexities. "Some of us appreciate nuance and consistency over constant reinvention. But then, depth was never your strong suit, was it?"

A glint entered his steely gaze, equal parts amusement and challenge. Leaning closer so his breath ghosted her ear, Ryan said slowly, "Now that's where you've always been mistaken, Charlotte. There are depths to me you've yet to explore."

"Is that your line for the evening? I guess even broken clocks are right twice a day."

"Are we still talking about the drink? I promise it won't bite, unlike some..."

Charlotte stiffened. "Careful. Not all of us flit between drinks like we do bedposts."

A bark of laughter escaped Ryan, though it held an edge. "Oh, I don't know about that. You were quite the fickle mingler in your day, too."

"And whose fault was that?"

For a long moment they stared at one another, tension coiling thick between them. Then Ryan sipped the last of his drink and signalled the bartender for a new one. "Leave histories best left buried. Let's have another round, but this time, you join me in something stronger. It'll put that sharp little tongue of yours to better use than dredging up the past."

Charlotte swirled the deep crimson liquid in her glass pensively. The memories of her carefree university days came flooding back, like a nostalgic wave crashing against the shores of her consciousness. Back then, she was as fickle with her lovers as Ryan was with his choice of drinks tonight—switching partners like he swapped out cocktails. There were joys of youthful indiscretion and the ever-changing landscape of romantic escapades she found profoundly entertaining.

She recalled passion-fueled trysts in the unused dance studio after late rehearsals, bodies entwined in wanton abandon until the wee hours. Stolen moments locked in residence closets during mandated fire drills, muffled laughter and desperate kisses drowning out the drone of instructions outside. Even lingering evenings spent tangled amongst Egyptian cotton sheets in her cramped dorm, relishing each new discovery as semester partners came and went.

Back then, monogamy had seemed so suffocating, such constraints unthinkable in her willful rebellion against familial bonds. Everything worth experiencing life demanded sampling at the first opportunity—relationships, hobbies, occult rituals at 3AM, the usual fare of youthful caprice. Commitment only risked missing what shone brightest just beyond each new horizon.

How different she had become from that carefree ingénue, focused now solely on growth within her own evolving identity and inventions rather than thrill-seeking at the expense of others' hearts.

Yet remembering that fresher, more free-spirited incarnation, Charlotte wondered—had she become too staid in self-reliance, or merely gained understanding that commitment bore rewards rarely found in fleeting passion alone?

She cast a critical eye over Ryan, taking in the changes and continuities of the intervening years.

Out with the frat boy fashion faux pas, and in with the impeccably tailored ensembles that screamed "I've made it" louder than a Hollywood billboard. He was a transformation of her college crush from a scruffy frat bro to a walking advertisement for high fashion. With each perfectly tousled bronze lock and designer-clad inch of his athletic frame, it was clear that ambition was his constant companion, right up there with his obsession for partnership.

Yet for all his impeccable primping and preening, Charlotte knew the man beneath the bespoke brands remained unchanged. Prone as ever to restlessness, flitting whims and fleeting fascinations in perpetual search of stimulus beyond tomorrow's bottom line. True to trend, his interests shifted faster than Taylor Swift through romances.

While Ryan's roving eye had always grated, she once tolerated it, believing in redemption stories over late night DM confessions. How naively Charlotte mistook wild passion for connection, free spirits for wandering hearts.

Her betrayal taught lasting lessons about virtues apparently scorned by "enlightened" philanderers who read too much Rupi Kaur between romps. But where Ryan tore down, she chose building anew with a wiser foundation.

As the bartender placed their freshly-crafted cocktails on the bar, Charlotte found her gaze wandering to Ryan's chiselled features, illuminated now by the bar's low golden lights. She watched the play of shadows across his strong jawline, usually clean-shaven but sporting a few days' stubble that lent him a roguish air. His steel grey eyes, usually so guarded, now danced with amusement as he regaled her with some entrepreneurial folly or other, but still gleamed with that same keen intelligence and restless energy she had always found so beguiling.

Damn the man, for even now she felt a familiar longing welling unbidden within. To trace the Roman curve of his nose with featherlight fingers, brush back curls and lose herself in depths that knew her soul far deeper than any other. How maddening that after all this time and distance, her heart remained prone to tremors beneath that keen gaze alone.

Lost in her admiring study, it took a moment to realise Ryan had fallen silent, gazing back at her with a quizzical smile and raised brow. "Admiring the view? Window's next to you."

Snapping from her reverie, Charlotte sat up straight so fast she nearly flipped her fresh Old Fashioned onto the bar. "I was looking at the handsome fella behind you."

"What? Where?"

She chuckled, "No, no. I drifted off thinking of... uh, spreadsheets. You were saying something about pivot tables and improper formatting?"

Ryan chuckled at Charlotte's obvious flustered state. "I said nothing about pivot tables or formatting. What I do know is that I'm not the only one capable of becoming distracted."

"Okay, then let's say I was lost in fantasies of spreadsheets. Far less frivolous than your usual repertoire."

"My pastimes involve more than pleasure seeking. But I'm not going to apologise for enjoying beauty wherever I find it. And you, Charlotte, have always possessed a beauty of mind to match your features."

Charlotte eyed Ryan warily. "Thank you, but no. I haven't forgotten how easily honeyed words spill from your lips."

Undeterred, Ryan flashed a roguish grin. "If you're really worried, know that comparing you to aesthetics pales next to your sharper wit and freer spirit. Not many can keep pace with me drink for drink and jab for jab."

"Coming from the guy who goes where the wind takes him. Careful, any more and a girl may think you're angling for something."

Ryan held up his hands in mock surrender. "Wouldn't dream of it. I know when I'm outmatched. But from where I'm sitting, the view remains most... appreciative."

"Okay, what game are you playing with all this attention? Compliments, drinks, what next? You're going to ask me out on a date?"

Ryan quirked a brow, but his telltale breathless chuckle was no lie. "A date? No, but-"

"Alright, that's enough. Either you tell me the truth right now or I'll..." What would she do? It's as easy as pie—just walk out that door and never look back. With all forms of contact cut off faster than a bad Tinder match, the only way he's seeing her again is if he takes a stroll from his doorstep to hers at the Pleasure Palace.

It's like playing a game of hide and seek, but with fewer hiding spots and more questionable decor.

"Walk out, leave the payment to me? The past is past, Charlotte. We've both grown since then. But I would be lying if I said I didn't miss you."

"And I miss when your honeyed words matched your deeds. But leopards don't change their spots, and wandering hearts remain wandering."

Ryan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, fine, you caught me. I'll be honest—I was hoping we could find our way back to each other again."

Charlotte scoffed. "What, so you could toy with my heart until the next hot influencer slides into your DMs? I'm not some side piece you can keep on the backburner for your convenience, Ryan."

"That's not what I want at all." His steely gaze bored into hers with uncharacteristic intensity. It was almost reassuring, but also uncomfortable. "You're the one that got away and- and I want to fix things. No one else ever measured up to the way you challenged me, you've been nothing but been the best."

"Spare me the sob story. We both know you get bored after the chase is over."

"Maybe that used to be true. I was selfish, I was mean. I was everything you didn't like. But people can change, Charlotte. I just need you to give me a second chance to prove it."

She studied him for a long moment, emotions warring on her delicate features. Finally meeting his eyes, she said firmly, "I won't be some experiment for you to amuse yourself with until the next shiny thing comes along. If you're serious about change, show me with your actions, not just flowery words over drink."

And with a dramatic flourish, Charlotte slapped a bill onto the bar and gracefully gathered her purse, her blonde locks cascading around her like a halo of Hollywood glamour. As she sauntered towards the exit in her clingy cocktail dress, she left poor Ryan to contemplate his empty glass and the shattered dreams he'd once tossed aside like yesterday's leftovers.

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(2063 Words)