Mark entered the hotel bar and checked Maria’s Tinder profile again. Just looking at her photo made him excited: long black hair, a red crop top revealing a flat, unblemished belly, and tight jeans. And a stunning smile. He still couldn’t believe she actually wanted to meet him.
Mark worked as a senior accountant for a construction firm, living up to every cliché of his profession. At 50, he was reasonably fit—average height and slim—but his old-fashioned side-parted hair and thick glasses made him virtually invisible. His receding hairline only compounded the effect.
At this early after-work hour, the hotel bar was deserted. Dim light cloaked the space, its black walls adorned with framed photographs of scantily clad women. The entrance opened directly into the main room, while a small seating area of roughly ten tables was tucked behind the bar.
Two bartenders stood behind the counter, dressed impeccably in white shirts, black suit trousers, and ties. One appeared to be in his sixties, older than Mark. The other was around 30, strikingly attractive, with short blonde hair and a chest that strained visibly against his shirt.
“Good evening, sir,” the younger bartender greeted Mark with a friendly expression. “Would you like something to drink?”
“I’ll take a beer. Am I allowed to choose a seat myself?”
“Of course you are, sir,” the bartender replied. “It’s quiet on a Monday evening. I’ll bring your beer right over. Do you need a menu?”
“Yes, please. I’m waiting for someone.”
Mark walked into the seating area. Most tables were flanked simply by chairs, but he spotted one tucked into the corner next to a small sofa, complete with two armchairs.
The perfect setup for a first date, Mark thought. I’ll take the armchair and leave the couch for Maria. Once the date is going well and I’ve had a few beers, I’ll find the courage to move over and sit beside her. I just hope this isn’t another disaster where the woman flees after one drink, unable to hide her disappointment.
Mark settled into the armchair and set his briefcase beside him. The young bartender delivered his beer, and Mark took a sharp sip. His heart hammered against his ribs as he checked the entrance and his watch every ten seconds. He stared at his tired reflection in the dark glass of the back bar.
Suddenly, he saw her stepping through the entrance. She looked breathtaking in elegant dark trousers and a low-cut red crop top that bared her midriff. Both bartenders tracked her with their eyes for a few seconds.
How gorgeous, Mark thought. And completely out of my league. Another doomed date.
The bartenders greeted her with welcoming smiles.
I hope they don’t try to chat her up, Mark thought, casting an anxious glance at the muscular younger bartender. He’s far more attractive than I am.
He began to tremble slightly as Maria lingered at the counter, chatting with the young man. After a moment, the bartender pointed toward Mark. Maria nodded, exchanged a final word, and walked over.
Mark stood up, paralyzed by indecision: a hug, a handshake, or a simple hello?
Maria solved the dilemma by stepping in close and wrapping her arms around him.
“Hello, Mark. How are you? It’s so nice to meet you. Why are you so stiff? Do I make you nervous?”
“Hello, Maria. Nice to meet you too,” Mark stammered. “You look stunning. It’s an honor. Sorry — I’m a bit shy around new people.”
“That’s fine. I actually find shy men rather sweet.”
Maria sat down and flashed him a warm smile. Mark forced his gaze up from her chest, feeling a hot flush crawl up his neck.
“How was your day, Maria?” he stammered, staring fixedly at the table.
“Not bad, thank you. And yours? By the way, you’re allowed to look me in the eye when we talk.”
“Mine was stressful, to be honest. We’re deep into a massive tender at work — multi-million-dollar scale. I’m on the core project team, so the responsibility is enormous. Tomorrow is the final round of negotiations with the shortlisted firms.”
The young bartender reappeared at their table.
“Decided on a second round yet? I can recommend our signature Zombie cocktails. They pack quite a punch, but the dark rum makes them dangerously smooth — ideal for breaking the ice on a first date.”
“I’ll have a Zombie, then,” Maria said. “Mark, care to join me? You look like you could use something to take the edge off.”
“Fine, make it two,” Mark said.
“Excellent choice,” the bartender said. “I’ll whip those up right away. It’s dead tonight, so you’ve basically got the place to yourselves.” He walked off with a knowing grin.
“It sounds impressive, handling that level of responsibility,” Maria said, leaning in. “May I ask what the tender is for?”
She finds something about me impressive, Mark thought, a surge of hope overriding his dread. Maybe this date isn’t doomed after all.
“It’s for the general contractor on an 80-story skyscraper. We’re down to the final three bidders. One miscalculation on our part could cost millions.”
“Wow, that really is something,” Maria murmured.
Their cocktails arrived.
“Cheers. To our date,” Maria said, raising her glass.
“Cheers,” Mark replied. “It’s a genuine pleasure. I haven’t spent an evening with a woman this beautiful in twenty years.”
“Thank you, Mark. The pleasure is mine. Tell me — since you’re married, why are you out on Tinder?”
“My wife and I live like roommates. The romance died years ago. I honestly can’t remember the last time I touched anyone, let alone felt desired. It sounds pathetic, but I’m starved for affection. I suppose money troubles and intimacy troubles are alike: you only notice them when you don’t have any.”
“I’m sorry,” Maria said softly. “Why don’t you just get a divorce?”
“Good question. Fear of being alone, mostly. Though at this point, sitting in an empty house single isn’t much different from sitting in one married.”
“Fair enough. But you aren’t unattractive, Mark. You just need a bit more confidence, a modern haircut, and maybe some contact lenses.”
She paused, offering a sly smile before shifting gears.
“My sister actually works for the Apex Build Group — the firm you mentioned. Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course,” Mark said. The alcohol was beginning to pool in his head, loosening his tongue. “What is it?”
“Apex is struggling financially. They desperately need to win this contract. My sister and her husband just bought a house, and she’s terrified of losing her job because of the mortgage. Are they one of the finalists?”
“I can’t talk about that, Maria. But I am sorry to hear about your sister.”
“Oh, come on, Mark.” She smiled, reached across the table, and rested her hand on his forearm. Mark had a direct view down the plunging neckline of her top, triggering a sharp spike of desire.
“Shall we get another round?” Mark asked, his voice thickening slightly. “These are strong, but delicious. Are you feeling them yet?”
“Oh, yes,” Maria replied. “Though I probably should slow down before I lose track of myself.”
“I’ll handle it. Don’t run off just yet.”
Mark hurried to the bar and returned in under half a minute.
“So, Mark — is Apex still in the game? You can tell me that much. It’s not like I’m asking for state secrets, especially after I shared personal family stuff with you.”
“All right, but you must swear never to repeat it. If word gets out, my career is finished. Yes… They’re still in the running.”
Their fresh drinks landed on the table.
“Thank you, Mark. I really appreciate your trust. I promise your secret is safe with me, and I’m a bit relieved because of my sister. Though being a finalist doesn’t mean winning. Cheers. To our date, and hopefully to her job security.”
“Cheers.” Mark noticed her speech was slurring slightly.
Good, he thought. She’s getting tipsy. Because I can definitely feel them—they’re dangerously strong.
Maria’s hand remained on his arm, her fingers tracing soothing circles against his skin.
“You have remarkably soft skin, Mark. Do you use a specific moisturizer?”
Mark beamed. “Nothing special. Just genetics.”
“I suppose you won’t share any more details — like how Apex’s bid compares to the others?”
“No way,” Mark replied, shaking his head. “I told you, I’d lose everything. At 50, I’d never find another role in finance, especially carrying a reputation for leaking confidential data.”
“I understand,” Maria said smoothly. “Maybe I can offer an incentive to loosen your tongue. I’m staying at this hotel tonight.”
She leaned forward again, giving him an unobstructed view down her top.
“Are you staring, Mark? Do you like what you see? Just imagine what it will feel like later behind closed doors.”
Mark dragged his eyes back to hers as the room drifted lazily around him.
“Maria… what is actually in these cocktails? I’m getting hammered. Can we head up to your room soon? I’m sure I can remember some extra details about the tender once we’re upstairs.”
“Soon, Mark. Let’s finish one more round. I love this place, and I love your company.”
The young bartender drifted back to their table. “Another round, folks? You two certainly seem to be hitting it off.”
I really shouldn’t, Mark thought. On the other hand, the drunker she gets, the less likely she is to change her mind.
“Yes, please. Another round.”
For a couple of minutes, they sat in silence. Then Maria slid closer and pressed her lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss. A jolt of heat shot through Mark; he reached out, sliding his hands under the hem of her top against her bare back.
“Stop it, Mark — not out here. There will be plenty of time for that later. You really are starved, aren’t you?”
The next round arrived.
“You hold your liquor well,” Maria murmured, her words thick and blurred around the edges. “Look, my sister’s livelihood is on the line. If you just give me the lowest bid figure, Apex can undercut it. It hurts no one — they’re the cheapest then anyway. Your firm actually saves money. It’s a win-win.”
She kissed him again, sliding a cocktail coaster and a pen across the table.
“Just write down the single lowest number. No one will ever trace a random digit back to your handwriting.”
Mark took another sip of his drink. The ceiling seemed to tilt, and when he glanced toward the bar, the bartender split into two distinct figures. A heavy buzz thrummed behind his eyes.
“I don’t understand how you’re drinking these so fast without passing out,” Mark mumbled.
“I’m as plastered as you are, Mark. Keeping up appearances is just a special skill of mine.”
She kissed him deeply, her hand sliding down to stroke his chest.
“Please, Mark. Just one number. I promise you’ll have the night of your life. What’s the harm? Everyone wins. Don’t be such a corporate martyr.”
“I need the restroom,” Mark said, his articulation clumsy.
Maria grabbed his wrist, her smile vanishing.
“Listen to me, Mark. I like you, but you write down that number before you go, or I won’t be here when you get back. Do you understand? Spending the night with me is like winning the lottery for a guy like you — let’s be honest, you’re a four on a good day, and I’m a ten willing to slum it. So write down the damn number.”
Mark’s head spun violently. Flashes of him in bed with Maria alternated with nightmarish visions of standing in an unemployment queue.
“All right, hell with it. I’ll take a risk for once.” He leaned over to grab the pen, lost his balance entirely, and would have hit the floor if Maria hadn’t caught him.
“I’ll write it, but I’m taking the coaster with me so you don’t disappear.”
He scrawled something illegible, shoved the cardboard into his pocket, and staggered upright. The room pitched violently, and nausea surged in his throat. Moving with the erratic momentum of a pinball, he headed blindly toward the restrooms.
The young bartender stepped into his path. “Are you alright, sir? I can’t have someone suffering from alcohol poisoning on the premises.” Concern etched the bartender’s features.
Mark caught a mumbled phrase — “If I’d known how fast these hit…” — before pushing past him.
He lunged into the restroom, threw himself over the sink, turned on the cold tap, and splashed water over his face.
Good thing I kept the coaster, Mark thought, wiping his mouth. She’s ruthless, but I’m finally going to get laid. I won’t hand over the number until we’re locked in her room.
When he stumbled back to the table, Maria steadied him as he collapsed into his chair. To his horror, another round of drinks was waiting.
“Another round? Are you insane, Maria? I can barely stand.”
“Neither can I, babe. Just one final toast, and then we go upstairs.”
I’m so close, Mark told himself, fighting wave after wave of vertigo. Just push through this last drink.
“Cheers,” Mark slurred, taking a reckless gulp. The liquid burned like industrial solvent — pure alcohol masquerading as a cocktail.
His eyelids felt like lead weights.
“Hey — stay with me,” Maria snapped, giving his ribs a sharp jab.
“Sorry… what did you say?”
“I asked why you’re so obsessed with sex.”
“Because I want to feel alive again. I want to come inside someone who actually wants me. Ten years of a dead marriage is psychological torture. Let’s finish this and get to your room.”
He took another sip, practically horizontal in the armchair.
Across the room, the two bartenders paused, looking over as a heavy, unmistakable snore drifted from Mark’s corner.
The young bartender sprinted to their table, fear on his face.
“Are you crazy? When you asked me to put double shots in his drinks while pouring yours from the non-alcoholic bottle, I thought of one round of drinks, not binge drinking. Is he still alive?“
Maria looked at the bartender with a cynical smile.
“Don’t panic, he will survive, he just need some hours of sleep.” Maria didn’t slur anymore.
“You can let him sleep, he won’t have to go to work tomorrow anyway, he just doesn’t know it yet. He failed his corporate security assessment with flying colors. Sex obsession and confidentiality requirements don’t mix well. And now, please excuse me, I need to prepare for my next date tomorrow. There are many more accountants out there in unhappy marriages.”
