We took the Metro to DuPont, then meandered down Connecticut Avenue until we got to Decades. I hadn't been since my college days but Andi had a friend bartending on the 2000s floor, so off to the club we went. The friend had no time to chat but did make sure to serve us quickly and then we were swept onto the dance floor, vodka cranberries in hand. I know, I know, it's the most cliché girl drink but I enjoy the taste, can swap it for a cran and water when I want a break without being obvious, and vodka has never given me a hangover unlike some liquors I know, looking at you, tequila.

Andy made eyes at a woman, who was then joined by a man and they all seem interested, so I kept my distance and rooted them on from afar while staying within visual distance so we didn't get separated. It's eleven on a Friday night and Decades was packed with a mixture of college students interested in 'vintage' music and the people who actually grew up listening to the 90s, 00s, and hip hop tunes the club is known for. I'd had a few interested guys try to dance with me but I hadn't felt a spark so I turned them down.

But then I felt it.

That shiver of awareness down my spine.

"Should I be worried you'll no be needing me to make your coffees in the mornin'?"

I spun and there he was. Robbie, standing before me dressed in a dark red shirt, leather jacket, jeans, and boots, nothing like the Union Brew House uniform of black shirts and khakis with a blue apron. His face is shadowed with stubble and his hair is messier.

"Huh?" I said, elegantly.

"Half the men in this club look like they want to take ye to bed, Alice. Ye cannae tell me you've no' noticed."

I hadn't. I'd had two or three try to strike up a conversation but hadn't noticed anything beyond that. I glanced around and noticed the eyes that checked me out. There were more than I realized, and I suddenly felt both wary and confident.

"I mean, I had, but I didn't see any that looked like a future ex-husband so I guess I'll just have to keep looking."

"Future ex?" His brow furrowed.

"Obviously I'd leave them eventually for the barista I flirt with every morning when he offers to take me back to Scotland."

"Oh ay? And what is it about this barista that makes you leave your husband?"

"Besides the accent getting me pregnant?" I laughed.

"Is that so?" His voice dropped an octave. "Is that another kink we need to discuss?"

I flashed back to that Wednesday, dropping to my knees to mop up the coffee I'd dropped and spilled everywhere because I'd worn stilettos to work instead of changing at the office so he'd see them.

***

"I'm so sorry!"

"Dinna apologize, it happens," he said, bringing over some bar mops and a bucket to clean up my mess.

"Guess I lose the good girl title," I laughed.

"Good girls need discipline every once in a while to remember how to behave."

I blushed, but my subconscious took over and said, "Ooh, kinky."

"If ye wish," he'd practically purred, and I straight up blanked from that moment until I arrived at my desk, somehow carrying a fresh latte in hand.

***

"It seems you're the one with the kinks."

"I do," he whispered. "And ye better watch yourself talking about getting pregnant around me."

I looked up, eyes wide, and before I could stop her, my subconscious pulled up the term like a freaking romance novel flashcard and said, "you've got a breeding kink?"

His grin turned almost feral, but in a way that didn't come off as creepy, as I imagine it would with most men. "I do."

I don't know if it was the vodka, the Britney Spears lyrics demanding more, ovulation hormones, or generations of overproducing Irish ancestors that made me do it, but I said, "Do you want to breed me?"

I was fairly tipsy, and based on the fire in his eyes, I was guessing he was too. Our banter at the coffee shop had always been fun and light. We'd both blush, but it never went beyond fun flirtation. This, however, felt different. More serious. Like real consequences were attached.

"Ay, I'd breed ye," my lungs stopped working and even my heart seemed to still as I felt his words whisper across my skin, "I'd give ye my seed and many times after just to be sure."

I shivered and could've sworn my lace panties went from dry to drenched in a nanosecond. Men didn't actually talk like this outside of novels. Very smutty novels. Novels where I threw my feminism and women's rights beliefs in the toilet and enjoyed the make-believe sexiness and lovey dovey stuff, ignoring the red flags that would have me running from a flesh and blood man in a second. Or, at least, I assumed I would've run in a second, but I didn't. This wasn't our normal joking. He sounded deadly serious.

"I cannae imagine anything more attractive than the sight of your belly growing round wi' my bairn."

And suddenly, in that moment, that's exactly what I wanted. At least, that's what my apparently more-than-tipsy, very horny, never been slept with ho-self wanted.

But then Andi arrived.

"And who is this?" They looked defensive, and I could see them checking my eyes. They even gripped my wrist to check my pulse.

"This is..." I started.

"Robert," he said, rolling the rs in a way that made it much more elegant than the Americanized pronunciation. "Alice and I are friends, aye?"

"Aye," I said, dazed, still reeling from his comments. This had gone from cute banter to "let's make a baby" real quick. Logically I knew that wasn't actually what he was suggesting, but why was it so hot?

"Wait, Robert?" Andi said, looking between the two of us. "As in, Robbie from the coffee shop?"

"Ye've heard o' me?" Robbies burr was more pronounced than I'd ever heard it and I was going to need him to stop before I imploded. I found him attractive as a person, along with his personality, but that was like saying you like macaroni and cheese, and then someone offers to add a little something-something and that kick of spice takes it from good to goddamn. That was the accent for me.

"Yeah, I've heard of you. Are you a serial killer? Are you married? Are you spiking drinks? Do you have kids? Are you a felon?"

Robbie, or I guess Robert, stepped back and laughed a big belly laugh. "No, I'm not a serial killer, married, spiking drinks, or a felon."

Andi's eyes narrowed, "And kids?"

"None yet," he said, eyes sparkling.

Andi looked at me, concern written clear as day across their face.

"I'm glad you got to meet. Andi, I'm taking your advice. Robert, would you like to go out some time?"

His mouth quirked into a smile at the corner and his eyes would've set me on fire if he'd had the ability, I'm certain.

"I don't know about you, but I'm famished," he said. "Would you like to grab a slice?"

My eyes shot to Andi. "Do you want me to stay?"

"Nah," Andi said with a sly grin, "I have other places to be tonight." They glanced over their shoulder to smile at the couple that they had apparently snagged for the evening. It looked like we were both avoiding a night alone.

"Texts when you're there, leaving, and home?" I asked.

"Always. Same to you," they said, which was a first since I never went home with anyone. Was I going home with someone tonight? I wasn't sure. I didn't want my first time to be based on a whim while intoxicated, but I also didn't see the point in making a big deal out of it, so I shrugged and decided to live the life of a sexually liberated woman (who had never actually had sex) I thought I deserved.

I looked at Robert, he looked at me, and I'm quite certain my favorite seamless thong burst into flames and disintegrated off of my body.