Hidden Heiress At The Dive Bar

Summary

I fell for Nate Cross the moment he walked into my dad’s dive bar looking for a part-time shift.

I was nineteen, persistent, and perhaps a little too enamored with the brooding intensity in his eyes. It took six months of my relentless chasing before he finally gave in and asked me out.

A few weeks before his graduation, we were at the same cramped, hourly-rate motel near campus we always frequented. The air smelled of cheap bleach and stale cigarettes.

After we finished, he rolled away, lit a cigarette, and stared at the peeling wallpaper.