I've officially hit a whole new level of desperate: the kind where I agree to meet a stranger in some random dive bar because she claims she can help me with my dream-stalking ex-boyfriend.

What am I even doing?

I sigh as I walk up to the bar. The building is painted black with a glowing sign that says Pike's Tavern. I find myself looking around at the people walking past, hoping I don't see Victor's face among them. Since these dreams started, I keep looking over my shoulder expecting him to be watching.

I shake off the feeling and walk through the front door. The inside is cute, with warm lighting, dark wood tables, and red barstools. Framed art and kitschy memorabilia covers almost every inch of the walls. It's one of those places that's just naturally charming—no fake exposed brick, mounted deer heads, or $20 cocktails named after great American novelists. Just a casual city bar with warm, relaxed vibes.

The guy behind the bar is strikingly handsome. He's wearing a button-up shirt with colorful vertical stripes. Only half the buttons are buttoned and its rolled-up sleeves fitted tight around his muscular arms. He has flawless golden skin, a subtle goatee, and long black hair tied back in a bun. Between the strong jaw, chiseled features, and defined build, he could easily be a model.

I take a seat at the bar and he looks up, catching my eye for the first time since I walked in.

"Wow," he says with a slack-jawed expression. "H- hello there. You are crazy beautiful."

"Thanks," I mumble, unsure how else to reply. Sometimes comments like that can feel uncomfortable and unwelcome, but there's something genuine behind his words that makes it kind of sweet.

He blinks a few times before shaking his head.

"I swear I'm not usually this awkward around a pretty girl." He laughs, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck. "Let me try that again. Take 2."

He ducks under the bar and, after a moment, pops back up.

"Hey Doll, I'm Kieran. I'm not at all thrown off by how damn gorgeous you are. What can I get you?" he says with a panty-melting smile.

This man is definitely going to be trouble.

"I'm Sam. And uh, I'll have a coke please."

He nods and grabs a glass, filling it with a handheld nozzle contraption from the back of the bar. He slides it over to me with another heart-stopping smile.

"You're in luck—it's tonight's special: stunning redheads drink free."

I roll my eyes in a playful way and smirk at him.

"You're real smooth, pretty boy."

"You think I'm pretty?" He sweeps a loose lock of hair behind his ear and gives me a look that's equal parts cocky and bashful.

How are you such a contradiction, strangely handsome bartender man?

"Yeah, you're pretty. Pretty isn't really my type, though."

His brow furrows.

"And what is your type?"

I'm lying—pretty but masculine is my bread and butter. It's exactly what got me in this mess. I see a beautiful face and a nice body, and I follow it past every single red flag.

Which is precisely why I'm not interested in another way-too-attractive man. I've learned my lesson. Like my grandma always says: 'That's the problem with gorgeous men—they're the bait and the trap all in one.'

"You know, rough around the edges—stubble, tattoos, classic bad boy."

Lies. My type is a hot bartender with a devilish smile, a broad chest, and a man bun.

"Hmm," he replies. It's not the flirty response I expected, but it's probably good that he's not playing along. The last thing I need is another beautiful man in my life when I'm literally still being haunted by the last one.

He looks up and something catches his attention behind me, so I follow his eye line to the purple-haired girl from the hospital, Ava.

"Hey!" she says. "Sam, right?"

"Hi," I reply.

She pulls off her jacket and sets in on the barstool before sitting down next to me.

"I see you met Kieran." She does a quick double-take when she sees Kieran, narrowing her eyes slightly. "Hopefully he's not bothering you."

"Ouch!" he says. "I'll have you know we were having a nice, friendly conversation."

I meet his eyes and I swear he looks subtly different than he did a moment ago. His facial hair is scruffier and there are black-and-gray tattoos peeking out from under his shirt.

When he asked what my type was, I tried to describe something he wasn't. But now that I'm looking at him, he totally fits what I described.

No wonder he didn't respond, he probably just thought I was weird as hell. Clearly the sleep deprivation has taken its toll.

"Yeah, sure," Ava says, pulling her mouth to one side. "Anyways..."

"Kierannn!" a woman down the bar calls, holding an empty martini glass.

"Be right back, ladies," he says, heading over to her.

"So," I say. "You said you have a friend who can help with these dreams."

She smirks slightly and nods.

"I do. I'm almost certain he can help."

"Okay, so what is it then? How does he help?"

"Basically, I just need to know a little about what's going on," she pulls out a pen and a small notepad with a bit of writing on it. She reads over the notes, pointing to each with the pen as she goes along. "I need to know who your dreams are focused on, what time they usually happen, and how often."

"And how will that help?"

"So um... My friend is a dream specialist of sorts. I know it sounds ridiculous, but he really can fix it."

I nod and take a sip of my coke.

On the one hand, this is feeling like some sort of soul-energy, fake nonsense. On the other, I just had a conversation with my ex in my dream that continued in real life. Nonsense is kind of the only thing on the table at this point.

"I tell you those details, and it goes away?" I ask. "I don't have to go with you to some strange back-alley chiropractor?"

"Basically, yes. I just need the details and then... I guess he'll follow up with you or something."

I take another sip of my soda.

I'm a pretty private person, so I'm not big on sharing my secrets with a stranger, but at this point I'm exhausted and desperate.

"Okay, sure. What was the first question?"

"Who is the person in your dreams?" she asks.

"My ex, Victor."

Her eyes widen for a moment and she blinks.

"Crap, I'm so sorry. That's shitty."

"Yeah," I say with a shrug.

"I take it you had a messy breakup?"

I chuckle slightly.

"You could say that. He seemed like he was loving and normal when we met. By the time we ended, he was out of control."

"Are you safe now?" she asks with concern in her eyes. "Do you have a safe place to stay?"

"I'm safe... I think. He lives in San Francisco. We both did, I left to get away from him."

"Did he hurt you?"

"He never physically attacked me, it was more subtle. He got really controlling." I sigh, feeling uncomfortable sharing these details with this girl. "It started out innocent enough—calling occasionally to check in, maybe had a quick question to ask. But I started realizing he would call me every time I left the house. He'd always have a reasonable excuse, but it was all just a ploy to figure out where I was at all times."

I peer down the bar at Kieran, who is pouring a beer in a glass mug. He looks at me with a sympathetic expression.

He can't possibly hear me from there, right?

I'd prefer if this stunning man didn't know all the specifics of my messy former relationship. Not that I'd want anything serious with him, but it would kind of put a damper on my hopes of a possible light-the-bed-on-fire fling.

"Anyway," I continue, "I told him I wanted more space and privacy. I distanced myself a little, tried to establish boundaries. But then he started showing up at my work—outside my house. He was everywhere. It was really creepy and I felt like he was watching me, so I had him meet me in a public place and I broke up with him."

"Was that the last you saw him?"

"Not quite. He followed me home from work the next day and kicked down my door. He was screaming at me and looked like he was going to kill me. I-"

A bubbling, hissing sound comes from down the bar, followed by a bit of a commotion and the shattering of glass. We both turn to follow the noise, and see glass shattered on the floor and Kieran holding what seems to be a bright orange glob of glowing goo.

What on earth?

"Shit!" he curses, rushing to the sink and running his hand under the water. The water sizzles and turns to steam as it hits his hand.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" a male customer asks.

"Yeah, totally. Faulty mug is all. We're good."

He looks back at us and gives us a thumbs-up.

"Okaaayyy,"  Ava says, squinting for a moment before tilting her head and continuing. "Uh, anyway... what happened when he broke into your place?"

"My neighbor was a nice old guy, came in with a baseball bat and told him he had already called the cops and they were on their way. Vic was so pissed; it seemed like he thought about it for a minute but he ultimately took off. I stayed with a friend while I had the door replaced, but when I came back home, he turned up. He was waiting across the street and I knew he was never gonna let me go. So I gathered my stuff up, slipped out the back, and drove up the coast."

Kieran walks over and slides me an orange-and-yellow drink in a tall glass with a cherry on top, an orange slice on the rim, and a pretty striped straw.

"What's this?" I ask.

"For you," he says. "Felt like making you something special. It's on the house."

Ava raises a brow and tilts her head as the looks at him.

"Well, thank you, but I don't really drink."

It's not like I'm a teetotaler or anything, but drinking and dancing do not mix. Nobody wants to see a stripper with a hangover spin around a pole until she evacuates her stomach.

Well, okay, maybe some people do. But that dark corner of the internet would be something else entirely.

"It's virgin," he says with a wink. "You kn-"

"Kieran, no! Timing!" Ava scolds. "We're having a serious conversation right now, it is not the time to hit on her."

I snicker and he does too. Apparently we're both totally immature.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Aves. I was just giving the girl a drink."

"Kierraannn!" the woman calls again from the other side of the bar. "You said you were gonna let me read your palm!"

He rolls his eyes and huffs.

"I'm busy," he groans.

"And you were supposed to get me a martini!" she cries.

He turns back to me with an apologetic look.

"Sorry, Red. Duty calls," he says, tapping on the counter with his fingers before he makes his way over to her.

"So you moved to Port Charlotte to get away from Victor?" Ava asks.

"Yeah." I shrug, not really wanting to admit I let a guy run me out of town. "I've always moved around a lot, so I don't mind it. My grandma lives here and I knew I could stay with her for a while so I could save up a little."

"How long have you been here?"

"Six months-ish."

"And he doesn't know you're here. You've only seen him in dreams?"

"Yeah. Actually, that's kind of the reason for the dreams. At least... In my dreams, he's always trying to find out where I am now."

"Have you told him?" she asks. "In your dreams, when he asks I mean."

"No. It always feels too weird. I just feel like telling him in the dream means he'll know in real life. It's silly, I know."

"No, it's not silly at all. It's good. You shouldn't tell him."

I nod, not sure what else to say. This whole conversation is making me feel a bit crazy.

"Okay, uh..." She looks over her notes and  nods. "When do you sleep and how often do these dreams usually happen?"

"Well I work nights, so I get home around 2:30 am and sleep from 3 to 11-ish."

"Oh wow, that's super late. What do you do?"

This is always an interesting conversation with new people.

"I'm a stripper." I take a sip of my coke and gauge her reaction, but she doesn't skip a beat.

"Damn, you must be in killer shape. I know you have to be really athletic for that. I can barely walk around the block without getting winded."

I smirk. Seems like this girl is not the type to be easily scandalized. Maybe we can be friends.

"I've got a lot of muscle under this cushion."

"And how often does he show up in your dreams?"

"For the last few weeks, it's every night."

Now that gets a reaction; her eyes go wide and her brows shoot up.

"Shit..." she says. "Well, we're gonna solve this for you. This asshole isn't going to bother you anymore."

I shrug, not sure what it is she thinks she can do for me, but I hope she's right. I need Vic out of my life, by any means necessary.

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