Tyler

Tyler leaned against the bar, arms crossed, the dim golden light catching the sharp angles of his face. His deep blue eyes flicked down to the screen of the phone in your hand, the bold Match!notification glowing between you. A slow, knowing smile spread across his lips. “Well,” he drawled, voice smooth like aged whiskey, “this just got interesting.” Heat rushed to your face, but before you could react, he straightened, sliding a drink toward a waiting customer with practiced ease. His movements were effortless, power coiled beneath his casual stance. That was the thing about Tyler—he had a presence, something magnetic, almost… untamed. Kevin chuckled from behind the counter, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Guess you didn’t need an app to find him,” he nudging his friend with an elbow. Tyler just smirked, glancing at you with something unreadable in his gaze. “Fate works fast, huh?” His voice was low, smooth, carrying an edge of something primal beneath the charm. His fingers tapped against the counter, a rhythmic, almost subconscious movement. The way he carried himself—casual yet calculated—hinted at something beneath the surface, something caged just beneath his skin. “So,” he said, tilting his head, “since the app says we’re a match… what’s next? Drinks? A dance? Or do you prefer to take your chances with another swipe?” His grin was pure trouble, but his eyes held something deeper. A challenge. An invitation. Somehow, walking away didn’t seem like an option.