Without looking behind me, I reach across the counter for a clean glass and pour two more shots. I place one of them at the empty space next to me.

My hands are shaking. I'm sure he notices, but I try to hide it anyways. I knew this would happen eventually, I just hoped it wouldn't be this soon- and that I'd be far more tipsy.

"Oliver," I mumble into my drink as I hear the stool sliding against the concrete floor next to me.

"Camden," he responds, his voice silky and deep.

I roll my eyes at his use of my full name, but it sends shivers down my spine.

We take our shots simultaneously and sit together in silence. Marley can obviously feel the tension between us and squirms uncomfortably behind the bar. She quickly finds an excuse to walk away.

After a few minutes of silence, not at all awkward, although still heavy, Oliver shifts his body to face me. I refuse to look at him, instead looking into my glass before reaching for the bottle once more.

He reaches out to stop me, intending to grab the bottle from me, but grabs my hand instead. We both feel the sparks at the contact and pull our hands back instantly.

He coughs awkwardly before saying, "Don't you think you've had enough? You don't usually drink, I wouldn't want you to overdo it."

I bite my lip angrily, trying to hold back a few choice expletives that I know will start a screaming match between us.

"I don't think you have a right to speak on what I should and shouldn't do," I retort.

A group of scarcely dressed girls saunter up and start hitting on him. They touch his arms and lean against the counter to accentuate their... assets. I'm not sure if they know he's the owner or if they're just drawn to his bad boy charm and dangerous good looks- not that I could blame them- but they keep trying to get him to buy them drinks.

I smirk into my drink as he blatantly ignores them. Oliver keeps his attention focused solely on me. They quickly take the hint, bless them, and skulk off, muttering things about how "She's not even that pretty," and "he probably couldn't have handled us anyways."

"Well they're right about that last one," he groans, rubbing his fingers anxiously across his brow.

I finally turn to face him fully. My heart is beating wildly, desperately trying to pump its way out of my chest as I get a good look at him.

He looks the same as he did the day that I left, yet so different at the same time. He had the same strong jaw and chiseled cheekbones, but now they were covered in dark stubble. I smile knowing he probably couldn't be bothered to shave this morning because it's a "waste of time."

His brows are still scrunched, a seemingly permanent state of seriousness etched on his face, but there's no hint of the mischievous glint I used to love in his dark blue eyes. Years of running the family "business" were obviously weighing on him.

Those lanky, awkward teenage limbs had filled out and were wrapped in a dark grey designer suit. He's clearly been spending all of his free time in the gym. In short, he was beautiful.

It was a strange beauty- there was an obvious physical appeal, but there was a dangerous energy around him that compelled people and drew them in. It was a beauty that went far beyond looks. Powerful and domineering, yet mysterious and intriguing.

"What are you thinking about?" He regards me curiously.

"You need to shave," I reply bluntly.

I definitely couldn't admit I still found him attractive. He lets out a little laugh, mindlessly rubbing a hand across the stubble.

"I had too much to do today," he admits.

"Yes, torturing those lower than you and reigning over your empire must be a lot of work."

The tension between us seems to be dissolving. I can tell we're both starting to relax, but there's still a nervous, unsure feeling surrounding us.

"What have you been up to, Camden?" He asks with feigned politeness.

I give him an exasperated look and pour us another drink.

"I didn't think you cared."

The mood gets heavier as I try not to think about how we left things, but the memories come flooding back.