18+ Only – Saint Dirty Face After Dark

The night air buzzed as we walked, neon signs bleeding color into the pavement. Sarah moved fast, like she had a destination burned into her blood, while I tried to play it cool. But every glance she threw me over her shoulder carried that spark—the kind that makes you forget your own damn name.

“Think you can handle me at pool?” she teased, brushing her hair back, emerald eyes glinting.

“Handle you?” I smirked. “I’m more worried about handling the whiskey.”

She laughed, the sound sharp enough to cut through the street noise, and before long O’Malley’s swallowed us whole.

Inside, the place throbbed with jukebox classics and the low hum of half-drunk conversations. The scent of spilled beer and cigarette ghosts lingered in the air. I grabbed us two whiskeys; she grabbed a cue.

“Ladies first,” I offered.

She leaned low over the table, red hair falling forward, eyes locked on me as much as the ball. “Oh, I know,” she purred, sinking the break clean like she’d rehearsed it in her sleep.

I tried to focus, but whiskey burned my throat and the sway of her hips burned something deeper. Every shot she made wasn’t just a ball into a pocket—it was a nail into my coffin.

By the time the eight ball rolled home, I was down cash, pride, and most of my ability to breathe.

Sarah grinned wickedly, scooping up the bills. “Told you I was a shark.”

But instead of pocketing them, she slid the money back across the table, fingers brushing mine, her voice dropping low enough to drown the jukebox.

“Relax… let’s go home. I’ll give you a chance to win it back.”

Saint Dirty Face Closer

Relax? Not a chance. I say stay dirty, stay wicked. The night was just getting started.

Stay Dirty. Stay Wicked. – Saint Dirty Face