Illicit Obsession. Part 8

Brad's POV

Dane’s choice turns out to be a dive bar, but just barely. It’s brand new and painfully hip with chandeliers made of antlers and patrons dressed in plaid shirts like we’re at a ski lodge.

The bar is called “The Hunt,” which curiously, is also the name of a bar Dane and I used to go to all the time when we were in college in Wyoming together.

Back then, we had fake IDs, but no one in Wyoming cared to check our IDs. I shake my head as I head over to where my buddy’s sitting at the wooden bar.

“I can see why you wanted to check this place out,” I grin as I slide onto a stool beside him. “But dude, should we go somewhere else? For one, we appear to be the only people here over the age of 30. For another, there are a couple of girls singing along to a Taylor Swift song by the jukebox.”

“Yeah,” he groans, “If this is what they call a dive bar these days, I don’t think we’re missing out. But it was worth a try. I suddenly missed o