A Crazy Competition

A Crazy Competition
 “Life is far too important to be taken seriously.”
— Oscar Wilde

Júlia

I sat at the counter of some random bar, determined to lose myself for a few hours. The glass of tequila in my hands was both my refuge and proof that I had already crossed the line between venting and giving up.

I’d come back to Brotas searching for some kind of reconciliation — maybe peace — but all I found was rejection.
My father, the man I still insisted on calling family, had turned his back on me once again. And the worst part was that I should’ve been used to it by now.

I lost my mother too soon, and at nineteen, I lost my father — not to death, but to choice. When I decided to leave home, I thought he would regret it one day. But there I was, three years later, begging for a shred of affection and being treated like a nuisance.
“You made your choices, Júlia,” he said, with that cold, impatient look.
Yes, I did. But nothing I did justified the contempt.

I swallowed my third shot of tequila and ordered another without even realizing it. The liquid burned my throat, but that was still better than the knot in my chest. That’s when I heard the bartender’s voice:
“Are you two in some kind of competition?”

It took me a second to understand she was talking to me and to the man sitting beside me. That’s when I noticed him.

He was tall — very tall — and radiated a strange mix of confidence and exhaustion. Broad shoulders, a simple cut of blond hair, the kind of man who looked used to being in control. His clothes were understated but clearly expensive, and the watch on his wrist caught the light like it belonged in a magazine ad.
Smells like money, I thought — not mockingly, just a fact.
But there was something else about him. A kind of melancholy that didn’t fit the perfect image.

“If it’s a competition, I’d like to know what the prize is,” I said, resting my chin on my hand.
He turned toward me, and for an instant, our eyes met. His were green, sharp, and so intent that it threw me off balance.
“And who’s going to decide the winner?” he replied, his deep voice vibrating between us.

The bartender, clearly amused, laughed softly and declared herself the judge of our little contest, introducing herself in the process.
“Then keep the game fair, Jéssica,” I said, holding out my empty glass. “And bring another round, because I’m not leaving until I’m completely drunk. That’s my mission tonight.”
“Then that makes two of us,” his voice came again — firm, rough, full of something I couldn’t name.

A shiver. Just a simple shiver. Instinctively, I looked at him again — and regretted it immediately. That kind of man was exactly what I’d promised myself to avoid. Too handsome. Too self-assured. Probably too used to getting whatever he wanted.
But there was something different too… a shadow behind his restrained smile.

“Looks like tonight’s all about bad decisions,” I murmured, more to myself than to him.
“Or maybe the right decisions — just at the wrong time,” he replied, and I almost laughed.
“Bar philosophy?” I teased.
“Let’s say I’m trying to make sense of a night that didn’t start well.”
“Then we’ve got something in common,” I said, swirling the golden liquid in my glass. “The difference is, I stopped trying to make sense of things.”

He watched me silently for a few seconds, and for the first time, I didn’t feel like I was being stared at. It was the kind of attention that came from someone who really listens.

We didn’t exchange names. There were only light provocations, quick laughs, and that strange sense of familiarity. But when our glasses clinked together — to who knows what — something inside me quieted, if only for a moment.

After agreeing to get drunk together, we kept drinking as if it really were a competition. Jéssica, ever attentive, didn’t let us down. Every time a glass emptied, she appeared with another one, smiling, a willing accomplice to our shared madness.

“I don’t think I can handle another shot,” I mumbled, barely recognizing my own slurred, sleepy voice.
“Then that means I won,” he said — steady, but without the triumphant tone I expected.

I looked at him, trying to focus on his face. There was something in his gaze — a mix of calm and intensity — that made me feel exposed in a way I hadn’t in a long time. The alcohol had already made me overly aware of him, but now… now I wanted to forget all sense of reason and just fall into his arms.

“The check, please,” I said, turning away before my impulse betrayed me.
I needed to leave before I did something foolish. Just being near him felt dangerous. No one had ever affected me so much simply by being close.

“So, looks like we’ve got a winner,” Jéssica said cheerfully. “And have you two decided what the prize’s gonna be?”
“She promised me a kiss,” he said, turning fully toward me.

His eyes — green, intense, almost hypnotic — caught mine and held them. That restrained smile of his only confirmed what I already sensed: he wasn’t a man who smiled easily. There was something contained about him, something controlled… yet I had the feeling that control was just a mask.

“Well, you’ve got to keep your promise, sweetheart,” Jéssica teased, laughing, completely unaware of what those words did to me.
“What?” I asked, confused. “What promise?”
“The kiss. You promised to kiss the winner,” she said, amused.

I looked at him again, and suddenly the world seemed to fall silent. The background music, the clinking glasses, the hum of conversation — all of it faded. There were only his eyes and the small space between us.

My body moved before my mind could stop it. I leaned in slowly, unable to think about consequences. When our faces were just inches apart, I heard his low, rough whisper:
“And I want my kiss.”

Before I could react, he closed the distance and pressed his mouth to mine. The touch was firm, intense, hot — like the alcohol still burning down my throat. I closed my eyes, tasting whiskey and something darker, deeper, something that felt like surrender.

He kissed me with restrained urgency, like a man trying to quench a thirst only to awaken a greater one. And for a fleeting moment, I forgot who I was, where I was, and how a single kiss — a stranger’s kiss — could make the rest of the world simply cease to exist.