Tonight is my last hope.

I’ve tried every app, every speed dating event, and just about every type of being at this point in my life.

I’ve kissed a few frogs thinking they were princes. Turns out they were just part of the Amphibious alien species that populated some planet I’ve never heard of and lied about their heritage of royalty.

Maybe I’m just gullible.

Or naive.

Am I just desperate to find love? I shake my head to clear the thought. I’ve just made a few mistakes and haven’t lost hope, that's all.

Looking in the mirror, I adjust my brunette hair that’s pulled back in a look thats trendy. My silver cat-eye makeup along with my red lipstick really brings the look together with my miniskirt and thigh high boots.

Staring at my reflection, I decide that if tonight doesn’t work out, I’m done with dating and moving into full fledged spinster status. I might even adopt a cat or two to really lean into it.

Even though I’m barely 30, dating is just so exhausting. I just want to move to the next stage of life and for my family to stop yammering about when I’ll get married and have babies. They don’t realize I have no desire to be a mother. It’s the year 3000 and overpopulation is still an issue so I definitely don’t want to contribute to that. So many humans have already repopulated to other planets and opted out of parenthood to help make a difference.

I’ve even thought about repopulating to another planet in the hopes I might find my true love.

They tell me there's plenty of fish in the sea, but I’ve dabbled with about every type of fish and haven’t caught one that was worth keeping.

I’m hoping tonight is different.

I take one last spin in front of the mirror before grabbing my clutch and head out the door of my ratty apartment in the Upper West Side of Old Manhattan.

Locking the door, I head down the dimly lit stairs and into the cool night of the bustling city. Colorful, fluorescent lights mark the street as hover cars and bikes speed above us.

In 2500, Manhattan got split down the middle across E 79th street when an earthquake hit. It was filled with water and they named it the 79th Waterway. Given the change in geography, they renamed the upper half as Old Manhattan and kept the lower part as New Manhattan since most tourists preferred to venture there instead. They were missing out on the authentic New York culture that Old Manhattan clutched onto tightly, determined to not lose its unique identity as a city of misfits.

Walking through the busy sidewalk, shoulders narrowly avoiding strangers on their own rushed journeys, I make my way to the bar we agreed to meet at.

Damian had swiped right on my profile and we ended up chatting. He invited me out tonight after a few days of some light banter. He said the bar had been named one of the best.

Obviously I did my research and learned that he is a Vampiric alien from Venus on an employment visa on Earth for the next two years. He’s an engineer that plays soccer and enjoys making authentic thai food.

Seemed like a nice guy so I figured why not. I haven’t dated a Vampiric alien from Venus yet, so maybe he’s the one.

As I near the bar, I can’t help but admire its grimy exterior.

Its red bricks were chalky and held black tinted windows that reflected the outside more than revealed the inside. The door was an old glass window door that had a banged up metal sign on it that said “OPEN”. The sign above the door claimed it as “Steve’s Bar” in a classic black and white text.

Nothing like the metallic and neon signs that littered New Manhattan for the famous pubs “Urban Elixir” or “The Gatsby” to name a few.

Those tended to be trendy clubs where you could purchase overpriced and watered down drinks. They boasted iconic backgrounds that made the atmosphere shareable on social media. I hated those places.

Pushing open the creaky door to Steve’s Pub, I’m met with a dark and smokey haze that burns my nostrils.

I can’t help the smile that forms on my face.

The bass of an oldie pulses throughout the bar from a rapper named Florida. Beings crowd around high top tables and inside red leather booths. I snake my way through and find myself seated at the bar sticky from spilled liquor.

“A gin and tonic please.” I yell at the bartender in an open black vest, his broad chest bare otherwise. His black hair hangs loose around his forehead and his nostrils flare before he nods at me.

I blink and my Brain Computer Interface flashes in my vision. The bar becomes a backdrop behind the icons only I can see.

No new notifications and his status shows as offline.

Nibbling on my bottom lip, I decide to send Damian a message. Hopefully he gets it when he’s back online.

I blink to close out the BCI and the bartender fills my vision. He places my drink in front of me and pulls out a scanner. His woodsy scent pushes the smokey haze of the bar away as he leans in toward me.

I lift my wrist and his tattooed, corded arm hovers above mine. He waves the scanner above my microchip, everyone has one embedded in their skin since it serves as identification, payment, and more. “Want me to keep the tab open or closed?” His deep voice brings goosebumps across my skin.

“Open. Thanks.”

He swaggers away to another customer and I bring the clear liquid to my lips. It goes down easily.

Glancing around the bar, I keep myself occupied watching others as I wait. I notice that the bartenders gaze lingers my way more than once.

By the time I get to the dregs of my drink, I’ve checked my BCI multiple times and still haven’t gotten anything back from Damian.

The bartender is quick to bring me another when I wave him down.

A breeze flits through the bar as the door opens behind me, bringing a chill up my spine. I feel the cold closing in on me just as a seat opens up on my left.

Damian swiftly sits beside me and leans in to me, his arm curving around me as he leans on the backrest of my chair. “Sorry love, the bullet trains got delayed and my BCI was glitching since we were so far underground.” His brisk, refined accent marks every word.

Giving him a dazzling smile, I shift in my seat slightly. “Happens all the time. Just glad you made it here. It’s nice to meet you in real life.”

He flashes a grin, “Better in real life than in a message, right?”

I nod and take a sip from my glass. My stomach suddenly flipping at his suave aura. I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear as he waves down the bartender.

“I’ll have a blood beer.”

The bartender pulls out the scanner and Damian waves a dismissing hand at him. “I’m with her.”

The bartender's nose crinkles and his upper lip peels upward slightly. He looks at me with a question in his eyes.

I take a sip of my drink wavering on what to do.

“You don’t mind, do you love? Easier since you already have a tab open and I can cover us next time.” Damian shifts closer to me, grazing my body.

Gulping the alcohol back, I nod at the bartender. His eyes harden and he turns away to get the drink.

“You’re a sweet one, love.” his fangs flash as he licks his lips. “How do you like the bar after all? I thought you might enjoy it since you seemed to enjoy vintage things.”

My stomach clenches at the degrading way he references my love for archaic architecture, historic art, and the few cherished vinyl records I spent a small fortune on.

“Oh, it's nice. Definitely a gem in the rough. How did you find it?”

He chuckles darkly and looks away from me to glance around the space. “An old girlfriend used to frequent here and showed me the place.”

The bartender appears and slams the blood beer in front of Damian. The red fizzy liquid sloshes around and over the side a bit. A growl reverberates from the man and Damian’s fangs extend in a sneer.

Their weird energy vibrates in the haze of the bar and I find myself shifting away.

“Damian!” a shrill voice punctuates the air, and all three of us turn toward the feminine owner.

Damian’s eyes widen at the curvy woman approaching. Her purple gaze flickers from him to me, to his arm wrapped around me, and back at him. My face turns red as I realize what’s happening.

“Violet, I can explain.” he turns to fully face her and holds his hands out in a placating way.

I blink and suddenly her hand slashes out smacking him across the face leaving a red print across his cheek. She shoves a manicured finger into his chest. “You cheating vampiric bastard! You told me you were seeing your brother tonight and instead I found your slimy arm around another female. We are through!”

She turns to me and says, “Stay away from this cheating fool. He’s not worth your time.” She snarls at Damian and stomps away, straight out the door.

Damian shoves a hand through his hair, his cheek bright red. “Sorry love. Thanks for the drink.” He swallows the beverage in one gulp and runs out the door after Violet, leaving me alone at the bar.

My jaw hangs low as I stare after his retreating form.

I swivel back to the bar, head hanging low. The noise from the bar dimming to silence around me as my thoughts swirl around the failure that was this date.

I guess I’m destined for spinsterhood after all. Better head to the animal shelter to pick out my cats.

A glass is placed in front of me and the imposing form of the bartender fills my blurry vision.

“You can always sniff out the bad ones. That one was one of the smelliest ones I’ve ever encountered.” he tells me in a soft voice.

“I must not have a strong nose then because I didn’t catch that.” I mumble as a tear rolls down my cheek.

“Sounds like you need a friend like me then who can.”

I peer up at him and search his face for his meaning. “How can you? I mean, you can actually smell that off of beings?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m a werewolf from Alphacentari. We can sniff out the good from the bad. And that one was definitely a bad one, his scent was repugnant. Shouldn’t have been allowed within 100 feet of you since you’re a good one.”

My brows rise slightly at his comment.

“How about you stick around and once I’m done with my shift we can grab a bite to eat.”

I nod, my heart fluttering. “Okay.” His grin brings a smile to my face.

“I’m Wilder, what do I call you?”

“Amora.”

“Nice to meet you, Amora.”

I sip my drink and as Wilder makes drinks for customers, we talk and laugh.

Maybe I finally found a good one too and the saying was wrong. There aren’t plenty of fish in the sea, just the right wolf in a bar.