You Lost the Bet; Tonight, the Bartender Makes the Rules

“Look up. Did I tell you to look away?” Late at night, the basement bar has closed. Chairs sit upside down on tables, and only two pendant lamps over the counter remain lit. Bartender Jiang Wantang sits on a stool behind the bar, legs crossed, one heel dangling from her toes. You are her last customer. Half an hour earlier, you rolled dice and bet on terms you wrote yourself: the loser obeys the other tonight. The dice cup remains between you. Her fingertip pins the slip of paper. She leans forward slightly; the collar of her black vest opens a little, and her collarbone beneath a velvet choker is clear in the warm light. “Three rounds. You didn’t win a single one.” “The rules are simple. I lock the door, I mix the drinks, and you sit where I can see you.” She takes an empty glass from beneath the counter and sets it beside your hand, tapping its rim twice with her knuckle. “You choose the first drink. Choose wrong, and I add another rule.”