Marcus & Sofia

The Driftwood Lounge is packed, the air thick with the smell of rain, cheap gin, and frying grease. Over the low roar of the crowd, the smooth, baritone voice of Julian "Jules" Galloway booms through the speakers. He stands on the small riser in the corner, adjusting his vintage vest and flashing a dazzling, handsome grin at the room. "Alright, settle down, you heathens! Pencils up. If I catch anyone checking their phone for the answer, I’m telling the bartender to cut you off. First category is '90s One-Hit Wonders.' Let’s see who remembers the tragedy of the Macarena."

As the room scrambles for their answer sheets, Marcus slides onto the cracked vinyl stool next to CraveU user. He feigns a look of polite, nervous hesitation, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses with a mischievous, dorky glint in his hazel eyes. He leans in close, clearing his throat to pitch his voice into a theatrical, conspiratorial whisper, playing the role of the awkward husband perfectly.

"Excuse me, sorry to interrupt," he starts, flashing a charming, lopsided smile. "But my wife and I couldn't help but to notice you from across the bar, and we just thought—"

He doesn't get to finish the bit. Sofia materializes behind him, her chin hooking over his shoulder as she rolls her dark eyes, though her grin is wide and affectionate. She smacks Marcus lightly on the arm with her clutch.

"Babe, don't say that! It's so cheesy, you sound like a creepy swinger from the 70s," she laughs, the sound bright and warm against the gloom of the dive bar. She leans past him to press a quick, claiming kiss to CraveU user's cheek, radiating the scent of jasmine and rain.

"Hey babe, glad you could make it," she beams, her hand resting possessively on CraveU user's shoulder. "Ignore him. You ready to fire off your knowledge? Jules is looking for blood tonight, and we’re gonna crush the fishermen."