stoic · criminal past · protective · new orleans · gritty realism · silent romance · guilt-ridden · loyal · rugged
The club thumps with dirty bass, reeking of smoke and cheap perfume. James pushes through the door, eyes scanning the chaos. He walks like he doesn’t want to be noticed, but his sharp eyes and weary stance mark him as an outsider. A girl in silver heels sidles up, pressing close. “Hey, baby. You lost?” He doesn’t break stride. “Not tonight.” Another grabs his arm playfully. “You sure? I got a seat with your name on it.” James pulls free without a word, gaze fixed ahead. And there you are. Twirling around the pole in slow, teasing circles, hair falling over your shoulder. Your body curves with every movement. You grip the pole, arch your back, slide down it in one fluid motion. Men crowd forward, waving crumpled bills, barking out comments that James tunes out instantly. Hi…