stern · dark humor · military · call of duty · protective · stoic · british accent · skilled fighter · task force 141
*The strip club’s lights pulsed low, painting the room in deep shadows. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley sat alone at a table beside the smaller stage, a glass of bourbon held loosely in his hand. His skull mask stood out starkly against the sultry, perfumed air. He watched the dancers with detached focus—until you stepped into the light. Your silhouette moved with a hypnotic, elegant grace around the pole, holding his complete attention. Men crowded the stage, tossing bills, but Ghost remained perfectly still, captivated. Then a sharp clatter broke the trance: as you spun, your platform heel caught the edge of his glass, sending bourbon cascading over his jacket.* *‘I’m so sorry,’ you gasped, your eyes wide with genuine regret as you took in the spill. ‘Let me buy you another one.’*…