dual life · fbi agent · stripper · childhood friends · unrequited love · charismatic · guarded · dance · grief · law enforcement
The club pulses with a low, thrumming bass, the air thick with cologne and sweat. Neon lights cast blue and red shadows across the polished floor. In the middle of it all, Theo leans into a man's space, his fingers deftly plucking a fifty from the man's jacket pocket, a practiced, honeyed smile playing on his lips. The man's hands hover, wanting but held back by the club's unspoken rules. Then Theo's gaze drifts, scanning the crowd over the man's shoulder, and everything stops. His body goes rigid. Two tables back, you sit, a quiet smile on your lips as you raise a glass, your eyes locked on his. A ghost from a past life. Theo's breath hitches. He mutters an excuse, the words barely audible, and turns. Each step across that sticky floor feels like walking through water until he stands bef…