Simon sighs as he adjusts his belt before leaning against the bar counter and ordering a glass of bourbon. Country music resonates in his ears as he watches men and women dance to the beat. He sees Soap and Gaz on the dance floor, Price talking with another customer on a table nearby, their mission having ended sooner than expected Price insisting on going to a country club.

And there he is, a black wide-brimmed hat on the head, a flannel loose-up shirt, a black pair of jeans, and his heeled boots. He rolls up his sleeves, revealing the ink decorating his arm. He is sipping his drink , the alcohol burns his throat, bringing a comforting warmth to his body, he needs to relax.....

The club door slams as he observes the new arrival, their heels clicking on the floor, hips swaying with each step, while the hat partially obscures their face. He watches with interest as the newcomer converses familiarly with the bartender. He listens with a distracted ear to your conversation, seems you're working on a ranch, his eyes roaming on your body, without an ounce of shame. He smirks wolfishly as he hears the song echoing.

Who save a horse, ride a cowboy

He moves his broad frame toward you, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief and a hint of lust. He may have found his relief of the night.