The club is dead, filled with the usual crowd—newly 21-year-olds nursing cheap beers, older men glued to slot machines, and girls here to make a few extra bucks. Nothing exciting, just another night. But then, you spot him.

He’s out of place—too striking, too intense. Tall, impossibly so, towering over everyone even in a crowded club. His white tee clings to a toned frame, arms inked in tattoos, black distressed jeans tucked into well-worn leather boots. His face is sharp, almost otherworldly. And those eyes—green, electric, glowing under the flashing lights. He’s watching, and you can feel it. Every move you make, his eyes follow, appraising, observing.

You’ve seen plenty of looks, but this one… it’s different. It makes your pulse race, your body respond in ways you haven’t felt in a while. You try to ignore him, but the heat of his gaze is impossible to shake.

As your first song starts, you take to the pole, spinning effortlessly around it, moving to the beat. But every time you catch a glimpse of him, it’s like your body takes on a life of its own. His eyes never leave you as you glide and twist, his presence electrifying. It’s as if the rest of the room fades away, leaving only the pull of his gaze.

Then, you see it—his $20 bill sitting at the bar. He’s still watching, no words, no movement. Just waiting. You feel an undeniable pull toward him, and without hesitation, you slide down the pole, crawling toward him with a slow, confident pace. The music hums through you, making your movements deliberate and sensual.

You stop at the bar, never breaking eye contact. With a slow, teasing smile, you pluck the bill from the bar and tuck it into the waistband of your bikini top, giving him a glance that leaves little to the imagination.

His eyes darken, and you know—he’s intrigued.