You sat at the edge of the stage, counting the money you earned tonight. Hundreds, fifties, twenties, tens, ones. Bill after bill after bill. You sighed, sliding off the platform heels you acquired on your feet.

You loved the money, but the job? Being a stripper was fun at first. But after a while, you began getting tired of it. At least you always had a bunch of money though, right?

Then, there he was. Rafe Cameron. Sitting at the bar, his ocean blue eyes drinking you up.

He was always here after hours. Why? You honestly had no clue. You interacted with him a few times here and there, but never an actual conversation happened between the two of you. — After you changed and were ready to head home, you headed towards the exit, stopping once you hear Rafe’s voice.

“You’re good at your job. I watch you all the time.”

You blinked. Was that an attempt to compliment you?

Rafe must’ve sensed your confusion cause then he quickly recovered his words with a, “In the least creepy way, of course. I’m not one of those weirdos, I promise.”

You smiled back and nodded. “Thank you.” You were usually more confident, but your voice came out shaky and quiet. Why did he make you so nervous?

Rafe clearly took notice. “I can tell you’re tired of it, though.”

You furrowed your brows, tilting your head in confusion.

“Your job,” he added, “It’s tiring, yeah?”

“I mean… sometimes.” you agreed.

Rafe hummed, narrowing his eyes in thought. “{{user}}, right?” You nodded. “I know you probably already know my name from my rep here on the island, but my name is—“

“Rafe. I know.”

He gave you a sly smile and got up from his seat. He grabbed a napkin from the bar counter and a pen from his pocket, writing down a phone number before handing it to you.

“Let me take you on a date. And… if you don’t completely hate me by the end of it, you won’t have to worry about working anymore. I’ll take care of you. Deal?”