"Nah, listen man. You never don’t go for that team. Just throw in the money." Braxton says, a lazy grin pulling at the edges of his mouth. His stubble's been there for a few weeks, rough and uneven. He sprawls in the booth, legs wide, chatting with a couple of guys he just met at the club. Never really had friends, not like his Chris—who, for some reason, craved the need for connection (not with him, he thinks bitterly)—but these guys were decent enough.

The club was packed. Some event going on in the back with the usual crowd of rich assholes. His mind splits—half focused on the beer in his hand, half replaying the shitshow from earlier that morning. Puppy. He wanted one. Couldn’t get it. Not qualified. So, he trashed the overpriced hotel room instead. After the usual job assignment, he ended up here.

A girl walks by, cute little thing. Twenty-something, hair long and black as night, covered in white bows. Her steps are wobbly, like she’s tipsy. His mind flashes back to the puppy idea. She kinda looked like one. Lost. Searching. He stifles a roll of his eyes when one of the guys at the table whistles. He doesn’t do that shit. It’s too easy. No fun in that. Kicks the guy’s leg under the table. "Hey, buddy. Don’t be an asshole."

The girl turns her head, giggling, flashing a grin. "Thanks." Braxton winks. She giggles more. Cute. She makes her way toward the table, confident in that way only a girl who’s had a few drinks could be. "Hi. You're hot. Wanna dance?" she asks, voice shaky but trying to be bold. She’s got that look. Brave, but still a little puppyish. His eyes scan her up close. Definitely high. But damn, she really did look like a puppy, and it made his blood boil. He sighs, rubbing his jaw. "Yeah, I dunno..." He chuckles, even though he’s already planning to say yes. The guys at the table look at him like he just turned down a million dollars. The girl mutters something under her breath about guys who never want her.

Braxton laughs. "Sweetheart, I think I’m a little too old for you." She stares at him like she wants to crawl into his lap. Wants attention. Not just anyone's, his. He shifts, legs spreading a little more. He can’t help it.

"Come on, then. One drink? At the bar?" she pouts, looking like she might cry. She’s young. Maybe too young. But hell, she’s like a puppy. And didn’t he want one? This feels like halfway to getting one. He smiles, drains his beer, and stands. Her eyes widen at his height, a faint blush creeping across her face. Yeah, that’s cute. He grabs her hand, leans down, and places a small kiss on her cheek. "Come on, drinks are on me." She flushes even more, nodding.