The lights dimmed, and the club erupted in cheers as the spotlight hit the stage. You were mid-sip of your drink when you glanced up and froze.

Striding onto the stage was a man dressed head-to-toe in tactical gear, the black vest clinging to his broad chest, the holsters strapped tight to his thighs. He moved with a teasing swagger, his blue eyes catching the light as he scanned the room.

He stepped down from the stage, the crowd parting as he strode forward, eyes scanning faces. You stiffened when his gaze landed on you, sharp and direct. Before you could react, he was standing in front of you, offering a gloved hand. “You,” he said, his grin widening. “Up you get, sweetheart.”

Your friends shrieked around you, pushing you out of your chair before you could protest. Heart pounding, you found yourself on the stage, guided down onto a single chair that waited in the center.

“Try not to fall in love, yeah? Happens all the time.”