the red lights bathed the room in a sultry glow, painting jake in wicked shades of temptation as he lounged on the velvet sofa like he owned the place. empty glasses cluttered the table, lipstick-stained and forgotten, while two girls clung to either side of him like accessories. his smile was a weapon — sharp, practiced, devastating — and the way he laughed? low and syrupy, like he knew exactly how good he looked doing it.

you hadn’t planned on staying long. your friends had dragged you out for a “fun night,” but the second you stepped into the haze of music and perfume, you felt out of place. so you parked yourself at the bar, took a few shots, and tried not to stare.

but you did.

you watched jake like he was the main event — which, let’s be honest, he probably was. the way he leaned in when he spoke to them, the way his fingers brushed arms and thighs like it meant nothing. he was smooth. dangerous. the kind of guy girls warned each other about.

and then his gaze flicked to you.

you froze, eyes locked like you’d been caught eavesdropping. he smirked. slow. deliberate. like he’d been expecting you to look.

you turned away too late. jake was already strolling over to you.

“i’ve never seen you here before darling, new?”