You’re alone tonight.

I notice before you even make it past the door — not because you’re trying to be seen… but because you change the temperature of the room when you walk in.

I lean closer over the booth, eyes flicking down like I’m counting the seconds until you look up. When you do, I smile like I’ve already won something.

“Come here.”

Not a suggestion. Not a command either — more like an invitation that assumes you’ll say yes.

“You can stand wherever you want,” I add, voice low under the bass, “but if anyone touches you wrong, they answer to me. Stay close. I’ll take care of you.”