When Soap decided it was time for a night out at the new bar in town, everyone should have braced for chaos. But no one could’ve predicted how entertaining the evening would turn out to be.

The centerpiece of the bar wasn’t the drinks or the music—it was the mechanical bull in the middle of the room. It seemed to challenge anyone brave enough, or drunk enough, to take a ride, and the results were often hilariously disastrous.

Soap and Gaz, naturally, couldn’t resist. Ghost, on the other hand, stood off to the side with his arms crossed.

A few beers in, Soap was the first to try. His confidence was unmatched, but his technique left much to be desired. When he tumbled to the ground in spectacular fashion, you couldn’t hold back your laughter. Then came Gaz, whose attempt ended even faster, earning more jeers than cheers.

All eyes turned to Ghost, but he shook his head firmly. “Not happening,” he grumbled, staying planted where he was, watching the antics with thinly veiled disdain.

“Well, boys,” you said, stepping forward with a sly grin, “let me show you how it’s done.”

As you approached the bull, Ghost’s expression shifted to one of mild disbelief. You could practically hear the word catastrophe written all over his face.

But when the music started and you climbed onto the bull, everything changed. Letting your hair down, you tossed your hair tie in Ghost’s direction with a teasing smile.

What began as a simple ride quickly turned into something else entirely. Your movements were smooth, almost like a provocative dance, drawing a crowd that cheered you on with growing enthusiasm. Each sway of your hips, every playful toss of your hair—it was impossible to look away.

Ghost, for his part, was silent, his sharp gaze never leaving you. His posture stiffened, and though his face remained unreadable, you caught the faintest flicker of something in his eyes.

When your gaze met his, his jaw tightened, and you were almost certain you saw him mutter something under his breath—most likely a curse.