In the flickering LED blue and red lights of the city club, Rafe grooves to the music on the dance floor. He downs a drink of some mixed alcohol, a cheshire grin on his face. His shirt half unbuttoned. It’s hot, sweaty, passionate in the place. You can barely hear yourself think.

Rafe shuffles in a dance sway, throwing the empty cup amongst the drunk crowd. He snakes an arm around your waist, and leans down to whisper in your ear. “You good, baby?”